

School of Hard Knocks The Re-Education of Jim Reid

Smashwords Edition

A novel by Lawrence Cherry

Copyright © 2013 Lawrence Cherry

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One

Today was the day that Jim would begin to rebuild his life. As he sat in the Medical Review Officer's place awaiting the results of his drug test, he kept going over the plan in his head. "Once I get the green light on this test I can get my job back, pay off my bills, and this time I'm going to keep my shirt tucked in. I'm only gonna party once or twice a month, and even then on the weekends – that's it." Jim's right knee began to bounce up and down as he waited for the officer to find his file.

The medical review officer assigned to his case was named Dr. Brewer. He was a tall heavy-set old man with what little gray hair he had left on the sides of his head. He wore thick black-framed glasses, which weren't helping much as he was squinting at his computer screen and typing slowly as if he could barely see what was in front of him.

"This old man needs to hurry up," thought Jim. Jim didn't have any more patience for the 'waiting games' that had taken over his life. Ever since he was arrested for drug possession it was as if he had been in a state of suspended animation. He couldn't do anything except wait. First, Jim had to wait for his case to be put on the court calendar, then, wait through the numerous pre-motion hearings and adjournments. He had to wait all through the court appointed six-month drug rehab program and wait for the arbitration hearing from the MTA. Jim had to wait to be tested and there was more waiting for the results. While he waited, his bank account balance got lower and lower which caused his frustration and anxiety to grow commensurately higher. Jim was tired of waiting. He just wanted his life back.

As the doctor typed on his keyboard, Jim just kept going over his plan in his head: get the green light, get his job back, pay off his bills, keep his shirt tucked in. He'd done a lot of stupid things before like buying too much stash at once, and buying from obvious fronts. That's how he got arrested in the first place. Since then he'd learned a lot, especially when he went to rehab and found his new best friend, Smoke.

"Here we are" said Brewer interrupting Jim's train of thought. He'd finally pulled up Jim's file.

"Finally," said Jim to himself. He took a deep breath. This was it.

"I'm just going to get right to the point. The sample you gave us tested positive for cocaine metabolites," said Dr. Brewer as he swiveled the screen of the computer around so that Jim could have a look. "I'll print out a copy for you to take with you if you need it."

Jim's cocoa complexion went ashen. His well-made plan and the world he had been building for himself crumbled. Dumbfounded, he put his hand to his mouth, stroking his facial hair as he studied the screen. All the words, numbers, and graphs seemed to swirl together all over the page and none of it seemed to make any sense.

"This can't be right. I hadn't done any coke for at least two weeks before I took this test" Jim contemplated to himself "I was taking all that herbal stuff to detoxify and everything. Even that drug store test Smoke gave me came out negative," he reflected silently. Jim had to express his concerns to Dr. Brewer.

"I'm not understanding this" began Jim trying to keep the agitation and frustration out of his rising voice. "I've spent six months in rehab, and when I got out they basically said I was clean. How can this test say that I'm testing positive for cocaine?"

"Mr. Reid..." the doctor paused for a moment as if he were searching for a tactful way to explain things to Jim. "All I do is report the results of the test." The man sat with his hands folded his face neutral. There was another silent pause between them before the doctor broke it with his own question.

"Are you taking any medication for a medical condition that could produce a false positive?"

"Not really." Jim began to search his brain for excuses and lies. Then it came to him. "But in the rehab they was giving me that methadone stuff. Do you think that's why this test came out positive?"

"Methadone is in a different class of opiates. It doesn't usually show up on the tests that we administer here. According to the report, there were traces of benzaylecgonine found in your sample. Benzaylecgonine is a byproduct of cocaine, not methadone."

"D**n it!" thought Jim. He slumped back in the metal chair, rubbing his hands over his face and let out a deep sigh. He had it all planned out: Do rehab, pass the drug test, get his job back and keep his shirt tucked in, but life had thrown him another curve ball he hadn't been prepared for. Every time he thought he had everything under control, something would happen that would pull the rug out from under him.

"If you really are that concerned about the validity of the test, you could have your split-sample sent to another lab for testing. All you would have to do is provide written notification to our office within the next 72 hours"

"I'll think about it"

There was no way he was going to put himself through this again for the same result.

"And just so you know," continued Brewer, "the results are confidential. Other than your present employer, no one else will be allowed to see the results; that is, unless you give written consent."

Jim knew how that worked. If and when he decided to apply for another job, part of the application process would include forms that would ask him for his consent to see such records, and if he refused, he wouldn't get the job. If he gave consent he wouldn't get the job either. Jim had to think hard and fast. There had to be a way to keep this drug test from ruining his chances to keep his MTA job.

"I just don't get it. I mean I passed all the drug screenings they gave at the rehab. Doesn't that count for something?" he asked disingenuously. Jim knew he had Smoke on the inside providing special help with those tests.

"That may be, but as an agency of the Department of Transportation, the MTA has to conduct it's own testing, the results of which supersede those of any other agency. That's federal law."

"I guess I better look for another job now, huh?"

"Look, Mr. Reid, I just work for the medical review office that serves your employer. I don't know a lot about their disciplinary policies or procedures with regard to your suspension. All I am obligated to do is provide them with your test results and based on such, it is unfortunate that I will have no choice but to recommend that you not be allowed to resume your position as a motorman. What your employers do with that information is up to their discretion. They could decide to terminate you or they could place you on a modified assignment while you get counseling and support from their Employee Assistance Program."

At his last meeting with the union rep, after the arbitration, Jim was told in no uncertain terms that the court ordered rehab would be his second and only chance, provided he passed this current drug test. Unfortunately things stood as they were. His job security with the MTA had completely vanished. He was back to where he had been shortly after his arrest. Maybe he was in an even worse position.

One by one, questions began to trickle into his conscience: How would he continue to pay the maintenance on the co-op? Where would he get another job? Who would hire him now that he had a record? More questions came and Jim didn't have answers. The only thing he was certain of was he had to get out of this office before his head exploded.

"Since there's nothing left to discuss, I guess I'll be on my way" said Jim rising to leave. "Thank you for your time."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help", said Brewer handing him an envelope with the printout inside.

"Yeah, right" thought Jim. This dude was probably glad to get another brother out of a good paying job.

"Remember you have 72 hours to contact me should you want another test. My card is in the envelope"

"Thanks. Like I said, I'll think about it" said Jim. He took the envelope and stuffed it carelessly into his pocket before heading out of the office.

****

By the time Jim reached the street it was raining. Since he didn't have an umbrella, Jim pulled his ball cap out of the inside pocket of his barn jacket and put it on. Then he turned up the lapels of his coat to help stave off the April rains. Now if he could do something to shut off the incessant flow of questions that were pouring into his mind: What happens if you don't get a job? Are you going to have to sell your shares in the co-op? If so, where are you going to live then?

Jim picked up his pace as he headed toward the subway, deftly maneuvering through the crowds on the sidewalk. The thoughts and questions were becoming jumbled into a loud buzz in his brain that was giving him a headache. There was a newsstand near the entrance of the subway station. Upon noticing it, Jim decided to get a newspaper to read during his ride. It would help to keep his mind focused until he could get home and get to his stash. Jim felt like he needed some weed to help him get his head together. Then maybe he would talk to Smoke later. He might know something or someone that could help him out.

As he was walking down to the platform, he heard a voice call from amongst the din inside his head.

"More drugs? Isn't that what got you here in the first place? Why can't you stop? Is it because you're a drug addict?"

Jim almost stopped in his tracks. "Drug addict?" There was no way that he was a 'drug addict'. Drug addicts were the toothless guys wearing oversized thrift store clothes, begging for money outside the local McDonalds. Drug addicts were the dirty, smelly people who sat in a stupefied nod on park and subway benches in between fixes. Drug addicts were the shady characters in the supermarkets who asked if you were going to pay for your groceries with cash and if you said yes, then they'd offer to pay with their benefit card in exchange for your cash. They were homeless, they were lost, and they were beyond hope. Jim didn't think he resembled anything like that. No, he still had his co-op, lots of his own clothing in the closet, some money in the bank and a lot of potential for the future. There was no way he was an addict.

It wasn't long before the D train arrived. After waiting for the other passengers to exit, Jim boarded it, and quickly found the coveted seat at the end of the bench near the door. Once he was comfortable, Jim took out his paper. He didn't bother reading many of the articles. He glanced at pictures for a few pages until he got to the entertainment section where he noticed an article about a famous rapper who had been arrested for possession of marijuana. According to the story, the rapper was released shortly afterward, and it was speculated that he would only get probation if anything. Jim knew this particular rapper had been caught in such escapades before. None of this interfered with his ability to produce rhymes that often went double-platinum. He was just another recreational user. Just like Smoke and just like himself.

In rehab, Smoke had helped Jim to see that there was a big difference between a 'recreational user' and an 'addict': the difference being that the former was able to keep his/her shirt tucked in while the latter was totally strung out. The recreational user knew how to keep things together. They did drugs, but drugs didn't do them. It was just something one did every once in a while to wind down. Only squares didn't understand it. Jim liked the way Smoke broke it down: "Some people knit, some people do crossword puzzles, and some people do a little weed every now and then. Not a big deal." Addicts on the other hand, couldn't stop.

Jim could stop whenever he felt like it. When he was in rehab, he only smoked every other weekend, and snorted maybe like once in a couple of weeks. He could count on one hand how many times he had snorted. Then when he got out of rehab, he stayed clean two whole weeks before the big test. If he were a real junkie there would have been no way that he could've accomplished that. Thinking of this filled Jim with a smug self-satisfaction.

"Yeah, what about that test? Didn't you fail?" he heard a voice echo inside him.

It was yet another hard question that escaped from Jim's subconscious to confront him. Jim read the same three lines of an article trying to ignore it. He finally closed his paper and looked up. It was his stop. He'd been so caught up in his own head that he'd almost missed it. Jim bolted from his seat through the doors and then up the subway stairs with the rest of the crowd that was exiting the station.

"I don't care what that test says. I am a not a junkie." He knew Brewer probably thought he was a junkie. His old friends would think he was a junkie, but who cared about them anyway. They didn't matter. Not like he was hanging with them anymore. Smoke thought he was all right. Jim was all right.

"No, I am not a junkie" was Jim's mantra all the way home. He just kept repeating it to himself until he got to his stash and got lifted.

Two

Smoke had just got home from a long day at the Central Harlem Rehabilitation Facility when he heard someone tapping at the window of his first floor apartment in a project at the Polo Grounds. "Time for the night shift", he moaned to himself. He was glad it was Friday, so he wouldn't have to get up early the next morning. Smoke took his time taking off his rain jacket and hung it in the closet. He took a brief moment to admire himself in the mirror on the door. He liked to make sure his swag was tight all the time. Despite the long day of work, his red, plaid, flannel work shirt and low-rise baggy black jeans looked fresh, but his hair needed work. "I'm going to have to get my texturizer touched up and get a haircut," he thought as he studied the soft low-cut waves that surrounded his golden brown face. Then he went to the fridge to grab a beer before he came back to his living room window where someone continued to make frantic taps.

Smoke gingerly moved the curtain back an inch or so and peered through the narrow opening between the shade and the window, trying not to make his presence known. He relaxed when he saw it was one of his regular customers. He quickly doubled back to the closet and loosened one of the floorboards where he hid part of his supply and took out a tiny packet of heroin. Then he headed back over to the window and pulled up the shade about an inch or so. The person on the other side inserted a ten-dollar bill through the latticed gate on the window and once Smoke collected it, he sent the tiny bag of off-white powder in return. When the exchange was over, he pulled the shade down again.

It was early. Usually there would be a space of about half an hour or so before things got busy. Smoke was hoping he could get himself settled in and order something to eat in the meantime. He took out his smart phone and ordered some Chinese food from a local take out place before finishing his beer and turning on his 55-inch flat screen television to watch the latest episode of his favorite reality show. He was just beginning to relax on his black leather sectional when he remembered the cake he had to cut into dime bags. He got up to go to another secret location where yet another part of his supply was stashed, when there was another tap on the window.

Looking out in the same cautious way as he had done before, he recognized another customer, but before he could go back to get the goods, he heard the man say something.

"Yo, it's me. I just want to talk to you for a second."

Smoke paused for a second to think about whether or not he would go out. Ordinarily, he'd just ignore whoever it was, but this guy was a fairly new customer. Smoke always felt obliged to entertain new customers and try to establish a relationship with them to keep them coming back. He didn't want to risk alienating him now. "I'll just see what he wants", Smoke said to himself. He'd wait until he began to show signs of being strung out before he'd begin to treat him like dirt.

"I'll be out front", he barked through the window.

Smoke fetched his gun from its hiding place and put it inside his pants and covered it with his jacket. It was always better to be safe than sorry. Then he walked out of his apartment and headed to the front of the building.

Smoke had met this guy in the rehab where he picked up a good deal of his business. However, this dude was not like most of the other customers. The only time he ever saw his regulars was when they wanted their high. This guy was always trying to talk him up, hang out, ask for favors and what not- as if they were old friends. Smoke guessed it was because of how he had looked out for him in rehab. Smoke really wasn't trying to be friendly; he was just looking out for his business. He fixed drug tests and brought in drugs for all his potential clients. After feeling the guy out, he found they had some things in common like how they had both been to college and had been disillusioned by their experiences trying to find employment. Overall, he seemed 'aiight', but Smoke knew it was a bad idea to consider any of his clients as 'friends'. Relating to them was one thing, but being friends with them was another. He'd learned the hard way, many of them had ulterior motives that usually spelled trouble. As he neared the entrance of the complex and crossed over into the yard, Smoke wondered just what this dude's motive was.

When Smoke came outside, he saw the dude sitting along the wall of a flowerbed just near a row of benches. He looked high. At least if he was high, it meant he wasn't going to try to knock him over for some junk. Still, Smoke put himself on heightened alert.

"Whassup, Ni**a?" greeted Smoke giving him a half-handshake.

"Hey, man," replied Jim sounding a little foggy. "I know you're busy so I'ma make this quick." He looked around and noticed there were a few people loitering about. It made him a little self-conscious.

"Can we stand up the block a little?"

"I'm expecting a take out delivery. Don't worry, man" said Smoke sensing his client's uneasiness, "Ain't nobody round here gon' be in your business. They got enough of they own problems to worry about."

Jim looked around again and this time it made Smoke a little uneasy. Jim moved closer to Smoke, and hunched down so that he was even with Smoke's shorter frame. Immediately, Smoke recognized the smell of weed that had permeated Jim's clothes. Yep, he was high all right. Smoke watched Jim carefully.

"I got the test results back", he finally blurted out.

Smoke had to think for a minute before he could understand what Jim was talking about. "So this was what he was getting at," thought Smoke. Still, Smoke was trying to figure out why the dude was coming to him with this.

"Oh, yeah. I remember that now. How'd that work out?" he asked out of courtesy. Smoke already had an idea of what happened.

"Everything fell through. Now I gotta try to get another gig."

"Oh, ****! I thought that home test came out negative. What happened?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if they put some ol' nonsense in my sample just to mess me up."

"Word. You know how they do a brother. So what you gonna do now?"

"I was hoping you might be able to help a brother out. Help me get some work."

Smoke didn't like where this conversation was going. He was definitely not going to put this brother on the street. Especially given how green he was and not to mention the fact that he was a user. If it was just weed, Smoke could understand. Even he did weed sometimes, but this dude was into coke. That stuff could mess you up because when you got hooked, it wouldn't be long before you found out just how expensive that particular habit could be. Next thing you know you were switching to meth or heroin which were cheaper drugs, but much more addictive. Soon after that, you'd be strung out. As such, Smoke didn't think it would be a good idea to trust someone on that stuff with his supply.

"Like where?"

"C'mon, man. Maybe you can see if they need some help at the rehab place. It doesn't have to be anything fancy. I'm willing to clean bathrooms if I have to."

"Oh, aiight" breathed Smoke in relief. "I'll ask around for you and let you know."

"Thanks, man" said Jim brightening a bit. "I really appreciate it. Actually, I want to let you know that I appreciate you for everything you been doing for me. You really had my back when I needed it and..."

"No problem, man" said Smoke cutting him off. He thought he noticed someone who looked like a deliveryman walking up to the block. "If you'll excuse me, I think this is my order"

Smoke left Jim to settle his bill with the deliveryman and collect his order. He was just in time and it gave Smoke the perfect excuse to get away from this dude before he started asking for any more favors.

"Yo," said Smoke pointing to his order "I gotta be out"

"No problem. Thanks again, man. Really. One day I'm gonna pay you back. For real."

"If I had a dime for every time I heard that one from a customer," Smoke joked to himself as he turned to leave.

"Oh, and next time I see you at the club, drinks are on me!" Jim hollered after him.

"Yeah, right" thought Smoke. He didn't even bother to turn around.

So all he was looking for was a job hook up. Smoke didn't mind helping him on that level. After all, if he were able to help this guy find something then he would actually be helping himself. Smoke knew that most of the money the guy made would eventually wind up in his own pocket anyway. Even if he weren't able to help this dude get a job, he still wouldn't sweat it. Smoke had been in business long enough to know that most customers always seemed to find ways to get money for their habits. He just had to make sure this simp understood that payment was always to be made and not to look for favors when it came to his products. The last thing he needed was another worthless punk like Way-lo always beggin' for stuff and then trying to avoid payment. Way-lo had run up a tab of $200.00 two weeks ago, and had been giving him the 'I'm workin' on it' run around for a good five days before he went into hiding. This wasn't the first time Way-lo had pullled this nonsense, and Smoke had resolved that this time would be the last.

"Yeah. I'm gonna have to let that n***a from the rehab know what the deal is", reflected Smoke as he walked back to the building with his food.

Three

Jim was standing on the beach of a beautiful island. The white sand was soft under his feet. As he looked around he noticed the shady palm trees that dotted the landscape. The crystal blue ocean water crashed softly against the edge of the shore, sometimes catching the bottom of Jim's linen trousers. A breeze tempered the heat from the sun and caressed Jim in its warmth. As beautiful and as serene his surroundings were, Jim was filled with a gnawing apprehension. He was lost. He wanted to find his home.

In the distance, he caught sight of a beautiful mansion. "This must be home", he thought. He quickly began to make his way toward the house. As he got closer, he became captivated by its magnificence. "I just have to get there. If I get there everything will be all right." Jim started to run. No matter how far he ran, the house seemed as if it was getting farther and farther away. Still he kept running. Meanwhile, Jim didn't notice the sandy path to the house was becoming deeper and less stable.

Before long, he felt as if the ground were tugging at his feet. When he looked down, he realized that he was beginning to sink. Jim looked around in a desperate search for something to grab onto, but there wasn't anything close enough. Tree limbs stood afar off waving and mocking in the distance. It wasn't long before Jim was waist deep in the sand. He clawed at the sand hoping he could swim through it, but it was no use. Soon the heavy sand covered his arms and his chest taking him under. There was no way he could free himself and there was no one to help. He was going to die.

Jim screamed in terror, but there was no sound. Then as his neck went under and the sand began to pour into his nose and mouth, choking him, he heard his mother's voice.

"If He has to reach way down, He can still pick you up. Just reach up."

Jim couldn't move his arms at all.

"Just reach up"

He tried but it was no use. Soon it was completely dark and he couldn't breathe....

Jim awoke from his sleep gasping for air. He sat up on the side of the bed shaking in terror, soaked with sweat. He couldn't get his mother's voice or her words out of his head.

"If He has to reach way down, He can still pick you up."

That's what his mother used to say to the young pregnant teenage girls who would show up on the doorstep after their mothers had put them out. She used to say it to the people at the homeless shelter where she served Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners. She reminded Jim whenever he was having problems and she said it to anyone who was down on his or her luck. Momma always believed no matter how far away you strayed you could never go too far from the Savior's reach. He was the answer to every problem life had to offer.

Then Jim remembered Momma's lowest point. He wasn't trying to remember it, but the memory just flashed before his mind's eye. Momma was in the hospital. Most of her hair was gone except for a few tufts scattered in odd places on her scalp. She was hooked up to an oxygen tank because she was having trouble breathing on her own. Pain was etched in the creases on her face.

"I'm...alright. I'm...in His...hands," she whispered to Jim as the life support machines beeped in the background.

She didn't even have the strength to speak a full sentence. It was the worst Jim had seen her. Jim had waited for her to be picked up, a touch, even. However, the miracle Jim was expecting never came.

Jim shook his head trying to make the memory go away. That was then, when he lived in the world of make believe and disappointed hopes. For Jim, there was no Savior, at least not in the world that he lived in. If there were, his mother would be alive right now. Jim felt he had to learn how to handle things on his own. Eventually, he'd be all right.

Jim would be all right so long as he was able to keep his mind from straying back to the past like it had just done. The memories were random: some good, some bad. Episodes from his mother's funeral, nights out with his old crew, the warmth and affection from his foster family - the Sharpes, and moments from church would flash suddenly. The faces and scenes would swirl around him like phantoms, sometimes bringing tears to his eyes. They were reminders of a life he couldn't get back even if he wanted it. Most of the time he told himself that he didn't, but he wasn't always sure, especially given what was going on in his life now.

Jim had been looking for work for the past two months and hadn't even come close to finding a job. The recession was still in full effect and job opportunities were limited. Smoke had come through and had gotten him an interview at the rehab center, but he didn't get the job. Jim managed to get a few other interviews, though. At times he would get high on weed the night before and end up oversleeping and missing the interview. At other times, he wound up having to defend himself when questions came up about his arrest. Then there were times when an interview seemed to go well, but no one ever contacted him again. None of the positions paid anywhere near as well as his transit position: the best one paid $8.75 an hour. Given his situation Jim couldn't afford to be choosy.

There was enough in the bank for only one more month's expenses before Jim was totally broke. He had depleted most of his savings and maxed out his credit cards paying for the legal bills and court fees that stemmed from his arrest and subsequent court case. He managed to stay on top of his household bills by 'paying a little something' on each one - twenty dollars on the light bill just to keep the lights on, ten dollars on the cell phone bill, twenty-five for the cable buy, fifty for the student loan people. Jim always paid his monthly maintenance on the co-op in full, though. There was no way he was going to allow himself to get put out of his apartment. The fridge stayed empty, but that wasn't a problem since most days, he didn't have much of an appetite anyway.

Jim needed a means to make some money - fast. In the past, he could simply hit up one of his friends, but now he only had Smoke, who he didn't want to impose upon any more than he'd already done. Jim was starting to sense that Smoke was becoming annoyed with his neediness. He had to start pulling his weight before Smoke cut him loose. Sometimes it seemed as if Smoke was already starting to avoid him.

Jim tried to look at his circumstances in a positive light. In another three months, if he stayed out of trouble, his record would be expunged and it would be as if the arrest didn't happen. Unfortunately, Jim couldn't afford to wait another three months to look for a job. He needed something now. He had already begun to sell some of his stuff. First to go was his jewelry: the class rings from high school and college. The chains and watches he splurged on in moments of vanity. He was tempted to take his parents' wedding rings, but these were still sacred to him. Next to go were all the collectibles he had accumulated, then the home appliances and gadgets like his TV and his blu-ray player. The money from these had only netted him a few hundred dollars in total. Then the questions started coming again: What else are you going to sell? Your shares in the co-op? Your clothes? And how long will this type of thing last? What happens when you have nothing left to sell? Then what?

Life was like a huge ocean and Jim was trying to get through on a raft with one oar. He felt helpless against the waves and currents that were coming against him. The reality of life was too much for him to handle without something to make it all seem manageable. His soul was in dire need of something to help him get through all the problems he was facing.

He didn't need weed right now. Weed only anesthetized him and made him lazy. Jim needed something that would energize him, get his mind going, and help him get a new perspective on things. He wanted something that would make him feel good. This time he decided to hit his coke stash. It wasn't the weekend, but he could make an exception just this once. This was an emergency.

Jim went to his hiding spot in the bathroom and pulled out his stash from a carved out section in the wall, behind the toilet paper dispenser. He took out the little plastic vial that held the drug and the special little straw that Smoke had given him. Then he went back into his bedroom, sat down at his desk, and pulled a razor blade and the remains of a compact mirror from one of the cubby drawers. Jim commenced to prepare his fix. There was just enough for four lines. This would have to get him through until he saw Smoke again. Jim took a hit. Instantly his spirits were lifted, the rush going straight to his head. Now he could think clearly.

When he was done, Jim looked over at the clock. It was now almost 1:00pm. He had an interview for a stock clerk position at the Toy's R Us in Times Square for 3:30pm and he didn't want to be late. He gathered his toiletries and a towel and made his way to the shower.

"The Toys R Us gig should be an easy deal" Jim mused as he turned on the water. "It's not rocket science. The pay is crap, but at least it'll help me keep the creditors off my back.

Jim got into the shower and let the water and the coke wash away his worries and fears.

"Life isn't so bad. I've still got a place to stay, and a few dollars in the bank. If worse comes to worst, Smoke's a good friend that I can count on. He's already done a lot for me. More than anyone I've ever known. Current unemployment is just a temporary set back. I got a job before, I can get one again."

Now Jim was in control again. He felt good. He had hope. He'd take it for as long as it lasted.

Four

Way-lo was standing in the vestibule of the shelter on 2nd Avenue waiting for Mickey. It wasn't the shelter where he lived, but a drop spot on the other side of Harlem that was out of Smoke's jurisdiction. Way-lo had heard about Mickey from his friend Passion, who was one of the few associates who would still party with him on occasion. He was taking a big risk for this score, but he had to. Smoke would kill him if he knew what he was doing, but then the monster inside him would kill him if he didn't. Way-lo feared the monster a whole lot more than Smoke. Already his head was throbbing and his stomach was starting to cramp up, making it hard to stand upright. Everyonce in a while someone would enter through the door letting the chilly April winds in, causing Way-lo to shiver even more than he already was. He was wearing a gray, goose-down coat with a faux fur trimmed hood and a broken zipper that he had gotten from a coat drive at a local charity office. He pulled the coat close to him over a dingy army jacket and black sweat pants that had large holes in them. Each time he jumped, hoping it was Mickey bringing him his fix and was disappointed when it was not.

Way-lo would have taken his money to Smoke, but he didn't like the way Smoke settled tabs. He'd take most of your money for what you owed and only give you a little bit for your high, which while it was good stuff, wasn't enough to get you through the hour let alone the day. To make matters worse, Smoke wouldn't take trades, no matter what. Two weeks ago Way-lo had brought Smoke a brand new version of a popular smartphone he had stolen when he grabbed some woman's purse at a bus stop. The woman had been so busy trying to fold a stroller and manage her kid, that she didn't even see Way-lo coming. Way-lo was amazed at his luck in getting hold of such a find. He was sure that it would make Smoke forget about that "no-trades" policy. However, when he brought the phone to Smoke, the latter just threw it at him.

Fortunatley for Way-lo the phone hadn't been damaged and he was able to sell it to the proprietor of a bodega for $75.00. Once he had the money in his hands, the propspect of handing over $75.00 for a dime bag of heroin was more than unsettling. There was no way that would even begin to settle the monster inside him. So he put aside $10.00 for Smoke and decided to try to get a real high in the meantime. Way-lo hadn't intened to abandon Smoke. He would work on getting Smoke's money back a little at the time and when he had enough money in his payback fund (which was currently $0 – he had to use even the $10.00 he'd saved for an emergency fix at one point, and couldn't seem to get any money saved ever since) he'd go back to Smoke. Way-lo felt he had no other choice. The monster inside of him had to be satiated no matter what the costs. In the meantime he had to stay out of sight until he got enough money together. Who knows? Maybe Smoke might even forget about him.

So Way-lo waited. He felt more miserable with each passing moment.

"When's this guy going to get here?"

Way-lo leaned against the radiator and rested his head against the wall next to it and closed his eyes. "The better question was, 'How did I get here?'" he thought. As he stewed in the misery of his present moment, Way-lo wondered what had happened to his life. It seemed like not long ago, he had everything going for him. Way-lo had just turned 18 and had finally been set free from the hardscrabble life of foster homes. He was trying to get his GED and was enrolled in night school while holding down a job at a local university cafeteria as a kitchen assistant. He had his own crib, a girlfriend and things were going well for him. To say that he was popular on campus would be an understatement. Everybody knew Way-lo, mostly because he had a side job as a D.J. at the Rocafella Club on the weekends. Many of the kids from the campus (mostly freshmen) would come down to the club to hear Way-lo' mix it up. They even paid him to D.J. at some of the school functions on campus. That was how he met his first serious girlfriend, Jayla. Yet, despite being held in such high regard in the social circles he moved in, many times he felt out of place.

Deep inside he felt there was something deeply wrong with him that separated him from everyone else. Way-lo was afraid of it coming to the surface: of people being able to detect, if not outright see the ugliness he was hiding away inside him. It put a stain on everything he had been able to achieve in spite of his past and dogged him no matter what the circumstance. The more people complimented him or his work, the more anxious he became. It morphed into panic attacks that threatened to interfere with his work and his social life. It was becoming harder and harder for him to maintain his cool dude swag when he was constantly chased by feelings of fear, anxiety, and depression manifesting themselves as asthma attacks, insomnia, heart palpitations and the like.

