"Hey, big guy! If you're looking for your knuckles, they aren't in your coat pocket! They're in the back pocket of your pants!"
Joseph pointed out to the beefy mafia as the man reached for his coat. A look of surprise flashed on the mafia's face as he failed to find his weapon in his coat, but instead the exact pocket Joseph pointed out. With a smug grin on his face, Joseph stretched out a finger at him.
"Your next line is 'How did you know about the knuckles, you brat?!'"
"How did you know about the knuckles, you brat?! Eh?"
Dazzling the mafia with his skills, Joseph proceeded to explain the evidences he used to bring out his logical conclusion. The mafia man didn't seem to care one bit and charged blindly at Joseph, his fist flailing around as blunt and simple as he looked. Though it seemed like Joseph was on the losing side for a moment, it was soon revealed that Joseph used a standing coat rack to block the man's attack. Instead of beating Joseph to a pulp, he had planted his own fist into a sharp wooden structure.
As the beefy mafia screamed in pain, a more sly man stood up from the same table. Joseph turned to face him in another fight, but he shook his head.
"Please forgive my henchman's disrespect. The madmame over there must be Mrs. Erina Joestar, right? I've gotten quite an amount of help from Mr. Speedwagon, so I've heard of you back in London too. It's of luck that we've met. I came across an info some time ago, but Mr. Speedwagon has been killed. Rumors say the murderer is a monk from Tibet."