A most ragged, lean, and hungry set of wolves.

 

1926

        'So we've gone over this route several times the past couple weeks, this speak right across the

street is where he's gonna go to call for a ride back to Chapman's. When he comes outside to wait

we'll pull up, Cap will get out, plug old Lumper in the head, grab the money and we drive off.' Mike

explained.

           They were in the basement of Rich Fuhrman's general store, sitting in a circle of chairs amid

crate of various items. Mike paid Fuhrman ten bucks to let them meet down here when the store was

closed from time to time. 'So I'm just gonna shoot him in broad daylight? What if there's cops around?'

This fucking guy, Mike thought. 

        'Were going to be out of there so quick they won't even know what's going on.' Mike explained. 

'Plus, they got this guy Lump doing the pickups like I was saying.' 'His name's Lump?' Cap asked.

'It's a nickname,' Mike explained. 'He's a big guy, 6'5. But thing is from what I understand he's really

not a street guy, he's usually a bouncer at Chapman's. Foley's usual man Charlie, is out on account of

the fact that Foley caught him stealing.'

        'Anyway Cap you got Hymie as backup, Mike nodded toward Hymie who hadn't said a word the

whole time. 'I didn't know we were going to have to kill anyone.' Hymie said. Mike took a puff from 

the cigar in his mouth, 'For christsake, Hymie they killed John, your brother. They killed my cousin, 

that Berardi fucker and those guys mowed them down in that warehouse. Unarmed men. And you're

telling me your ok with that? That were just gonna fucking move on and act like it never happened.

            Hymie winced and shrank back, 'Nah, its not that boss, it's just this is gonna start a war.' 

Mike beamed a large grin, a glean in his eye, 'That's exactly the point. Eli and Jake are taking back

this city, and when they win- to the victor go the spoils.'

'Do you need anything while you wait? A drink?' The bartender asked Lump, 'No just the money, thank

you.' The owner was getting the weeks money in the back. Lump took out his pocketwatch, it was a 

little past 4 and this was his last stop.

'Thank god.' Lump thought. There were several inches of snow and ice on the ground and he'd been 

walking making the pick ups for Bill all day. How the hell did I end up with this lousy detail? He 

thought to himself. Of course, his boss Bill Foley had framed it in a different way. 

Bill had summoned Lump to Chapman's the night before as he was leaving work for the night, Bill was

always up at all hours of the night, come down to the speak at 11 the next day, he had an important

special assignment for him.

'I need you to make the pick-ups from now until I can get someone else. Charlie's fucked up Lump, 

been stealing from me, well almost the whole time he's been working for me. Harry and a couple other

guy's I'd send to do the job are taking care of Charlie. And I got Angelo up in Buffalo, handling some

business I got up there.'

The owner came from the backroom with the envelope for lump, he had a handlebar mustache and a 

bowler hat, he handed Lump the envelope, 'Here.' Lump took it, counted the cash, and put it in the

bag where he had the rest of the cash. Last one of the day, Lump thought as he got up and headed out

the door. His last stop was Henny's place, where there was a phone he could call. Bill also said the 

restaurant would give him a meal on the house, on account of him working for him. Been walking

all day, Lump thought as he walked out, could use a nice hot meal.

Cap lit a cigar he'd been smoking earlier in the day as he leaned back in a chair on the porch of Henny's

restaurant. He'd seen the big man go in maybe 20 minutes before, and knew it was going to be 

showtime for him soon. It was little past 4, but there were only a few people on the streets, most inside

because of the cold. 

Cap had convinced Mike to alter his plan slightly, he'd told Mike he'd get Lump as he was coming out

of the restaurant to meet his ride. Mike and Hymie would wait a block down the street in the car as back

up and pick him up once the thing was done. According to Mike, Eli and Jake had made a deal with 

some big shot bootlegger in the Midwest to back them in their play. They were going to hit a delivery

Foley had coming in from Buffalo later that night, using some of that imported muscle.

'What were doing here,' Mike had said, 'This is just the tip of the iceberg.' Big money, girls, power, all

of it, he said, could be ours. 

Cap shivered as a wind blew through him, withdrew a pint from his jacket and took a sip. 'But first, to 

get to all of that, we got to get dirty first.' Mike had said. Cap winced as he took the first sip from the

pint, then took another sip to get that warming feeling. Dirty? Cap thought. I've been in that dirt since

I was a kid. He'd been raised in an orphanage, he was always smaller than the other kids, always 

fighting. 

Later, when he'd first started living on the street, he'd met Mike, who had shown him how to survive on

the streets, which churches offered free hot meals, how to pick a pocket, how to case a place, how to

spot someone who would make a good mark. They did everything, break ins, cons, any kind of side

work or muscle for any crook or gang leader of any stature. Whatever they could to survive. However,

he'd never had to kill anyone, not yet. 

Cap heard the door to the restaurant open and turned, seeing the big figure of Lump emerge, he stood

up, just like I rehearsed, he thought, just follow the plan..

'Thanks, Mac.' Lump said as he got up from his seat. He'd gotten live and onions with a side of mashed

potatoes which had warmed him up nice. 'Sure thing guy.' The man from behind the bar replied. He had

the bag with the money and his jacket pocket, along with a revolver Foley had given him when he'd 

told him about he assignment, 'There's a few pockets of people out there, in this city, that are still sore

about what happened last year in the Kaufman warehouse. They don't like that fact that we control this

city now, and from what I've heard they might be planning something. It's probably nothing but I'd feel

better if you had some kind of protection.' Foley had told him.

Now, as Lump emerged from the restaurant he felt it's presence in his coat comforting. He could still

feel the food sloshing around in his stomach as he walked out unto the porch. That was when he saw the

man in the flat cap, 'Hey mister.' The man said as he approached, 'Do you have the time?'

'Yeah.' Lump replied and reached into his coat pocket, yet even as he did so he found himself 

remembering Foley's words of caution. As he took his pocket watch out of his coat pocket he saw out

of the corner of his eye the man in the cap start to take a glinting metal object out of his own coat, 

and before he could even look at the face he heard the report of the pistol and felt the impact of the

bullets in his stomach.

Lump lurched forward, feeling the blood flow from his wounds, the man in the cap moved forward and

fired another shot hitting him in the chest, and Lump fell to the floor. He could feel the himself losing

blood and was dimly aware of the man walking over him preparing to finish the job with a shot to the

head, when another emotion struck him, dim, but strong, rage.

As the wind stepped forward to aim his pistol at his forehead Lump summoned all of the rage and 

punched the man with all his force in his groin. The man doubled over and Lump pushed him off the

porch with his leg, then remembering his revolver took it out, walked over to the man on the ground

and shot him in the temple, before collapsing in a heap of blood.

