Ranger, the Cutters’ war boss, isn’t happy, but then he rarely is. He claims to be third-generation Cutters, which makes him a real rarity, a gang member whose father and grandfather both managed to live long enough to have kids. Or maybe he’s just lying through his teeth, with the smart money on the bulldrek side of the equation. He’s sitting in his "office," actually a sparsely furnished room upstairs in the Cutters’ Ravenna safehouse, on Thirty-sixth Avenue Northeast, a block from the Calvary Cemetery. He’s got his Doc Marten drek-stompers up on a table, and he’s giving me and Paco the evil eye out from under his heavy black monobrow.