🍝 THE DAILY SITDOWN 🍝

So, this thing in Australia, right? Two cops get whacked. Fifty-nine years old, one of ‘em, practically ready for his gold watch. The other guy, a young punk, thirty-five. These two go to serve a warrant – some sex thing, I don’t even wanna know the details. It's like a goddamn opera, these details. Sounds like a real juicy one though, *capisce*? Eight other guys with ‘em, a whole goddamn army. And one of them gets clipped too, but he’s gonna live, thank Christ. The rest… *gone*. Two dead cops. Poof. Like a couple of fuckin’ *cannoli* that got snatched from the display case. This guy, Freeman, fifty-six years old, he’s the one who did it. Heavily armed, they say. This ain’t no stickup, this is a full-blown war, *mah-n*. They’re lookin’ for him like it’s a needle in a haystack, these Aussies. They say it’s dense bushland. Sounds like the Pine Barrens, but with more kangaroos, I guess. The chief of police, this Bush guy – sounds like a name I'd give to some lowlife – is all distraught, sayin’ it’s a “devastating loss” and all that sentimental bullshit. He's playin' to the cameras, like we all do. Of course it’s devastating, *cazzo*. These guys are supposed to be bringing home the bacon, not becoming the bacon. But you know, that’s the gig. This Freeman character, he knows the land like the back of his hand. Clever guy, I'll give him that. The cops got helicopters, armored cars – the whole nine yards. But this cat’s like a fuckin’ ghost. Twenty-four hours and they ain’t found shit. They say his family’s okay, no hostage situation. Thank Christ for *small* favors. Imagine the press if he had the family, too. It would be a total media circus. They'd be all over it like flies on… well, you know. This whole thing, it’s a reminder. A *very* stark reminder. Even when you think you got it all figured out, even with eight guys backing you up… things can still go sideways faster than a greased pig at a county fair. It's a f***ing wake-up call, *capisce*? You gotta stay sharp. Always. You never know when your number’s up. One thing's for sure, this whole thing's gonna take a lot longer to wrap up than making those god damn reservations at that fancy-ass restaurant Paulie keeps recommending. Fuhgeddaboudit. Except, you can’t just “fuhgeddaboudit” when two of your guys are dead. No, this one’s gonna leave a bad taste in everyone's mouth for a long, long time.