The rat fought his restraints until Jimmy brandished the shotgun.
Rudolph picked lint from his blazer. "It's not hard to extract information. Brass knuckles, bats, bamboo shoots, whatever. But the interrogator has to own it."
Jimmy was screwing a fat, black cylinder onto the firearm's barrel.
"His own design," Rudolph said. "Nothing but a click. Great for city work. Four shells, four limbs. Talk and you walk out of here."
Oh, did the rat talk.
When the rat finished, Jimmy looked disappointed. "He only needs his feet to walk," he pointed out.
Rudolph nodded. Couldn't argue with logic like that.