        

 

2010 

        'What crisis is it this time?' Bill Farnum thought as he heard his cell phone in his jacket go off. He

was outside, on the loading dock of Callender's department store, where he was the manager, having 

a cigarette when he heard the chime. Even as he went to pick it up, he knew it could only be one person-

his son Jack.

        Bill's suspicions were confirmed when he opened his phone to read the walls of text his son had sent

him. He was getting evicted from his apartment because of overdue rent, but it as really just a simple

misunderstanding on the landlords fault, and now he has until the end of the week to find a new place

to live. Any chance he could borrow 1500 dollars so he could get this new apartment that he was 

looking at? It was perfect but he just needed the money for it.

            As Bill finished reading the texts and took a drag of his smoke he wondered why he always 

responded to his son's distress calls. Why he always ended up saying yes to whatever sum he ended up

asking for. Bill had two kids Jack and Jane and Jack was always getting into something. had some kind

of problem with some authority figure, or some jam he needed help getting out of. Bill put his cigarette

out in the butt can and walked back inside through the loading dock. 

        As he made his way up the back stairs ( he was trying to integrate more exercise into his daily

routine)  he pondered this answer to his question. He'd only managed to get Jack out of his house 3

years ago, when he was 24, and even that had been a struggle, which Jack had resisted at every turn. 

In the 3 years since, every 6 months or so, Jack had another housing crisis. Or at least that's what he 

always said it was. He was getting evicted or about to be getting evicted, from just about every single

place he'd ever lived. 

            Bill was breathing heavier as he reached the 4th floor where his office was. He checked his

wristwatch as he emerged from the door, just past noon. Just in time for my lunch hour, Jack thought

as he walked into his office and told his secretary to hold his calls, he'd be back in an hour. Just one

more thing, he thought as he walked into his office and grabbed the keys he had kept in the bottom

drawer of his desk. They all knew where he was going when he told them to hold his calls. 

            Bill sat down at his desk, grabbed the key and headed out his office, this time taking the 

elevator down to the sub- basement. This was the pots and pans and kitchen appliance part of the store

and the clerks working there gave him a small nod of acknowledgment as he went through. At the end

of that section he came of another door, which he opened with one of the key's he'd fetched from the

bottom of his office desk. As he came through his door the air was noticeably more musty, the cobwebs

thicker, a few chairs and random boxes flanked him as he turned on the sole light. After a short walk

this room led to another door, which led to what Bill considered his fortress of solitude- his secret office. Bill had discovered the office a couple of years before, when he was looking for something 

in storage. He'd been perplexed as to what is was until an old timer in the billing department had told

him. They'd had an accountant in the late 50's to the early 70's. He'd been a damn good one, the old timer

said, but he was a bit of an eccentric. He wanted as little contact with other people as possible, as such

they'd converted an old janitor supply room into his own private office. There was also an old service

elevator he used which gave him access to his office and which let out near the loading dock. 

            Bill opened the door and went in, greeted by the couple of empty bottle of beer he'd left on the

desk the last time he'd come down here. He picked them up and threw them in the bucket he used for

his empties. Then he walked over to the mini-fridge and kept right next to it and took out a tall can of

natural ice from the fridge and a nip of Jim Beam black from the freezer part. He walked over to the 

desk and sat down on the new chair he'd gotten for his secret office at staples, a damn good one too. He

cracked open the natural ice and took a long gulp, enough to leave some space. Then he popped open 

the beam and poured the whole nip in.

        'The Farnum Special,' he called it, and winced as he took the first gulp and felt the burn. As he felt

the burn run down his belly he realized the reason he always bailed his son out, remembered was more

like it because he'd had this conversation with himself before. He always bailed him out because he 

feared that he'd become homeless, nowhere to turn, and would ask Bill to come back home. Then, Bill

thought, taking another sip of his tall can, I'd never get him out. He'd be there until he was a least 50.

No, better this way, much better.

            Jack Farnum felt a cold draft blow across his body as he crossed over the bridge from Franklin

into Warner. What time is it? He thought to himself. Early, he thought, real early. He had been in a

sound sleep at his girlfriend Gina's apartment when she'd woken him up. She'd just worked a ten hour

shift at the hospital, she needed to get some sleep. Ok, Jack had said, I'll just go sleep on the couch. 

That was when it had gotten a little weird. No, she told him, he'd been staying at her apartment for the

past month, not working, not paying rent, which was fine, she said. But today, she was feeling like she

needed her space, alone by herself.

        Where am I supposed to go? He'd asked her. Not my problem, Gina had replied and when he'd 

tried to kiss her she'd turned away. So he'd gathered a few of his things into his backpack, left a few of

his clothes there, she hadn't objected, and gone out into the cold day. He was grateful as he crossed over

to the Warner side of the bridge to feel the warmth of the sun coming up. He took out his phone, 9:30,

I bet Eugene would be up, Jack thought. He still owed Eugene some money from a couple weeks before

but he had some that he could give him.

        Plus, Jack thought, as he dialed the number, Eugene was usually smoking some good herb or 

someone there was. Sometimes, get him talking, Eugene smoke you up real good, or so he'd heard. Jack

dialed his number, 'What up, player?' He said as he answered. 'Who's this?' Eugene replied. 'It's Jack 

man, listen I got something for you.'

        'Cash money?' Eugene asked. 'You know it, my man.' 'Alright, come on up I'm just having coffee

right now with Jamal.'

'I tell you thought I most intense cat in our platoon, this guy named Judge. Judge Freeman. 6 feet, dark

skinned cat, he fucking hated the VC, NVA, Charlie whatever you want to call them. Man you'd think

those yellow motherfuckers killed his grandma the way he hated these motherfuckers.' Eugene took a 

sip of his coffee.

    'Like Barnes in Platoon?' Jamal asked. They were standing in Eugene's kitchen. Jamal had just

re-upped with Eugene. 'Yeah, a lot like him.' Eugene replied. 'Man, but hell of guy in a firefight, man

he was intense. Really religious, prayed every night.' Jamal turned at a knock at the door. 'Its just that

kid, he supposed to having some money for me.' Eugene said. Jamal went through the kitchen and got

the door, while Eugene went into the living room and sat down on the couch. 

        Jack shook Jamal's hand as he led him over to the couch. 'So what happened to him?' Jamal asked

Eugene as he sat down in a chair opposite him. Eugene took out a large bag of bud with some rolling 

paper and handed them to Jamal, 'Can you roll something with this? Supposed to be some medical 

grade stuff I picked up from Mojo. Jamal nodded as started breaking the bud up on a magazine on the

coffee table they used to that exact purpose. 'Judge? Man, he had a hard time after the war. He got out

a few months before me, in fact when I first came to Warner he let me stay at his house for a couple

years until I came to live here. Basically, long story short, he started doing drugs. I mean before, back 

in 'Nam he wouldn't touch nothing, not even a cigarette, a beer, nothing. First it was weed, that was 

always a trip man, 'cause like I said he was so straight, so serious. 

