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Tyrone rubbed his hands together.
    “Lil nigga, I owe you more than that,” I said, picking up Kisha’s ringing phone from the coffee table.
    Somebody named Lacresha was calling.
    I answered the call.
    “Hello?”
    Silence.
    “Hello?” I repeated.
    “Is, um…is Kisha there?” A girl asked.
    “Yeah. Hold on a minute.”
    Kisha returned a moment later and I handed her the phone. I massaged her soft thighs and hoped she would not catch the lingering scent of Jessica’s perfume as she lifted the phone to her ear.
    “Hey, Bitch. Where you at? Bitch, I done got wasted waitin’ on yo’ ass to show up…”
    I moved from beneath Kisha and stood up, mostly because I didn’t want to argue with her if her nose got nosey like it sometimes did, but also because I wanted to give Tyrone the paper bag I had ready for him in the bedroom.
    To Kisha, I muttered, “You startin’ to drink too muhfuckin much… and stop thinkin’ you got so many friends.”
    She sucked her teeth and twisted her face at me. I continued up the hallway ahead of Tyrone, adjusting the bulging pistol on my hip and checking my phone. My mother and sister were blowing me up with texts and calls, and so were a dozen other family members. I wasn’t about to reply to any of them; at least not now, when my father’s body was lying in a freshly dug grave. Not while four of my mob brothers were stretched out in hospital beds with bodies full of bullet holes.
    I put the phone back on my hip as we entered the bedroom.
    The strong smell of sex struck me immediately.
    I looked up at Tyrone and grinned as I squatted and grabbed the large paper bag from under the bed.
    “You fucked Shay, didn’t you?” I asked.
    He grinned with me. “And you fucked Jessica, didn’t you? We even.” He accepted the bag, opened it, and peered inside. His grin blossomed into a full-blown smile. “Shit, that’s thirty-six zips? A whole brick? And a pound of Kush ?” He was in shock.
    “You don’t owe me a dime, either. Just come back and shop wit’ me. I should be on again within the next few days.”
    “We’ll get rich together, then. I’m wit’ it.”
    “Well, that’s what it is,” I said, demonstrating the TVL handshake with him. “Get money to the death of us.”
    “On King James,” he replied.
    The next thing I knew, Shay was screaming at the top of her lungs.

~Chapter 27~
    “MIKEY! MIKEY, THEY’RE TAKING KISHA!”
    I rushed out to the living room just as everyone was running out the door. I ran down the front stairs behind Shay, with Tyrone right in back of me.
    “I saw it from the window,” Shay said frantically. “Some nigga put a gun to her hea d and made her get in the trunk of a yellow Bentley.”
    The six of us made it to the porch in time to see the Bentley veering around the corner on 16 th Street.
    “Shit, come on y’all!” I yelled, sprinting towards Kisha’s SUV.
    But it was to no avail.
    By the time I made it to 16 th , the Bentley was gone.
    We drove around for nearly an hour, through all the side and main streets, past hundreds of black civilians and dozens of white policemen, gangbangers and drug-dealers.
    Still, no sign of the Bentley.
    “We need to go back to the house,” Joe-Joe said from behind me. “Kisha left her phone on the table. I think she was waitin’ on somebody.”
    “Yup,” Tyrone said, nodding his head in agreement. He was sitting in the passenger’s seat with the paper bag on his lap. “She was waitin’ on some stripper bitch. I can’t remember the bitch’s name.”
    Seeing the paper bag brought me back to reality: we were riding around with a kilo of coke and a pound of Kush, and there were two kilos in Scrilla Man’s SUV.
    As we were stopping at a t raffic light on 16 th , I pulled up alongside the Escalade and rolled my window down. Rose rolled down his window, too.
    “Y’all go on back to Indiana wit’ that shit.” I sighed and lit a cigarette, glancing at a cop car in my rearview mirror.
    “ Hell