Way-lo had been relying on a combination of malt-liquor and weed to help him with his problems. Way-lo didn't think anything of it. Everyone did weed. He even knew professors on the campus that smoked weed. Weed mellowed him out for a while, but then it started to make him paranoid. Way-lo needed something stronger. That's when his girlfriend Jayla introduced him to oxycondone pills. She showed him how to crush them up and they would snort them together. Way-lo remembered his first hit. It made him feel warm all over like he was in a big blanket. All of his anxiety was gone. For the first time in his life, since he was a little kid, he felt good. It was a feeling that nothing could intrude upon. The house could be burning down and people could be getting killed in his presence and it still wouldn't disturb him. It was the best thing he had ever experienced. It was a little bit of peace in the midst of his chaotic life.

When it was new, he only snorted on Sunday afternoons when he was with his girlfriend or when he was kicking back to chill. The oxycondone slowed him down too much to do during the week. Back then he'd have half an 80 to wind down from the pressures of a hectic week. There were lots of people that were doing what he and Jayla were doing and were living productive lives. Jayla was a student at the university who was an engineering major and a straight 'A' student to boot. Way-lo was struggling in night school, but he was holding down his job and his D.J work. They weren't straight-laced people, but who was straight-laced in this day and age. Everyone had some kind of an edge and pills were his thing. It was a new kind of normal in Way-lo's eyes.

Things were good for some time, until the crackdowns by pharmacies, drug companies, and police made the OC pills scarce. One day, Jayla's connection just couldn't score any pills, but he told them about something he did have that was just as good and was cheaper, to boot: smack a.k.a. heroin. It came in a little bag and was off-white in color. At first, Way-lo was a little wary. He was used to the OC pills and doubted that this substitute would work as well. Secondly, he had heard bad things about heroin. It was hard to quit and it was known as a drug for prostitutes and hard-core addicts. When he tried it, he ended up throwing up all over his living room, but once that bit of unpleasantness passed, he felt overcome by a soothing calm. It was nirvana, even better than the OC pills. Soon heroin became his drug of choice.

Way-lo would also learn it was a drug of choice for a lot of other people as well. When he went to the club there was always a room where there were drugs to cop if you needed it. At most of the parties he attended, drugs were always available: cocaine, heroin, meth, uppers, or anything else one could want. A lot of well-respected people, including deans and professors in the university circles were using. When he was younger, there were teachers and counselors that gave solemn warnings about drugs. Their warnings didn't seem to jibe with what he was experiencing at that moment in time. Back then there were no derelicts in the circles he moved in. There were no homeless people, no robbers, just people who liked to use. Heroin gave him a sense of normalcy and belonging he had really never known before. There was no reason to think that things would ever change from the way they used to be. There was no reason to think he would end up a homeless, penniless, derelict. Way-lo saw his future as bright and as rosy as anyone else's. But somehow he ended up exactly how he thought he never would.

There was no denying his situation anymore. There was no way he could say that he was "alright". Here he was with nothing but $60.00 of ill-gotten gain to his name, ready to blow it all, while risking his life for a measly two-hour fix. Way-lo didn't like the way he was living, but he had no idea how to change things. He felt like he was trapped inside a spinning hamster wheel and he couldn't get off.

Someone was coming down the back stairs toward the entrance. Way-lo moved closer to the radiator and away from the hallway door to allow the person to pass out.

"You waiting for somebody, ni**a?"

Way-lo recognized the voice. It wasn't Mickey, but rather the last person he wanted to see. He pulled his hood over more to cover his face. Then he acted as if he hadn't heard the man hoping he would think he had the wrong person.

"Don't play that **** with me Way-lo. I'd know your funk anywhere. What the hell you think you doin' here? Hiding? Ain't nobody seen you 'round the way all week"

It was C-Note, and he looked like he was ready for business. The hallway was a little dark, but Way-lo could make out C-Note's trademark black hoodie, expensive jeans and sneakers. Way-lo had to think fast.

"Hey, Note. I ain't know that was you. How you doin', man?"

"Don't try to play it off. I asked you a question"

"You know how it is, man. I been tryin' to hustle up the money for Smoke. Sometimes in the process a brother might catch a warrant, you know? I been on the lookout for the cops for a while, that's all. That's why I didn't say nothin' when you 'proached me at first. I thought you was the cops tryin to lock me up for pickin' or somethn'. I'm not hiding from Smoke. I'm just tryin' to lay low"

"Funny how you want to 'lay low' in one of Mickey's places rather than the rat hole you come from. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you was fixin' to give Smoke's money to some other ni**a so you could get lifted. That any way to treat a brother that's been lookin' out for you?"

"Nah, man. I wouldn't do that. I don't even have no money"

"So what you doin' here, ni**a?"

"I done tol' you. I'm just tryin' to keep warm and keep still. I got peeps in here who know me"

"C'mon Way-lo. A liar like you should be able to do better than that. Now, where's Smoke's money?"

"Man, I ain't got no money!"

"Oh, alright. My mistake"

C-Note began to act as if he was going to walk away, but then suddenly turned back and threw a puch that connected with Way-lo's jaw. The impact sent him reeling into the wall and crashing onto the floor.

"Please, man! I'm not feelin' good. Please!"

"Shut up! One more sound and I'll rip your head off"

C-Note grabbed Way-lo by the back of the coat and dragged him to a narrow passage way behind the staircase. Once there, C-Note stripped Way-lo of the down coat and proceeded to stomp on Way-lo, sending blows into the latter's ribcage, back, stomach, head and face. Way-lo was too weak and too sick to try to fight back, so he tried to brace himself for his beating. Each blow sent waves of pain through his body. When C-Note was through kicking him, he grabbed one of Way-lo's arms and twisted it around his back. It felt as if C-Note was about to rip it out of its socket. Way-lo couldn't hold back.

"Nooo! Stop! Please!" Way-lo gurgled as blood and saliva spilled from his mouth where the few teeth he had left were broken off.

"I said shut up! You ain't never gonna two time Smoke like this again", growled C-Note.

C-Note let go of his arm and picked him up and began to choke Way-lo, holding him up by his neck. With his free hand he reached for his gun and put it to Way-lo's head.

"Are you gonna give me the money, or am I gonna have turn you inside out to find it?"

"I...can't... I...can't"

Way-lo was in so much pain he couldn't reach for his pocket even if he wanted to.

"So you gon' choose the hard way, hunh?"

C-Note dropped him with a thud. Then he stood on Way-lo's twisted arm and began to search Way-lo's pockets. It wasn't long before he found the $60.00. When Way-lo saw C-Note counting it in his hands, he wished that C-Note would just put him out of his misery and just kill him. Nothing could be worse than what he was feeling right now.

"Please, man! I'm dyin'! Please!"

C-Note took a nickel bag out of his pocket and threw it at Way-lo.

"You still owe Smoke $145.00, and since you want to be a smart***, I'll just add interest on it. And let me give you a warning - your only warning. If I find you tryin' to do anymore buys when you owe Smoke, you won't ever have to worry about getting high again"

C-Note didn't know just how much Way-lo wanted that. Way-lo wished with all his being that he would never have to worry about getting high again.

Five

Smoke was sitting in his apartment going back and forth between cutting product and serving customers that tapped at the window. Business was not as brisk tonight as it had been weeks earlier and this worried him. It was taking longer to move his product, which in turn was affecting his ability to get more product to sell. What made things worse were the freeloaders like Way-lo who didn't like to pay. If things kept going the way they were, there was no way Smoke was going to ever go beyond his little street dealing operation. Smoke wanted to be big, like the operation he had heard about in the Bronx. Those ni**as had mad soldiers on payroll. They were even able to buy police protection and a few low-level politicians in the city government. These guys weren't just about conspicuous consumption, but power. They didn't get caught, because if they did, a lot of other big cats would go down with them. That's how Smoke wanted to roll.

His plan was to keep things on the down low and rise gradually by smart moves coupled with deadly force used with precision. Smoke used his job as a front. People who weren't addicts had no idea what he was doing. To them he was just Devin Castway, a counseling assistant at a rehab facility who did charity work here and there on the weekends. Only the addicts and his boys that he had on the street knew him as Smoke. It was important to Smoke that he kept the heat away, or kept his activities away from the spotlight of the police and at times even other dealers. Most of his street boys were used for information, rather than intimidation. Smoke let rounds off his gun only when absolutely necessary. When he did use his gun, the only person shot was the one who the bullet was intended for and he made sure his targets met their end. Smoke never started beefs or did some of the other things street dealers did to gain a reputation, like drive by's and the like. Smoke felt rep meant nothing if you didn't have some kind of power behind it. Real power. Not just the ability to kill, but to make another person's life a living hell.

So Smoke had to figure out what was going wrong so he could take steps to deal with it. He had one of his top boys looking out for him and handling business with the fiends while he was at his regular job.

"I hope it ain't no high school punk trying to cut in on my business like last time," pondered Smoke petulantly. Before he could give the issue further thought, someone knocked a beat into the door. Two long raps, one short, a long and then two more short ones. It was C-Note.

"Wassup?" greeted C-Note, when Smoke opened the door. He was of average height and thin. He wore a ball cap, and an oversized, black, hooded sweatshirt over baggy pants that only came up to his thighs. His hair was braided in ornate cornrows, but the fuzz was coming through. His face looked worn and dirty, despite his immaculate designer clothing.

"Workin', ni**a. Tryin to unload this ****" said Smoke as he went back to cut some heroin with a sizeable amount of fiber laxative on a work table he had in his living room near the rear window. "You got news for me?"

"I found that ni**a Way-lo in the shelter on 2nd Avenue. Seemed like he was waitin' to buy from Mickey - you know, one of Trace's soldiers. He swore up and down that he wasn't but when I shook 'em down he had $60.00 on 'im. What else he had it for?"

"And he was gon' give my money to some other ni**a after I had let him slide like that! He betta be glad it was you and not me that caught him. I'd've made him beg for death"

"Don't worry, Smoke. I made sure to rip off parts and put 'em back on backwards. You can trust he's not gonna try that **** no more. He knows I'm watching him. But Way-lo is the least of our problems"

"Tell me somethin' I don't know. What you hearing?"

"Word is, some of these ni**a's can't wait for you to come home from work. When they start fiending, they start walkin'. You feel?"

"You sure somebody else ain't been walkin' over here to them. How would they know where to go?" asked Smoke, as he continued to work.

"You know these junkies, man. If there's somethin' out there they gon' find it. It's like they got radar or somethin'. Smoke, you gotta can that 9-5 nonsense and watch your back", suggested C-Note as he stood over Smoke to watch him.

"I thought that's what you was 'spost to be doin'?"

"All I can do is talk. If I ain't got the goods, ain't nobody gon' wanna lissen."

Smoke knew what C-Note was hinting at. He was beasting to be put on the street, but Smoke didn't know if he was ready for that. He was young, thirsty and a little too impulsive. Smoke needed dudes who would think before they act.

"Still, my 9 to 5 is my pipe-line. It's how I get business. I can't sit around here babysitting junkies all day."

"But you won't be able to keep your business unless you do. That's what the competition is doing. If you want big money, you got to do this full time: put both feet in the water."

"Nah. Cops be watchin' them full time ni**a's. That's how they get caught. They too obvious."

"That's the thing. You got to be obvious to get paid. Junkies ain't tryin' to feel no ni**a playing hard to get with they fix"

Smoke paused for a moment. Even though he hated to admit it, Smoke knew the kid had a point.

"I been tellin' you that you need to set somebody up on the outside to work for you. Then all you got to do is come back and collect your cheese" C-Note pleaded.

"Maybe you right. Then that dude could be a sucker who could take the fall if something goes down" laughed Smoke. "I think I know who could do it, too"

"Like who?" asked C-Note expectantly.

"Let me worry about that. Just be glad it ain't you."

"How you gon' say somethin' like that after all we been through?"

"I'm lookin' out for you, Note. You don't want to do nothin' like this. I'm tryin to help you keep your shirt clean for as long as I can."

"I'm not lookin' to keep my shirt clean. I ain't no punk. You wouldn't even have to worry about me flippin' you to the cops. I'm not afraid of doin' a bid, and I'm not afraid of dyin'" he said giving Smoke a cold look.

Smoke wanted to laugh, but he knew better. The ni**a thought he was tough because he did a stint or two in juvi. He knew C-Note's stance was more bravado than anything else. C-Note was in such a hurry to prove his manhood - too much of a hurry. A lot of kids C-Note's age thought the streets were like playing Black Ops or Grand Theft Auto. They liked the game because of the excitement, the money, the women, and the chance to hold a gun. Smoke knew this wasn't no game of Cops and Robbers. This was real. C-Note just wasn't ready.

"You got it wrong, Note. Only stupid ni**as get caught and think it means something when they do. You've seen 'The Godfather', right? You've heard about them 30's gangstas. They was smooth. They used their heads. That's what I want this operation to be about. Top brass always stays clean – like teflon. You gotta decide whether you want to be top brass or some flunkie that's easily replaced when you go to jail or get put down."

C-Note looked away in frustration and disappointment.

"Note, you need to trust me. I can't afford to lose you. I'm trying to build something and I want you to be a part of that. I'm not tryin' to risk my legacy"

C-Note brightened a bit and gave him his hand for the pound.

"Aiight. But at least tell me if it's somebody from round the way."

"Stop beastin' about this. I'ma fill you in soon enough. Right now, I'm gon break you off somethin' for the job you been doin''

Smoke reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. He peeled off two hundred dollar bills and gave them to C-Note.

"Thanks, man"

"No, thank you for looking out. Meet me at the club on Saturday and we'll talk."

"Got it."

"Oh, and before I forget, I need you to scout out some locations"

Smoke handed C-Note a piece of paper with some addresses written on it.

"Let me know what you see around that way"

"I will"

"Another thing: chill with all them labels. Last thing you want is to have the cops or anybody else for that matter wondering how you can afford that ****. Flashy dudes are the first to get profiled"

"C'mon, Smoke. I'm tryin' to maintain my image. And what's the point of makin' money if you can't spend it?"

"First of all, image isn't what you wearin', it's who you are. I don't own a damn label and I got ni**as too scared to even think my name. Second, best way to spend money is to buy something that's gon' make you money. Them clothes you got on ain't nothin' compared to them bags on the table" said Smoke pointing to the drugs he was cutting.

"I hear you. I just like to have somethin' nice every once in a while. You know before you got me set up, I didn't have jack. I was wearin' the same ol' stank sweatpants everyday and beggin for the stale white rice from the Chinese place"

"I'm not sayin' you can't treat yourself sometimes. Everybody need to enjoy what they workin' for. All I'm sayin' is don't put your wallet on blast, and unless you want to go back to wearin' funky sweat pants and eatin' stale white rice, you need to make your money work for you"

"I hear you now. See ya, Smoke"

"See ya"

After their business was finished, C-Note left and Smoke thought about the guy that he had in mind for the job. Smoke was not thrilled about having this guy as his go to, but he felt he had no other choice. Other guys he knew were too thirsty to get themselves established and couldn't be trusted. Smoke was still small potatoes at this point and trusting the wrong people could jeopardize everything. In any case, Smoke felt his candidate had potential. There was something about him that was different from a lot of the people he had met in this business. Smoke couldn't specifically name what it was, but there was definitely something. He had doubts because the guy was a user, and Smoke didn't like having to go back on his own code, but at least the dude wasn't strung out – yet. He was green to the game, but he had common sense so there was hope for him anyhow.

"I'll just watch him and see" considered Smoke. "Worst that could happen is he does something stupid and gets taken by the police. I have enough connections and what not so that even if he tries to flip me, he won't get far."

It was a big risk, but the path he had chosen was nothing but big risks. So far every risk he'd taken netted big. He didn't think this would be any different.

Six

At seven 'o clock in the morning, the McDonald's on Fifth Avenue was practically deserted. The only people there were the morning crew, which was busily preparing for the breakfast crowd, and Yahira the manager. She insisted on having Jim call her Yahira as they sat down at one of the tables to begin their interview.

"So Jim, tell me a little about yourself", said Yahira. She was a short heavy-set Latina woman with a bobbed hair cut. She was wearing the McDonald's manager uniform: short sleeved blue oxford work shirt, navy blue and yellow striped tie, and navy pants. Her smile was bright and she seemed to be giving Jim a positive vibe. All the interviews began with the "tell me about yourself" question. They basically wanted to know why he wanted this particular job that few others in the world wanted. Jim was desperate to make this work after he hadn't gotten Toys R Us gig.

"I worked for transit for several years, but being the social person that I am, I found it to be a bit isolating, so I decided to make a change" replied Jim, trying to cover the fact that he had gotten fired.

"What was your position there?"

"Facilities maintenance: cleaning the trains and the stations." Jim knew that if he told her his real job, she'd be suspicious as to why he would have left it for a job like this. Jim knew that if they checked his references, all the MTA would do is confirm that he worked for them and give them the dates, so he took liberties with the truth.

"It's understandable. I've worked in positions like that before myself. People do tend to act as if you're invisible."

The interview went on a pleasant course for a while with Yahira asking Jim about what he knew about customer service and posing various hypothetical situations that Jim had to problem solve. Everything seemed to be going well. Yahira seemed pleased with Jim's responses. Then her next question turned out to be the one that was always Jim's undoing.

"On your application, where it asks if you have ever been convicted of a crime, it seems you've left it blank. Was that merely an oversight?"

Jim's heart sank. He was hoping that they'd just overlook it. His previous arrest was becoming like a recurring venereal disease. It just kept coming back to bite him at the most importune moment. However, Jim was determined not to let his past get the better of him as he thought of an explanation. The last thing he wanted was to seem defensive.

"I left it blank on purpose because I wanted to explain my particular situation. I was arrested and convicted for possession of a controlled substance back in '09, but since then I've had treatment at rehab and I've been clean for the past seven or eight months. As long I don't violate my probation, the record will eventually be expunged."

"Oh, I see" she said, her smile fading, "and was this your only offense?"

"Yes. I had never been arrested prior to that. Since then I haven't had any other problems. I've definitely been trying to make more positive life choices."

Jim had owned up to the arrest and took responsibility for his actions. He tried to convey to Yahira that it wouldn't happen again, but it was too late. The mood of the interview had changed. Yahira's smile was replaced by a graver expression. Jim even noticed when Yahira filled in the response on his application that he had left blank and circled it.

"I'm glad to hear that. You're trying to turn things around. It's certainly commendable."

"Thank you" replied Jim, hoping she would think that his actions were commendable enough to be rewarded with an opportunity for work. Jim tried to keep a polite and positive demeanor, but he could tell from Yahira's tense body language that things were going downhill. She could barely make eye contact with him anymore.

"Well, thanks for stopping by, Jim" she said ending the interview. "We're still in the process of interviewing candidates, but we will contact you later in the week with a decision"

"Thank you, Yahira. I look forward to hearing from you"

Jim shook her hand and left. He knew what her response would be, if he even heard from her again.

****

"What's it gonna be tonight, boss?" asked Charley the bartender at the Blue Note, as Jim took a seat at the bar.

"Lemme get a shot of that 100 proof - straight"

"Is life that bad?"

"And it ain't gettin' no better"

"I hear you. It's coming up, man" replied Charley who went to fixing his drink.

Whenever Jim didn't have anything to do or any place to be, he came down to his usual spot: the Blue Note. It was a place where he was known and it was familiar.

"Hey, man! How you doin?" blared a short dark-skinned round dude wearing a basketball jersey over a long sleeved T-shirt and jeans coming in the door.

"Hey, Berry! How you livin?"

"Good, now that the Heat look like they gon' take it"

"Man, please. Not as long as Kobe's on the Lakers"

"I hear you. But I can hope, can't I? I'll see you, man"

"See, ya"

Next, a sweet–looking, café au lait complexioned woman stopped by where he sat.

"Evening, Jim. How you feelin'?"

"Not half as good as you look with your fine self."

"Flirt."

"C'mon, Sherry. When you gonna stop flirtin' and let a brother take you out?"

"When you start leavin' better tips", she sassed before walking away.

That's the way things went at the Blue Note: a brief greeting, an acknowledgement that he existed, and at times some shallow conversation. There was no real connection, no real bond, nor intimacy. Despite the fact that Jim was in a crowded bar with a lot of people that knew him, he felt isolated.

"Your drink, sir" said Charley placing it in front of him.

Jim was glad. As he gulped it down he allowed the alcohol to take over, hoping it would dull the ache of the loneliness in his heart. When he was done, he ordered another drink and the bartender served him promptly. This time he took the glass and stared at it for a while. It looked as though he were trying to divine something from the swirling liquid inside.

Since Jim was still relatively sober, all he could see was the truth. Things weren't working out so well. After stopping by the ATM on his way to the Blue Note, Jim found that he only had $150.00 left - not nearly enough for this month's maintenance on the co-op. He had no job, no real friends and nothing that seemed to be worth living for. This was not what he would consider 'keeping his shirt tucked in'. He didn't quite know how he got to this point and didn't know what he could do to change things. Jim needed help.

Jim considered going back to his old friends. He knew Allen would be ready to forgive him in a minute, and would give him all the money he had. But he knew that it wouldn't be long before everyone started pressuring him to go to church and give his life back to the Lord. Jim couldn't do that. The wound was still too raw to bear.

A memory came out of nowhere and flashed across his mental movie screen. It was summer. Jim had just finished his junior year at St. John's University. He and Momma were in the kitchen cleaning up after the dinner they'd hosted for the pastor and their friends. Jim was putting the dishes in the china cabinet and his mother had just finished wiping down the table.

"James" she began. His mother only called him by his full first name when she was serious. It made the hairs on his neck stand up.

"Yes, momma?"

"Come here and sit down with me for a minute" she said gesturing toward a chair next to the one she was taking a seat in. "There's something on my mind that I need to talk to you about" Her face, usually round, plump, and vibrant, seemed drawn in and sunken. She looked old and tired. Jim could tell it wasn't from cleaning up after dinner. Jim complied with his mother's wish, taking a seat in the chair all the while trying to anticipate what she had to tell him. Whatever it was, he knew it wasn't going to be good.

"While you were at school...I've been seeing a doctor because I had that pain in my side and everything...they saying its cancer"

"What?"

"Now don't act like you didn't hear me. I know you heard what I said."

"But...how?" replied Jim, "You can't have cancer! You don't smoke or nothin' like that..."

"Anybody can get cancer, baby. But I don't want you to worry none," she said taking his hands to console him. Her hands were warm and soft, but their touch didn't help to allay Jim's fears. "I'm just telling you so that you know."

"This can't be right. I think you should see another doctor. Get a second opinon – maybe even a third one"

"James, I done been throught all that already. Believe me..."

"Maybe they can operate and give you the chemo and you'll be alright."

"Ain't nothing the doctors can do. I done left this is in God's hands, and that's what I want you to do, too. You and me done been a through a lot together and we've always made it. We just got to have faith like we always have. Everything is gonna work out for the best. That much I know."

Jim couldn't believe it. How could this happen to his mother; one of the most devout Christians he had ever known. It just didn't seem fair. Hadn't she gone through enough in her life? Her husband, Jim's father, had been taken away when Jim was only 8 years old. Momma didn't make a lot of money as a social worker and they often had to scrape to get by. People on her job didn't appreciate her and oftentimes she had to suffer and was penalized for doing her job the way it was supposed to be done: risking her life to check on children she knew were living in the most perilous situations, helping women to get away from abusive boyfriends and husbands, rescuing children from abusive parents. All this, not including all the times his mother had been there for him and his dad and all the things she had sacrified for them. How could she be allowed to have cancer?

"This must be a test," reasoned Jim's 20-year-old self at the time. If he and his mother just had faith, prayed, and trusted in God, they would make it. They would come through on the other side. Jim had expected that his mother would be healed just like the woman with the issue of blood. So Jim fasted and prayed as if the end of the world were near. Sometimes he would pray until tears washed his face. Everyone in the church and in his extended family offered prayers for his mother. There was ceaseless prayer made every day until a year later when she died.

"This wasn't supposed to happen" Jim said to Pastor Bynum after the funeral when they were alone in the church. Jim didn't look over at the Pastor. He just kept staring at the altar.

"Son, I know you're hurting right now. We all are. And I know you're trying to make some sense of this, but you have to just trust..."

"What? That He knows what's best? That He's here to comfort me? That in the end everything is going to be all right?" Jim had heard the same speech from at least five different people, in five different ways, in the past 24 hours. They were meaningless platitudes in the face of his overwhelming grief and pain. They didn't make him feel better and he was getting sick of hearing it all.

"Jim, I can understand your feelings of frustration and anger, but..."

"Pastor," said Jim cutting him off. Jim just kept staring straight at the altar. His eyes fixed on the spot where both he and his mother had knelt countless times. "Momma always told me that she couldn't wait until I got married and she had grandchildren. That's all she ever really wanted out of life. Not a million dollars, not a fancy house, or to have a fancy job with a lot of power and prestige. She just wanted to see her grandchildren; to have more people in her life that she could care for and love."

"That's the type of woman she was alright."

"You telling me after everything she did and suffered on this earth for Him, she couldn't be allowed to have just that one little bit of happiness?" asked Jim as he struggled to choke back tears.

"Jim, I can't speak for God. I can't explain the 'why' of it all. All I can tell you is what I know: He loves us. He is with us and He can get us through this."

"I'm not sure I agree with that anymore"

The death of his mother threw Jim into spiritual turmoil. He began to have a lot of questions about his faith and about God that no one seemed to be able to answer and even when they tried, their answers seemed inadequate. No one could explain why such a good woman had to suffer so much. No one could help him understand why his prayers seemed to go unanswered. No one could say anything to allieviate his feelings of emptiness and abandonment. Up until this point, Jim had always relied on his mother's wisdom to help him get through the tough points in life. Momma could always strengthen his faith. She had always led him back to God, but Momma was gone now. The One who Momma had trusted looked like a failure in Jim's eyes and there was no one who could give him a reason to hold onto his faith.

Since then, there was a void in Jim's life. If God wasn't real, then what was? What was this life all about? Jim had been searching for answers for the past several years and hadn't really found anything. Just when he thought he had things figured out, something would happen that would confuse him all over again. There was no sense to anything anymore, no meaning or significance. According to the most popular theories, life was either a series of random events, or a consequence of unmitigated human will. In either case, Jim felt like a loser. He either had been dealt the worst hand fate could give, or he simply didn't have the strength of character to make his life what he wanted it to be. It seemed to Jim as if his life had as much value as the liquid in his glass. Right here, right now, in this moment in time he was a failure and a nobody. The notion filled him with pain.

Jim gulped down his drink and ordered another. As fuzzy as the alcohol made him feel, he was still acutely aware of the harshness of his reality and the nakedness of his condition. It was like watching someone cut off your hand after being given a local anesthetic. You didn't feel it, but the horror of witnessing it was just as painful if not more so. Jim wanted to be able to see beyond the bleakness of the moment. He wanted to feel good: to have hope. There was only one thing that could do that for him.

"Only on the weekends," he told himself. "I have to wait until at least Thursday night. There's only two more hits left and I gotta make it last." Jim was struggling to keep his shirt tucked in. He only had $150.00 and no way of getting any more money any time soon. Even so, Jim was thinking about risking it all when he heard a familiar voice.

"Yo! Char-ley! Let me get some of that Cristal"

He was dressed in a cream-colored zip front sweater with a tan carcoat over it, coupled with baggy cords and spice-tan work boots. It was a simple outfit, but it was clean and new looking compared to Jim's worn out faded blue jeans, flannel shirt, and field-coat. Smoke was a brother with style and class and he looked every bit of it tonight. Jim couldn't help but admire him.

"Hey, Smoke!" beamed Jim. It was as if the sun had dawned on Jim's world. "What you doin' over here?"

Jim picked up his drink and moved down to the end of the bar where Smoke was.

"Hey, Jay," replied Smoke. "Just tryin' to chill is all"

"I didn't know you came here. I thought you usually hung out at that club over on 3rd"

"Sometimes I like a change of scenery. Knowwhatimean"

"Well, tonight is your lucky night. I'll treat you. Drinks on me"

Smoke eyed him incredulously.

"You got a job now?" asked Smoke as Charley served his drink.

As Jim looked around, it seemed that Charley and the other wait staff at the bar, were also anxiously awaiting the answer to Smoke's question.

"What's say we go to a table in the back where we can be a little more candid."

"Whatever, man."

Jim got up and led Smoke to a table in the back of the bar where the crowd was thinnest.

"So?" asked Smoke as they sat down.

