"A bomb?" Warspool actually raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the prospect that this man thought he had done something nefarious.
"You mean you've never had Taco Bell for thirty weeks straight?"
He patted his bare stomach, where the C4 had been planted in his lower intestine as a contingency plan. Suddenly the realization came, or maybe the novelty of the joke just wore off, and he turned the open hand to a scratching one.
"Oh right, that. Thing is, that was what is known as a 'plot device'. I get roughed up by Paulie and not-Paulie, I set off the C4 that I swallowed a week ago, then you show up looking for what caused it, you know - plot! But that's not where it stops. These guys," he pointed at the corpses and near-corpses of the gangsters with his good hand.
"They're rounding up mercenaries and assassins in the area and putting them down, doesn't matter where or how. Civilians might get caught in the crossfire," he shrugged with one shoulder.
"Okay, this is really annoying, can you take this out? I'll help you scare these guys into not going around and killing people all willy-nilly. Scout's honor!"