        Eugene took a sip of his coffee. 'Man but then he started doing coke, sniffing at first, then

smoking the shit. Ended up selling it the support his habit. That was when he really started getting

weird, wearing his old army coat, buying up all the fucking guns he could find. One day, this was a

little while before he was killed, he found out his boy Lamont, his best friend, who he'd served with, 

who he'd give his life for, was stealing from him. And, on top of that, was sleeping with his girl.'

            Jamal rolled up the first joint, licked it put it down on the magazine to dry. He's like a machine

Eugene thought. 'So Judge, he get's in his Cadillac, tells Lamont to meet him on the corner, in fact just

around the corner from here. So it's a warm summer evening, people are out, kids playing everyone's 

just hanging out on the street right. Judge pulls up, cool as a cucumber, 'Hey Lamont!' Nice as can be.

I was right there talking to my boy so I remember it well, Lamont trots over, come right up to his

window, and Judge grabs him by the collar pulls out his pistol 'Boom!', blows that boys head all over

the street in front of everybody.' 

        Eugene shook his head, 'I still have nightmares about that shit. Anyway eventually, someone in his 

crew snitched and the cops came to bust his house, one of those pre-dawn raids. Only they didn't realize

this motherfucker Judge hardly ever sleeps. They bust in expecting him in bed he fucking opens up on 

these fucking pigs with an AK-47, ended up taking 6 cops down with him before they took him down. 

Shot up his whole crib. Later his girlfriend told the police about a storage unit he had on the outskirt of

town, they went in, it's a fucking arsenal. Pistols, machine guns, boxes and boxes of ammo, TNT, C4,

detonators, like he was fixing to create his own army.'

            Jamal finished rolling the rest of the bud, took on of the ones on the magazine and lit it up. 'So

young man.' Eugene turned to Jack. 'I heard you have something for me this morning.' Jamal took a puff

and passed the joint to Eugene. 'I certainly do.' Jack replied. He took his his wallet and handed Eugene

a wad of bills. Eugene took the cash and passed the joint to Jack. It looked like a decent amount before

Eugene went to count it and found it was mostly one's and smaller bills, and an annoying amount of 5's

and ten's. 

                Eugene frowned as he finished counting, 'Man, this is only, 182 dollars! What the fuck is this

shit man?' 'Well, I figured it was better to give you something than nothing.' Jack explained. 'Look I was

able to sell some, a good amount, but I think I kind of lost track of what I was selling versus what I was

smoking, but I should be able to pay you back in the next couple of-' 'No. That's not going to work for

me.'

            Eugene passed the joint to Jamal. 'You owe me 850 you were supposed to pay me this past 

Friday, I was even able to get a hold of you, and now it's Tuesday morning and you come here with this

shit. Now I'm going to make this real simple for you, I'm gonna give you until this Friday, 3pm sharp

and if you don't have my money by then, I'm gonna send Jamal to beat your ass. You understand me?'

        Jack nodded. Eugene handed the wad back to him, 'Then get the fuck out of here and don't come

back until you have the full amount!' 'Alright, sure man, chill.' Jack got up and headed to the door and

walked out to the hallway. 'Tell me to chill, 182 dollars, stupid motherfucker..' He heard Eugene say

as he walked out the door.

        The hallway was cold as Jack made his way back through it. As he passed the last apartment 

before the stairs he heard a couple arguing loudly. He put the money he was going to give Eugene

back into his wallet as he went down the stairs and contemplated his next move. He'd texted his Dad

the day before around noon to see if he could help out. Then he tried calling in the evening but there

had been no answer. Probably passed out drunk, Jack thought as he walked outside Eugene's building.

I could go to one of those cafe's, he thought, they always let you hang out for a while, in the meantime

he thought as he walked toward downtown, I can see if Mom can help with my other problem.

            Mojo emerged from the room where he kept his safe with a backpack with several different

pounds of bud. He put the bag on the coffee table in the center of the room. 'My man, you always got

the finest herbs in town.' Roady, Said. They were in Mojo's recording space downtown and James

Rhodes, of the reggae group The Mariners had just finished recording with his band. 'One pound of

Northern Lights, a pound of Afghan Kush, pound of Chem Dogg, and a pound of Blueberry.' He had

written the names of each on the bags. 

            Roady inspected each bag, taking a small bud and examining each. 'Man you should have seen 

the bud I was getting before you man.' Roady said. 'Seeds?' Mojo asked. 'Shit, sometimes that's all the

fucking bag was man. You'd be lucky to catch even a single red hair. Sometimes it was just straight up

brick weed, always mersh. And on top of the that the prices weren't even that good! 250 for an ounce

of bullshit man!', Roady took out half a joint and lit it up, 'Not my man Mojo though,' Roady said 

between tokes, 'His always got his shit on lock!'.

        Roady passed the joint over to Mojo. The rest of the Mariners were watching TV, drinking and 

smoking in the living room area of the space. When Mojo first started making money in the music and

drug business he contemplated converting his basement into a recording studio, he'd decided against it,

however, mainly because sometimes it was nice to just have another place to go. To think. 

            Mojo passed the joint back over to Roady, they were standing in the kitchen area near the 

fridge. Mojo liked Roady, they had met back in high school when he first sold him weed. He felt some

pride that Roady often told people that he got his inspiration for the Mariners first big hit, 'Balmy Air,'

after taking a hit of particularly strong strain of sour diesel Mojo had sold him. 

'It's like you get your herb from JAH himself.' Roady remarked laughing. You know, Mojo thought, it

sometimes felt that way too, dealing with the source.  Instead all he said was, 'Yeah it's good stuff.'

        'I know a lot of people try to ask you man, try to find out who your connect is.' Roady said passing

the joint over to Mojo. 'They try and ask me 'Hey Roady, where does Mojo get that stuff, it's fire. You 

know what I tell them? I  tell them 'Mind your business and don't worry about where he get the stuff.'

They think I know, and the truth is I don't know and I don't want to know. It's like when there's a nice

swimming spot in the summer. Where only a few people know about it. Then, a few more people find 

out about it. Pretty soon it's all filled with people and trash and beer cans and before you know it the

whole damn place gets closed down.'

            'I agree,' Mojo said. 'That's a pretty good analogy, and I appreciate that man.' Roady nodded. 