"I haven't found anything yet"

"So how the hell you payin' for drinks, ni**a? You know I only drink the best. I ain't no gin and juice ni**a"

"I've still got some money left," said Jim staring down into his drink. "After all you've done for me, I just wanted to be able to do something for you. Don't worry about me, I'll find something after a while."

Smoke laughed.

"What?"

"C'mon, man. I know you still ain't that green."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, look around. What other brothers in your situation got jobs in this economy?"

"You got a job."

"I'm not exactly in your situation. I don't have a criminal record. As a matter of fact, I've never been arrested in my life"

"Word?" Jim wasn't sure if he could believe that given Smoke's occupation.

"Word. That's why people call me Smoke. Cops see me, but they can't grab me. No evidence. No probable cause."

Jim sat back in awe. Smoke seemed to have it all together.

"You on the other hand got a record now. Black men with record's ain't getting jack"

"If I keep my shirt clean, I can get my record expunged in a couple of months."

"Still, even if you don't have a record it's not going to make it any easier. I got a college degree and all anybody ever wanted me to do is clean tables. Only reason I work where I'm at now is because my last girlfriend's sister was a nurse and she knew the dude that was the hiring manager at the rehab. They only pay me $10.00 an hour, and when you got bills and these baby mommas runnin' to the court for child support, you don't come home with jack on that"

Jim looked down into his drink and remained silent.

"And you remember what I told you about my brother? He got two degrees and a Master's and can't do nothin' but cut hair at a unisex shop on 145th street"

"So what do you think I should do?"

"The way I see it, there's two options for a brother like you. You could hustle, like hustle welfare and SSI, try to sell a little bootleg something here or there and live like a rat for the rest of your life, or...you could get into the game."

Jim had no idea how to hustle. He wished he had paid more attention to Richard when he was around. Richard knew how to hustle and stay paid. On the other hand, there was no way he could get into the game. Not after what happened to his dad. Not to mention he'd been to too many viewings and wakes for former classmates who had gotten caught up in the 'game'.

"I don't know how to hustle, man."

"So?"

"I don't think I'm cut out for the game either"

"Why? You scared of being shot? Of going to jail? That's all media hype. I been in business 7 years and ain't never been shot or seen the inside of a cell. Hell, being a cop or a construction worker is just as dangerous, if that's your issue"

"I've went to funerals for a few dudes who would say otherwise"

"Most of the people who get put down is people that don't follow the code: snitches, two-timers, stick up kids. Junkies that don't like to pay for what they get. Forget all that nonsense about the 16-year-old honors student. That's just more media hype – most of these kids ain't as innocent as they momma want to make them out to be"

"Still, I don't know much about the code. I don't know a lot about the streets like you"

"That's because you've been holding onto your momma's skirt too long"

"Don't be sayin' stuff about my momma!" snapped Jim. He even surprised himself with the sharpness of his tone.

"Chill, ni**a!" barked Smoke "Ain't nobody tryin' to talk about your momma! I'm just sayin' you been sheltered. You ain't gonna survive on the streets like that whether you in the game or not"

Jim backed down realizing that Smoke had a point. Jim had been so reliant on his mother's love, guidance, and wisdom that when she died, he felt as if his legs got cut off. Feelings of incompetence lingered around him and made him feel as if he couldn't do anything for himself. He was helpless; it basically summed up how he felt right now. It made him wish that he could be more like Smoke. Smoke didn't need anyone. He knew how to keep his shirt tucked in and then some.

Smoke leaned in across the table.

"Look, Jay. I told you before, I was just like you. I was a good boy from a straight family. I followed all the rules: get your education, stay clean and the world will be your oyster. But then after I saw what happened to my older brother, I realized the rules were for suckers. You see all them rich, white dudes? They make they own rules. Whatever they want they get by any means necessary. Believe me, many of them stuffed suits have probably done what I'm doing and a whole lot worse to get what they've got. Then they put on a front to society like they 'worked for it'- not!"

"I'm not tryin' to be Trump or nothin'. I'm just trying to survive"

"Nah, man. Forget that survivin' ****. That's where they want to keep you; hoping for a few crumbs. Everybody deserves a chance to live the high life; to have a little something before this life ends 'cause you can't have nothin' when you dead. If Trump can have his, you can be d**n sure I'm gonna get mine."

Jim sat silent as he contemplated what Smoke had said. He thought about that concept: having all you can in this life because once it's over, it's really over. It seemed to make sense. His mother and father were dead. Their strict moral prescriptions hadn't gained them anything as far he could see. All either one of them ever got was a few dollars in the bank that was barely enough to cover the funeral. "Do I really want to go out like that?" Jim asked himself.

"You could work with me," continued Smoke "I'll school you on what to do so you don't draw no heat."

Jim was silent again. Smoke made everything seem so simple. But something inside Jim made him hesitate. Jim had grown up being told about the importance of holiness, honor, integrity, and respect, but those things hadn't made his life any better as far as he could see. He was told not to trust drug dealers. Dealers were supposed to be dangerous and ruthless, yet here was Smoke who had gone out on a limb to do so much for him. Drugs were supposed to be tools for the devil and yet sometimes they made him feel better when he needed it. But then the same elixir of forgetfulness that calmed him at times was the same thing that led to his father being brutally murdered. He didn't know how he could reconcile these things.

"I need to think about it" Jim said after a brief pause.

"Well, don't think too long. There's a lot of broke n***as out there that would jump at the opportunity. I came to you first because we cool and I knew you was down on your luck. I'm tryin' to look out for you"

"I really appreciate it man. I'll let you know soon"

"It's gettin' late," said Smoke looking at his watch. "I gotta jet. I told my old lady I'd see her tonight."

"I'll see you man"

"Remember, I'm lookin' out for you" said Smoke before he turned and walked to the bar to settle his tab.

The idea that someone was looking out for him made Jim feel good. The idea that he was worth being looked out for was even better. It made Jim feel like maybe the rest of the night would be bearable and he could look forward to waking up in the morning.

Seven

"I need to hustle up at least $100.00," Way-lo thought to himself in exasperation as he stood outside of a bus shelter on 125th Street and Madison. He had spent the whole morning collecting cans that he had put into used garbage bags, which were inside or attached to the cart next to him. Way-lo did the best he could, considering he was still sore from the beating he got from C-Note awhile back. The swelling had gone down, but he had dark bruises on his face and other parts of his body and he had one arm still in a self-made sling. "I got at least $5.00 here, I think" he estimated to himself as he scanned the cart. Way-lo had already been by a food bank and was able to get his hands on a couple of cans of baby formula that he'd sold to some ladies waiting to get their hair done at a local salon which netted him a good $20.00 already. He needed to get another fix and soon because the last high he had early this morning was gone and he could feel the monster stirring within him. His head was starting to hurt. It always started with a headache.

Way-lo had just come off of the good fortune of having met Passion and Spade by the Manhattan end of the Willis Avenue bridge. They were two prostitutes he used to share an apartment with over on Third Avenue in the Bronx before they were all kicked out (This was after he and his girlfriend Jayla got kicked out of his first crib). He was able to cop a high from them, but he knew he couldn't rely on free highs to keep the monster within him at bay.

That's exactly what he considered his addiction: a monster. It came to reside in him sometime after he started taking heroin. In the beginning, Way-lo had control over it, or at least he thought he did. He got high when he felt like it. When he got high, it felt good. He was in another world where nothing and no one could touch him. When he was high he could deal with anything life threw at him. Heroin helped him to wind down so he could manage things during the busy week. It introduced him to new friends and a vibrant, cosmopolitan nightlife. Then, after a while something changed. Heroin went from being a weekend thing to a daily thing. Somehow he lost his job. He had to drop out of night school. His friends and girlfriend disappeared. He got tossed from the clubs. Nobody wanted him at parties and his picture graced the persona non-grata hall of shame at the university campus. Worst of all getting high was no longer a choice, or at least it was no longer his choice.

Nowadays Way-lo had to get his fix when the monster inside him demanded it. Over the course of the past five years, Way-lo had done so much heroin that his body had built up an amazing tolerance to the drug. This made genuine highs hard to come by, and several times he had overdosed trying to actually get high. Nowadays Way-lo was just trying to keep himself from feeling sick. If he didn't get the fix when the monster needed it, Way-lo felt as if he was being ripped apart from the inside out. It started with a headache. Then there were the chills and his eyes would begin to water. Then the pain radiated into other parts of his body like his back and his legs. After this, there would be the most intense stomach cramps he ever felt. Soon the pain would become unbearable and his bodily functions would take on a life of their own. It was excruciating misery. Way-lo was certain that if he didn't get his stuff, the merciless monster inside him would kill him.

Way-lo didn't want to die. He was afraid of death because he didn't know if what lay in store for him would be worse than the 25 years he had already endured in this life. Twice he had tried to conquer the monster in rehab and both times it managed to reach back and reclaim him. In the end, Way-lo felt he had no choice but to obey the whims of his harsh master who drove him day in and day out.

Everyday it was the same thing: get the money, to get the heroin, to calm the monster, to stay alive. The hardest part of the cycle was getting the money. Way-lo was virtually unemployable. He was unable to finish his work in night school, so he didn't have a high school diploma and he had a rap sheet that read like a dictionary from all the petit larceny, loitering, disorderly conduct, and drug possession charges. The few jobs he'd had in the past, he was fired from for stealing. Many of the counselors from the job readiness programs he'd been sent to told him point blank that he was a lost cause. So eventually, Way-lo had to apply for and got public assistance from the state, but often ended up losing his benefits because he missed too many days on his WEP assignment or failed to show up for recertification appointments because he was busy looking for drugs. Even when he'd reapply and get his benefits back, it would only be a day or two before he'd blown everything he was given on heroin.

In the past, when he was in better health it was easier. Way-lo was the expert at the break in, a skill he'd developed and honed in one of his foster homes. He'd break into a house and do such a job, most people wouldn't even know anyone had been there. He wouldn't take obvious stuff: TVs, appliances and the like. Most of the time stuff like that was too bulky for a quick escape, and too noticeable to police patrolling the street. Way-lo always kept it to phones, cash, small devices, laptop computers, jewelry – small stuff. He'd take it then he'd fence it and get the cash. This was back when he didn't get sick easy and before he had endured serious beatings by Smoke's boys and by the cops. Back then the monster was patient enough to wait for him to execute a job. Now he had no choice but to resort to the quick hustle to get money: giving to the blood bank, donating sperm, collecting free food and clothes from donation centers to sell on the street, recycling, diving for metro cards and selling swipes for a $1.00, or trading the foodstamps on his benefit card for money. If these didn't generate enough money he turned tricks or stole money by picking pockets and snatching purses or chains. Way-lo knew these things were wrong, and he knew he was hurting people, but he felt he had no choice. He wasn't running things – the monster was.

"The recycling center isn't but two blocks away. I'll hit there and see what this gets me. Might be more than $5.00"

Way-lo got up and started on his way toward the recycling center. As he walked down the avenues toward Third, a frosty spring wind blew open his shabby second hand Army jacket which lacked zipper or buttons, revealing the dingy white t-shirt underneath and the arm in the sling. The wind wasn't nearly as cold as the chills that grabbed hold of him as he pushed the cart forward. Several times Way-lo stopped to rub his arm and to pull his coat tightly around him as he scanned garbage cans, to see if he could add to what he'd already amassed. Six more cans and a few beer bottles were all he found.

When he finally reached the center there was a line of several people who were waiting to cash in their bottles and cans. Way-lo found a spot and waited. While he was on line he began to try to think of what he could do for his next hustle.

"I could do the blood bank downtown. But that's gonna take too long, and it's only gonna be like $10.00. I need somethin' that's gonna cash in big," he deliberated.

A sudden wave of nausea forced him to lean forward against his cart and put his head on the handle. The sour smelling cans and bottles only exacerbated the feeling, so he sat down facing the street and rested his head on his knees.

"These n***as need to hurry up," he thought. He had to get his money and get to Smoke's before the real pain started. He'd need at least two or three hits to feel better once it started. He needed to make sure he had enough money or else Smoke wouldn't give him more than a dime bag.

The line moved suddenly and there was one more person before it was his turn to cash in. This was an old man who didn't have many cans, and therefore wouldn't take very long.

"Aw, ****!" Way-lo blurted out loud as he pondered. He was so loud, the man at the machine paused to glance over at Way-lo before continuing to cash in. "Smoke won't be in until tonight. I don't know if I can wait that long." The pain in his head was getting stronger. It wouldn't be long before it started taking over.

He couldn't wait for Smoke. He'd have to try to get to Mickey again. He'd have Passion get it for him this time. He'd have her set everything up and then go with her when Mickey came. That way it looked like Passion was the one doing the buying. He'd only spend a little of his money with Mickey. He'd get his rush and then he could go out and work to get the rest of Smoke's money. If that didn't work out, perhaps he could go to the methadone clinic nearby where he had been registered in the past to get a hit. The Methadone Maintenance center he went to didn't care if he kept to a program or not, they just wanted to sell the methadone. The only problem with this was, his Medicaid card might not work since he had gotten his benefits reinstated only a few days ago, and his caseworker said he wouldn't get any cash until about a week from now. In any case it was a chance worth taking. He could stop by the Methadone clinic for just a small dose that would keep him from getting sick and wouldn't interfere with the heroin later on. Methadone didn't work as well as heroin, but something was better than nothing at this point. He'd see Smoke later.

Finally it was his turn. It took a good 20 minutes to process all of his cans and bottles. At times he had to stop and massage his neck as the pain radiated downward. The pain was on its way to taking over. He had to hurry. When he was done, he grabbled his voucher from the machine and read it. He had seven dollars coming to him. Paydirt.

Way-lo walked down the block to the Pathmark and got in the middle of an express checkout line, and audaciously skipped a woman who was busy reading a magazine while she waited her turn. As he stood on the line, he kept going over his tally in his head, totally oblivious to the woman he'd skipped who was now eyeing him strangely, shaking her head and moving away from his presence. When his turn came, the cashier took his voucher and dropped his money into his free hand as if she were trying not to make contact with it. Once paid, Way-lo raced out of the store.

There were the two ten dollar bills he had received from the women in the salon and the five and two dollar bills he just got from the cashier. Way-lo counted it twice hoping there would be more with each count. Passion was about 10 minutes away by the subway. The methadone place was just down the block and across the street. Way-lo decided to take the 4 train over to Passion's who he hoped would be able to get a hold of Mickey again.

"After I get my little fix, I might go by that old cougar in Tiny's building". Way-lo knew she could never turn him down. She was an older woman who, in her lonliness and desperation, decided that Way-lo was her on-again-off-again love interest. Way-lo could get her to feel sorry for him, and if he slept with her, she'd give him money. It would be anything from $25.00 to $30.00. Way-lo just hoped her grandkids weren't home because if she was babysitting them, it would wreck his plan. Maybe after that, he could scout for marks at ATM's or the check cashing place. It was risky, especially now since he wasn't in the best physical condition, but when he timed it right, he could score big with a snatch or a pick: at least $30.00 if he played it smart. Then he could blow by Smoke's place. Once he got the fix, everything would be all right - at least until the next time.

Eight

Jim walked into the Target on 116th Street and Second Avenue and went to the customer service counter.

"Good morning," he greeted the young woman sitting there, as he forced his mouth into a smile. "I was wondering if this store had any positions open?"

"You have to apply online," said the girl at the counter, as she snacked on a pack of cookies. She didn't even bother looking Jim's way.

"Am I supposed to go through the company website or is there a special web address?"

His question was met with the sound of teeth being sucked and bleached blond hair being flipped over a shoulder. The girl seemed to be annoyed by Jim's question and persistence. "If only she knew what I've been through" thought Jim, who was starting to be annoyed by her attitude.

"You can use the computer on the kiosk over there," she said pointing in its direction. Within seconds her eyes were trained on the snack size bag of cookies again. "Just follow the instructions on the screen" she mumbled as cookie crumbs dropped out of her mouth.

This was all that Jim had left. After weeks of scouting agencies and putting in applications at the unemployment office, all to no avail, his only hope was to apply for positions on-line. Applying for positions on-line was one of the worst experiences Jim had ever had. It would take 20 minutes to fill out an application that was 30 pages long, filled with redundant, irrelevant, and demeaning questions only to have the whole application jettisoned to some obscure place in cybserspace where it may or may not be seen by an actual person. When Jim had finished his current application and clicked on the 'send' icon, a few seconds elapsed before a screen appeared that thanked him for his interest, and informed him that he would be sent an email in the event that he had been selected for an interview.

"Same crap, different day" thought Jim as he stormed over to the coffee shop in the store after he was finished. He ordered a simple black coffee with sugar and sat at a table to nurse it along with his anxiety about his future.

Jim knew that in a few days he would receive the same impersonal email telling him that there were no positions available at this time and that his application would be held in a queue to be considered in the future. His e-mailbox was already full of such rejections. The online applications almost never resulted in a call for an interview. In another month, if he could hold out, the record from his previous arrest would be expunged, but that didn't mean his problems would be over. Jim only had $10.00 in his checking account. It was all the money that he had in the world right now, other than the$7.00 he had in his wallet after buying his coffee. He had already received a 3-day notice from the co-op board and his coke stash was running low. Jim just couldn't wait.

Smoke was right. America's economy was still in a shambles. There were jobs added every month, but few were well-paying positions. Of these well-paid positions the majority were for the super-skilled with a very narrow focus of expertise like biomechanical engineer. Most of the jobs created were low-skilled, low-wage, service jobs. Even single people were living on the poverty line with these jobs. Jim would need at least two such jobs simply to keep the maintenance on the co-op paid, and as it stood, he couldn't even get one part-time job. Looking around the store, Jim saw that there were lots of people from different ethnic backgrounds working there, but he only saw one African-American, and a woman at that. It seemed like there were jobs for everyone except black males.

"Maybe 'the game' is the only way a brother can survive in this world," Jim thought bitterly. Jim's mind went back to the days after he had graduated from St. John's University. His mother died just days after the commencement ceremeony. Not long after his mother's funeral, he faced the task of making a life for himself. His plan was to get a job as a paralegal so that he would have a source of income that would allow him to go to law school and thus realize his dream of becoming a lawyer. He had done a lot of work interning for a few boutique law firms in the city and received good recommendations, but for some reason, Jim just wasn't getting any offers for employment. Then during one particular interview it became very clear what was going on.

Jim had been called back for a job at Walsh, Green & Travers, LLP. He had made it through the first round interview with human resources and was to meet with the senior associate of the real estate division that would be his immediate supervisor. During his second trip to the firm, Jim got a good look around the offices as he was ushered to the senior associate's office. He observed there was not one person of color working at the firm in any capacity other than reception or facilities maintenance. Then he met the senior associate, Everett North. He was a short brown-haired middle-aged white man with a stern face that looked even graver when he saw Jim.

"Mr. Reid, I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but this branch of our firm deals with a lot of landlord tenant issues. In many cases our paralegals have to work with clients on determining the actual amount of rent owed using balance sheet breakdowns."

"You mean account statements?" replied Jim.

"Uh...yes. I guess that's a simpler way of saying it. In any case, there's a lot of math involved. Do you have any experience in accounting or accounts payable?"

None of these things were mentioned in the job description of the application. The position he had applied for was nothing more than a glorified administrative assistant who sometimes assisted with typing out and proofreading legal documents. Absolutely nothing was said about account statements or the like. Even so, Jim knew he didn't need experience in accounting to read account statements - the same statements he received in the mail regarding his own bills. This was bull.

"I don't have any experience in those specific fields, but I do have experience working with account statements and balance sheets"

"A lot of people do, but we would prefer someone who had a greater depth of knowledge of these things which could assist our attorneys in court. Another very important part of the job is punctuality and deadlines. Have you ever been late to work for any of your previous employers?"

"No, I haven't"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure," replied Jim, wondering why Mr. North would doubt such an obviously affirmative answer. "You can check with them if you like"

"I will, of course. I just wanted to impress upon you how seriously we take these matters. In fact we have a zero tolerance policy with regard to lateness and missing deadlines"

All throughout the interview Mr. North kept coming up with other little 'issues' he wanted to discuss with Jim, and at times it almost seemed as if he was trying to discourage him or even try to get him to rescind his application for employment. Jim knew what this was: the veiled references to tardiness and having problems with math. They were references to derogatory stereotypes about African-Americans. It was just more systematic discrimination. When the interview was over, he knew he would not get called back. There were many other such interviews; so many that Jim became desperate. He alone was responsible for keeping up the maintenance on the co-op and all the other bills that followed, including his student loans from college. He was on his own and he had to decide if he was going to sink or swim. Jim really needed a job, so when his friend Brian, a former classmate from St. John's offered to hook him up with a position at the MTA, Jim took it without hesitation. Jim had initially made plans to continue his education, until, he ran into some old alumns he knew from St. John's. They used to be the campus's black activists. Jim never really hung out with them, but he did have classes and study with them sometimes. There was one in particular named Kamal who schooled Jim on what was going down.

Jim remembered it like it was yesterday: he had just got off from work and was just passing through a station to catch a train home when he saw the brother handing out leaflets in the train station.

"Hey, Kamal. What's up? Long time, no see. You still keepin' it real?"

"Yeah, and real busy. Tryin' to spread the word for my organization. I'm wit' the Revolutionary Brothers of the Sun – you know, Umbatu Nygamo and them"

"Yeah, I think I've heard of them"

"You should join us," said Kamal handing Jim a leaflet. "We need more brothas spreadin' the word about the conspiracies going on out there"

"I don't know man. I know that racism still exists. In fact, I've experienced it first hand, but I'm not sure if it's a 'conspiracy' so to speak. There are ways to get around things"

"But that's the point, why should we have to 'get around things'. If there was no conspiracy, wouldn't be nothin' to get around!"

"Look brother, I feel what you're saying, but the key is education. If we have an education, how can they stop us?"

"Man, please. You can have all the degrees you want. That don't mean nothin'", said Kamal sucking his teeth and waving his hand.

At the time Jim couldn't argue. He just got his BA degree and so far it hadn't done anything for him, at least not yet. In any case, Jim would still press his position.

"It meant something for many of our ancestors. Look at WEB Dubois, Martin Luther King, and Carter G. Woodson and even today look at all the black politicians, lawyers, entertainers and athletes that are out there"

"I know you not talkin' bout those house slaves"

"What you mean 'house slaves'? Most of those people are millionaires! Oprah is practically a billionaire!"

"Still house slaves. Their wealth comes from white people and in order to keep that money coming in, they have to do what the white people want. The minute any of them tries to do something positive for our community that can have an impact, they'll kill them, discredit them and/or send them back to the ghetto they came from. Just think about what happened to Malcolm and even your beloved Dr. King"

"But the only way to change the system is to get in it. Change comes from the inside out"

"Be real brother. Systems exist to perpetuate themselves. Once you're in the system there's no way to stay in unless you're willing to conform to its dictates. The fact that you're in it means you've already agreed to play by their rules and on their terms. That's all the compromise they need. Trust me, the system will change you, before you change it"

"How can you explain so many doors opening then? There are African-Americans in very high positions of power in various fields throughout American enterprise and government. We even had a black man win an Academy Award for Best Actor recently"

"See, that's the problem. Brothers like y'all always accepting crumbs from the white man's table. So it's okay if 20 million other black people live in poverty and misery so long as there's one black astronaut, two black mayors, three black senators, one black scientist, so long as a 'black' anything is the exception and not the norm, especially when it comes to positions of real power? Wake up, man! When are you going to see that as long as we play by their rules, they're always gonna hold all the cards! Until the Black man takes back control of his mind, his money and his image from the white man, he'll never amount to anything!"

Reflecting back on that day in light of his situation in the present, Jim believed Kamal was right. Jim had always thought that if he had an education, he could make it. His mother had always told him that no matter what happened, an education is the one thing no one could take away. No one could take it away, but at the same time no one wanted it. What they really wanted was to take away the black man's livelihood and to keep him from earning a living. It seemed the powers that be could do that whether he had an education or not. The white people seemed to have everything and they were going to make sure people like him would have nothing. Despite everything Jim had done to turn himself around since his arrest, no one was even trying to give him a chance. Jim believed that if he were white, he could have been a serial killer and someone still would have taken a chance on him and given him a job. Thinking about it made his blood boil. Over and over he had heard the problem expounded: everything could always be reduced to institutional racism. No matter how many times people talked about it, no one could come up with a clear concrete solution to this problem. Jim knew where he was and how he got here, but there was no answer about how to get out. Jim pounded his fist on the table so hard, he nearly knocked over his coffee, but was able to grab the cup before it spilled. Everyone around him turned to look.

Remembering that he was in public, Jim took a deep breath. Then he got up to go home, leaving the coffee on the table. He didn't need the coffee. Jim needed something stronger.

"I don't have much money, but at least I got something in my stash" he considered. Jim thought it was a smart move to have scored some coke before his funds ran out. At least he had that to look forward to.

"I have to figure something out," he said to himself, but he felt he couldn't think like this. When he was sober his options seemed so limited. He needed the coke to open him up to all the possibilities that were available.

****

After Jim got home, he raced over to where his stash was hidden and brought it to the living room coffee table where he fixed himself a few lines. The rush was invigorating. He felt alive. All of a sudden things didn't seem so bleak anymore. Jim felt stronger. Even though he had used up all his junk, Jim wasn't worried.

"Forget that job nonsense. Now I intend to live life by my rules. It's time for me to get mine"

It became crystal clear. Jim knew exactly what he was going to do.

Nine

"So this is the Rocafella Club" Jim mulled as he and Smoke pulled up in Smoke's SUV. The place had a reputation for fights, shoot-outs and drug activity; however, its mundane façade belied its reputation. It was a typical warehouse like building that most clubs were housed in. There was the usual long line of patrons with the bouncer/security out front, and the concierge stamping hands. Everyone was very well dressed despite the fact that the club had a seedy reputation and Jim felt a little out of place in dark-rinsed denim jeans and leather blazer. Smoke was decked out in a dark gray, fine Italian, wool sports jacket over a light-gray, color-block, shirt and black dress pants, topped off with black gators. The ensemble complimented his stocky frame and brought out his caramel complexion.

"Don't worry about the line. Ain't gonna be no waitin'" said Smoke as he confidently strutted toward the entrance with Jim following behind him.

"Hey, Smoke" greeted the bouncer.

"Whassup, man?" returned Smoke giving him the pound.

"Today is your lucky day. Drinks in VIP are on the house"

"Really? Last time y'all had drinks on the house in VIP everything was free but the good stuff"

"Not this time man. Nemo done learned his lesson when those ni**as from the Bronx tore the place up over that **** a few weeks ago"

"Word? I must have missed that"

"Be glad you did. That **** cost Nemo a lot of business, we just startin' to get back"

"Sorry about the drama, but not about the drinks. I'll send you a bottle later"

"Thanks. He with you?" asked the bouncer who cast a suspicious glance as he nodded toward Jim.

"Yeah. He's cool. This my ni**a, Jay. We going into business together. Jay this is Doug"

"Nice to meet you" said Jim extending his hand for a shake.

"Same here. Welcome to Rockefella. Anything you need, let me know. Anybody down with Smoke is down with me"

"Thanks. I appreciate that"

After the exchange, both Jim and Smoke got VIP stamps and went inside. Everything was dark with the occasional flash from the strobe lights above. The bass boomed from unseen speakers as the place shook with the rhythms of Usher's "Yeah" cut. The music was so loud, Jim could barely stand the song he normally liked. The first floor was humid from the body heat that was being given off the grinding dancers. Jim almost lost track of Smoke as they made their way through the mosh of bodies to the landing of the staircase and up to the VIP area, which was cooler and less noisy. Once they were upstairs, Jim was surprised by what he saw. VIP was little more than a dimly lit lounge that had a large screen TV, a bar space and a poolroom that was at the end of the space and off to the side. Jim had been to fancier clubs with Richard. Jim knew Smoke wasn't a big time dealer, but he knew some of his high school classmates that hung out at classier establishments than this. "I'm in no position to judge" Jim chided himself, "Smoke's in a better position than I am right now."

As they entered, they were cordially greeted by one of the wait staff that ushered them to a booth all the way in the back adjacent to the little poolroom. There was a young man who looked to be no more than 19 or 20 who was sitting there already. He had cornrows that had been neatly plaited in an ornate design, and wore dark-blue, baggy dress trousers with a grey shirt. His outfit was accented with several gold chains, a huge gold-plated watch and a dark blue ball cap. His face seemed grave and somber as he nursed his drink.

"C-Note, you startin' without me?" asked Smoke.

"You was takin' too long. I done been here an hour already and done danced up a thirst" smirked the young man when he saw Smoke. He got up to give him the pound.

"Note, this is Jay. Jay this my ni**a C-Note"

"Nice to meet you," said Jim courteously.

"Word" replied C-Note. The young man's smile faded into a straight line, and his eyes dropped to Jim's chin.

"This is the ni**a I was tellin' you about. We gon' bring him in the game we got goin'"

"Aiight"

The three men sat down and Smoke ordered drinks for everyone. They exchanged a few pleasantries until the drinks came. Then Smoke got down to business.

