i've choosen a pretty glam yet laidback position in our crime syndicate. i'm much like harvey keitel's character in pulp fiction - i'm the sweeper, the cleaner - the gal with all the answers.
you got a problem? you call me. a lot of people owe me favors and if the rumors are true about the mcallister job in san fran, a lot of people are scared of me. you need someone to case a joint? i'm your man. i use disposable cell phones so you can reach me by asking for "jimmy" at any bar in the world - any bar. try it - but i swear to god, you better have one big freakin' problem.
i wear a lot of black, a perpetual swirl of cigarette smoke envelopes me (even though i don't smoke - those things'll kill ya!) and while i'm not much into violence, i do believe in a well-placed elbow in the nose or perhaps a well-timed knee to the groin.
remember in '89 when pony had ferrari trouble on the way to the playboy mansion heist? who do you think got her another ferrari and fluffed her bunny tail? how about in '93 when nate got nabbed outside tiffany's? who do you think called in a coupla favors to louis comfort tiffany's heirs? (those bastards still owe me breakfast!) finally, who could ever forget rich's big microsoft infiltration in '99? i swear i'm STILL paying off my amex bill for 100 cases of dom for that dumb party!
good times. good times.
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