'Yeah man, when we heard you went to prison, man we didn't know how you were gonna come out

when you finally got out. But man, you've done pretty good, oh by the way almost forgot.' Roady 

reached into his pocket and extracted a wad of bills, counting out what he owed and handing it over to Mojo. Mojo put the bills in his wallet. 'Yeah man, you're stuff, make alot selling it out

in Boston, 300-400 an once. These motherfuckers sell it for 60-70 and eigth crazy man.' Mojo passed

the joint to Roady but he shook his head, 'Nah man, I'm good, nice and crispy.' He smiled.

        Mojo walked over to the fridge and grabbed a beer, just as he cracked it open his phone in his 

pocket rang, Happy Jack, Mojo thought as he looked at the screen. 'What's up man.' Mojo said as he

answered the phone. 'Not much. I'm at this cafe in town and I was wondering if you could pick me up

and give me a ride over to Chapman's bar.' This fucking guy, Mojo thought. 'Do you have any of that 

money you owe me?' He asked, that 1,000 dollars, to be exact. 'Not exactly. I could give you what I 

have, it's not much. But I'm working on getting it soon.'

        Whatever, Mojo thought, I was about to head home anyway, 'Where is this place?' He asked 

Jack. Jack told him the address, 'I'll be there in 10.' Mojo said.  'Hey, man.' Mojo said to Roady, I think

I'm gonna hit the road, can you just make sure you lock up when you leave?' Mojo said. He took

another sip of his beer and put it back in the fridge, another time, he thought.

'No problem man, were probably going to head out soon.' Roady replied. 'It's no worries man if you 

guys want to chill here for a bit, just close everything up.' Mojo said as he headed out the exit into the

stairwell, knowing that by 'Soon,' Roady could mean 20 minutes to 2 hours.

What the fuck was that about? Mojo thought as he headed down the stairwell toward the street. He had

parked his car on the street just outside his recording space. He sold recording time there with artists he

worked with and it also functioned well as a place to do deals. It seemed like Roady was fishing for 

something, it just seemed so out of the blue.  

Mojo had been selling to Roady for 5 years now, and since Mojo had first told him he couldn't talk 

about where he got his drugs Roady hadn't said a word about it. Now all this 'Don't worry buddy, I've

got your back I won't tell anyone,' as if he was trying to get Mojo to give him some information.

There were six other members of the Mariners, could be one of them. What does he hope to gain? Mojo

thought as he started his car and headed in the direction of the cafe. He's going to get me to make an 

introduction? Or that he's going over my head and go through Eddie himself? Mojo grinned to himself.

Fat change of that. 'If you're talking about me, I'll know about it. If you tell someone where I live I'll

know about it.' The source had told him. That had spooked Mojo a lot. He'd been up there making a 

buy and he'd stayed longer than usual one night and the source was drinking, a lot. Told Mojo about his

backyard, the woods around his house.

How he had about 40 acres back there, with a few shipping containers, each filled with product, vaccum

sealed. How he'd placed different boobie traps, tripwires, a few land mines near each of the containers,

in places only he knew about. How, sometimes, a bear, or a deer from the forest would get too close to

one of them and set off the explosives. How one time he'd had bear meat for a long time from one such 

incident. 

Mojo pulled up in front of the Brass Buckle Cafe where Jack had told him to pick him up. No sign of 

him outside. This fucking guy, Mojo thought, and dialed his number. How the fuck do you just lose a

pound of weed? Mojo thought, as he waited. It had been a month ago since Jack had told him about it,

and this had been the first he'd heard from him. 

'I'm coming out now.' Jack said as he answered the phone and a couple seconds later Mojo saw him

emerge from inside the cafe. 'What's up man?' Jack said as he got into the car. Mojo shook his hand,

'Not bad, was just over at my recording space.' Mojo took off towards Chapman's bar. 'You said you had

some money for me?' He asked Jack. 

'Uhh, yeah.' Jack replied. 'Is 100 bucks ok?' Mojo frowned, 'Forget it man, just get to me when you have

something.' He said. 'Trust me man, I'm working on it, I'll have it for you the next few days.' Trust me, 

Mojo thought, I can't believe I trusted this guy. Fronted him a whole pound, 1,000 dollars. Mojo's friend

Chelsea had vouched for him, said he was good at moving weight. And Mojo himself had thought Jack 

weirdly persuasive as well, a con artist. 

Chapman's bar had a pretty decent crowd as Mojo pulled up in front, 'Thanks for the ride man,' Jack

said as he stopped. 'I'll be in touch with you soon about the money.' He said as he got out of the car. As

Jack got out and headed into the bar he wondered, 'How drunk is my Dad now?'

'Original sign for Chapman's Saloon from 1885-1915' the inscription below the large sign hung in the 

back of the bar at Chapman's read. Bill Farnum was sitting in the middle of the bar, right below the sign

3 beers and 3 shots deep.  He'd gone down to his secret office for 'Lunch,' drank 2 tall cans or beer as

opposed to his usual 1 and a nip and taken an extra nip as well, before deciding at around 4:30 to take

off a little early on this Thursday.

As he had been finishing off his second can in the secret office Bill had finally decided to get the money

his son was asking him for. He'd texted him as much, telling him to come meet him over at Chapman's

at around 6. Bill still had his license, but he seldom drove anymore unless he had to, the grocery store,

things like that. Callender's, where he worked was right downtown and Chapman's bar was just around 

the corners from Callenders.  His house was only about a 15 minute walk from downtown, a fact he 

often came to appreciate on days like this. 

He finished off the rest of his glass and pushed it forward to indicate he wanted another. His Uncle Ron,

who was almost 70 was still President of the company, and Bill wondered how much longer the store

would last once he finally retired, as they had all been anticipating for years. His own father, Hal had

passed away a few years back leaving Bill with a fairly decent inheritance, plus the house. When his

wife finally divorced him a couple years back because of his drinking, he was always glad at least he

had the house.

Just then the bartender, Sandra, came over with a fresh cold pint. 'That's my kind of service right there.'

Bill slurred and put a ten on the bar, 'Keep the change.' 'Thanks hun, after this I'm afraid I'm going to 

have to cut you off though.' Bill smiled, 'That's ok, I've had my fun. You have any kids Sandra?' 'Yeah,

I have one daughter why?' 'How old is she? What does she do?' Bill was slurring even worse now, 

though he didn't realize it. 

'She's working as a nurse over at Warner General Hospital.' Sandra replied smiling. 'You must be very

proud.' Bill replied. 'What about you? You have a kid, what does he do?' Bill took a long gulp of beer, 

'Well, to be honest, he doesn't do anything. He's a bum, a con-artist, a parasite. He's a professional 

mooch, and he's got his game down to a T.' As Bill finished his diatribe, he felt a hand tap him on the

shoulder, 'Hi, Dad.' Jack said.