"I'ma make it real simple. Basically, you gon' be runnin' things for me while I'm at my 9 to 5. All you go to do is give the customers they ****, collect the money and then bring it to me. Then I'll cut you off a piece. If things go well, you'll be makin' roughly four or five hunnid a week," explained Smoke pulling at the texturized hair near his temples. It was a nervous habit that he had.

Jim estimated it to be about $20-$26,000.00 a year. He made twice that much as a motorman for the MTA. Basically, he was going to be risking his life and his freedom for a receptionist's salary. He could see how this could be tempting to a kid like C-Note, who probably lived at home with his mom, and had never seen more than a hundred dollars at one time, however such a salary would just barely cover all of Jim's monthly expenses. Then as Jim reconsidered his situation, he realized he was in no position to complain. At least Smoke was giving him a chance to make some money, unlike the so-called "respectable" institutions he'd encountered. So Jim kept a poker face and nodded his head as Smoke continued to explain the operation.

"You gon' be workin' out of a house in the back of the lot down from my house. That's where C-Note come in."

"It's all clear," said C-Note who kept his eyes on Jim. "Ain't no tags on it, and it's still in our part of town. No conflict of interests."

"What about heat?" asked Smoke.

"No cops no where"

"O.K. now that's set"

"You own the house?" asked Jim.

"Nobody owns the house. If somebody do, they ain't usin' it. Ain't nobody gon' know."

"But there's been a lot of property development going on around here lately. How you know if it hasn't been targeted for renovation or something like that?"

"That's a smart question, so I'll give you a smarter answer. I already checked with the department of buildings. Ain't nothin' goin on with it. We good. Anyway it's not like we gon' be there forever. When you got an operation like this it's not good sense to stay in one place too long."

Jim sat back in his seat and tried to relax. Smoke seemed to have everything figured out and it all seemed straightforward and simple. Maybe all of the danger was media hype. Maybe this job was just as safe as any other job, so long as you didn't break the code of the street. Maybe you wouldn't get killed if you knew what you were doing. The problem was, Jim didn't.

"You straight" asked Smoke, noticing the pensive expression on Jim's face.

"Yeah," Jim answered after a few seconds of hesitation. "It's just that I was thinking that it might take some time for me to get familiar with things. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think there's much room for error in our trade"

"That's why Im'a have C-Note work with you for a little while. Then once you get the hang of things, he's gonna be your security"

C-Note didn't look at Jim. He just coolly gulped the last of his drink before pouring himself another from the bottle on the table. Jim could tell he wasn't going to be C-Note's new best friend.

"So when do I start?"

"Tomorrow morning. You meet me and C-Note at my place and I'll give you the supply. Then you and C-Note will head down to the house, set up and get things going."

"The fiends are beastin' over this expansion, Smoke. Fa real."

"Sounds like a reason to celebrate," said Smoke as he poured himself another drink.

"To mo' money," cheered C-Note, raising his glass.

"I hear that," added Smoke raising his. Jim followed along, however he didn't share the enthusiasm of the others. They all clinked glasses and downed their drinks.

"Look, Jay. I know we ain't much right now, but I got a feeling that this is gonna be big. I'm about to blow up. If I blow up, you blow up"

Ten

"Woah" was all Jim could say as he and C-Note entered the abandoned two-family house through a side door. It was early in the morning and it was still kind of dark. He and C-Note had brought flashlights to help them see.

"Word. This is real old school" breathed C-Note. "It's not the Hilton, but a ni**a's got to start somewhere, right?"

"I guess"

Jim clutched the backpack full of drugs tightly against him and stayed close to C-Note. Immediately Jim understood why the property had been abandoned. It should have been condemned. As they passed from what was left of the kitchen into the living space, rotting floorboards squeaked under their weight. As he shined his flashlight around in front of him, Jim noticed the cavernous holes in the ceiling and the walls where appliances, fixtures, and plumbing had been ripped out. The floors were covered with fallen plaster and debris as well as dried excrement from animals and quite possibly humans. A soiled mattress, an old tattered and filthy sofa, and a crate of empty malt liquor bottles were all that furnished the place aside from the fold up card table and the cheap vinyl lawn chair C-Note had brought with them. The pungent odor of mold, excrement, and rotting matter was so thick in the air it made Jim feel sick.

"I can't believe Smoke wants me to work here," Jim said to himself. It was absolute squalor. Then again, the subway system was probably just as squalid and filthy. However, in the subway, Jim spent most of his time in the motorman's car.

"When we really start to make some money, Smoke will probably make a deal with a super somewhere and we can get set up in one of the projects"

"I hope that happens sooner rather than later"

"Given all the fiends around here, it'll be sooner than you think. Where yo' gloves?" asked C-Note, noticing Jim's bare hands.

"What?" asked Jim. He now noticed that C-Note had leather gloves on.

"Yo' gloves. You shouldn't be touchin' nothing that can catch prints with your bare hands. Especially if you've been tagged before and they got your prints on file. I know Smoke gave you some gloves."

Jim remembered the rubber surgical gloves Smoke had given him. Jim thought they were for handling the drugs. He took them out of his pocket where he had stashed them and put them on. Not that he would want to touch anything in this place without gloves anyway.

"You take these and set up by that window over there, the one with the gates on it, facing the alley. I'ma go and check the rest of the place out. Never know who or what might be hiding up in here," commanded C-Note before heading upstairs.

C-Note was a real soldier and Jim couldn't help but be in awe of how someone so young could be so sure of himself and so totally in control. Just like Smoke. He wondered if he'd ever get to that point. C-Note made Jim feel like a 'late bloomer' in the game.

"Just be cool" Jim consoled himself as he set up shop near the window. "Shouldn't be nothin' to this. Like Smoke said, they give you the money, you give them their stuff"

As Jim was putting his backpack on the table, he heard a scratching sound coming from one of the rooms in the back. He shined his flashlight in the direction where he had heard the noise, but he didn't see anything. Jim then left the bag and went closer to check it out. The noise was coming from behind a door that was closed and Jim wasn't sure if he should open it or not. What if someone had snuck in or was hiding like C-Note had said? Almost presciently, C-Note reappeared.

"What's up?"

"I heard something...in there," said Jim nodding toward the door in the back. C-Note pulled out his 9 millimeter semiautomatic from the waist of his jeans and walked slowly over to the door and paused before kicking it in. There was silence for a moment and Jim crept closer to see what was inside. He followed C-Note into the room where there was another dirty mattress, an uprooted toilet and an old rotten dresser with the drawers removed in front of a closet. All of a sudden a thud was heard coming from the direction of the closet. C-Note walked over leaving Jim near the room's entrance. C-Note moved over to the side of the closet and slowly opened the door outward. The occupant therein suddenly sprang out and headed toward Jim.

"Oh, snap!" Jim didn't even take the time to see what it was before he dropped his flashlight and ran in the opposite direction and back to the living space. By the time he was near the exit, he half-turned and was finally able to hear that it was only a stray cat. C-Note appeared shaking his head.

"Let me get this straight. Did you just let a cat make a punk out of you?"

"C'mon, man. I didn't know what the hell that was"

"You should have known it wasn't nothin' that could hurt you! If it was a person we would have seen 'em long ago. You could have at least stood and pulled your piece."

"What piece?"

C-Note put his hand to his face. "The one Smoke gave you this morning."

It must have been in the bag. Jim went to get it. He couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed at how green he was. His old friends had always considered him the most street savvy, aside from Richard. But that was when he lived in the land of make-believe. On the real streets, he was nothing but a fool.

Jim used the light from C-Note's flashlight to help him find his own. Then he went to find the table and the bag. Jim searched beneath the drugs and found the gun. When he pulled it out, he realized he had a 44 magnum. Jim felt strange holding this gun. It was heaviness made it seem even more ominous. When he was a little boy, he would watch his father cleaning his service revolver and would stare in awe. Pop never allowed Jim to touch the gun or the bullets he put in it. When Jim was a kid, he dreamed of owning a gun so he could shoot the bad guys, just like his dad. Young Jim thought guns were what made the good guys powerful. Holding this gun right now made Jim feel anything but powerful. If anything, it made him just that much more aware of the danger he faced in his new position. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?" was all he could think.

"You could tape it under the table it you want" suggested C-Note.

"I think I'll keep it on me" Jim replied, tucking it away in his pants as he'd seen C-Note do. "So how's this all gonna work?"

"They gonna come to us. This is gonna be like your counter. I'll show you who the regulars are and what they take. They'll tap the window first. Remember always check first, and don't answer to nobody you don't know. If there's gonna be somebody new I'll tell you in advance and/or they'll come with me. Anybody else: no. Don't trust 'em even if they come with one of the regulars. You never know if a snitch done helped the cops to set you up"

Jim was trying to make detailed notes of what C-Note was saying inside his head. It was times like this he wished he had his old friend Allen's photographic memory.

"Next thing is, they gotta put the money first. Smoke runs a cash only business. No money, no junk. Never do no trades. Sometimes you get these strung out ni**as trying to bring you **** to trade: watches, phones, tvs, sometimes food or they want to turn a trick for you. Don't take nothin' except cash. Last thing is you don't go nowhere 'till every last bit of your supply is gone. If it takes till 2 'o clock, 3 'o clock, whatever."

"Then I bring the money to Smoke and then I'm done, right?"

"Change of plan. You gotta stay here until Smoke comes. He don't want to take the chance of somebody following you and getting all his money.

"But he doesn't get off work until 5:00. He won't be here until 6:00 at the earliest. We'll be here all day."

"So. Long as we're making money, I ain't got no problem"

"And when would I have to use this?" asked Jim gesturing towards his piece.

"If anybody try to come in here. Now that the word is out we doin' business here you can count on strung out ni**as and stick up kids tryin' to cash in. In cases like that, it's survival of the fittest. Kill or be killed"

"So what happens if I get shot by one of these stick up kids and they take everything?"

"Well then you better hope you die, because if you don't, right after Smoke ices the simps that stole his money, you gonna be next"

"But it's not like I would have given it away on purpose"

"Look, this is the game. Smoke gotta pay for that ****. You lose his **** it's like you puttin' his life on the line. Secondly, lettin' Smoke take a hit like that sends the message to other ni**as that he's weak. Next thing you know, every other ni**a coming out to take a hit on him. You gotta send the message that anybody messing with Smoke gonna get ******."

Taps at the window interrupted C-Note's lecture.

"We got business"

C-Note walked over to the window with Jim following behind. He peeked past the shade Jim had set up.

"C'mere" beckoned C-Note "Now this is one of the regulars"

Jim peered over C-Note's shoulder to see who it was. It was a young white girl with long red hair. Her face was so flushed you could barely see her freckles. The girl was wearing work-out clothes. She was pushing her cash in between the lattices of the gate.

"Get an eight-ball from the bag"

"What's an eight-ball?"

"The ones in the blue bags"

Jim followed C-Note's orders and got one of the blue bags and gave it to C-Note. Then C-Note took the money, handed it to Jim and gave the woman the package. After they were done, C-Note went over the rest of the inventory with Jim including the prices for each item. It was a lot for Jim to try to remember. He definitely wished he had that photographic memory.

Not long after they took inventory, an old African-American woman with a cane appeared at the window tapping. C-Note affirmed that she was also a customer. Like the previous customer, she put her money (a twenty-dollar bill) through the gate and this time C-Note took out two dime-bags of heroin and slipped them to Jim. About ten minutes later, a young Latino man came up to the window giving the customary tap. He was also given the OK by C-Note. The young man handed in a ten-dollar bill and this time C-Note gave Jim a little packet of weed to hand through the gate. This went on for the next couple of hours. There were no scheduled breaks or a lunch period. Sometimes hours went by when no one showed up, but the two men stayed vigilant at their posts. They had started at 5:30 in the morning and by 1:00 in the afternoon they had gotten through more than half of their inventory. At this time they were experiencing another lull.

"We've been at this for a long time. Any way one of us could go out and get a drink or something?" asked Jim.

"No way. Can't afford to miss customers," said C-Note taking a hand-held video game from his pocket. "Should've thought about that before you got here."

"They wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes"

"Maybe or they might go looking somewhere else. Even if they do wait, waiting customers attract unwanted attention. Feel?"

"I guess"

Jim felt like he was working in a sweatshop. He never thought there were such strict regulations for this trade. Then again, with so much at stake, there had to be.

After a while, the boredom and monotony of the situation made Jim a little stir crazy. He thought maybe a little conversation would make the time pass, so he tried to engage C-Note and get to know him better. Maybe a little familiarity would thaw the ice between them.

"So how long have you been in the game?"

"Five or six years" he said not once taking his eyes from his game.

"Really?" asked Jim in surprise. "Don't mind if I ask how old you are?"

C-Note looked up and cast a not so friendly glance toward Jim.

"I don't mean to be up in your business. It's just that you look kinda young to have been in this for so long."

"19"

"D**n! You really did start young. What got you in?"

"Same reason why you here. I needed money"

"You couldn't get your moms to give you something?"

"What you mean? Like an allowance?" C-Note spat out bitterly. "Where I come from ain't no such thing. I been lookin' out for myself since I was old enough to walk"

"Sorry 'bout that"

"You ain't got to be. I'm not. You grow up hard, you learn fast. I know how to get mine. I feel sorry for all them soft ni**as that be livin' that bougie fantasy ****, then when they get knocked back into the real world they can't do jack for theyself"

Jim knew what C-Note was alluding to and it hurt. It seemed that conversation wasn't such a good idea after all.

Another tap was heard on the window, and Jim was grateful for it because it kept him from feeling obligated to continue their discussion. C-Note went to the window and looked out.

"Not this ni**a" said C-Note under his breath.

"What's wrong?"

"Just this little *****. Everybody call him Way-lo. Now this ni**a is a real piece of work. If the phrase strung out was in a dictionary, his picture would be right next to it. "

Jim looked out to see what looked like a dirty fair skinned African-American man in oversized thrift store clothes and a green army jacket with no fasteners. He was so thin, his skin clung to his bones. He looked like a skeleton dressed in a fat man's rags. To Jim he looked as if he was at least 50 years old. Threads of gray and debris were streaked throughout his curly hair, which was matted down with dirt. One of his arms was in a makeshift sling under his jacket. From the way his mouth was pursed, Jim could tell that there were very few teeth inside. He looked as if he was homeless. As C-Note had said, he was definitely strung out.

He came to the window and stuffed through a roll of bills that C-Note collected, inspected and counted. He then passed the man a tiny bag of light brown powder. Jim noticed this man seemed to get a lot less for his money than the other customers. When the man had gotten his merchandise, he inspected it, but unlike the others he didn't speed away. In fact, he began tapping again.

"Here we go," groaned C-note, as he headed back toward the window. "You got all you gonna get this time Way-lo. Now go on back to that roach motel you come from!"

"C'mon, man! I done gave you $80.00 this time, and you know this aint gon' last me. Please, just give me one more, man. Just put it on my 'count" groveled Way-lo.

"Wait here" said C-Note under his breath as he went outside. Jim went to the window to watch what would happen.

"You don't have the right to be askin' for nothin' after that **** you pulled!", blared C-Note as he stomped toward the man.

"Look, Note I'm doin' right by Smoke. I'm payin'. I'm not lookin' for a free ride, but I get real sick and this little bit ain't gonna do it. If I die you won't get nothin' from me no more"

"Please. Who cares if you die? There's a junkie born every minute. Now get out of here before I knock the **** outta you!"

Jim shuddered at C-Note's words.

"I'm not tryin' to start no trouble, Note. Please man, just one more bag. I'll do anything you want me to man! Anything!!"

Way-lo lunged forward and grabbed onto C-Note, who sent him reeling backward to the ground from the butt of his gun.

"Don't you ever put your hands on me again, you *******!"

C-Note was so embarrassed by the man's proposition, he began to kick and stomp on him again and again, his victim wailing in terror.

"Shut up! Or I'll shut you up permanently!"

"Please! Please!"

Way-lo rolled over on his side and curled into ball. He was trying to shield the arm that was already in a sling.

Jim could hear the pain, tears, and agony in the man's voice. It was something that went far beyond the physical withdrawal from the drug. It spoke to something inside Jim. He had to get out there and stop C-Note. He grabbed two dime-bags from the sack and went outside.

"C'mon C-Note. I think he's had enough"

"I'll say when he's had enough. Stupid **********. And you betta get yo' black *** back in the house, Midnight!"

C-Note gave Way-lo one last kick in the gut. Jim remained steadfast in his purpose and C-Note had no choice but to relent. Then Jim attended to Way-lo.

"You alright, man"

Way-lo just sobbed. After a few moments he was able to get to a sitting position.

"Here" said Jim as he extended two little bags to him.

"Thank you, man," gasped Way-lo as he snatched the little bags from Jim. "Thank you. I appreciate you"

Way-lo eased himself up to a standing position and put the bags in the pocket of his jacket. Then he tried to hug Jim, but the latter moved away. To Jim, Way-lo smelled worse than he looked.

"What the hell you think you doin'?" blared C-Note.

"You can tell Smoke to take it out of my day's pay"

"You betta hope Smoke don't take it out of your ***! This ni**a owe Smoke money plus interest. Not to mention, I caught him tryin' to buy from some other dude when he knew he owed Smoke money!"

"Thank you, man. You a gentleman, you know that"

"Look, man. You got what you wanted. Just go"

"I'm going...I'm going"

Way-lo shuffled away, looking back at Jim. Jim walked back to the house, with C-Note stomping angrily behind him. Jim was a little tense about what would happen once they were inside.

"Who the hell you think you are?! Your first day, and you wanna act like you runnin' things! That wasn't none of your business! You was supposed to stay your *** inside and watch out! I understand you green, but I know you ain't stupid. You betta respect the chain of command, ni**a!"

Jim thought about what Smoke said about the code of the streets. He knew he had to patch up his act of indiscretion with C-Note.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have interfered. It's just that it bothered me...I wasn't trying to disrespect you or nothing like that. I just didn't see what good it would do to torture that guy like that. His life is obviously hell enough"

"So? If it is, it's of his own making. Ain't nobody force that **** on him. And if he messing with Smoke, he deserves what he gets"

"I don't think anyone deserves to be treated like an animal"

"So you want to be a good Samaritan all of a sudden? Ni**a, you in the wrong business. That junkie don't care nothin' bout you or your 'good deed'. He ain't even got as much feeling as that chair over there. All he care about is that **** in that bag and he'd say or do anything to get it, including blow your *******brains out the next time he saw you if it came down to it"

"How much does he owe?"

"Ran up a tab for $200.00. I had to beat sixty out his *** the other day"

"And he gave us $80.00 today. I'd say he's just about paid up, wouldn't you?"

"That ain't countin' interest, plus punishment for tryin' to cheat Smoke"

Jim couldn't believe that Smoke could be so sadistic.

"Like I said, I'll take responsibility. I'll pay for the bags. But I think we should give him most of his money's worth until Smoke is satisfied"

"You got a lot to learn. You can't be soft like that. These ni**as will eat you alive and leave your bones for the vultures. This ain't no charity, Midnight. This is business"

"I know. It's about money right? So think of it this way: we give him most of money's worth until he pays the debt off, otherwise, he might forget about the debt and go somewhere else. If he's done it before he'll probably do it again no matter how bad he gets beaten up. He's not thinking about his life at this point. Without this stuff he has no life anyway, so what's to stop him from taking another risk?"

"If he do and Smoke finds out, he's as good as dead"

"And then we get nothing. Look, we want him to be loyal to us. It's not good business to bite the hands that feed us"

"And it's also not good business to let people think they can try to punk Smoke"

"I feel what you're saying, but if our operation is unreasonably harsh that's also not good business either. We don't want people to be so scared of us that they won't want to deal with us"

"Whatever" said C-Note relenting to Jim's point "So long as you explain it to Smoke"

"I will. There's no reason for him to be upset. He still gets $80.00 for $60.00 worth of product. At the end of the day who wouldn't be okay with that"

The men went on working as they had been and the pace of business began to pick up again. By 4:00, they had sold out their entire inventory, which had netted Smoke a little more than $3,000.00.

"Was this a good day?"

"It was aiight. But we can do better. Now we gotta wait for Smoke to pick up his money. If you want, you can go get something to eat now. I'll watch out"

"Yeah, right" Jim thought to himself. He hadn't been in the business long, but he knew better than to leave the money with a guy who didn't like him very much.

"I've waited this long. I can wait a little longer"

"Hmph"

C-Note took out a king size bag of chocolate candies from his bag and began to snack. He didn't even ask Jim if he wanted any and Jim didn't bother asking.

The two hours passed uneventfully until finally at 6:30pm, Smoke came by.

"How goes it my nigs"

"Bag's clean- got a little more than three grand"

"When did you finish?"

"Around 4:30"

"Not bad"

"Way-lo was here," said C-Note, sounding like he was about to snitch.

"Did he bring my money?"

"He came with $80.00 and C-Note gave him at $10.00 bag, but he was really hard up, so I gave him two more. I'm willing to pay for it", said Jim cutting in suddenly to explain himself before C-Note could try to make him look bad. "I think we should make a deal to do give him most of his money's worth until he's paid up, if that's okay"

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Because we don't want to lose him as a customer"

"I got plenty of customers and Way-lo is becoming a dead beat"

"Still, he got $80.00 from somewhere to bring us today. I don't know if I would call that a total deadbeat. If he brought it today, he'll probably bring it tomorrow, but not if he thinks it's not going to be worth it."

"Aiight, whatever, as long as I'm gettin' paid. Speaking of gettin' paid, let me break y'all off a little somethin'"

Smoke gave both Jim and C-Note $150.00 each. Jim couldn't believe it. After having worked thirteen hours with no break for lunch or the bathroom even.

"Hold up. Jay, you gotta give me $20.00 back. No, make it $40.00. You want to be a do-gooder for a deadbeat, it's gonna cost you. I don't give freebies – ever; even if we peeps."

"Right"

"And another thing. I'ma let it slide this time 'cause you green, but next time, don't play with my ****. Just remember I run this. You don't make no deals wit' these crackheads unless I tell you to. Last thing I wanna do is start givin' someone like Way-lo ideas he can get over. This time you got off payin' cash. Next time it's gonna be your ***. You hearing me?"

"I hear you"

Jim handed back the money. Smoke was nothing like the people Jim used to run with.

"Meet me in the same spot tomorrow and we'll do this again. You should be pullin down $750.00 by the end of the week."

Now that Jim's day was over, he was glad to be free to go. The guys on the corner made this job look way easier than what it was. So far dealing meant extremely long days in horrible working conditions with irascible co-workers. Not much better than your average job. On the other hand, you never got paid at the end of the day on your average job. Jim was glad to be able to get his hands on some cash, which he desperately needed.

"The first thing I'm going to do is shower. Then I'll grab something to eat and wind down with some weed. I'll save the coke for the a.m. when I need to wake up.

On a positive note, Jim noticed that the day went by without any of the dangers C-Note had talked about. If he were lucky, things would continue this way. Jim wasn't planning to make this his career. He'd just do it until he had enough money to hold him while he waited to find another job, which he hoped would be sooner than later.

Eleven

The sun stood high and proud in the sky, shining brightly, warming the air, and announcing that spring had arrived. In the streets, people imbibed the sun's energy and were as busy as bees in a hive. Many walked around struggling with bags from a day of shopping, while others were snacking on their way home from work. Parents were escorting their children home from school. Amidst this scene outside a park, Way-lo decided to stop and take a seat on a bench. His body was still achy from the beating C-Note gave him earlier in the week. In the past Way-lo took pride in his ability to take a beating and keep going. It made him tough. Now, it was starting to wear him down.

Way-lo was tired. It had nothing to do with all the running around he had been doing just to scrounge up $75.00 for a high that lasted less than a few hours. He was tired of feeling like garbage and he was tired of the cycle: get the money, to get the high, to calm the monster, to stay alive. It was a cycle that resulted in nothing more than a repeat of the cycle. It reminded him of the hamster that his mother had bought for him on his 8th birthday. At the time he named it Kane. Sometimes when he had nothing to do, he would watch Kane running furiously on his little wheel. No matter how fast or how long Kane ran he was still in the cage. Way-lo always wondered why Kane did that. His mother said it was because Kane was an animal and didn't know any better. Deacon said he did it to get exercise. Either way it just seemed silly to expend that much energy to go nowhere and get nothing. Now Way-lo felt as if he was that hamster running on the wheel in a futile chase.

There was a time when Way-lo's feet controlled the wheel. If he would just stop running, the wheel would stop, and he could get off and rest himself for a few minutes. But lately, it seemed as if the wheel had taken on a life of its own, going faster and faster, forcing him to keep up with its frenzied pace. There was no way off and Way-lo was running out of steam. He didn't know how much longer before he collapsed and just allowed himself to be crushed by the centrifugal force of the wheel.

Right now he had $75.00 in his pocket, and he was due to get another deposit on his benefits card in a few days that he could trade away for cash. He felt secure knowing that if he needed to, all he had to do was just drop by Smoke's spot and get his fix. There was no need to rush. Everything was good. He was calm. Problem was this fragile security wouldn't last long. The monster would soon be speeding up the wheel again.

As he sat, he watched the children playing in the park nearby. They were running, jumping, laughing and playing with a carefree abandon. No problems. No worries. It had been a long time since Way-lo had been that way. Not since the time when people called him Chris. Back then it was just him and mami. Chris didn't know anything about his real dad except that he was black and that he was married to another woman. That was all mami had ever told him. Chris and his mom never really had much, but they had each other and everything was all right. Memories from back then were warm and pleasant like a cup of cocoa on a winter night. There were summers at tar beach with snow cones, feeding pigeons on the rooftop, window shopping at Christmas, and beans and rice with platanos for dinner in front of the television watching 'Sabado Gigante' on a carefree weekend. Back then he was a good boy: mami's little helper, the shy kid in school. Chris wasn't that smart; he had a lot of trouble catching onto his lessons, but everyone thought he was nice. Everybody liked him. But then mami hooked up with Deacon and things went down hill from there.

Deacon was all right some of the time. Sometimes he'd give Chris money to buy chicken wings from the Chinese place. Sometimes he'd take him to the movies or to the park on the weekends. At other times, Deacon drank and when he drank, he was mean. When he drank he would tell Chris's mother, Lilliana, that Chris was spoiled and needed to be taken down a notch. Deacon often accomplished this with a wide leather strap he kept in the closet. Deacon would resort to the strap whenever Chris would take too long to eat his food, or if he threw up on the kitchen floor by accident, or if he let the beer spill when he was carrying it over. The worst part was, he didn't know why Deacon hated him so much. Chris tried to be a good boy whenever Deacon was around. Still, no matter how good Chris tried to be, Deacon would find some fault. Even when he wasn't drunk, Deacon could find some very unkind things to say about Chris. 'Retarded', was Deacon's favorite word to describe Chris.

Deacon was only the beginning of Chris's misery. Not long after Deacon had married mami, a woman brought a boy to their house. The boy was about 14 or 15 years old and the woman claimed the boy was Deacon's son. She couldn't take care of this boy anymore, so she left him on the doorstep. The boy didn't like Deacon and he downright hated Chris. After the first week, Mami wasn't sure the new arrangement would work.

"I don't know Deek. Maybe...maybe we should call foster care or something,"

"Why? You think my son's not good enough to stay here?"

"No! no! It's nothin' like that! It's just...he don't respect you, Deek. He don't respect nobody. He's always pickin' on Chris..."

"Oh, I see what this is about" Deacon began to fume. "You mean to tell me I can spend time and money on your little brat, but I got to put my son out! You want to talk 'bout how my son don't respect! You the one need to learn to respect mine!"

The discussion sent Deacon into a rage and Chris spent the night locked in a hall closet, crying while Deacon beat his mother senseless. Deacon's decision was final. The boy was staying.

Seeing the boy's face flash before him as he reminisced was too much for Way-lo to bear. The memory caused the monster to stir and Way-lo began to feel sick. It was time to make his way over to the spot.

As Way-lo headed down the street, he stopped when he heard the loud sound of a voice speaking.

"Testing, testing"

He looked over across the street to see some people from the local church setting up some speakers and a microphone. There was an older woman who looked as if she was dressed for a wedding in her light green sheath dress, matching covercoat and pumps. She even had the fancy hat, pearls, and one of those tiny clutch bags to complete the look. With her was another older man who was dressed like a corporate tycoon with his fancy trench coat and black suit. Way-lo knew who they were because he had seen them before. They were from the church over on 135th Street. Every once in a while they would come to this area and start trying to recruit people to join their church. They would always start off by singing songs and then they would start talking about God and how good he was and how he could change people. From the looks of it, it seemed that God had been very good to them.

"Praise the Lord, everybody!" The woman began. "That's right, I just have to praise the Lord because he is so good! He is a healer. He is a redeemer. He can do anything but fail. He has worked miracles in my life and he can do the same for you. No matter what you are going through, there's nothing too hard for God to handle..."

