I frowned, seeing him split himself in two. “Well pull yourself together, bub!” I barked. “We ain’t got all day to solve nothing if you’re gonna split!”

I muttered to myself as he tried to pry his lower half out of the cement. “You want help with that? Usually it’s a gangster’s job to put a guy in a pair of cement shoes; not take them out! ”

-Smartass

“No, no, I got this,” he replied, producing a spoon. As he scooped up ink and smoothed it back onto himself, he realized something.

Still scooping up his lower third, he looked up and asked, “Wait, gangsters? I thought you were cops…”

He decided not to bring up any mention of “protection money,” or the fact the pink weasel still hadn’t noticed the ink-stains the Repairman accidentally left on his suit.