Bill turned around, 'Well look who it is! Speak of the devil!' as he moved in to embrace his son jack 

could smell the whiskey and beer on him, 'How are you son!' he said loudly as they embraced. Jack 

wondered if he got this fucked up on purpose, Bill knew how much Jack hated to see him like this.

'Are you sure your ok to walk home like this?' Jack asked him, even standing up to embrace Jack had

been difficult for him to do without almost falling down. 'Nah, I'll be fine, if anything the walk will help

me sober up. You want a drink or something?' 'I'm good.' Jack replied. 'You have the money right?' He

asked finally. 

'I don't care that much for money, money can't but me love..' Bill started singing. 'Nah, I got it, I 

wouldn't just drag out down here for nothing would I?' After Bill had finished the rest of his beer, Jack

had gotten them both a couple of ice waters and they'd sat down at a table. The bar was still fairly 

crowded, but it was starting to thin out a little. Almost from it's inception Chapman's had been a place

where criminals gathered, either to sell something, or to plan their next scheme. Legend had it that in 

1915, the owner of Chapman's at the time, Hal Tanner, ended up signing the bar over to crime boss Bill

Foley after he was in over his head to owing Foley for a gambling debt.

As Jack scanned the people in the bar, he could tell not much had changed since then. He could see the

shady figures sitting in the back, having furtive conversations with their would be customers. There was

an alley around the side of the bar where most of these transactions were conducted, and where the 

customers consumed the fruits of said transactions. After Bill Foley got out of the business in 1928, his

enforcer, Angelo Berardi took over his operations and with that Chapman's. Little changed over the

years, except the drugs. As time went on the Berardi organization allowed the dealers to use the bar to

make their transactions, minded, of course, that they pay the Berardi organization it's 5 percent tax for

the privilege. 

'Here you are Don Corleone,' Bill said as he took the envelope from his bank out of his pocket and slid 

it over to Jack who was sitting across from him. 'Use it wisely.' Jack took the money, counting it to

make sure it was enough. 'Don't worry, I'm going to pay you back.' He said. 'No you won't.' Bill replied.

'You never do, I just don't understand why you act like you will. I mean when are you going to get it

together man?'

        Bill knew he was really feeling the alcohol now, 'What do you mean?' Jack asked. 'All of this,

bouncing around, always got a fucking story, always getting kicked out of here and it's always 

somebody else's fault, isn't that right? 27 fucking years old and where the fuck are you kid? What the

hell are you doing with your life?

        Jack got up, 'I'm not going to talk to you when your like this.' He said as he got up, put the 

envelope in his pocket and walked out. By then Bill could feel eyes on him, so he took a sip of his

water in preparation to walk home. He'd gone hard tonight, harder than he'd gone in a long time, to get

that fucked up at lunch and to continue all day (he'd stopped by the liquor store before even going to 

Chapman's to pregame with some nips.) this fucking kid, he thought to himself, he does it. Triggers it.

The truth was sometimes he was actually worried about him, the weird predicaments he always found

himself in, how he seemed incapable of actually telling the truth. 

Eugene had been half asleep on the couch at a little past ten when Jack called his landline. Normally he

would have been up but lately he'd been having trouble sleeping. Thinking about old friends, long dead.

Some on the street, some in Vietnam, their faces coming to him in dreams. He had given up booze 

entirely a couple years before, it had sometimes helped with the nightmares, and now sometimes they

came on stronger and more vivid than ever before.

'Hello.' He answered wearily. 'Hey, Eugene sorry it's late but I'm near your place and I have your

money.' Jack said. 'No, shit.' Eugene replied. 'Come on over.'

'Ha ha! The prodigal son returns!' Eugene said, counting the money on the coffee table. 'I mean I can't

believe it, you really surprised me young man.' It's amazing the difference a little money can make on 

someone's disposition, Jack thought.

'You want a beer?' Eugene asked him. 'I don't drink anymore but I keep a few on hand if someone wants

one. They're in the fridge.' Jack got up and got one from the fridge in the kitchen. 'Hey, Eugene you've

lived in this town for a while right, do you know someone named Matteo Berardi?' He said as he sat 

down on the couch and opened his beer. 

Eugene thought, there was a bag of weed on the coffee table and he was breaking up some bud for a 

joint, sometimes it helped with the dreams. 'Hmmm...it could be Sal Berardi's son. Yeah, I believe that

was his name. The Berardi Organization used to run this town, they controlled the cops, all the guys on 

the street paid tax to them. Sal Berardi, was their last official boss, but he was busted in I want to say 

2003.'

            'Sal had a couple of other sons but they weren't involved in anything. Except Matteo, but they 

say he's more of a wannabe gangster than anything else.' 'He ripped me off. I went over to his place to

sell him a pound of weed and put a gun to my head and said, 'This is mine now,' and told me to fuck

off.' Eugene finished rolling his joint, 'I'm not sure what you expect me to say.' He said, and lit it up.

'There's got to be something I can do, roll up on them.'

        'Roll up on them?' 'Man you've been watching too many gangster movies. Matteo Berardi, his 

crew, sure they might be only like 10 guys but they all got guns. I've heard this is just one of the things

he does, rips people off for things like that. It's one of their rackets. They do that, sell a little coke, credit

card scams, but it's nothing like what they were before.' Eugene passed the join to Jack. 'But you got

people. You could help me out.' He took a draw on the joint. 'For what, son? Look man my friend Judge

dealt with these people in the past when we had our own thing here. Used to pay them protection, 

nothing he could do, they controlled the cops, they had all the power. And his friend Lamont who was 

his business partner always resented him for it. Saw it as bowing down to the man. Judge he saw it 

as a matter of survival.'

        Eugene passed the joint over to Jack. 'You want to make it out on these streets man you got to

learn some sense, if something don't feel right, it usually isn't. What happened with you this Matteo? 

How did it go down?' Jack took another toke of the joint. 'Man I don't want to talk about it.' He replied

as he exhaled the hit.

            'I think you're wrong there, if we can analyze past mistakes we can figure out where we went

wrong, learn from them.' Jack passed the joint back over. 'Ok, here how it happened...

One month earlier

    'How Jack 'Lost' the pound'

        Jack sat on the couch at Mojo's downtown recording space looking at all the posters for the 

various bands which had recorded there. Jack had heard about Mojo through this friend Chelsea, who

he had gone to high school with. She said he had the best ganja at the best prices. There was only one 

catch however, she said. He doesn't do business with just anyone. 