Way-lo turned away and resumed his path to Smoke's place. Most folks he ever knew never believed any of the things these church folk talked about and he had no reason to think otherwise. All that stuff about "the goodness of God" and "blessings" just seemed like empty talk in light of everything he had ever experienced. To Way-lo it just seemed like life was like a game called 'Every Man For Himself'. Way-lo didn't have enough fingers and toes to count how many times his so called 'loved ones' had stabbed him in the back. So after a while, he started doing a little backstabbing and hustling himself. He knew he'd done a lot of wrong, but he couldn't help feeling that wrong was an inevitable part of life. There was no such thing as justice or fairness and certainly no god involved. You could be a taker or you could be taken. You could be a hunter or you could be prey. You could be a hustler or get hustled. Sometimes you'd be the former and sometimes the latter, but the smarter people who had this game down, knew how to stay in the more powerful position. There was a time when Way-lo thought he was getting the hang of things, but now he was hopeless. He had nothing, he was nothing, and he couldn't see anything changing in the future. As he continued down the block, the words of the woman stalked behind him.

"I just want to let you know He's here for you and He can bring you out of your despair. He's here to bring you peace..."

Still, it would be nice to be able to have peace. All Way-lo had ever wanted was peace: the same peace that those children had on the playground. The peace that he had before his life was turned upside down by events he could not control. It was the search for peace that had gotten him into this mess. Way-lo wondered if he would ever truly find it.

Twelve

After working in what he would call 'the warehouse' for two weeks, Jim still felt ambivalent toward his new temporary vocation. The only thing that made the experience bearable was the fact that he still had not encountered any of the hazards C-Note mentioned during their first day. So far there had been no stick up kids, no cops, plain-clothes or otherwise to deal with. Not to mention the fact that he finally had a steady income since his arrest more than a year ago. Jim had done his best to make accommodations for the unpleasant conditions in the warehouse. He made sure to do a few lines early, which helped keep him alert during his shift. Work began at 5:30am and ended whenever Smoke came to get his money, which could be anywhere between 6:30pm (if he was prompt) and 9:00 or 10:00pm. Jim brought snacks to eat just in case he got hungry as well as something to drink, and he used the alley outside as a toilet. Now that C-Note was back to scouting, Jim was in the warehouse by himself. He brought a portable DVD player to help him deal with the long hours of solitude, but he rarely ever used it. He was too busy listening for the taps from customers or for the possibility of stick up kids trying to break in. Once he was so paranoid, he almost pulled his piece on Smoke. After that they established a knocking system so Jim could be sure who it was.

Everyday, Jim manned the warehouse, including Saturdays and Sundays. In the game there was no such thing as time off or vacation. The only time Jim had to himself was during the evenings, and even then, only when Smoke came early enough. At the end of the week, Jim would have a little more than $1,000.00, which was much more than Smoke had originally promised. Even so, given how many hours he worked, it came out to about $10.00 an hour – not even as much as your average civil servant. He would have done better in his old job and would have been paid time and a half for the over-time. Jim was just glad he wasn't one of the many 'street boys' some other dealers had, or even guys like C-Note, who didn't have the luxury of being inside when it rained or snowed and spent much of their time on their feet.

In between the flow of customers, which ranged from sporadic to hectic, there was nothing left for Jim to do but think. It was not something that he relished, for there were many things he was forced to consider in the span of time; things he didn't want to. For example, he was forced to realize that the 'favor' that Smoke had done for him had actually worked out more for Smoke's benefit than for anyone else. Now Smoke could go to work, come home, relax, and sell drugs without getting his own hands dirty. It was Jim who had the drugs and if he got caught in this operation, he'd be doing the hard time. C-Note had been working with Smoke for a long time, and wasn't as involved in the day to day as much as Jim was. Jim had no other choice but to consider the fact that maybe he'd been duped.

Then there was C-Note, who didn't seem to care for him at all. Jim knew that he had to watch his back with this brother. Jim was aware that C-Note felt threatened by Jim's relationship to Smoke, whatever that was. He could feel C-Note's antipathy whenever he was around. It made him uncomfortable and his job harder. Overall, it put a distance between Jim and those he worked with. There was no bond of 'brotherhood'. It was something that Jim missed.

The lack of intimate relations often made his thoughts wander back to his old friends: Allen, Tamiko, Richard, and Tim. He wondered what they were doing; if they missed him at all. He wondered how they would feel about what he was doing now. Sometimes he could hear their voices in his head:

"Dude! Have you lost your freakin' mind! There are better and quicker ways to commit suicide if that's what this is about"

"Cold Snap! You done gone gangsta?!"

"If you need money I'll give it to you, just get out of this!"

"Just tell me why, man. What reason could you possibly have for doing this? Especially after what happened to your dad"

Jim wished he had some coke right now to make the thoughts go away, but he didn't. They just kept coming. He had to think about his dad and where he was now. Jim wondered if he could see what he was doing and how he might feel about it. Would he be ashamed? Would he be angry that Jim had become a criminal? Would he be sad about what had happened to his legacy? Then he thought about his mother.

"Baby, this don't make no sense! Don't tell me about what you had to do. The only thing you have to do is die"

Worse than anything else was that when he was sober and had a chance to think, he had the sinking suspicion that he had taken a wrong turn. Like a novice swimmer that had allowed himself to drift into the deep end of a lake, but didn't know how to get back to the shallow end where it was safe. Anxiety began to take hold of him and twisted his mind. He heard things; every noise made him jump. He began to see things: shadows flitting by. Was there someone inside the warehouse with him? Had someone snuck in? Stick up kids? His father's ghost? Jim's hands began to shake. He needed the coke. It helped put things in perspective for him. Coke helped to take away his fears and apprehensions. It made him brave and bold. Coke made life liveable.

Taps from the window beckoned him back to his business. Jim was glad for that. When he carefully checked out the scene as C-Note had taught him, he saw that it was the scraggly looking old man that owed the debt to Smoke. They called him Way-lo. This had to be the second or third time he'd been by today.

"That strung out brother is back again. How much of this crap can he take?"

Jim took his money that he placed through the gate and inspected it: $75.00. As per the arrangement, he took 20% of the money for the debt and gave him product for the other rest.

"How much I owe now?" asked Way-lo.

Jim knew his account had been more than paid in full by now, but Smoke was over charging Way-lo as a form of punishment. Jim didn't want to get in the middle.

"I don't know. Smoke just says to keep takin' 20% 'till you paid off" blurted Jim who was getting irritated. He needed his own fix right now and couldn't get to it.

"Can't I just put a little somethin' on it. This ain't gonna last me, man"

"Not my problem"

"Please, man," begged Way-lo, shaking the gates of the window. When Jim looked back, tears were in the man's eyes. Smoke said junkie tears were crocodile tears.

"You don't understand, man. I be hurtin' so bad, and every time it takes more to stop it. Please. I'll bring more money next time"

Way-lo was a junkie. C-Note had warned him that junkies will say and do anything to get what they want. All Way-lo wanted was to get as much heroin as he could for as little as he had to pay. C-Note would have told him to go to hell. That's what Jim felt he should do. Compassion was not practical. Addicts like Way-lo could act pitiful one minute and then get aggressive then next. They lived for the fix – only the fix. There was definitely something about this idea that made Way-lo at once both despicable and frightening to Jim - even terrifying.

Jim took $10.00 out of his own pocket and put it with the rest of the money he had collected for Smoke. Then he grabbed another dime bag of heroin and pushed it through the window.

"Take this crap and get the hell out of here, ni**a!" yelled Jim. His use of the word 'ni**a' to another brother startled him.

"Thank you, man. I appreciate you. You real..."

"Just shut the hell up and get out of here!" The guy's obsequiousness was more than annoying.

"I'm going. Thank you. I'm going. I'm a give you your money and then some. I'll see you around, man"

Jim didn't know why he did what he did, but it made him feel good. Maybe he wasn't as lost as he thought he was. Things could be worse. He wasn't a hot-shot lawyer. He didn't have a secure future as a transit worker. Jim was only a two-bit pusher, but even that was better than being a heroin addict and a strung out junkie.

Thirteen

Smoke was in a good mood when he hit the club with his boys, and with good reason. He didn't quite know why or how, but ever since he had put Jim as his front man, it seemed like his side business was taking off. His customer base had tripled, and profits soared. At this rate, he was going to be able to get credit for more product and be able to expand the tableau of offering he sold. He might even be able to hire some more help. He was blowing up.

After greeting Doug and Nemo, Smoke went up to his usual spot in the VIP area. C-Note was trying to chat up some chick that wasn't even feeling him. "This ni**a always chasin' tail" thought Smoke feeling rather disgusted. Smoke hated brothers that were so easily sprung on a woman. He saw it as a sign of weakness. According to Smoke, real men knew women were a dime a dozen and didn't waste any time chasin' them. If they wasn't 'ride or die', drop 'em and get one that was. Smoke didn't really have time for them. Most of his chicks were just 'booty calls'. Some of them ended up baby mommas with all the ensuing drama. Overall, he never had one that he would call his 'woman'. Smoke felt women were a liability to building an empire because they had a hard time keeping their mouths and their legs closed. C-Note was gonna have to cut his mack short.

"C-Note, my nig! What's happenin'?"

"Just makin' friends. This is Angela. She works here. Angela – Smoke"

"Hi,"

The girl cast a wary eye toward Smoke.

"Hey," Smoke said curtly before turning his attention to C-Note. "If you'll excuse us miss..."

"No problem. I have to go back to work anyways"

"What's going down?" asked C-Note as he walked with Smoke toward their spot in the back.

"Where's Jay?" asked Smoke ignoring C-Note's question.

"I haven't seen him"

"I wanna wait 'til we're all together. I'll give him another 5 minutes or so"

"I don't know about that ni**a, Smoke. He soft as ice cream in the summertime. I just have a feeling that one day he's gonna cost us everything"

"Well right now he's our good luck charm. We've been tripling sales. He gotta be doin' somethin' right"

"C'mon, Smoke. All that ni**a do is stand there and collect the money. He's not the one goin' 'round enemy territory chasin' down junkies, spreadin' the word. He's not the one makin' sure heat don't come down on you"

Smoke could sense C-Note's jealousy. He had to diffuse it or it would wreck his operation. He couldn't have one of his men sabotaging the other.

"Note, I know you not whinin' like a jealous little *****. You know you're irreplaceable to me. You a more important a part of this operation than Jay is. You was the one that gave me the idea to even get a front man. All I'm sayin' is he's good at what he do, just like you good at what you do"

C-Note took his seat and was silent, but Smoke could see that he was still upset.

"Look, man. I'm gonna tell you something that's on the D.L."

C-Note looked up.

"Now I know you been wantin' more responsibility and everything, but right now you need to be glad you're not in his position right now. Jay's a fall guy. We need him to take the heat off of us, especially now that we blowin' up. People are starting to take notice. Better that he's the one they see up front. Just chill and trust me. Feel?" Smoke knew he was being a little dramatic, but he was willing to say what he had to in order to quell C-Note's rising ambition.

"I hear you"

At that moment Jim walked up to the table.

"Sorry 'bout being late. Traffic was jacked up"

"S' allright" beamed Smoke, "What you want? Sky's the limit"

"They got any of that smooth stuff?"

"Let's see"

Smoke called over a waitress who brought a bottle to the table. Once everyone had a drink, Smoke got down to business.

"Good news is we've got a lot more customers and we're almost ready to take things to the next level"

"Alright! I'll drink to that!"

"I'm looking into new venues for the operation, and maybe a guy that will work with Jay and process product, and another guy for security. If either of you know anybody that's down, let me know"

"I already know somebody that could process for you," offered C-Note.

"Fine. Send 'em by me"

"Where we moving to?" asked Jim.

"I talked to the super at the complex. He's down. NYCHA gave him the basement apartment for working there, but he don't use it cause he got a co-op in Inwood. He was lettin' it out to some illegals, but they didn't pay him so he kicked them out. Now he gonna let me have it"

"Cool" said Jim who was glad at the prospect of moving from the warehouse.

"Now you won't have to worry about any stray cats or mice," sneered C-Note. Jim shot him a cold look, which C-Note returned.

"There's somethin' more important we have to worry about. Now that we growin' there's some people that might see us as a threat. You all need to be on red alert. Haters might send stick up kids. They may send somebody to start a beef to get a war going. They may try to snitch on us. You gotta watch yourselves no matter where you are. I'ma amp up the inventory so there's gonna be a lot at stake"

"You don't have to worry, man. I got your back," said Jim.

"That's not enough. Havin' my back is nice, but I need to know if you a true gangsta or not"

Smoke put it out there. He was concerned about both of them. Like C-Note had said, Jim was soft. C-Note, on the other hand, was too eager. He'd do something rash and bring heat down on him sure enough. Now that Smoke was dealing with a larger inventory there was a lot more at risk. He had to know that his soldiers were willing to protect his interests at any cost.

"What you mean?" asked Jim.

Smoke thought it was clear. Jim's question worried him.

"I'm talkin' about whether or not you can handle business without bringing down heat. I don't have time for ni**as that can't pull the trigger when they need to, or ni**as that's so hot to pull the trigger that they can't see straight. I need peeps who can get the job done. At the end of the day I don't expect to lose a dime and I expect the people who work for me to be willing to make sure my business is tight"

"You know I'm down," said C-Note enthusiastically.

"What about you, Jay?"

There was a momentary pause in the conversation that made them all uncomfortable.

"I'm down"

Jay was serious. Smoke could tell by the look on Jay's face that he now understood the full import of his role. Knowing the dude's character, if Jay gave his word he'd keep it. Guys like Jay were invaluable so long as they didn't get strung out. Smoke was hoping that Jay was tougher than he seemed, otherwise it wouldn't be long before he had to look for another front man.

Fourteen

"Tap – Tap – Tap." The customers were calling again. Jim checked the window: another regular customer. He took the money, got the order, and sent it through the window. Not long after, more taps could be heard. Over the past few weeks there had been a steady increase in business, but today it seemed like there were more customers than ever. Jim was having a hard time trying to keep track of who was who since there were so many more faces he needed to remember. He decided to give them all personal code names in his head that were based on some outstanding physical attribute. The big fat white guy with the long white beard he called "Santa", the black girl with the blonde weave he dubbed "goldilocks". This, coupled with the fact that the majority of them came by more than several times a day, helped him to maintain some order. The only other thing that worried him was the sheer volume of the business now. Jim was afraid of running out of product before the end of the day. Smoke was right. Business was blowing up.

As Jim was in the process of filling orders, he stopped for a moment, thinking that he had heard a noise from within. He wanted to check it out, but the taps from the window summoned him back to his business.

"It was probably just the building settling," Jim reasoned to himself trying to shake off his apprehensions. When the wind blew the place made all kinds of noises. "Only a few more weeks and I'll be out of this dump" He was hoping the new place Smoke had chosen would have better accommodations. In the back of his mind was Smoke's warning from their last meeting, but the coke he'd just had wouldn't let him worry about it.

As the late afternoon wore on, the pace slowed down, and Jim thought he would play a game on his phone. He hadn't scored many points when he heard another noise. When he looked up from the screen, he thought he saw something moving along a corridor by the kitchen area of the house. Jim put away his phone, grabbed his gun, and went to investigate.

"Probably just another cat. Still better to be prepared than not"

He had only gone a few steps when a man in a dirty painter's uniform confronted him. Jim drew his weapon reflexively.

"Who the hell are you?!" Jim barked, but before the man could respond, Jim recognized him as one of the customers. He was a middle aged Indian man. His eyes were bulging, his face flushed red.

"I just had to talk to you" he began.

"What the hell do you think you're doing in here?"

"I don't have a lot of money and I was wondering if we could make a deal"

"You know how it works – outside!"

Jim was trying to keep his attention on the man and at the same time scan the room. Who knew if this guy had a partner or if this was part of an ambush. Jim's heart raced as he continued the exchange.

"I been with you long time. I'll pay you, I just... I just need one bag. I'll come back this afternoon when I cash my paycheck. I'll give you my cell phone as collateral" the man's voice was breaking and he was shaking and sweating profusely.

"I don't think so. You know we don't do trades"

"Please, sir. Please listen to me. I've never done this before. You can trust me. I always pay. I promise you, I'll come back"

Jim thought about what the man had said. He'd had compassion on Way-lo. Why not help this guy out, too? He didn't look like he was strung out like Way-lo – just hard up for a fix. Still the fact that he had the nerve to break protocol and come inside the house made Jim wary. Then he noticed the man looking around.

"You need to leave. Now."

The man stood motionless for a second before, he lunged at Jim, trying to grab the gun from his hands. It was a real struggle and the adrenaline rush the guy was having made him stronger than he looked. Jim could feel that he was losing control of the situation and he knew he couldn't let that happen. Jim summoned all his strength to give the man a knee to the abdomen, which caused the man to double over. Then Jim grabbed the guy by the collar and pistol-whipped him, sending him to the floor. Once the man was down, Jim knew he couldn't let the intruder get back up. Jim started stomping on the man; first on the back, then the chest and the head. Jim's own adrenaline was kicking in now and taking over. All Jim could think of was that he didn't want to die. It was almost as if he was in a trance. Finally the man's screams brought Jim back to reality. When he came to, Jim found himself kneeling on the chest of the intruder, the gun pressed into the wailing man's temple. Jim was about to pull the trigger.

"Please don't kill me! Please! I'm sorry!"

"How did you get in here?!"

"Through the back window"

Only when he felt the man's strength had given way did Jim get up. The man writhed on the floor sobbing weakly, still pleading with Jim for mercy. Then Jim grabbed the man's collar and dragged him out of the house; the man moaning in agony along the way.

"You come back in here again, you won't leave alive. Got it!"

The man crawled away from the warehouse. When Jim went back inside, he went through the whole house from top to bottom to make sure there was no one else inside. First, he went to the back window in the kitchen area that the junkie had told him about. It had indeed been opened and irrepairably broken in the process, so that Jim couldn't close it back. Jim closed the door to the kitchen and propped the old dirty couch against the door. If anyone else tried to come in through that way, they'd be trapped inside. After having secured the warehouse as much as he could, he had no other choice but to go back to his post by the window seat.

Jim was shaking when he sat down. He was lucky it was just a desperate junkie, but what if the man had brought a gun? What if it had been stick up kids? Jim could have been killed. Jim knew this coming into the game, but the attack he'd just been in made it real to him.

"That dude almost had you. He almost took your gun"

Jim went over to the bag and took out the tiny vial of cocaine he had brought. He usually never needed a second hit, once he had it in the morning, but the ordeal he'd just been through justified it. He prepared himself a few lines.

"You're lucky you didn't have to pull the trigger, but one day you're going to have to if you stay in this business long enough"

Jim didn't want to think. He snorted the lines. It took a few moments, but then he began to feel better.

"I should have iced that punk. Stupid junkies"

That's all they were: junkies. Kind of like the zombies in a video game. Nobody cared if they lived or died. Maybe they were even better off dead. Killing them would do them a favor.

"The next time one of those punks steps to me, he's gone"

****

"Tap-tap-tap." Jim went to the window and looked out. It was that fool Way-lo. Jim waited to see the money appear through the lattice of the gate, but there was none. "What the hell is this ni**a trying to pull?" he puzzled.

"Where's the money?" barked Jim.

"I- I wanted to talk to you – I, I think, I think I'm paid off," he stuttered "You-You keep takin' part, but I'm – I'm paid off"

"Who the hell does he think he is? talkin' to me like that," Jim bristled inside himself. The coke had made him edgy as well as hyper. Jim knew what he would do for Way-lo.

Jim went outside making sure that Way-lo didn't see where he came from. Way-lo didn't even notice when Jim was right behind him.

"What was you sayin'?" said Jim.

Way-lo spun around in surprise. He backed up a bit and looked down at the ground.

"I'm – I'm paid up. I think," muttered Way-lo, fidgeting with a torn coat sleeve.

"Is that right?" said Jim moving closer to him. "Now how do you figure that?"

"I been thinkin' about it. Going over it in my head"

"See, that's where you went wrong"

Jim pistol-whipped him across the face. The blow sent Way-lo reeling towards the window before he bounced off it to the ground. As Way-lo struggled to get to his feet, Jim grabbed him and put him in a chokehold. The he dragged him further down the alley between the house and the adjacent complex and pointed his gun to Way-lo's head.

"Please...don't...kill me! I'll...pay! I'll...pay!" gasped Way-lo.

Jim was enthralled by his cries. Now he was the one doing the hunting. He could sense Way-lo's fear and he was drinking it in. It was as intoxicating as the coke.

"Shut up! You d**n right, you gonna pay. You gonna pay as long as I say so. Dig?"

"Aiight" squeaked Way-lo, his head in Jim's tight vise.

Jim let him out of the headlock, but not before sending him against the wall of the neighboring building and onto the ground.

"Now let's try this again" he snarled before he went back to his post at the window. This time Way-lo gave him three ten-dollar bills. Jim sent back three, dime bags.

Way-lo's eyes widened when he saw his good fortune, but at the same time he was scared. He didn't bother thanking Jim this time. He just hurried away as fast as he could.

Jim watched him wistfully through the window. He knew he could never pull the trigger on Way-lo.

Fifteen

Jim had gotten to the club early. He wanted some time to unwind and have fun before he got down to business. Business was what Smoke was all about. The guy never seemed to take a break. Jim was grateful for all that Smoke had done for him, but he wanted a life, too. If he wasn't at the warehouse, then he was meeting Smoke at the club. There was no time to do the things Jim wanted to do for himself. No time to look for another job, no time to go shopping, and barely time to get a haircut. Jim was making money with no time to really enjoy it. What little time he did have was always at the service of Smoke and his operation. Jim felt as if he was Smoke's slave and he was starting to get sick of it. Jim desperately wanted some time that was his own.

Instead of heading straight to the back of VIP, Jim decided to sit at the bar for a while.

"What'll you have" asked a beautiful woman in a smooth voice. She had long dark hair ironed straight with a part down the middle. She had a smooth chestnut complexion with almond shaped eyes and a pouty mouth that was lightly glazed with mauve lipgloss. Jim couldn't help but be captivated by her warm, dimpled smile.

"Bourbon"

"Straight?"

"Yeah"

Jim wanted to chat her up, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Then he thought of the perfect pitch when she came back with his drink. He was ready to mack when he noticed she was staring at him nervously.

"Are you okay?"

"Sure? Why?"

"It looks like your nose is bleeding"

Jim touched his nostril and looked at his hand to see the drop of blood. He thought it was just another runny nose. He had been getting a runny nose a lot lately. He thought he could just sniff it up as he always did.

"Here's a tissue," the young woman offered. "Do you want some ice?"

"No, that's not necessary. This happens all the time. It's just that it's warm in here"

This was actually the first time Jim had ever had a nosebleed in his life. However after dabbing his nose with the tissue a couple of times, it seemed to go away. He was just glad the situation gave him an opening to talk to the beautiful woman in front of him. It had been a while since he'd had some good female companionship.

"Are you new here? I've been here more than a couple of times, but I don't think I've seen you before"

"I've been working here for about a year," she laughed.

"Really?" asked Jim a little embarrassed, but not discouraged. "What's your name?"

"Angela"

"Pretty name. I'm Jim. Jim Reid"

"Nice to meet you, Jim"

"So, Angela, where have you been hiding all this time?"

"In plain sight. It's you and your boys that are always hiding away in the back over there"

"Okay, you got me," laughed Jim. Angela gave him another smile. He really loved her smile.

"I should ask you what's so much fun back there"

"Nothin'. We're just hangin' out," said Jim who was trying not to reveal too much. "Where do you like to hang when you're not here?"

"Let me see, I like to go to the movies, or a play. Sometimes I bowl"

"Really? I like to bowl, too. There's an alley over on Adam Clayton Powell and 125th, right across the street from that Pentecostal church. Have you been there?"

"Actually, I haven't. I usually go with my girls to a place over in Brooklyn"

"Well, how about I take you around sometime?"

"Okay. Sure. When?"

"How about next Saturday at 6:30?"

"That's kinda cutting it close for me. I have to be here by nine"

"Does 5:30 sound better? We'll bowl, have some dinner and then I'll drop you off"

"Much better"

They both exchanged numbers and Jim got her address so he could pick her up. Not long after, C-Note and Smoke showed up on the scene. When Jim saw them come in, he knew he would have to excuse himself from Angela.

"There go my boys. I'm going to have to go"

"As usual. Don't worry. I understand"

"See you Saturday"

"See you"

Jim caught up with them as they headed toward the back.

"'Sup, Jay? How's it goin'?" asked Smoke. C-Note was silent.

"Good. Especially since I just scored a date with that hot chick at the bar over there"

"You mean Angela?" asked C-Note breaking his silence.

"You know her?"

"Hmmph. I thought I did"

"Forget the chick we got things to discuss"

"But I wanted to know if you could do me a favor and get the pick up a little earlier on Saturday. I promised I'd take her out and I said I'd pick her up at 5:30"

"I'll see what I can do, but I can't make no promises"

"But you don't even work Saturdays"

"Hey, I've got a life, too ya know. I got errands to run, kids I gotta do things for, and these baby mommas is driving me crazy"

"C'mon, Smoke. I've been workin' for you for a while and I've never really asked you for anything..."

"I said I'd try aiight. I'm tryin' to meet you halfway, but business comes first, all that other nonsense can wait"

Jim could see that his request had irritated Smoke so he didn't say anything more as they walked to the table in the back where they usually sat.

"Speaking of business" began Jim who was fuming over the fact that Smoke wouldn't guarantee just a few hours off for a date. "I think we need to discuss what's going on with security until we get ready to move to the new location"

"Yeah, right. That's all ready set. C-Note is taking care of it. He's gonna have somebody watchin' the back from now on"

This news was of little comfort to Jim. He knew C-Note resented him and wanted him out. Jim wasn't sure if he could trust C-Note or his man. They might even set him up. Jim wanted to bring this up to Smoke, but he wasn't sure how to broach the subject with him.

"I just want to let you all know we have to be careful with our supply and make the most of it. Like I told you a while ago, I've been able to score bigger, but now we have to move more. To keep things flowin' until we move to the new place, I'm gonna set C-Note up with a street operation"

C-Note tried to keep cool, but Jim could see the smugness behind his casual front. This was just what C-Note had been waiting for.

"And Jay, I been meanin' to talk to you 'bout how you handled yourself with that break in"

"I thought the place was secure" Jim interrupted trying to explain himself.

"Just let me finish, yo. I'm tryin' to say that I like how you handled that. There's a lot of simps out there that woulda let loose wit' they piece and next thing you know cops watchin' and everything all messed up. What you did showed real control, you know – smooth. So I'm gonna put you over the house when we get set up.

C-Note looked wide-eyed at Smoke and then at Jim. He seemed as if he wanted to say something, but then only began to glower at his drink.

"Both of you are going to get a little somethin' extra" continued Smoke. "And Jay, maybe we can cut some of them hours once we get some things situated. Like I got two guys comin' down tonight to meet us who are gonna to help us out in the new place. We got a guy who's gonna be preparing stuff for sale and we got a guy who's gonna be extra security.

"When's the new location going to be ready?"

"Three to four weeks. From then on it's gonna be full speed ahead"

At that moment two men came to the table. One was a slim Latino looking dude with dark features. He was dressed in a black suit with a black shirt and a white silk tie that was loosely tied around an open collar. His hair was slicked back. Everything about him looked like a GQ cover with the exception of a scar that ran across his throat from one side of his jaw line to the other. Jim didn't even want to think about how he could have acquired such a scar. The other was an older looking well-chiseled, African-American dude. He had to be at least 6'5 and seemed to take up all the space in VIP. He had on a black turtleneck, khakis, and a black, wool-twill blazer draped over it. Jim guessed the latter had to be the security. Smoke stood up to greet them.

"Hey, dogs! How y'all livin'?"

They all exchanged greetings and then Smoke introduced them. The Latino guy was named Ceasar. He was going to be involved in the processing and the thick dude was called Bricks. He was indeed the security as Jim had surmised.

As the men took their seats, Smoke continued to elaborate on his plan for expansion. As Smoke talked, Jim had a hard time staying focused. All he could think about was how he was being totally absorbed into Smoke's world. Smoke made all the rules. Smoke decided when he could go and come, what he did and when he could do it. What made it worse was that his whole system of operation was so arbitrary. Just when Jim was getting used to things, Smoke could change the way things worked at the drop of a hat. Jim felt as if he was suffocating.

"Excuse me," said Jim rather abruptly. "I need to use the restroom"

"We'll be here. Just don't take too long"

Jim knew C-Note was eyeing him suspiciously, but he didn't care.

