When the Pope asks you to whack a guy, you whack a guy.
And here's what I came up with!
“You're being such a dumbass,” Sheila said.
“I don't have a choice,” Kevin said.
“Of course you have a choice!” Sheila was getting loud now.
Kevin rolled up the car windows. “You're gonna get us caught!”
“I'm gonna get you caught? Oh that's rich! You're gonna get your own stupid ass caught because you don't know what you're doing! And for what—to impress that asshole Frankie. Notice he's not here? Hmm? He's not going down with you Kevin!”
Kevin had noticed that Frankie wasn't there, but he preferred to believe it was because Frankie trusted Kevin to get the job done by himself. Of course there was no arguing with Sheila. But that didn't stop Kevin from trying.
“When the Pope asks you to whack a guy, you whack a guy.”
“Frankie isn't the Pope. And we're not talking about you whacking a guy. We're talking about you holding up the Walgreens.” She nodded toward the building out the window.
“Just shut up,” Kevin said and opened his door. He slung one leg out, planted that foot on the ground, then slung the other leg out. “I've gotta do this, Sheila.” He said in a less-than-convincing tone.
He stood, tripped over his laces, and fell face-first into the pavement.
“You're such a dumbass, Kevin,” Sheila said.