        Jack had been in her and her boyfriend Ryan's apartment selling them a quarter of weed when she

had mentioned his name. 'How do you know him?' Jack had asked her. She told him that Mojo had 

been a friend of 'Ra's, her drug dealer back in college. Then when she didn't see him for a little while

she had heard he had gone away, to prison. 'Then I bumped into him lately at this reggae show with the

Mariners at Chapman's. I went down into the alley where everyone was smoking I just happened to run

into him. We smoked and then after the show we went down to his recording space downtown and

smoked with the Mariners a few other people at the after party.'

        'But anyway, even if I could give you an introduction, he only deals in weight. I'm talking quarter

pounds and up, even a qp would be small change to him. Usually its a pound and up. And it's always

cash up front, he doesn't fuck around.' However Jack had always had a way of persuading people into 

doing what he wanted them to do. So he'd let it lie for a little while, not making an issue of it, but 

remembering the little details. Then, a few weeks later when he'd seen an poster for a Mariner's show

at Chapman's again, he decided to go down. Sure enough, Chelsea and Ryan had been there. And so

had Mojo, and through the beers and a few joints of potent bud he'd supplied, he'd managed to get

a conversation with Mojo and the result he had desired.

        The couch and the living space was the size of a one bedroom apartment, open with a kitchen and 

a fridge. The actual recording studio was in an adjacent room which was where Mojo was presently

getting the weed. He had a few people lined up already that had been looking but he had been dry. 

There wasn't exactly a shortage of bud in town, but there was a shortage of good bud in town. He could

tell from the reactions of those he sold Eugene's bud too, which had only been some good BC indoor.

There was a sound system next to the TV, and Bob Marley's 'Soul shakedown party,' played softly as 

Mojo emerged from the adjoining room with the bag.

        Mojo put the bag down on the coffee table which was in front of the couch. 'Sour diesel, top 

notch, if you want to take a little look.' He said. 'I'm gonna go grab a beer do you want one?' 'Sure.'

Jack replied. Mojo walked over to the kitchen to grab the beer while Jack took out a bud for inspection.

Damn, he thought, bright green crystals. Fresh. Mojo back from the kitchen and handed Jack an 

unopened beer. 

        'Now look, I really don't ever do this but I trust Chelsea and she vouched for you. If you're smart

you can make some pretty good money, now I'm fronting this to you for 1,000 which is a really good

deal so don't fuck me over on this man.' Jack took a sip of his beer. 'Nah, man I got you. I already got

some people lined up. You got a rolling paper?'

        'Yeah.' Mojo replied and took a pack and handed it to Jack. 'You got a nice set up here.' Jack said

as he broke up a bud on the coffee table. 'You must do pretty good.' Mojo took a sip of his beer. 'Yeah

I do ok. But man, I got someone coming here pretty soon, not trying to be a dick but I need you to be

out of here before they come, just this customer you know.' Jack nodded and started rolling the joint,

'Nah, man I get you, I'll be out of your hair soon.' 

Go to hit the pavement, Jack thought. Man if he is able to sell this stuff for 1000, I wonder how much 

he pays for it?

    Gaetano 'Guy' Berardi sat in his chair in his studio apartment thinking about who he could rob. He 

was watching 'Goodfellas', on VHS on his small TV. It was almost the end of the month and he'd 

already gone through his SSI, he'd sold his food stamps for money to buy drugs to sell, but he always 

ended up doing more than he actually sold.

        It was winter and cold outside tonight so he knew there wouldn't be as many people out. Even at

a place like Chapman's which usually had a decent crowd. He'd ate most of his food a couple days ago

but that was when he still had some coke so it hadn't mattered. He had been hanging out with a friend of

his, Sheena, doing lines and having sex for the past couple of days but she had spilt when he'd run out

yesterday. 

        Out, Guy thought as he got up from his chair and over to his kitchen to open the fridge, everything 

almost completely out, it had the same 3 items it had before, an almost empty jar of mayo, an identical

bottle of ketchup and 22oz glass bottle of malt liquor that was three quarters gone. I really need to get

rid of that, he thought to himself, it was from a couple of days ago. Even though Guy enjoyed pretty

much every other illegal drug out there, he'd never been much of a drinker. He didn't like the taste,

never really got used to it, and he hated getting sick which seemed to happen to him often since he was

a small person.

                No dealer he knew would front him anything, given his reputation on the street, which 

basically said, absolutely no credit. Still, they knew if he had money it was straight. Then there was

always the plan B, a little piracy, as he called it. Find a dealer who didn't know anyone, wasn't 

connected, didn't have any means to retaliate, and rob them. Usually he'd use his cousin Matteo as

the lure, telling them he was a big drug dealer who would buy whatever they had quick to get it off

their hands. Whatever price they asked to.

        Guy's cousin Matteo was youngest son of the current boss of the Berardi organization, Sal, who

was currently on the lam from the law. Guy would always mention this, that his family ran this whole

city for over 50 years. It was true, however, as Guy found out when he was a teen, his father Richie

had turned states evidence against the family, and left his mom Lisa and him shortly thereafter. 

        Then Guy would tell the dealer to meet him somewhere, usually a park at night and he'd usually

relieve them of their drugs via an old pistol he kept for just such a purpose, a .38 snub. Guy hadn't had

many friends growing up due to his father being an informant. Even Lisa, his mother who was the boss

Carmine's sister, found herself feeling unwelcome in her old social circles. Guy was her only child and

as such they found themselves becoming closer during this time.

        There's got to be something I can do, Guy thought to himself as he walked back into the living 

room where the movie was still playing. He could go over to his Mom's house for food, she'd heat 

something up for him, probably even give him something to take home, but she wouldn't give him

any money. She told him it hurt her to think what he was doing with it and it made her feel guilty 

contributing to his habit. When she first told him this he tried to make up some elaborate story about

why he needed the money, but she wasn't having any of it. 'No more.' She said.

        Could head down to the Rusty Revolver, Guy thought, but shit, they always had a cover charge. 

They had live music every night, and in addition to Chapman's it was usually a good place to go if

someone wanted to buy or sell. Wait a minute, fucking Jack! Guy thought. Guy had met Jack at the

Rusty Revolver a few months ago, he'd bought a quarter of some quality bud of him. Guy didn't usually

smoke, but he was trying to get with this girl who did, and Jack had given him a good deal.

        They'd had a few more transactions over next few months, sometimes Guy would sell him some

coke, sometimes he'd buy some weed off him. Meanwhile he'd told Jack he had all kinds of 

connections due to his relations, ( a partial truth) and that if he ever wanted to get a good deal on some

real weight, to come talk to him. Jack had listened, and seemed interested, but he said 'I don't really

know you that well, I'd have to be sure before something like that.'