When Jim got to the bathroom, he reached for the vial of coke he had stashed in his inside pocket. His hands were so shaky that he nearly dropped it. Then he pulled his mirror, razor, and lucky dollar from another pocket and went into a stall to do a few lines. Once he finished, he sat back on the toilet seat and leaned his head against the wall, as the high took hold of him. His anxiety began to die down and he believed he could see things more clearly.

"Smoke is just lookin' out for me. He's giving me a real opportunity. I'ma be over the house and I'm gonna get more money. I'm gonna be ballin' now"

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed the tiny drops of blood on the floor. His nose was bleeding again. He had a pain inside his head as well. This wasn't good.

"Maybe I need to scale back some"

He'd scale back, but he wouldn't stop.

Sixteen

Way-lo was beginning to come out of his nod. He wasn't high really. When he was high, he went on a sky-ride above the clouds. He was free. Being high felt good. But for the past hour or so, Way-lo didn't feel anything. He was just numb. As he sat on the stoop of a brownstone he was aware of everything around him, but he couldn't feel it. He knew there were daisies and lilies in a nearby flowerbed. He could smell them if he couldn't see them. There were people around him talking as they passed by and he could understand their funny stories, but he couldn't laugh. At times a phantom from his past would flutter across his consciousness like an image across a movie screen.

At times he would be watching himself during the most painful times of his life: being beaten by his stepfather, being choked while his stepbrother raped him, coming home to find his mother dead and his stepbrother in handcuffs. Then there was the foster home where he was abused by his foster mother's boyfriend. The other foster families he ran away from, the arrests, the beatings from drug dealers. It was a tableau of pain, but in this state he didn't feel anything. But Way-lo was tired of feeling numb. He wanted to feel: to feel good again. He didn't want the artificial high that never seemed to last, but to really and truly feel good about himself and about life. Way-lo was tired of the phantoms of his past that chased him. He longed for a do-over or a re-boot. He couldn't do it himself. He had tried before and failed miserably.

As he was coming out of his nod into reality, he heard something: the melody of a song. It was a cry to be rebuilt: a soft, plaintive voice full of longing and desperation. It seemed to express everything he was feeling at this moment. He had to find out where this song was coming from.

It took all his strength and concentration, but Way-lo eased himself up off his stone perch and shuffled along the block, following the call of the harmony. There was someone or something that understood him. It gave him hope that, maybe, just maybe, he would find the help that he needed. Maybe he could find some kind of peace.

Way-lo followed the song all the way to the doors of the Greater Apostolic Church of Christ. There was still a lot of traffic from late churchgoers who were filing in through the doors. Many of them were dressed to impress: Big fancy hats, neatly pressed, dry-cleaned dresses in pastel colors and crisp dark suits. Way-lo looked down at his dirty sweat pants with the gaping holes, his faded army jacket with no buttons and broken zipper and the once white tattered sneakers that were two sizes too big and warped over. "I don't belong here", he thought. Way-lo wouldn't go in. He'd just stand close enough to listen to the rest of the song.

Way-lo closed his eyes and let the words sink into his heart. After a while he was able to catch hold of the chorus and found himself singing softly. As he mouthed his plea, he hoped within his heart that someone or something would finally hear him. Tears formed in his eyes, and he quickly brushed them away as the song ended.

It seemed weird to Way-lo. The song seemed to be about people who were just like him, but he had never thought his kind belonged in a church. Church was for the 'saints'. At least that was what his mother used to say. The only time she ever went to church was to pick up the free food and clothes they gave out. Deacon always said church was for stuck up folks who thought they were better than everybody else. Way-lo believed church was for people who hadn't been touched by the pain and sorrow that he had gone through. Church was for people without sin, and Way-lo had probably committed every sin there was, twice over. All the terrible things he had done and gone through in his life were reason enough to believe that if ever a God existed, there was no way He'd want him. So he knew these people would never want him in their church.

After the song had finished, Way-lo was about to turn away and go back to his usual routine of trying to hustle money for the next high, but he thought he heard someone call him.

"Hey! If you liked the song, you just might like the rest of the service"

Way-lo turned around. There was a young African-American man wearing a glen-plaid three-piece seasonless wool suit. He was smiling at him.

"Come on in and take a load off," the young man said as he held the door open.

The gesture threw Way-lo for a loop. It had been a very long time since anyone had invited him anywhere. Most times people were throwing him out of some place. The man seemed genuine, but Way-lo had his doubts. "Maybe this was a trick or a set up of some kind. This guy could be scouting for marks for the so-called "preacher" to make an example of," he thought to himself. He'd seen some of those mega-ministries do that kind of thing on cable TV. The last thing Way-lo wanted was to have somebody drag him up to the pulpit so some shady preacher could 'lay hands' on him or try to make him throw up a demon.

"I was just hangin' out for a bit. I don't wanna trouble you none"

"Nah, man. You're not troubling anybody. The doors of the church are open to everybody. Come on in"

"Maybe some other time, man. I ain't dressed right today"

"Well you're in luck because we don't have a dress code," said the young man.

"I don't know..."

"C'mon, man. It's hot out here. You could come in just to rest yourself and cool off for a few minutes. You could leave whenever you want. It's up to you"

His words were as warm as his broad smile and the man's playful manner helped Way-lo to feel more at ease. Way-lo reluctantly went in and the young man asked him where he wanted to sit. Way-lo pointed toward the row of pews in the back. These made for an easy, less noticeable escape if necessary. Way-lo sat at the end of a pew next to two older women. The first had on a sliver colored jaquard print suit topped by a silver hat with a huge silk bow and chiffon netting. The other was decked out in a big, sequined covered, hot-pink hat and pink chiffon dress. It did not escape Way-lo's notice when the former of the two got up and changed her seat before he even sat down. The woman in pink chiffon moved her purse over to the other side of her seat farthest away from where Way-lo was sitting, despite the fact that there was an empty seat between them. Way-lo couldn't help but think maybe he had made a mistake.

"That lady left because she didn't want you around. Nobody wants you here. Just look at the woman next to you. Why don't you just leave?"

The voice was right. He was messing up these folks's Sunday. Still, Way-lo couldn't help but feel like this was where he should be. Before he could make a decision about whether or not to leave, the preacher took to the podium at the altar.

"Praise the Lord, everybody!"

"Praise the Lord," the congregation responded.

"I want everybody to turn with me to the book of Luke, chapter 15. We're going to read this whole chapter today. When you find it say amen"

After several moments of page turning amongst the congregation, a hushed collective amen caught the air. The preacher led the congregation in reading the scripture in unison. There was a brief pause when the reading was finished. The scripture was about a young man who had got a lot of money from his dad and went out on his own to make a life for himself. When all the money was gone the dude wound up being somebody's slave, living in a bad place, eating food that was fit for pigs. Way-lo could relate to that part. He had been out on his own and things were good for a time, but now he didn't have anything left. For the past three years he'd been living like a stray dog. He'd even been reduced to waiting for the local fast food joint to dump its garbage in order to find a meal. The guy in the story had a happy ending though. At least the dude in the story had a dad he could go back to. Way-lo didn't have anybody. He didn't know if his life could ever have a happy ending.

"What are you doing here? You're wasting time. Instead of sitting here listening to this nonsense, you need to be trying to get your money straight. Won't be long before you start getting' sick again"

"Just a few minutes" Way-lo thought in response just before the preacher began his address.

"My subject: It's Time to Come Home. I know there's somebody out there just like the young man we just read about. There was a time when you saw all the things this world had to offer and it looked so good, you just had to go out and try to get a piece of that. You had some kind of dream about what you wanted your life to be like. Then you made a plan – you had it all planned out how you were going to get yours. For a while you felt like you were having a good time, and everything was going according to your plan. Then somehow, someway, the dream turned into a nightmare and you found yourself in a place where you never thought you would be, and it's not a good place either. One day you woke up and realized you were in hell and you didn't know how you got there or how to get out of it. In fact, you're in so deep you feel like there is no way out and there's nothing left to do except give up. The prodigal son was in so deep that he was ready to eat the husks that were for the swine. He had given up. He felt trapped. There seemed to be no other choice but to spend the rest of his days like an animal. But then he realized there was another choice. There is another choice"

The audience sent up a round of applause, and the preacher paused as he waited for the clapping and shouting to die down. In that space of time Way-lo had a chance to think. He knew what the preacher was talking about. Way-lo had felt duped by the nightlife that he thought would be the end of his problems. It had seduced him into a relationship with heroin: a relationship that had him in a trap that he felt he couldn't get out of. But the preacher had spoken of another choice. Way-lo sat in the seat and focused his attention as hard as he could. If there was a chance to escape from his wheel of destruction and find peace, Way-lo was desperate to find it.

"In fact, freedom had been there all the time, but the devil wouldn't let him see it. When the young man left home, the devil had him focused on the pleasures and pursuits of this life. Had him looking at success, accomplishments, money, sex, drugs, relationships, political power, material goods – none of which can ever satisfy. Many of us are fooled into thinking these things can bring us peace and contentment, but the more we have of these things, the more we seem to want. It leaves us frustrated, depressed, and empty. Then when everything the young man had was gone, the devil kept the young man focused on his circumstances: the fact that he had no money or friends anymore. He kept his eyes on what was instead of what could be. Some of us can't see past the fact that the rent is due, that the cancer is spreading, that we may go to jail, that our spouse has left us, or that we're craving that fix. For some of us, it is only after the world has whipped us, stripped us and left us destitute, that God can open our eyes and show us another way. He leads us back home to Him"

The congregation showed their agreement with shouts of praise and worship.

"Hallelujah!"

"Preach, pastor!"

"You see, the young man had experienced the goodness of his father, as many of us have experienced the goodness of God. That's what helped him to realize that he could go home. In the midst of his despair and misery the young man realized that he was not alone. There was Someone out there that he could go to. There was Someone who could give him the help that he needed. The young man realized that he didn't have to go on living the way he was living. He didn't have to eat the swine's food. He didn't have to live in poverty and misery. Not as long as there was Someone he knew who had enough to keep him for the rest of his life. He knew there was Someone that could pick him up and give him back his life. The young man had taken a wrong turn and ended up in a bad situation, but he didn't have to stay there. He could go back home. Some of you are out there and you think you have to spend the rest of your life in the situation the devil has led you into. I'm here to tell you that you don't have to stay there because there's a God that is waiting for you!"

Some of the people started to 'get happy' and dance in the aisle. Others were crying. Way-lo didn't know what to think of all that, but the message he was listening to seemed to speak to him somehow. The preacher paused as he waited for some of the congregants to calm down. Way-lo couldn't wait for him to return to his message.

"He's waiting for you to come back. Folks, it's time to come home. It's time for us to come home to the eternal salvation God has purchased for us through the blood of his Son Jesus Christ. God has so much more to offer you than what this world can ever afford. He has prepared for you a peace that passes understanding and a rest that can never be taken away, not just in heaven, but here on earth. No, we're not worthy, but He loved us so much He did it anyhow. He is just and willing to forgive us, redeem us, cleanse us from our sin, take away our pain and give us a peace that will last for eternity, if we come to Him with an open heart."

This 'home' seemed like a nice place. It made Way-lo think about the 'home' he had when he was just a little boy. When it was just him and mami. It was a place where he felt safe and loved. He was peaceful then. Way-lo didn't know much about that other home - the one the pastor was talking about, the one with God. The preacher made it seem less forbidding than those preachers he'd seen on cable TV. The problem was Way-lo had no idea how to get to this "home". It seemed that God had never let any of that goodness come his way. He didn't think he could ever be a part of it.

"However, I know there are people who have not known him. They don't know how much God loves them. They look at their lives and all they can see is the pain that they've gone through and the mistakes they've made. But I'm here to tell you that God loves you in spite of the mistakes you've made and in spite of the pain you've been through."

Way-lo was doubtful. He had been through so much. If God loved him, how in the world could He have allowed so many devastating things to happen to one person? Where was He in the midst of everything? Where was the rescue plan?

"A lot of us have been through so much, it makes us doubt. Sometimes we think that we suffer because of something we've done, which can be true to a certain extent. A lot of us are reaping what we have sowed to ourselves. When we make a choice to stray away from God, we will ultimately fall into troubles and problems. However, that doesn't mean that God has stopped loving us or that He has utterly forsaken us. If we repent with a contrite and humbled heart, God hears us and is faithful to answer. Think of the father in the parable we've just read. What did he do when the son came back and was sorry for what he had done? He gave him a robe and a ring and he made a feast for his son. The father was more than glad to have his son back and was willing to give him everything he had. If we repent of our sins with a sincere and genuine heart, God is more than happy to have us back, and more than that, He is willing to give us every good thing He has to offer. Our Father is a loving and forgiving God. He doesn't hold grudges. No matter how far you've think you've gone and no matter how much you've sinned, his grace still abounds. What could be better than that?"

Way-lo thought about what the preacher had said. It seemed too good to be true. "Is he sayin' that God could and would forgive me for everything I've done – just like that? Is that really possible?"

"Then some of us then think we suffer because God hates us," continued pastor Bynum. God hates sin, but he doesn't ever stop loving us. We also have to remember that our circumstances and our sufferings are not an indication of how much or how little God loves us. You have to remember a lot of good people suffered, too. Elijah suffered, Jeremiah, suffered. The apostles were persecuted and sent to jail a number of times. Even Jesus Christ suffered persecution on this earth, as well as the pain of death on the cross so that we might have eternal life. Pain is a part of life, but the good news is that if we have Christ, He can bring us through the pain to reap the benefits He has in store. If we have Christ, He is with us in the midst of the valley and He can deliver us. If we have Christ, then He can take our hardships and make them work out for our good – to make us stronger. But you have to come back. He's calling you. There is a God that loves you and he's seeking you. What does the Bible say? It says that when one sheep goes astray, he leaves the ninety-nine and he goes out looking for that one lost sheep."

What the preacher was saying seemed to make sense. It made Way-lo think about things differently. Way-lo could agree with the preacher about the fact that no one has it good all the time, not even 'good' people. He had seen a lot of good people get taken advantage of, and had even taken advantage of a few himself. One thing Way-lo did notice was how some people always seemed to be able to keep going not matter what life seemed to hit them with. "Could this Christ be the something or rather Someone that was helping them? Could he help me?" Way-lo pondered.

"Again, let's go back to the Word and see what it says. He said, 'even so it is not the will of your Father, which is in heaven that one of these little ones should perish.' Those little ones that he's talking about, includes you. God is talking about you. He doesn't want to see anyone destroyed by sin. He wants to rescue you from it because He loves you. The devil has had control over you long enough and the Father wants to release you."

"How do I really know he's seeking me? Maybe this stuff the preacher is talkin' about is for someone else" Way-lo reasoned within himself.

"Make no mistake, he's calling you," the preacher continued, pointing in Way-lo's direction. It was almost eerie, how this preacher was reading him like a book. "If He wasn't you wouldn't be here right now listening to me."

Way-lo thought about the song he'd heard. Then he remembered the kind usher who invited him in. "Is this God's way of calling me?" he wondered. "Was that guy an angel or somethin'?" As the preacher continued his sermon, Way-lo listened attentively.

"You could have been dead in your grave right now, but God in his infinite mercy has kept you alive. He has kept you alive for this moment of deliverance. All you have to do is to accept it. God knows the path you're taking is one of sorrow, suffering, torment, and death. He wants to lead you back to the path of joy, peace, and eternal life."

Way-lo had been desperately searching for peace almost his entire 25 years on this planet. Was this it? Had he indeed found it? Way-lo didn't dare move. It seemed like food for his soul, which had been starving for quite some time.

"That's why when Jesus was on the earth, he spent most of his time with people like us: the publicans and sinners, the sin sick who needed his healing power"

"Wait a minute? What does he mean 'us'? How was the pastor including himself?"

"This guy's a crackpot" he heard the voice say, "Haven't you wasted enough time listening to this mess!" Part of him was ready to go, but Way-lo wanted to see where the preacher was going with the message.

"There is no one here who can claim that they didn't need Jesus and the ultimate sacrifice that he made by shedding his blood on the cross to pardon our sins. Everyone who is here came to the realization that we needed Him in our lives at some point. Some of you saints haven't always been saints. We were all born in sin and shaped in iniquity, but I thank God for his rescue plan. What does the word say? It says that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever believeth on him would not perish, but have everlasting life. Aren't you glad about that? Aren't you glad he called you? Aren't you glad he took the time to look for you? To give you the gift of eternal life? You're not acting like it!"

At that moment a frenzy of praise and worship swept through the temple and some of the churchgoers got up to dance before the Lord. Next to Way-lo the pink sequined woman squirmed and moaned.

"Phew", she breathed out heavily. "I don't know why that boy went and sat this funky thing next to me. He know I got asthma"

"Ain't you tellin' the truth," said a woman in white viscose on the other side of the sequined one. "Somethin' like that ain't got no business here. Watch your purse, sister"

"Believe me, I am. And don't think I'm not gonna talk to Pastor about this"

Way-lo's heart sank after hearing their exchange. He knew they were talking about him. It sounded as if they were going to make sure he was never welcomed in this place again. Just when he had thought he found something. Like the parties, the sex, and the drugs, it seemed like the church, too, was full of empty promises. Way-lo got up from his seat and left.

"Maybe there was no such thing as peace", he meditated on the way out. "Maybe peace was just an illusion"

Seventeen

Jim was sweating by the time he got to Angela's house. He checked his watch after boarding the elevator of her building. It was 6:00pm. Jim cursed Smoke under his breath. Smoke came early for the drop; only an hour earlier than usual. At least Jim had taken precaution and dressed for his date before leaving for 'work'. As he stepped off the elevator and approached her door, Jim hoped that his clothes had not absorbed too much of the funk from the warehouse and that Angela wouldn't be angry.

Jim wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and placed it in his pocket before knocking softly on the door, bracing himself for attitude. When the door opened, Angela appeared with a big deep-dimpled smile. She was stunning in a white shawl cardigan over a form fitting sleeveless t-shirt, pink capris and ballet flats.

"I almost thought you were going to stand me up"

"Never. I was workin' and the boss wouldn't let me off as early as I'd hoped"

"Tell me about it. My boss at the club can be a jerk, too, sometimes. Just let me grab my coat"

"Finally, something that's gone right for once in my life" Jim contemplated as he waited.

****

When Jim and Angela arrived at the lanes they were packed, so Jim suggested they grab something to eat while they waited for the lanes to clear. The place didn't offer much, so they both had burgers and fries with soda. They both took advantage of the down time to get to know each other. Angela was the first to break the ice.

"So are you an avid bowler, or is it something you do every once in a while to de-stress?"

"Definitely a once in a while bowler. How 'bout you?"

"The same. I'm not that great"

"That's okay. Neither am I. But it's all about fun, right?"

"I hear you. I hope the lanes clear up soon. We probably won't have much time before I have to get back to work"

"If they don't, I won't be disappointed. Just being able to get better acquainted with you is enough for me"

"Awww. You're making me blush already. You're too sweet," she said covering her cheeks with the palms of her hands.

"No, that would be you. Makes me wonder how a nice girl like you wound up workin' at a rough spot like Rocafella"

"To be honest, I needed the money. I'm trying to work my way through college and my job at the school placement office isn't cutting it. They won't schedule me for more than 20 hours a week. I applied for jobs at other places but only Rocafella made me an offer"

"So you go to school part-time. What are you majoring in?"

"I'm trying to get my masters in counseling psychology. My goal is to become a school guidance counselor."

"Why a school guidance counselor? You could probably make more money passing out prescriptions to all the grown up psychos walkin' the streets"

"Maybe. But I'm not in it for the money. It's just that I see so many of our young men in pain - psychological pain. As a people, we've always been told that we have to be tough, so we ignore a lot of our problems or cover them over. But when we do that it just ends up eating us from the inside out and we end up acting out in ways that are self-destructive. It's the reason why a lot of our young men are getting into trouble with the law and killing each other"

She was an idealist, a hopeful dreamer who wanted to change the world; a lot like the friends from his old set. Her ideas seemed noble and romantic, but they weren't very realistic to him.

"You really think seeing a shrink is going to solve a lot of our problems?"

"It wouldn't solve every problem, but it's a start. I think if some of these young brothers had an outlet or someplace where they could address what's bothering them, maybe they wouldn't get involved in all the gang-banging and drug dealing that's destroying our community"

Angela's words stung Jim deeply, as did the irony of his situation. But maybe he could try to get her to see things from his perspective.

"I think it's the lack of opportunities out there that's causing a lot of the frustration in the first place. If people would let these brothers have a chance at making a living for themselves like everybody else, no one would have to resort to dealing and banging"

"I don't know about that. I see a lot of young brothers get opportunities only to throw them away because of low self-esteem, anxiety, and self-hatred. We have to fix that negative tape that's been programmed into us or we won't be able to take advantage of the few opportunities we have"

Her comment forced Jim to briefly reflect on his own life: how he gave up a chance at law school, and blew his chance with the MTA. This conversation was starting to get too personal.

"Is there something wrong?" asked Angela, picking up on Jim's altered mood.

Although he liked Angela and thought she was a sweet girl, Jim began to feel as if he could never allow himself to get too close to her. He would never be able to confide in her the way he wanted to without the risk of harsh judgment. Jim wasn't sure if Angela could ever really understand him.

"No, not at all. I was just thinking. You're pretty, kind, and smart. I feel like I'm in a dream"

"You're really too kind, Jim. But you seem like a great guy yourself. Hey, I've told you a lot about me, now it's your turn. Where do you work?"

Jim felt the air getting thin. He couldn't possibly tell her the truth. He had to make something up on the fly.

"I was in transit for almost three years, before I switched over to computer programming"

Angela's eyes lit up. Jim figured she probably liked the idea that he made a lot of money.

"Big change. How did you get into that?"

"Tinkering with computers is a hobby of mine and a friend suggested that I turn it into a career"

"Would that friend be one of the guys you hang out with at the club?"

"You could say that"

"It's funny, but they don't seem like the type of friends that would lend to such a positive influence"

"What makes you say that?"

"Don't get it twisted, I'm not trying to judge, but the guy with the texturizer – Smoke, is it?"

"Yeah"

"Well, I don't think I've ever seen him smile, and the younger one has made more indecent proposals to me than I can count."

"Really?" asked Jim, a bit surprised at first. Then again, it would be like C-Note to try to hit up a woman who was at least three to four years his senior.

"Really. He even tried to 'make it rain' for me. Thinks he can just buy a woman like a pair of shoes"

"Well, he is young."

"I know. At the same time, I wonder how someone that young can get a hold of so much money"

"I have no idea. I don't know much about him. He just tends to hang with Smoke. I guess you could say Smoke is like a father figure to him"

"I think he'd be better off if he modeled after you"

"Now you're making me blush"

"No, really. You're different from them. You seem like a real gentleman. It's part of the reason why I accepted when you asked me out"

Seemed like Angela thought he was special. Jim only wished it were true. The sentiment was nice, but it also filled him with apprehension and fear.

"The guys I hang out with aren't really bad people. They might be a little rough around the edges, but I think all of us have some rough edges here and there"

"I guess. But I know from experience that you have to be careful who you hang out with. Sometimes your friend's drama can wind up bringing you down"

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm not about to let someone get me into something I can't get out of"

"I'll take your word for it. Hey, there's a lane open! Let's go"

As luck would have it, a lane opened right near their table. Angela grabbed the gear and Jim's arm and led him toward the lane. There they bowled for the next half-hour or so. They laughed at how bad they were and played around like kids on a playground. For the first time in a long time Jim was having fun. He felt human and alive. Jim was having such a great time that he was willing to put away his misgivings about Angela. Despite what he knew, she made him feel good. He only wished time could stand still, but it didn't and before long he had to take her to the club. On the drive there, she put on the radio and sang along to the R & B rhythms of Alicia Keys. She sang off-key, but it didn't faze her. Angela seemed to be a free spirit with a ton of courage and a loving heart for people. When they finally arrived at the parking lot of the Rocafella Club, Jim could barely mask his disappointment. But he knew she'd had just as good a time as he did. He had to see her again.

"I really had a great time"

"So did I"

"Should I take that to mean you wouldn't mind going out with me again?"

"You could"

"How do you feel about next Sunday?"

"Great. I don't have to work on Sunday"

"Pick you up at 7:00"

"Don't forget. And here's something to help you remember"

Angela planted a long sweet kiss on Jim's mouth that rocked him to his core. He would definitely not forget.

"Until next time, Tiger" she whispered, before leaving the car and walking off to work.

Jim couldn't wait. He couldn't wait, even though he knew their relationship was doomed from the start. He knew he didn't deserve such a prize, but Jim just wanted to enjoy this little piece of happiness for however long it lasted. Happiness was hard to come by and Jim was willing to take his whenever and however it presented itself: whether a date with a pretty girl, or a few lines on a mirror. And yet for all this, there was still a part of him that wasn't satisfied.

Eighteen

Smoke had just got off from work and was waiting for C-Note to show up because he had a job for him. He had just received a communication from his connection and he needed someone to go down and pick up his latest score for him. Since his inventory was getting bigger it was getting riskier to pick up the goods himself. Smoke had no intention of being caught with seven kilos of heroin and three marijuana bricks in his car. C-Note had sent word that he would swing by at around 8:00. It was now, a quarter after. Smoke was more than annoyed at C-Note's tardiness. Nobody was supposed to keep him waiting. Lately, Smoke felt like Note was getting a big head. It was time to give the kid a reality check.

It was almost half past when Smoke heard Note's trademark knock. If it wasn't for the fact that Smoke had plans, that were hotter than his anger, he wouldn't have answered.

"Yo' watch broke? Where the hell you been?"

"Just couldn't get here. I was handlin' business. Like I always do"

Smoke could tell he had an attitude about something.

"Don't act like you spend all your time workin'. Don't think I don't know about all those trips to see them little hoodrat chicks you be posin' for, actin' like you Sweetback or somebody! I told you business first!"

"How you gonna come at me like this! I don't do nothin' but yo' business! Who else is runnin' around tryin' to herd these ******** junkies all day to keep money in yo' pocket!"

"My pocket! Ni**a, you gettin' your piece of the pie!"

"Seem to me like you givin' Jay my piece"

"What the hell you talkin' about?"

"You know what I'm talkin' about. You been talkin' all this stuff about how you protecting me, and makin' me your legacy, but I'm the one outside lookin' over my shoulder for the cops every five minutes, while Jay just sittin' pretty where he at"

"You the one that wanted a street operation. You been beggin' me about that since you started lookin' out for me. Then when I think you got enough experience under your belt to handle it, you want to get mad at me for breakin' you off a piece? What the hell is that about, Note?!"

"It's just that I feel like I'm in a more vulnerable situation. Everybody gon' be in the house except me. Then you gon' have Jay over everybody and he just got here. I was wit' you before everybody. I was the one recruitin' other ni**as to look out for you..."

"Hold up! Let me lay something on you. You know Jay wouldn't last two minutes on the street. First, he don't have the street smarts and second, he don't connect with the public the way you do. You know how and where to get the customers I can't reach through the rehab. The only way we gon' stay paid is to keep you on the outside."

"Still..."

"Still, nothing! Those ni**as in the house are sitting ducks. I need you on the outside doin' what you do so that we can keep the house runnin'. If you not on the outside whose gon' be my eyes and ears? If you not on the outside, whose gon keep us informed in case somebody snitch on us?"

"C'mon Smoke! It's not like you don't have other guys that can look out for you."

"Note, wake up! You so busy lookin' down the road at what you think somebody else gon' git, you can't see what you got right now. I'm giving you the big advantage here. I'm showing you the real deal about what it takes, preparing you to be your own man. In fact, I was going to put you on a big job, but with you being so ungrateful, I don't know if I should trust you like that"

"You know you can trust me, man"

"I'm not so sure about that, especially if you can't see how much I been putting my neck on the line for you"

"Smoke, you know I'm true. Whatever it is, I'm down. What's the job?"

Now that C-Note seemed to be groveling for his acceptance, Smoke was satisfied that he would be could be trusted with the plan.

"I was thinking you could do a run and get a shipment for me. I got five bricks waiting for me in DC and I need you to help me get it. If things work out, I'll break you off a brick of weed to sell and you could pay me back on commission. The brick cost me 3 grand, but you could make it into ten grand if you cut it right."

Smoke hoped the allure of having a semi-independent side operation would be too great for C-Note to pass up. C-Note stood quietly for a moment staring down at his feet.

"Think about that **** son. That's six grand you gon' have after I take commission. You could turn it over and get your own brick and make another eight to ten grand easy. You think I'm doin' this for Jay? or Bricks? or Ceasar? Hell, no!"

"Aiight"

"Look, Note – I would never double cross you. I'm just trying to prepare you for the next level, but you have to trust me"

"I do. I just don't trust that ni**a Jay"

"Forget Jay. He can't do nothin' that I won't see coming. You just meet me tomorrow at 7:30, after I pick up my money. And this time, be on time."

