Lardo's Gang

Instinctively, Robert knew that he was going to die. In fact, he knew that probably, everyone was going to die. But in particular, he was going to die even sooner than most because that large man had a shotgun shoved down his throat. Robert gagged, not from the metal pipe in his esophagus, but because the large man smelled like a barrel of dead fish. Which made sense, because the fat man had chased him all the way from the fish market; which was a miracle in itself.
There were three other fishmongers behind Lardo. Robert didn't know this, but their names were Aesop, Shaver, and Smokeface. I'm not making this up, these were hard dudes.
Lardo was wearing a sweatsuit, with a pile of gold and silver bling adorning his baggy neck. Aesop was as thin as a rail, with rat-like features, and tiny eyes. Timer has it, he killed his little brother in a shoot out with the FBI. Shaver was a skanky hoodied-up crack addict who paves knives.

And Smokeface was always shrouded in a haze of ever present cigarette smoke, so no one really knew what he looked like. Except that his hands were old, and his fingernails were very yellow. He flicked a silver zippo habitually. On, the off. Open, closed.