        A couple of weeks earlier at Reggae night at Chapman's Guy had seen Jack talking to Mojo. Guy

made it a point to know all the big dealers in town and Guy had heard of him. Word was he moved a lot

of weight. The kind of person that would make a good mark himself if not for the fact that he probably 

was connected in some way. The word was he only dealt with certain people. Hiding in plain sight, 

Mojo was always at the Mariners and the other shows of the various bands he worked with. Well known

in the Warner music scene. 

        And Mojo had done time, 8 years in prison. Guy knew that in spite of his hippy appearance, he 

was tougher then he looked. He saw Jack and this blond woman talking to Mojo, they even smoked a

joint right at the bar during the Mariners last set, and Guy had sensed that some kind of deal was in the

works. I think I know the right things to say, Guy thought as he took out his phone and dialed Jack's 

number, make him think he's getting a deal. 

    

        Jack finished off the pint he had been working on and chased it down with the shot of whiskey he'd

laid next to it. It was in the teens outside with a strong wind chill and there were only scattering of other

patrons at Chapman's bar tonight. The bartender Sandra came over to take his empty glass and Jack 

ordered another round of the same thing. He didn't usually drink like this but he'd felt the need to warm 

up after the frigid walk from Mojo's recording space, Cloud City, to Chapman's. 

        Jack had gotten the call from his friend Guy right after walking out the door of Cloud City with the

pound in his backpack. Looking back, Jack could see that should have been a red flag, like he knew.

Guy had called, told him he had a business proposal he wanted to discuss with him, but he didn't want

to talk about it over the phone. 

        Jack had suggested Chapman's as it was pretty close to where he was now, but he still felt a little

vulnerable just walking around with the weed in his bag. 'Trust me you won't regret it.' Guy had said 

and told him he'd meet him there in 20 minutes. That had been almost an hour ago, Sandra walked over

and put the pint and the shot down in front of him, Jack passed her the money. 

            Later he found out she was his girlfriend Gina's mother when he went in one time with her and

he remembered her from this night. Jack was finishing off the shot when he heard someone come up to

the stool next to him, 'Hey take it easy there buddy!' Guy said.

            They had taken a table near the back of the bar, Jack with his pint, Guy with his water. Sandra, 

the bartender had eyed him warily when he came up to the bar. It seemed almost as if she had wanted

to warn him Jack thought later. 'So my cousin Matteo right? He run's things for the family now, because

you know his father Sal, the old boss is on the run. Anyway, what I'm trying to tell you is he's doing 

alright for himself selling coke, running the bar the Wild Card, The House of Venus, his strip club. He's

making sky high stacks, so he's usually looking to buy most anything, weed, coke, and he'll pay you a

good price too.'

            'Who's to say I have anything right now?' Jack replied, suddenly very conscious of his backpack

which was he had at the foot of his chair. 'You wouldn't be here if you didn't.' Guy replied. 'So how does

this work then? I just walk in there with you and tell him the price I want for this stuff?' Jack asked, 

taking another sip of his pint. 

            'I mean I had a few people lined up to buy I was planning on selling it off like that, to make the

most profit.' He explained. The hard sell, Guy thought to himself, but he could already tell. 'He'll pay

whatever you want for it,' Guy said. 'You sell this one of him, might even have enough left over to get

another one.' Jack frowned, thinking. 

        'There just one more thing. I have to go up there alone, Matteo doesn't like meeting new people.'

Guy said. 'Just give me the bag tell me how much you want for it...'' 'Hold up!' Jack said. 'I just give

you the bag and wait for you? How do I know your going to come back?'

       Guy took out his wallet and removed his state ID card, sliding it over to Jack. 'Collateral.' He said.

'So you can go over there now?' Jack asked and picked up the backpack and handed it to Guy. 'Yup I

called him earlier, I have your number I'll call you when I'm on my way back.' Guy said as he got up.

'Ok, I'll see you when you get back.' Jack said.

'Good fucking movie!' Steve Berardi said as he took another swig of beer. He was sitting in the recliner

in the living room of Matteo Berardi's house, Matteo and his girlfriend Alice were on the couch. It

would have been, Matteo thought, if his Uncle Steve hadn't been talking through most of it. They were

watching 'Goodfella's' and Steve felt obligated to regale them with the stories of what he and Matteo's

father had done back in the day, how the compared to what happened onscreen. 

        Matteo had heard many of these same stories from his father, and Steve seemed to like to talk over

the movie at times. Matteo had told him to shut up several times, and it seemed to work for a little while

before he'd start up again.

        'I'm going to get another beer.' Steve said as he finished off his. 'Does anyone want one?' He asked

Matteo and Alice. 'No I'm good.' Matteo replied. 'We could go to my place.' Alice suggested. 'I'm pretty

sure my roommates at work.' Matteo hadn't been intimate with Alice for a couple days, he'd been 

working at his job at the Wild Card sports bar a lot and whenever they'd hang out at his place, Steve 

would be there.

            Matteo's uncle Steve had been in prison for 20 years most of Matteo's life. When he got out

in 2004, his father Sal had helped him get back on his feet, got him an apartment, a job. Matteo saw

him a few times at family gatherings, thought he seemed kind of obnoxious, but that was it. Then 8

months ago, when Sal went on the run he told Matteo and his mother Sharon, that Steve would need

to stay at their house for an undetermined amount of time. He paid Sharon a years worth of rent for

Steve and a decent sum for food and expenses.

        Sharon later explained to him that his father felt guilty about Steve going away for so long back

then, so he'd been helping him since he got out, got him an apartment, a good job in construction. 

Then, in short order, Steve got himself fired from the job for stealing building materials after hours,

and for the next few years Sal had been helping him out with rent. Then Steve had told Sal that he had

his own thing going now, didn't need the help, and a week before his Sal went on the lam he told him 

that he was about to be evicted for past due rent. He hadn't told his father he was behind because he 

didn't want to 'Bother him.'

        So here we are, Matteo thought. Steve had his own room upstairs but he had this presence, Matteo

and Alice felt. 'I don't know I have a decent buzz right now I don't know if I want to drive.' Matteo

explained. Alice lived across the river in Franklin, 'There's got to be a way to get him out of the house..'

Matteo began, just as Steve was coming back in with a fresh opened beer.. 'Get who out of the house?'

Steve asked, 'Me?' 'I got places to go I don't need to hang around here all the time.'

        'No, Steve its not that its just... Steve took a swig of his beer, put it down and put up his hands, 

'Hey you two need some privacy, I can take a walk.' Matteo could tell that made Alice uncomfortable,

'Why don't we just go to my place..' just as she was saying that Matteo heard his cell phone ring, he

looked at the ID, Cousin Guy. 'What's up man.' Matteo said and listened as Guy explained to him what

he'd just come across. 

        'Nah, man sorry I don't think I can come over now, but look I can send someone to check it out. 

Give you some cash if it looks right. Ok man, they'll be over in a little bit.'