Nineteen

Things were looking up and Jim felt good. Business was brisk and Jim had run out of product by noon. By now he had gotten used to the solitude, and in the moments when there was nothing to do, he could always occupy himself with getting high, playing games on his phone, or calling Angela. They had been dating for a couple of weeks and things had been going very well to say the least. But what really made this a good day was that it was the last day Jim would have to work here. A few more hours and he wouldn't have to stand the stench of decay and rotteness. He wouldn't have to worry about crackheads and dopeheads trying to break in. Most of all, Jim looked forward to the hope of just a little more freedom. Now that Ceasar and Bricks were going to be at the new house with him, maybe Smoke would let him have a little more time for himself, which would allow Jim a little more time for his lady Angela.

As he waited for the day to end, Jim started to get restless. Part of this was due to the coke, but he needed it to keep himself alert for the whole 13 hours or more that he needed to be on the job. Ever since that dope head broke in last time, Jim couldn't afford to have his guard down.

Finally as the day drew to a close, there was Smoke's knock. Jim took down the barricades and let him in. Jim was shocked, however, when he found himself looking down the barrel of a gun. Jim backed up as the man advanced.

"Don't even think about ******* with me. I want the money"

This was not Smoke. Jim couldn't tell who it was because the guy wore a bandana over his face and his sweat jacket hood went way past his forehead so that Jim could barely see the man's eyes. Jim's 45 was in the back of his pants, and he was dying to grab it, but he knew if he made any sudden moves he was as good as dead. "There has to be a way out of this. There has to be a way to keep this guy from getting Smoke's money and keep from dying" Jim thought frantically.

"It's in the bag on the table," muttered Jim.

"Zee!" the young man called out to someone behind him. It's in here on the table"

Another man came running in and collected the bag, while the other kept his eyes and his gun trained on Jim. Jim noticed that whoever this person was, they were probably just as scared as he was. The man had trouble holding the gun steady in his trembling hands.

"Jackpot!" the other guy cried. "There's gotta be ten or twenty grand in here"

The gunman took his eyes off Jim, and in that split second, Jim knew he had his one and only chance. He grabbed the man's gun and forced him back against the wall, hitting his head and stunning him. The other man grabbed his gun and fired, but missed because he was unprepared for the weapon's kick. Before he had a chance to squeeze off a second shot, Jim had wrestled the gun away from the first man and used it to fire at the guy over by the moneybag, striking him in the side. The man collapsed, dropping his gun and holding his side.

"I'm hit!" he cried, blood gushing from his wound. The gun hadn't fallen far from where the man was lying. Jim could see that the guy was reaching to reclaim it. Jim couldn't allow that to happen so he fired again. This time the other man was motionless.

Jim backed up and turned around to check the first man he had taken the gun from. He had recovered and was getting up. Jim was going to shoot him as well, but stopped when he noticed that he was going to run out. Just as the man got to the entrance, shots coming from someone firing from outside ripped through his body. Jim had to step away from the doorway and crouch in a corner to keep from being hit. The man collapsed and began to writhe on the ground in agony.

"Please! Please!" begged the man. "Please...I didn't... I didn't know this was your spot"

"Gangstas don't beg," replied Smoke.

Smoke pulled down the man's hood and took of his bandana.

"I try to school you, and this is how you pay me back?"

Before the man could answer, Smoke shot him in the head.

"Glad you're here, man" gasped Jim.

"Where the hell's my money?" demanded Smoke.

"Over there" said Jim pointing to the bag on the table.

Smoke went over to the bag and inspected it before throwing it over his shoulder. Then he looked down at the other man who lay bleeding on the floor.

"Good work, Jay, but next time finish the job. This ni**a's playin' possum"

Smoke aimed his gun and sent a round into the man's head.

"Grab the table and the chair and let's get the hell out of here. Police are probably on they way"

Jim did as Smoke directed and followed him out of the house. On his way out, he passed the body of the man who held the gun in his face only to find it wasn't a man. Without the hood and bandana, he looked like a boy, not more than 15 years old.

****

Jim and Smoke were silent the whole way over to the complex where Smoke lived. Jim felt that if he opened his mouth at all, he might have to vomit. His mind was at the warehouse looking over the two dead bodies they had left behind. The high from the cocaine had worn off and he was full of anxiety about the possible repercussions of tonight's episode. Jim was able to hear the sirens of the police cars that were headed toward the warehouse as he and Smoke walked the six blocks to where the SUV was parked. Would the cops be able to figure out what happened? If they did, what did that mean for Smoke and himself? Was he prepared to go to jail for murder?

When they finally arrived, Smoke led Jim to the apartment that would be their new place of business, however, Jim was so caught up in the instant replay that was going on in his head that he didn't take much notice of his surroundings. Even if he did, he would have found the new place was much like the old one, except it was cleaner, there was no smell, and only one way to enter or exit. Jim didn't know why Smoke wanted to come here and he was afraid to ask. Smoke went into one of the rooms and came back with a green plastic garbage bag.

"I'ma bring you a change of clothes. You put the ones you wearin' in this. Then wash your hands and stuff in the bathroom," instructed Smoke before he left.

As Jim disrobed, he still couldn't get the face of that boy out of his mind.

"Maybe he was older and just looked young. It could have been a baby-faced twenty-something" he considered to himself as he tried to justify the scene he had taken part in. "They weren't exactly innocent. I was only defending myself. They would have killed me just as easily, had I not been the quicker one" Jim solaced himself. Still he could not get around the fact that two people were dead and he had been a part of it. He also had fired shots.

In the midst of his meditation, Smoke reappeared with the new clothes. Jim was standing in the middle of the chilly, vacant apartment in just his socks and underwear. Smoke had changed his clothes as well.

"You gotta get rid of everything, man," said Smoke as he gathered up the bag. There was no time for being self-conscious. Jim stripped off the rest of his clothing and began to put on what he was given: jeans, a long-sleeved, waffle-knit tee, a basketball Jersey and some old sneakers.

"So what happens now?"

"The clothes get burnt and we get C-Note to listen out for news, but tomorrow's gonna be business as usual. Most times cops don't care what happens to ni**as. Ni**as die every day. I mean they'll send somebody around to make it look like they wanna do somethin', but trust me, ain't nothin' gon' come of it. It'll be a cold case before you know it"

"But what if someone saw us?"

"Ain't nobody gon' say nothin' if they know what's good for them. I got eyes and ears everywhere. You just let somebody try to snitch on us, they gon' end up like them two we just left. Anyway, it's a good thing we not workin' at that house no more, otherwise we'd lose about a week of business."

"I heard you talk to one of them. You know 'em?"

"Some young heads I thought I was training. I thought I'd do them a favor by puttin' them on the street. Kind of like to take C-Note's place now that he's movin' up. Then they pull this kind of stunt"

"They were kids?"

"Fourteen or fifteen, somethin' like that. In my book, if you man enough to pull a gun on a dude, you man enough to die"

When Jim had finished dressing, he felt anxious. He just wanted to go home. He was very uncomfortable with the way Smoke was talking about the situation.

"You sound like you've been through this before. I thought you said in all the time you've been in the game, you've never been shot"

"Word. I didn't lie. I've never been shot. That doesn't mean I've never been shot at or that I've never had to shoot someone else"

Now Jim knew he had been duped. He felt as if he couldn't get his breath.

"Now don't go all punk on me now. Remember, Jay, I told you this is gangsta. I ain't got no time for no femme ni**as that wanna get all choked up at the sight of a dead body"

"I know. It's either us or them, right?"

"Word. 'Cause if you had let those two baby-gap burglars get off with my money, you'd be the one layin' in that warehouse right now. Those ni**as was straight amateurs. Ain't no reason why you shouldn't have been able to handle 'em"

The scariest part of Smoke's admonition was Jim knew Smoke wasn't lying. That was another aspect of 'the game' that bothered him. In the past, if he messed up on the job his boss could only fire him. Now if he messed up, being fired was the least of his worries. Jim couldn't think of anything to say, so he said nothing.

"And just another word of advice for next time: I'm lettin' you off with this because it's your rookie year and I know you don't know no betta. Next time, you don't let nobody live to say they even tried to rip me off"

"I got you"

"And always aim for the head. Ain't no comin' back from that, feel?"

"I feel. So are we both staying the night here?"

"Nah, we good. I checked to make sure nothin' was left behind"

Only Jim felt like he had indeed left something behind, and he didn't know if he would ever get it back.

Twenty

Smoke sat outside on a bench not far from the building in his complex puffing on a joint. He wasn't afraid of the cops taggin' him because he was well within the enclosure of the complex and couldn't be seen very easily by passers by. Besides, he really needed it right now. Empire building was stressful and he needed to unwind a little. There was a lot coming at him from all sides at once and he was trying to keep things together; keep his shirt tucked in, so to speak.

First and foremost on his mind were the threats to his business that seemed to be growing out of everywhere, but mostly from Trace. Trace was a small time drug dealer who was dreaming of the big time just like Smoke. He had some territory on the upper west side by Broadway and Central Harlem. Trace had a few soldiers working for him, about as many as Smoke had now, which was why Trace felt threatened. Trace knew Smoke was growing fast, and it would only be a matter of time before Smoke began to overtake his operation. Trace and his crew were escalating the aggression. Smoke had a feeling that Trace was the one behind Rollo and Zee's treachery. He had sent them to listen out for him a couple of times and somehow they got co-opted by the enemy. "I gotta watch how I recruit ni**as" considered Smoke, "No more thirsty kids. They just too in love with the fantasy of it all; just want the chance to strut and shoot guns." Smoke knew he had to deal with Trace, but he wasn't going to allow the situation to cause him to react without thinking. Still, Trace wasn't his only problem.

If threats from the outside weren't enough, he was having problems on the inside as well. C-Note was acting like a jealous female and was getting harder to control. He was still griping about being in the house where Jay was, and griping over territory for his little hustle. No matter how much Smoke gave C-Note it was never enough. It seemed that C-Note wanted to be big without understanding what it takes to get there. He was more concerned about his rep than the profits. The new guys seemed a little shady, too. Sadly enough, the only one that showed any promise was the green dude, Jay. Smoke wasn't totally confident in him being gangsta just yet, but he knew Jay was loyal to a fault – a trait that everyone else in his organization seemed to lack. Smoke was definitely going to use this to his advantage.

Finally, Smoke had stretched out his resources with regard to his expansion. The new place was going to cost him $1,000.00 a month, and the new guy's salaries were no small bit of change. Although Smoke didn't want to, he had to use his credit with his connection to expand his product line. Every dime he made had to be accounted for. Had his money been swiped in that stick up, his butt would have been in hot water.

That's why things had to be tight now. He couldn't risk heat from altercations that would impede the flow of business. He was fortunate that the attempted stick up occurred on their last day of business at the warehouse. The cops had been watching the place after the shooting, but since there was no evidence at the crime scene and no new leads, the heat died down sooner rather than later. Now he had to make sure nothing like that could ever happen again. Smoke had an old-school dude named Bobby scoutin' for him now, while C-Note took orders on the streets and gave people the 411 on the new location. Bobby had been around for years and had been a "bad man" in the neighborhood long ago before he had been arrested and sent to prison for 15 years on a manslaughter charge. Since then he'd been keeping low key with a small-scale prostitution ring that he fronted from a liquor store his brother owned. The way it worked was that certain customers had their purchases delivered to their house by special "delivery women" or "delivery men" who would bring the money back to Bobby. He then laundered his profits through the liquor business. Smoke supplied Bobby with the drugs that kept the prostitutes at his beck and call.

By the time Bobby appeared, the street lamps had come on and Smoke's joint had become a roach. He put it out with his fingers and chucked it into a bag inside his pocket when Bobby addressed him.

"How you livin' Smoke?" asked Bobby. It was really a rhetorical question. He said it to let people know he was there. Bobby was a very average looking medium complexioned man who looked like a throw back to the eighties with his ceasar cut jheri curl, which was graying at the temples and sides and thinning in the middle. Even his nylon jogging-suit and suede sneakers were eighties.

"Sky high. You?"

"S' all good. Getting by"

"What you know good?"

"Just that Trace had talked to Zee and Rollo in the barber shop. Paid them half in advance and gave them guns, but we both know that was a waste"

"I had a feelin"

"He's not backing down. You're his biggest threat. His business is dryin up bad and he don't have a day job like you do"

"That's his problem. I'm not in his backyard. I'm in my own place minding my own business. If I'm not bothering him, he shouldn't be bothering me"

"Problem is he knows C-Note's been round by his way talkin' to people. You know Note's not exactly the subtle type"

Smoke figured as much. C-Note was getting too comfortable and it was making him sloppy. He and Note were going to have to have another talk. "Anyways, I intend to protect mine by any means necessary. You feel?"

"I hear you. You want me to spread the word?"

"Nah. Flexin's for stupid ni**as. I'm not playin' that tag nonsense. I'm like a earthquake. They ain't gon' know nothin' 'till I hit"

Smoke knew he had to be tactical to ensure that when he took Trace out, his whole operation would die with him.

"I got something else for you to do"

Smoke moved closer to whisper something to Bobby before the latter departed into the night.

Twenty-One

The money was not an issue today. Way-lo had just been to the checks cashed place on 153rd and used his benefits card to withdraw his bi-monthly allowance of $75.00. He was supposed to go down to the Human Resources Department to get his new WEP assignment, but instead he walked down to the complex at the polo grounds where Smoke had moved his business.

Normally, he would be in a hurry, but not today. Today he shuffled slowly. He didn't want to come here. The monster had taken control of his body again and was propelling him forward. He felt like a trained homing pigeon.

When he got to the door, he knocked timidly. The guy they called Jay that ran the place for Smoke did him favors, but there was always a price to pay for it first. He always called him names, beat him, or cussed him out. As the door opened, Way-lo tried to brace himself for the man's fury.

"Come on, let's go"

Today the other black guy greeted him at the door. The guy they called Bricks. Way-lo stepped inside the vestibule of the apartment, but right behind him was none other than Jay.

"Not this worthless ni**a again," he said after sucking his teeth. "You know the deal. Pass the cash."

Way-lo took out the bills that had gotten crumpled when he hastily stuffed them in his pocket. He gave all of it to Jay.

"Don't be handin' me stuff like that! Straighten it out!" Jay blared.

Way-lo did his best to straighten out all of the bills. It was hard because he was trembling like a leaf.

"I'm not...I'm not takin' the usual" he muttered looking down at the man's feet. "I want to try that speedball you got"

"That's what you want now?"

"Yes, sir. If that's all right"

"If that's all right," Jay mocked. "You know this crap could kill you. But then again, you'd probably be better off dead"

Way-lo looked up. He looked right into Jay's eyes.

"What the hell you lookin' at? You got something to say to me?"

"Nah, man," replied Way-lo returning his gaze to the floor.

"That's what I thought. Now take this crap and get outta here! You funking this place up; smellin like a brick of parmesan cheese"

Jay threw the little packets at Way-lo. Way-lo stooped over to pick them up and Jay sent his foot right into Way-lo's rear end. Way-lo landed face first.

"Hurry up!"

Way-lo picked up the remaining packages as fast as he could and left.

****

Way-lo was surprised when he found that the church was open. He didn't know that the church was open for prayer, bible school, and other functions in the evenings during the week. When he came in, the main sanctuary was empty and he was glad about that. Way-lo didn't really want an audience for what he was about to do. Usually, he would be looking for something he could steal and sell, but not today.

He sat in one of the pews and stared all around. It was beautiful. It was serene and calm. Way-lo liked the place. He wished he could live here all by himself, but that would be impossible with the way things were now. Eventually, somebody would find him and then they would throw him out. That's how things usually worked.

"If I was a ghost, I could live here all the time and nobody could ever put me out. They couldn't see me. I could see them, but they couldn't see me. I could do anything I wanted and they couldn't touch me. Hell, I could run them away if I wanted," Way-lo pondered.

Way-lo had made his decision. He was going to become a ghost. He was going to get so high that it would be like magic. He wouldn't really die. Instead, he would simply vanish and take off. He'd have powers and abilities he didn't have before like the ability to make himself appear and reappear at will and walk through walls. Nobody could mess with him anymore, not C-Note, or Jay, or even the monster. He'd even get to have a good time scaring everybody away from the church. That lady with the pink sequins would be his first victim. Way-lo couldn't wait to start.

First he prepared his fix, using all of his little bags and filled the syringe to the point where it was leaking. Then he found a vein in his thigh and injected it. Within moments he felt a powerful wave of warmth overtake him. He could feel himself getting lighter. After a while he felt as if he was floating on the air. He took a look at himself and at his clothes. He wanted to see if he was becoming see-through like a real ghost.

"You know this crap can kill you. But then again you'd probably be better off dead"

Although he could hear Jay's words echoing in his brain, they couldn't hurt him now. Way-lo was as high as the cherubims that had been painted on the ceiling. Maybe he'd hang out with them sometime. They seemed like nice people. He decided to share a cloud with one of them and relax. The cloud was so soft and warm, that he decided to take a rest. All the while, the cloud lifted him higher and higher.

Way-lo was free. He could see his body slumped over on the pew, all types of liquids coming out of every orifice he had. A girl came in, saw him and screamed before rushing out. "That's your problem, kid," laughed Way-lo as he lay back on his cloud. His struggle was over. He'd finally gotten off the wheel and the monster was gone. But as the cloud lifted him higher it became darker. Way-lo wasn't prepared for this. As he entered into the unfathomable cloak of darkness he was terrified.

Twenty-Two

Jim couldn't help but sing along with the Stylistics, "You make me feel brand new" which was playing softly on the radio as he carefully poured grits from a container into a pot of boiling water with one hand and stirred with the other. Once the mixture began to thicken, he turned the flame down so it could simmer and started on the eggs. He knew Angela loved scrambled eggs with grits, bacon and biscuits. Jim had learned how to cook under the watchful eyes of momma and momma Lena, but most times ate fast food because it was simply more convenient. He only cooked when there was a special occasion and today, he and Angela were celebrating her birthday.

Angela's birthday was actually Friday, but Jim couldn't be with her because of his 'job', so they decided to celebrate on Sunday. Smoke had grudgingly granted Jim half-days on Sunday, only after Jim had to practically grovel at his feet. But it was worth it, so long as Jim was able to spend more time with Angela. Jim picked her up from the club early Sunday and they had a late supper followed by a romantic nightcap at Jim's place. Angela slept soundly in Jim's arms until the early afternoon, when Jim decided to surprise her with brunch in bed and her birthday present – a charm bracelet with diamond accents safely tucked in a designer wallet. Together they cost about $1,000.00 and the cost almost cut into his money for his habit, but Jim felt this was the least he could do for her. He wanted to give her the world, but hoped she would settle for this for now.

They had been dating for the past three months but Jim felt as if he couldn't remember what life was like without her. Being with Angela was like a breath of fresh air. Thinking back, he was glad she was not one of those 'ride or die' chicks Smoke talked about. If he were dating one of those girls, he'd always be connected to the game, which would mean Jim would never be able to get a break from the life that was suffocating him. With Angela, he didn't have to talk about drugs, murder, or threats from other dealers, or any of the garbage that gave him sleepless nights. When he and Angela were together, Jim could pretend that part of his life didn't exist. They bowled, played ping-pong, visited museums, went to movies, fancy restaurants, and did plain ordinary things – things Jim had taken for granted before he got involved in the game. During their time together he was able to enjoy life without the specter of death hanging over him. With Angela, he could just be normal, like his old self, which he was starting to miss.

The beep of the microwave interrupted his thoughts signaling that the biscuits were ready. Jim turned the flame off under the eggs and went to get the biscuits and put them on a plate. When he went back to the eggs, he heard footsteps coming towards him.

"Awww, I wanted to surprise you, baby," he said after looking up.

Angela was standing in the hall between the living room and the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She was wearing one of Jim's old shirts. She was kind of tall, and the shirt barely made it to mid-thigh. Her hair was tousled from their wild night, but Jim thought she looked beautiful.

"I smelled something good and I had to find out what it was. Is all this for me?" she managed through a yawn.

"Of course"

"Oh, Jim. You shouldn't have"

"Yes, I should've. Now have a seat and allow me to serve you. We got eggs, grits, bacon and biscuits. All of your favorites"

"Caring and a cook. How could I not fall for a guy like you?" she said as she walked up to him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Jim was on cloud nine.

"I got something else for you, too"

"I bet you do, Tiger"

"I'm not talking about that," laughed Jim. "Just take a seat at the table while I fix you a plate"

"All right"

When Angela went to sit down, she saw the gift box on the placemat.

"Jim, you didn't have to buy me a present!"

"You're right. I didn't have to. I wanted to" he said as fixed their plates. "Go 'head and open it, baby."

By the time Jim had got to the table, Angela had taken off the wrap and was about to open the box. Jim studied her face as she opened it.

"Oh, wow! This must have cost a fortune," she gasped when she saw the wallet. "Jim, this is too, much"

It was just the reaction Jim wanted. He wanted to remind Angela that he could do things for her. It was something he took pride in. His woman was always going to be well cared for.

"Given how I feel about you, it's not nearly enough. Why don't you look on the inside?"

Angela opened the wallet and was speechless when she saw the bracelet.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it, but..." Angela's face began to look serious, even a bit doubtful. It worried him.

"But what?"

"I don't know if it would be right for me to accept it. Jim, we've only been dating a couple of months"

"So?"

"So, I don't want you to think you have to pay to keep me. That's not what I'm about"

"Angel, I'm not trying to buy you. It's just that...I want you to know how I feel about you"

"You could just tell me"

"Sometimes words are just words"

"Not when they're from the heart"

"Still, I like to show a sista' how I feel"

"Your making time for me, and making breakfast for me says it all."

Angela put the bracelet back in the wallet and then put the wallet back in the box and handed it back to Jim.

"Look, Jim. I want you to take it back. Don't think I'm being ungrateful, because I'm not. I just think that we should get to know each other better before we start exchanging such expensive gifts. You're not offended, are you?"

Jim didn't know what to say. He was a little disappointed with how this was turning out. Most of his old girlfriends would have been all over him if he had given them such an expensive bracelet inside an equally expensive wallet. Wasn't this life about being able to afford the things one wanted? Jim was looking forward to being able to take Angela shopping and to expensive restaurants and just showering her with all kinds of fancy things. Now he was at a loss as to where the relationship was going.

"No. I just wanted to make you happy"

"You do make me happy. All I want is your heart. The other stuff is just extras"

This woman just seemed too good to be true.

"Will you at least eat your breakfast?"

"Now that I wouldn't mind. And thank you so much. It looks and smells wonderful"

"I hope you think is tastes as good as it looks"

Angela smiled at Jim and he couldn't help but to smile back. Angela was a woman who was worth way more than diamonds or anything this life could offer. He couldn't help but feel guilty about the web of lies he had been spinning to keep her around. Jim knew he didn't deserve her, but he needed her.

As they ate, he noticed Angela grow taciturn and pensive. Jim had known her long enough to know when something was wrong. He couldn't help but wonder what was going through her mind.

"What's wrong, Angel?" he asked after a few minutes "Is my cooking that bad?"

"No. It's delicious actually"

"So why are you so quiet all of a sudden?"

"Just thinking, is all" she replied languidly. "I know that had a really expensive bracelet"

"Are you changing your mind about accepting it?"

"No. It's just...I mean a gift like that had to set you back quite a bit. As a matter of fact, every time we go out it seems like you never really worry about how much we spend. You must be one of the best computer programmers there is" Angela laughed nervously.

"I don't know about that, but I'm handling my business," responded Jim, shifting his eyes toward his plate.

"You said you do freelance jobs and you work from home, right?"

"Yeah"

"So, where's your office space?"

"You're looking at it"

"Very funny. I always thought there would be a space where you keep files, have things organized. As many times as I've been here, I've never seen anything..."

"So what are you getting at? What are you trying to say?"

"I'm worried about you, Jim"

"C'mon, don't give me that! Why don't you just say what you're thinking! You think I've been lying to you, right?"

"Okay, yes! I've been having doubts!" exclaimed Angela who got up from the table to stand by the kitchen counter. "We only see each other at odd hours, you spend money like water, you have all these secretive calls on cheapie cell phones, you have no 'home office' to speak of, and the only company you keep are the guys I see you with at Rocafella, and let's face it - everyone in the hood knows that C-Note's dealing and very proud of it!"

"First of all, just because you can't see my office doesn't mean it's not here. And let's just say for argument's sake that Note does sell drugs. That doesn't mean I do."

"So what does it mean? Why would you hang out with someone like him or that other shady dude you all call Smoke?"

Jim had to think of something, quick. He got up and followed her to the kitchen, and stood face to face with her.

"Alright! You want the truth? C-Note's our connection! Smoke and I sometimes have him around to score some weed for us every once in a while. There, I said it! I smoke weed sometimes. Are you happy, now?!"

There was a silence between them for a few moments. Angela didn't seem very shaken by Jim's 'revelation' at all. In fact, she seemed to be relieved.

"How often do you and Smoke score from him," Angela asked quietly.

"Like every other weekend. It's not a big deal"

"I can't believe you can say that with a straight face"

"Oh, so does that mean we're over now"

"I didn't say that"

Now Jim was relieved. He really didn't want to lose Angela. She was his last connection to what could be a normal life outside the game.

"I just want to know where we stand"

"You know I have feelings for you, Jim. I just can't turn them off like that. I'm not going to say I'm not disappointed right now, but I still care about you. I just don't understand why..."

"It's just that my job is very stressful. Since I work at home, sometimes I feel like I can't get away from it. I only do a little weed every once in a while to help me relax"

"There are better ways to relax: exercise, bowling,...spending time with me"

"You're right. I need you Angel. I don't want to lose you"

"I don't want to lose you either, Jim. But I also don't want to have to watch you self-destruct" she said turning her back to him.

"I'm not. I won't," he said as he put his arms around her. "Look, I was planning on quitting that stuff anyway." He gently turned her around to face him.

Angela rolled her eyes and sighed deeply.

"No, really! Angel, you don't know this, but being with you has made me think about things. You've helped me to appreciate what I have. I don't want to mess things up"

"You're a bright, caring, responsible guy, Jim. You don't need that stuff and you don't need those guys"

"Smoke's my friend, not C-Note. Smoke and I go way back and he's helped me out a lot. He just likes having C-Note around. I'm not going to say I won't see them anymore, but I can promise not to do what they do"

"Jim..."

"Just trust me, Angel"

"Promise me you won't let that Smoke guy drag you down"

"I promise"

Jim kissed her softly and she kissed him back. He knew Angela wouldn't be leaving him anytime soon, but still it was a close call. Too close.

They spent the rest of the afternoon canoodling on the couch, followed by a short tryst in the shower and then it was time for Angela to leave and for Jim to get ready for his shift at the new place. After getting dressed, Jim drove Angela in his new ride back to her apartment. Angela put the radio on in the car and listened to the news. There was another report about the two teenaged boys who were found dead in an abandoned house several weeks ago. Smoke said the real heat had died down, but every time Jim heard mention of the story in the news, he would get a lump in his throat. Now a local community activist was pushing to find the murderers and was hoping the tragedy would be the lynchpin to begin an initiative to curb the violence among African-American youth in the city. Jim tried to stay cool while the story aired. He didn't want to resurrect Angela's suspicions about him. It was hard because those deaths still haunted him.

"It just breaks my heart every time I hear about it"

"You can't believe everything you hear. We don't know the whole story"

"Even so, those kids were really young. Younger than your boy C-Note, who by the way, I think is also very young. I'm not sure they were old enough to realize the consequences of what they're doing"

"First of all, C-Note's not my boy. He's Smoke's boy. And secondly if these boys get involved in the game it's their own choice. It's not like no one's out there telling them better – the schools, the activists, and the churches are all sending out warnings. Even some of these movies show you what can happen to you"

"Still. I knew one of those boys you know"

"You did?"

"Yeah. I used to babysit him. He had everyone calling him Zee, but to me and his grandmother he was just Reggie. He was such a nice kid"

"Or he seemed to be a nice kid. You may have been too close to see what was happening"

"Believe me, I saw everything. Reggie was a nice kid - great student, great athlete. Problem was he wanted to fit in and be somebody with the wrong people. He started hanging out with the kid they called Rollo who would hang out with drug dealers. Then those dealers started putting all kinds of ideas in Reggie's head. He started cutting school and dropped out of all the activities he was in. His grandmother asked me to talk to him, and we had a good little conversation. As a matter of fact, I thought he was about to turn a corner. He had stopped cutting classes, and he was trying to get back on the basketball team. Then this happened. I feel like I failed him somehow"

"Don't blame yourself. In the end, he made a choice. You have to live by your choices and sometimes, unfortunately, you die by them"

"He was too young to make that choice. These dealers take advantage of kids like him. They prey on these kid's naiveté, poverty, and lack of support. They offer them a pocket full of dreams that only ends in nothing but death. And all for what? Their bottom line: making more money"

"I'm not sure if it's as simple as that," Jim said. "For some of these dudes it's the only life they know. They really do think they're helping another brother out by pulling them into the trade. It's better than being alone in the world with no one to help you. The society we're living in certainly isn't offering our young men anything better. What would you prefer - a long life of misery marked by poor education, unemployment and poverty or a short one with a little bit of happiness?"

