Yeah, he's seen him. Widowed dad from a hick town somewhere, solved something screwed up like this in the past. Seemed like a good man, but Guzma wasn't exactly in a giving mood.

He slammed down his drink a little harder than one normally would atop the table.

"I've been on this rodeo before, where the guy acts all nice and tries to twist me all up inside and pull on my little black heartstrings in the hope that I'd slip in a moment of weakness and reveal some crap." With a finger, he tapped down his shades to cover his eyes.

"I'll tell you what I told the last guy: Ya boy's working on it. 'Cause the fuckin' nanosecond I let the cops in on the whole thing is the moment a shiny warrant with ink barely dry gets whipped out like a Sunday night hardon, ready to slap some 'troublemakers' and 'bad kids' into holding, booking, and whatever other hoops you bastards put people into.

They're just kids, Detective. And they're my little brothers and sisters. I dunno where most of 'em came from, so it's not like I can give you an address so you can take the bodies to the parents... but if the kid's a Skull, then they have reason to be. You feel me?"

He turned his head, finally seeming to regard Dojima.

"Last thing they want is for the chunk of meat they're left as to be in the hands of the people that broke 'em."