        'Who the fuck was that?' Steve asked. 'Guy, he's got some bud he wants us to check out. Say's

its some high quality shit.' 'That kid is a druggie piece of shit just like his father.' Steve said. 'I don't

know why you even do business with him. His father was a rat for fucks sake!'

        Matteo pulled out his billfold and counted off 3 thousand dollars, handed them to Steve. 'Here

I think its a pound or something give him whatever you want for the pound, bring that back to me

keep the rest.' Steve took the money and counted it slowly. 

        That always did it, Matteo thought. 'You know where he lives? 'Over in the patch right?' 'Yeah,

on High St Apartment 4.' Matteo Said. 'Right I remember now, I'll settle up with you when I get back.'

Steve said. 'Take your time.' Matteo replied.

        Guy called Tracy as soon as he got back to the apartment with the backpack. Tracy had a special

relationship with Guy. She gave him sex as long as he had drugs. Any kind of drugs, even a bottle of 

booze, even though he hardly drank. Sometimes he'd get one just to get her to come over. Of course 

after he returned to his apartment with Jack's pound, Guy did some more dividing of his own, taking

out what he thought of as his 'Finders fee,' for procuring the stuff before selling it. 

    Guy always did this when he sold something to Matteo. He'd take out some for himself, different 

amount each time proportionate to the amount he was selling. He knew Matteo knew because he had 

told him once that he knew, but he let it slide. 

    Matteo pitied him, he knew. Because he hadn't had a father, and his father had been a snitch, and he

had pretty much been getting in and out of trouble since he was 14. He had told Tracy to wait a little

to come over while he settled things up here. Guy couldn't go over to Matteo's house after he'd broken

in one night and stole some of his mother's expensive jewelry. 

        He'd taken what he thought was roughly an ounce and a half from the pound and put it aside for

himself, he was rolling some of it now using his TV dinner tray and watching the news. Someone had

been shot the previous weekend, a block from his apartment. Matteo said he was sending someone 

over, which probably meant Steve.

            He had put his phone on the TV tray and he checked it now, nothing, just Jack calling him, 

texting, asking where he was. What if I see him again when I'm out? Guy thought to himself, as he 

finished rolling another joint. Nah, he won't do shit, he probably feels like a fucking idiot as it is. He 

liked ripping people off that way. He felt like one of those bank robbers who walks in and robs the

place just with a note, leave nice and quiet. 

        Mojo would blame Jack for losing the pound, not him, and even then as far as he know Mojo

wasn't connected to anyone.

        A fuckin' errand boy that's all I am to him, Steve thought as he walked up the stairs to Guy's

apartment. Steve didn't even understand why Matteo even fucked with Guy, fucking stole from his

own mother for christs sake. Matteo had given him a pretty good beating when he'd figured out it

was him, but come on, Steve thought.

        You steal from other people not your own family, Steve thought as he came up to Guy's apartment

and knocked on the door. 'Who is it?' Guy asked. 'The fuck do you think it is? Open the door you stupid

prick.' Steve responded.

        It had been a 20 minute walk over here, with the wind seeming to blow through him the whole 

way. 

            Guy opened the door and Steve entered, 'Smells good,' Steve said as he came in and sat down

on the couch. 'Yeah it's not bad, nice and green.' Guy said handing Steve a joint, 'You want to light that 

one up?' Steve took the joint and sniffed it. 

        'So how's Matteo?' Guy asked Steve as he lit the joint. Steve took a puff and passed it to Guy, 

'Pretty good, he had his girl over tonight. So he sends me out for things like this.' Steve explained, not

bad grass, he thought. 

        Guy took a hit of the joint, 'Well I got a girl coming over myself in a little bit, so let's get this all

settled up.' He picked up the backpack that was laying next to his chair and handed it to Steve. Steve 

took the backpack and opened it up, the pungent odor of the marijuana greeting him. 

        Steve took a bud out and examined it, green, clear nice crystals. Steve didn't really know much 

about bud at all but he could tell this was top shelf. Guy passed the joint back to Steve who took his

hit. 'Well for one thing I know this isn't a full pound, and I had to walk through the bitter fucking cold

to get here, how's 1800 sound?'

              'Sounds like a deal.' Guy said, and Steve pulled out the wad Matteo had given him, counted out

the money, got up and handed it to Guy. He put the joint down on Guy's tray. 'Ok.' Steve said. 'I'll see

myself out, pleasure doing business with you.'

        Why did I say that, Steve thought as he walked out into the hallway. I always feel dirty dealing

with that kid, still not a bad deal for me, Steve thought as he walked down the hallway to the stairs, he

took out his money and counted what was left, 1200.

       Hmmm... Steve thought, looking at his watch, a little past midnight. This grass is making me horny,

he thought, maybe I'll head down to the House of Venus, he knew they were opened until at least 2.

'So I waited there at Chapman's until closing time, trying to call and text Guy, 3 hours, drinking getting

more and more worried until finally I had to leave because the place was closing.' Jack explained, they

had finished off the joint in course of their conversation and Eugene was feeling the effects.

'So it wasn't really Matteo that robbed you then?' He asked Jack. 'No, why?' Jack replied. 'Well, thing is

nobody really likes Guy, from what I understand, even his own family. They tolerate him because he's

blood, but he's definitely not a made guy with them, or even an associate.'

Jack contemplated this, 'So you're saying I should retaliate? He asked. 'I'm just telling you if you really

want to be in the game in this town, this kind of shit..' Eugene shook his head. 'These motherfuckers out

here think they can just do you like that it, becomes open season on your ass. Don't feel bad I had it 

happen to me back in the day, when I was just starting out slinging for Judge.'

Eugene got up, walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, getting himself a glass before walking back

into the living room, 'I was over in Franklin, I'd only moved to Warner a couple months before and I get

called, this cat wants to buy some weight. Couple ounces of coke, he's got the cash, I didn't really know

this nigga very well personally but he knew a few cats that I fucked with.'

'Now I didn't even have a fucking gun at this point, I'm not even thinking about that and I go to this 

motherfuckers apartment, he whips out this giant fucking knife, he takes everything. The coke, my 

fucking wallet, my goddamn watch, this nigga cleans me out.'

Eugene took a sip of water, 'Damn.' Jack said. 'What did you do?' 'Well I told Marcus, he was the guy

running the show, he told he what i had to do I went over there with him, Judge and some guns we

busted down that motherfuckers door and I shot him in the face.'

Eugene expression was hollow as he recounted the last part, 'Nobody robbed me after that.' Jack was

quiet for a moment. 'Man I don't want to have to kill anyone.' He said. 'That's not what I'm saying,'

Eugene replied. 'Just retaliation, give him a taste of his own medicine.'