"It depends on what you decide is worth living for. That long life doesn't have to be miserable. If all you're about is material things, then yeah, you might have something to be depressed about. But I'm hoping most people in this world can be satisfied with something worth a little more like dignity, self-respect, honesty, and most of all, love"

"That all sounds good, but when your back is against the wall, money can do what love can't"

"I know you don't really feel that way," Angela said firmly.

Jim couldn't help but smile. He knew what Angela was getting at.

"Okay, not all the time. At least not when I'm with you"

Jim wanted Angela to be right. Thinking back on everything he had gone through in the game, he knew money wasn't everything, but his experience in the church had left him feeling that love wasn't all there was either. Love broke his heart and he hadn't seen it do much for anyone else.

"We're here"

Angela gave Jim one last kiss.

"Until next weekend"

"Jim, I don't want what happened to those boys to happen to you"

"Angel, if you haven't noticed, I'm not a kid. I don't think I can be so easily influenced," Jim laughed.

"Lots of things can happen. So many innocent people get shot or killed just because they happen to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong people"

"I'll give it some thought. But in the meantime, can I count on seeing you next weekend? I'll pick you up at 10:00am?"

"Sure. What do you have planned?"

"It's a surprise"

"Oh, okay. Now you've got me curious. I hope it involves more of your home cooking. By the way, if I haven't said so already, you're a great cook"

"You did actually. Thanks. But I'll just warn you I have a very limited repertoire of recipes"

"I'll keep that in mind," chuckled Angela. "Take care of yourself, Tiger"

"I will."

Angela slammed the car door shut and waved before she turned to go into her building. Jim sat for a few minutes before he put the car in gear and drove off. As he headed toward the polo grounds, Jim couldn't help but feel guilty and ashamed. There was a cloud hanging over his relationship with Angela. Angela was a smart girl. She had been able to figure out a lot already. It was inevitable that she would find out about his true occupation and he knew what her response would be when she did.

The only thing that would save their relationship would be if he got out of the game. Jim was still planning to get out once he could save enough money. However, his growing cocaine habit and his dates with Angela had significantly reduced most of what he'd been able to save. Smoke had given him two raises since he started, but no matter how much money Jim made, it never seemed to be enough. There was no way that he could leave the game, at least not in the immediate future. Though Angela talked a good deal, he knew most women did not have time for a brother who was broke. He would have to continue to lie to Angela if he wanted to be with her.

Jim took out a vial of coke that he had hid in his jacket pocket earlier when Angela was drying off in the bathroom. He took some of the powder in his fingers and snorted it. He didn't want to think about how this relationship was going to end. He just wanted to bask in the pleasure it brought him now. As Jim drove away and down the block towards the new place at the polo grounds, he planned the next date. It would be a picnic with chicken wraps, strawberries and cream, and a little champagne. Jim didn't want to think too far ahead. That would ruin everything.

Twenty-Three

"Be careful when you bag it. Every gram counts" admonished Ceasar as Jim helped him to bag the product for sale. There was a brief lull this afternoon, so instead of manning the door, Jim decided to pitch in and help Ceasar with processing. They both wore surgical masks and rubber gloves so they would not accidentally inhale dust from the product that could get them higher than they wanted to be.

"Don't worry" said Jim. " I got it"

"Your hands look a little shaky to me"

Jim studied his hands carefully for a moment. They seemed to be trembling quite a bit. He knew what it was. It was the coke. He'd been doing so much and sleeping so little it was really starting to get to him.

"I can't get any sleep lately. Guess I'm a little edgy"

"It's all that coke man. You need to take something to wind down. Give you some equilibrium. Smoke a joint or something. That should help"

"I've tried that man," said Jim who was now abandoning his task. He took off his mask and gloves and moved away from the table. He just couldn't keep at this (or anything else) for very long before getting restless. He didn't know how Ceasar did it.

"I know that stuff can really mess with you. You know what you need? That Xanax ****. That'll calm you down real good."

"I don't think I should be mixing different things"

"That **** can't hurt you. It's like taking tranquilizers. You just take it at night to help you get some sleep. If you think it'll make you oversleep, set your alarm clock. When the beep wakes you up, do a few lines and you'll be good to go"

"Anyway, where in the world am I going to get it? Smoke doesn't really deal in that"

"I could get you some," suggested Ceasar. "I know a guy who can get you a blister card for $100.00"

"Wouldn't that be like going behind Smoke's back?"

"If he sold it, it would be, but he doesn't and it's something you need. You do want to be able to sleep, don't you?"

"I guess"

"So it's a done deal. You give me the money when you get paid and I'll get you the pills"

"Deal"

"Yo, Jay. I'm going upstairs to see this chick on the fourth floor. I'll be back in five," said Bricks as he poked his head in from the front room.

"Another booty call" thought Jim. Bricks was always chasing the chicken-heads in the building.

"Aiight. But make it quick. You're still on the clock," responded Jim.

Not long after he left, there was a knock at the door. Jim recognized it immediately. It was C-Note.

"Fresh supply everbody," he announced.

C-Note came in with a bag that he carried past Jim into the back room where Ceasar was. As usual, he didn't have much to say to Jim. However Jim was puzzled that C-Note had the supply. Smoke usually brought it in himself. It made Jim a little suspicious.

"Is Smoke around?"

"No. He's out doing his thing like he always do on Sundays"

"Funny. He usually brings the supply himself"

"And? Obviously he's changing things now"

C-Note took half a dozen kilos of heroin out of the bag, along with several kilos of pure cocaine, as well as a couple of bricks of weed. Then he started looking through what was already there. Jim just left him alone to do his work. He didn't want to antagonize the dude not to mention the fact that Jim just didn't like dealing with him anyway. After some time, he noticed C-Note was getting frantic. He seemed to be confused about something.

"How many of the bags did you cut already?"

"Three" replied Ceasar mechanically.

"So where's the last bag? There was supposed to be one more left"

Jim and Ceasar just looked at each other.

"Don't just sit there like you deaf. I asked y'all a question!" demanded C-Note.

"It's got to be around here somewhere. No one's been in here all day but us"

"Oh, so you think I'm lying? Come and look for yourself, Midnight"

Jim got up and looked in the spot where the heroin was kept. Sure enough, the fourth bag was missing.

"Ceasar, are you sure you opened three bags?"

"D**n sure, man"

"How you asking Ceasar? You the one in charge, ni**a. You 'sposed to know everything comin' in and goin' out. You lost that kilo, you gon' have to pay for it"

Jim smelled a rat. He knew C-Note didn't like him and wanted him out of the operation. This sudden 'missing kilo' just seemed too convenient. Jim was definitely going to call him out on it.

"I don't think so. It's funny how everything was straight 'til you came running up in here to 'check' on things during a time of day that you're never really around. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you slipped that kilo on you and now you're barking about it to make me look bad. C'mon, Note. That's amateur"

"So that's the front you tryin' to use to cover yo' ***. Please, Jay. I was born at night, not last night. I see right through you"

"No, I see through you. You hustlin' on the side and you want me to take the rap. You get to have me taken out and get a little something extra on the side while doing it"

"You tryin' to say I'd rip off Smoke?"

"I'm not tryin' to say anything. I just said it"

"I'ma kill you!"

C-Note swung at Jim, but Jim caught the punch and sent his fist into C-Note's gut. C-Note quickly recovered and took another swing at Jim that connected with his jaw and sent Jim reeling to the floor. The he got up and tackled C-Note, and the two of them almost crashed into the table where Ceasar was preparing product. Ceasar got up and tried to break up the fight.

"C'mon! Knock it off! Jay get off 'im!"

Jim could feel Ceasar tugging on him, but he struggled against him. Jim was sick of C-Note. All of his anger and frustration had been building up to this point.

"Get off, me!"

Jim pushed Ceasar away and was about to go after C-Note again when he felt something grab him and send him reeling.

"That's enough!" bellowed Bricks, his deep baritone resonating through the apartment. Jim landed so hard on the floor he thought he could see stars.

"What the hell's been going on here?"

"Note said one of the kilo's is missing" explained Ceasar coolly.

"It's not missing. It's a set up," gasped a dazed Jim.

"Shut the **** up! Ain't nobody set you up! You the one that took it!"

"Everybody, calm down!" shouted Ceasar over them both. "I think we should just look for it. Maybe it got misplaced or something"

Everyone began looking through the apartment. They started where they usually kept the inventory and fanned out to the other rooms in the apartment. Jim was in the outer room looking around when he saw that one of the radiator covers was askew. He pried it loose and there was the missing bag. "C-Note probably put it there, no doubt," Jim thought to himself.

"I found the bag" said Jim as he brought it to C-Note and the others who had reconvened in the supply room. "Someone put it in the radiator cover. I wonder how it got in there?" He had his eyes fixed on C-Note to gauge his reaction.

"Funny how no one else was able to find it but you"

"Keep it up, C-Note. This competition you got going is going to cost you everything"

"This ain't about competition. This is about who's true and who's not. I'm here for Smoke. He might not be able to see through you, but I do and I'm not gon' let you ruin his spot. You best believe I'm a be watchin' yo' *** like a clock"

"Likewise"

C-Note stormed out of the apartment past everyone. Jim watched his face the whole time. Jim knew that C-Note resented if not outright hated him. At the same time, he seemed genuine in his concern about Smoke's interests. Jim remembered that C-Note saw Smoke as a father, and was in a way, protective of him. In fact, it was C-Note's filial connection to Smoke that made Jim seem like such a great threat. It was another reason why C-Note was willing to go to such a great extent to set Jim up. Jim would definitely have to have his guard up around C-Note.

Twenty-Four

For some reason even the VIP area of the club seemed crowded tonight. As Jim reached the top of the stairs, he could see that all the tables were full. It made him feel self-conscious and closed in. He was already a little late to the meeting, but he felt he needed to stop off at the restroom for a hit. He thought the last fix he had before he came out would hold him, but he could feel the anxiety creeping up on him like an unseen stalker.

Jim went into the bathroom. There were already two other patrons inside, one smoking a joint by the sink and another using heroin in one of the stalls. Jim could tell by the drops of blood on the floor under the stall. He chose a stall on the end farthest from them and got out his stuff. Jim cut a few lines hoping they would give him the boost that he needed to deal with whatever Smoke was going to dish at him tonight. If it weren't for his time with Angela, Jim would've lost his mind. There was no way Jim felt safe when he went to work. To make matters worse, some of the addicts hung around and even did their stuff in the hallways or on the grounds around the building, which gave Jim insight into things he didn't want to see. Once he saw a woman take bandages off a swollen, puss filled, and possibly gangrene plagued arm trying to find a vein to shoot heroin. After several failed attempts she finally resorted to sticking the needle into one of her legs. Some went into convulsions from the speedballs writhing on the floor, foaming at the mouth, excrement leaking from their rear ends. Bricks would just drag them from the building into the street and leave them. It was truly terrifying. Still, Jim had to put on the tough front and be 'gangsta', like the way Smoke was. Jim doubted if he could ever truly be the way Smoke was, and for the first time in a while he thought maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

When he was done, he headed to the table in the back, waving to Angela at the bar, but not stopping to chat. He didn't want her to see him high. When he arrived there was no one at the table. After a few moments, Jim was able to discern familiar voices coming from around the next corner in the little poolroom. Sure enough there were Smoke, C-Note, Bricks and Ceasar playing pool.

"It's about time. Grab a cue and join in," said Smoke when he noticed Jim.

"I'll just watch. I've never played, so I probably wouldn't be much good"

"Suit yourself," mumbled Smoke as he puffed on some weed he'd hand-wrapped in cigar paper. He took aim and cleared the table of three balls at one time. Jim guessed from the looks of things, Smoke might be the pro.

"There's some vodka on the table over to the side if you want a drink"

"Thanks. Don't mind if I do"

The liquor on top of the coke made Jim feel more stable and even a bit chatty.

"So who's winning?" asked Jim.

"Smoke's beatin' the daylights out of us," quipped Ceasar.

"What's the order of business for tonight?"

"Be on guard against Trace. He's desperate. Everybody in this room is marked," warned Smoke. His face was like stone.

"Smoke say he's the one that sent those two kids up to do the stick up," added Bricks.

"That was meant as an insult, but it backfired"

"Word?" a concerned Jim breathed.

"Word. He knows who we are and where we hang. He sent an email through a third party with pictures of us. Only thing is, we've never seen him."

"I think I know who he is," offered C-Note "He's a tall, tough lookin', light skinned dude. Hangs around Danceland"

"All I'm gonna say is that Trace is a dead man"

"You puttin' a contract on him?" asked C-Note.

"You want me to take him out?" asked Bricks.

"Y'all don't have to worry about Trace. Like I said he's as good as dead, but in the meantime, until you get the invite for his funeral, you guys are going to have to be careful. Trust no man. And don't let nobody sucker you into a beef"

Smoke was being rather cryptic which would have been unsettling, but as high as Jim was, he felt as if he was ready to deal with Trace or anyone else who wanted to mess with him. He'd already handled those two punks at the warehouse. Jim's high inflated his ego and his machismo.

"That Trace ni**a better not try nothin' with me. I'll send his soul back where it came from"

"Sounds real tough, but I think it's the liquor talkin'"

"What? You don't think I'm gangsta! Fa real, give me the contract on that dude!"

"Now you sound like C-Note," laughed Smoke, "Man, you crazy"

"That's right. I'm crazy Jay and I don't play"

All the men laughed at that. For the rest of the night, they continued their game of pool and talked. The conversation turned from business to sports, women, and other sundry lighthearted topics. For a brief moment there seemed to be camaraderie between the men that made Jim feel more at ease. It was familiar. It felt like home. This was his crew and they stood together against the world.

After a few hours the liquor began to run out, but the festivities were just getting started.

"Yo, Smoke. We runnin' low. You want me to go get you some more juice"

"Yeah, but get like three bottles this time instead of two"

"You got it"

C-Note wasn't gone very long before the men could hear an argument brewing outside.

"That doesn't sound good," commented Bricks.

"Well you know what happens when you got a lot of drunk people in one place" shrugged Smoke.

"Wait a minute," said Jim who was listening attentively. "That sounds like C-Note"

All four men went out into the front part of the lounge to see what was going on. As they rounded the corner, they could see C-Note arguing with a tall brown skinned guy who was wearing something that looked like an updated version of a zoot-suit. They both seemed very agitated.

"You betta watch yourself, ni**a! You don't know who you messin' wit'"

"You the one betta watch yourself, old-head. I ain't scared of you!" C-Note shot back.

"What's going on here?" asked Jim stepping in between them.

"I'm getting' the order and this fool talkin' about somebody cuttin' in front of him"

"Oh, so now you want to disrespect me, punk?"

"You gotta give respect to get respect, old man!"

"C-Note! Chill, man!" demanded Jim.

"Don't be tellin' me to chill. I'm handlin' business, ni**a!"

Jim didn't want this situation to escalate into trouble for anyone in his crew. Appealing to C-Note was useless so he turned to the other man to try to reason with him.

"Look, man. We don't want any trouble. I apologize for my friend here"

"I don't need nobody to apologize for me!"

"C-Note, shut the hell up!" ordered Smoke, coming out from amongst the crowd. "He's right. I'm sorry about this. How about I treat you to that drink you was waiting for?"

"How 'bout you teach the ni**as you roll wit' to show some respect" said the man angrily before walking away, and bumping into Smoke in the process. Smoke made sure to shoot a vengeful look right into the man's eyes.

"Okay, show's over people," sounded Bricks to the crowd that had started to form. Then they all escorted C-Note back to their section of VIP.

"Are you crazy, ni**a?" began Smoke, turning around. "What the hell you gon' start some **** over nonsense like that for? Wasn't you listening to what I said earlier?"

"I wasn't tryin' to start no beef. He was startin' with me!"

"I been tellin' you since you was a kid, you gotta pick and choose your battles or you gonna get us all messed up!"

"You also said that there couldn't be no weak links. If somebody don't give you respect, you gotta take it"

"But you can't let every little thing cause you to fly off the handle" reasoned Jim.

"Man, shut the hell up and mind your business! This is between me and Smoke"

"Don't be disrespectin' crew, son! You wrong on this one C-Note and you know it"

C-Note was silent.

"What if that was one of Trace's dude's? As desperate as he may be, your little act could have been the opening he was looking for to take us all out!"

"Look, let's go home and cool down. After a good night's rest, everybody will be thinkin' more clearly" suggested Bricks.

"Nah, man. That dude is gone and we came here to chill. We stayin'"

"Count me out, man. This is tired"

"Whatever. Take care of yourself, son"

C-Note skulked away without answering.

For the rest of the night the other four men played cards for a while and then went down to the dance floor to grind with the hotties. Then during the early hours of the morning just before the club was about to close, the men got ready to go their separate ways. Ceasar hooked up with one of the hotties he was dancing with and left. That just left Bricks, Jim, and Smoke, all of them drunk and in no condition to drive.

"You can't drive back like this man," warned Jim.

"I'ma take side streets. Nobody won't pull me over"

"I don't know about y'all, but I can take the train back. I'll pick up my car tomorrow night" said Bricks.

"You sure? You might get a ticket"

"**** tickets. I'm wiped. I don't even want to be bothered with drivin right now. See, you around, man"

"Look, man. We'll take my car," Jim said to Smoke. "I didn't have as much to drink." Jim was probably just as inebriated as Smoke, but couldn't feel it. He knew how to hold his liquor and then some.

"Aiight. You can be my chauffer"

They were just about to get in the car when Smoke noticed someone familiar on the other side of the lot.

"Isn't that your girl?" asked Smoke nodding his head in her direction.

Jim glanced over his shoulder briefly. It was indeed Angela. This was nothing strange. Jim knew she was working and would be getting off work at this time.

"Yeah, man. Why?"

"Looks like she might be havin' some car trouble"

Jim took a second look. He saw Angela slam her car door and kick one of the tires. Jim didn't really want Angela to see him in his present state, especially given the topic of their last conversation. In addition, he was afraid of what might happen if Angela started to chat up Smoke in his condition. Smoke had a hard time being tactful when he wasn't drunk and he had no respect for women or relationships. Jim was sure Smoke would inadvertently blow his cover with Angela. On the other hand, if Angela was in trouble, he couldn't just turn his back and leave her.

"I don't know, man," muttered Jim. "Just wait right here for a second"

"C'mon, Jay. I'm tired."

"I'll just be two minutes"

Jim went over to Angela who was leaning against her car with her arm across her forehead. She seemed upset.

"Hey, Angel? What's wrong?"

"Hey, tiger. My car won't start. The battery is dead"

"Is that all? You want to use my battery to start it?"

"No, that's okay. This thing's been giving me problems for the past week. I thought it would hold out until I could get it to the shop tomorrow, but no such luck. Do you think I could ride with you?"

Jim would have loved to be able to say no, but he knew he couldn't. He felt like he was between a rock and a hard place.

"Aiight. But Smoke's with me. I got to drop him off, too"

"It's all right. I don't mind company"

Jim put his arm around Angela and began to usher her to his car. Then all of a sudden she stopped.

"Wait a minute? Are you drunk?"

Jim realized she must have smelled it on his breath.

"I've been drinking, but I don't think I'm too drunk that I can't..."

"No way! If you've been drinking, you sure as hell shouldn't be driving!"

"Angel, we're not even going that far..."

"Are you serious? Jim, I'm not going to let you drive in your condition! Give me your keys. I'll drop you off," said Angela holding out her hand.

"But how am I supposed to get around if you've got my car?"

"You don't live that far from me. We'll drop Smoke first, then you, and I'll leave the car and walk the rest of the way."

"At this time of night?"

"I'm a big girl and I know how to take care of myself. Now you either give me your keys or I'm going back to the club and have Nemo call a cab"

Jim didn't feel like arguing with her and he knew that Angela could be stubborn at times, so he relented.

"Here" he said handing them over. Then they walked over to where his car was parked. Smoke was lying on the hood, with his eyes closed. "If Smoke's as drunk as he looks, maybe I won't have to worry about him saying something crazy to Angela," thought Jim. If he were lucky, Smoke would just pass out for the whole ride. Jim tapped Smoke on the shoulder to guage the situation.

"Smoke! Smoke, you alright?"

"I would be if I could get home. What the hell took you so long?"

"So much for wishful thinking," thought Jim. He should have known better.

"We were trying to decide who's going to drive," he said to Smoke.

"I thought that was going to be you"

Smoke just looked at him blankly for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.

"Whatever. I guess we know who runs things in this pair"

"You're welcome," said Angela rolling her eyes and unlocking the car door. "Get in"

The parking lot was nearly deserted by now with the exception of a few cars here and there. Their party was one of a few left lingering at the club. Jim took the shotgun seat and Smoke got in the back, while Angela fastened herself in the driver's seat. Just after everyone was seated and Angela started the ignition, another car pulled up along side them.

"Let's see if you not scared now, punk!"

None of them even had a chance to see who was making the threat before gunshots rang out. There was a bloodcurdling scream and Jim grabbed Angela and tried to pull her under the dashboard, but she had already put on her seatbelt, and this interfered with his efforts to help her. Jim himself got down as far as he could. There was another barrage of shots fired. Jim couldn't tell how many there were or when they would stop. He just knew that they would all be dead.

Then, just as fast as it began, it was over. Jim could hear the loud screech of tires against the parking lot drive and the sound of gunfire ceased. There was a burning sensation in side and in his left shoulder, but this didn't bother him as much as the way Angela looked. She was slumped over to the side near his seat and was motionless. The gunmen had attacked from her side of the car. Jim's common sense told him she had to have taken the brunt of the attack, but he still held out hope.

"Angel, you aiight?"

She didn't respond. Jim got up from where he had been crouching under the dashboard, sat Angela up and tried to get a look at her. The first rays of daylight were only beginning to break through. The only other light was coming from the street lamps near the club. Even as dark as it was, Jim could tell that she had been shot. Blood was gushing from her neck.

"She's gone Jay. We gotta get outta here," whispered Smoke, as he got up from the back seat where he lay.

"Angel! It's over! Wake up, baby! Please!"

Jim shook her as gently as he could, hoping against hope that she would open her eyes. Maybe there was just the slightest chance she was still alive. Maybe she could be saved.

"Get an ambulance! She's hurt," he barked to Smoke. Smoke just sat there looking at them.

"Why are you just sitting there! I said call an ambulance!"

"I won't do no good Jay! She's dead!"

"No! She's gonna be alright!" he screamed. "C'mon baby, wake up! You gotta wake up! This is just a bad dream!" Jim moaned to her corpse as he stroked her blood-streaked face. Blood was now pouring down from a wound to her head.

The faint sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.

"We gotta go, Jay! Come on! They comin'!"

"If you gotta go, then go! I can't leave her here!"

"Then it's gonna be your ***. Just remember when them cops come you betta watch what you say. I wasn't here"

Smoke got out of the car and took off. Jim fumbled with his phone, but it was useless. Everything looked blurry and he couldn't see straight to dial those three important numbers. Moments later, Nemo, the owner of the club came out to see what was going on.

"Oh, ****! Who did this?!" exclaimed Nemo when he saw Angela in the car. "Where's Smoke?!"

"Forget Smoke! We need an ambulance! She's hurt!"

"Don't worry about the ambulance; they on they way. We got to get our story straight in the meantime"

Jim staggered and leaned on Nemo. He felt faint for some reason. Maybe it had something to do with the burning sensation in his shoulder and left side.

"You aiight, man?" Nemo asked.

"Yeah, I'm just a little dizzy"

"****! They got you man!" exclaimed Nemo.

Now Jim noticed the blood covering the backside and the sleeve of his jacket, as well as the back leg of his trousers. Nemo had him sit back down on the passenger side of the car next to where Angela's body lay.

"Maybe I'll die, too. Maybe that would be for the best," thought Jim.

Nemo explained to Jim that they couldn't say that Smoke was with them. The official story would be that Angela asked Jim for a ride and then when they got into the car, some dudes pulled up along side and shot it up. Nobody was supposed to know who the occupants of the other car were. Nobody was supposed to know why it happened. It was most likely a hit that involved a case of mistaken identity.

Jim just nodded as Nemo tried to rehearse the story with him. Jim listened half-heartedly. The sound of the sirens grew louder and louder. He felt like he was going to pass out.

"They almost on us man. You got your head together?" warned Nemo.

"Yeah" moaned Jim. Jim was more than willing to let Nemo do all the talking if he wanted to. Jim didn't care about the story, or who went to jail or anything. All he could think about was that Angela was gone and all anyone else seemed to care about was covering their own butt.

Twenty-Five

Out of the pitch-black darkness, he could hear a voice. It was low and deep, but at the same time soft and gentle like an old man singing a spiritual. The sound caressed his ears and stirred his heart. He couldn't make out what was being said until he forced himself to focus.

"...our Hope, the Light of Our Salvation..."

It wasn't long before it all became indistinct again, but the words he had heard were beautiful. He kept listening, summoning all his power to help him maintain his focus. He had heard something about 'light'.

"...look down upon this child that you have created in Your image and have mercy on his soul. Bring him out of the pain, the suffering, and the darkness and into the light of Your love"

Now he could hear clearly. It sounded like a prayer. Was he still at the church? Church was the only place he knew where people prayed. Unless he was he at the cemetery? Could this be his funeral?

"...help him to see You for who You are and find new life in Your Son, Jesus Christ. Heal his mind, body, and spirit..."

Slowly the light came. At first everything was blurry. There were globs of color and shadows flickering by. Slowly things started coming into focus: There was a window, curtains, a tall pole with a bag of watery fluid in it. He was in a bed. There were tubes attached to him in all different places – his nose, his arms. Suddenly all of his senses kicked in. He felt absolutely awful. His head hurt and he felt nauseous. By his bedside was a dark skinned African-American man with salt and pepper hair. He had his hands folded and his head bowed down. He wasn't dressed very fancy. He looked like he might be a cab driver or something like that. The man wore an old faded mustard colored twill sport jacket over an old plaid polo shirt and brown twill pants.

"I'm not dead," he thought. He didn't know whether to be comforted or upset by this fact. He still wasn't exactly sure what kind of place he was in or what he was doing there. One thing he was certain about was he definitely wanted to know who this man was, why he was praying, what he wanted, and when he would leave. The younger man was not in the mood for company.

"Who you?" he uttered groggily. His voice was unexpectedly loud and scratchy. It startled him as much as his visitor.

"Well, hallelujah! Thanks be to God always for answered prayer"

"Who you suppost to be?" he asked again, not satisfied with the man's answer.

"Pardon, me son. I'm Julius Bynum," he said taking the younger man's hand for a shake and smiling at him. This Bynum dude had a pleasant face and his eyes were kind.

"What your name be, son?" he kidded.

"Way-lo. They call me Way-lo"

"That may be so, but I want to know who you are, not what they call you"

Seemed like this guy was trying to be all up in his business, still he didn't think it would do much harm to give him his given name.

"Christopher"

He never really voiced his given name often, and when he did it sounded strange. It was almost as if he were speaking of someone else.

"I like that name. Do you mind if I call you Chris?"

"Nah, man. I've been called a lot worse" he said his voice trailing off. He looked around he room again.

"This the hospital?"

"Yes, it is. Do you think you know how you got here?"

The young man thought hard. The last thing he could remember, he was on his way to Smoke's. He had an idea of how he got here. He'd been in this situation before.

"Maybe. How long I been here?"

"Almost three days. You were in ICU for a spell because your heart had stopped"

"What you doin' here? You a psychiatrist or a social worker or somethin'?"

"No, not at all. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. When I found you, you were in bad shape. The doctors didn't think you'd make it. Obviously they were wrong"

"I wish they'd been right" he said inside himself. "Why you want to know about me?"

"Why wouldn't I want to know about you? You're a person just like I am, created in the image of the Almighty. There was no way I could leave you the way I found you. Now that you've pulled through physically, I wanted to know if you needed any other kind of help, is all"

The young man looked away.

"What can you do to help me?" he thought to himself.

"It's gonna take a lot more than prayer", the young man muttered to his guest. Now he recognized who the man was. He remembered him from the church. It was the preacher.

"Don't underestimate the power of prayer. I've seen how it can change lives first hand and I've experienced it personally. I wouldn't be sitting here in front of you if it weren't real"

"Or maybe you sittin' here 'cause you got a lot of people supplyin' mad bank through that church hustle you got."

"So you've been to one of our services?"

"Yeah, I been by there before. I ain't got no money, for no offerin' if that's what you lookin' for"

"Son, I didn't come to hustle you and I didn't come for any offering. I really and truly want to help you. Look, my church has special worship counseling services on Wednesdays and Fridays if you're ever interested in coming back to visit us. Here's my card and a program of our services"

"Everybody's got some kind of program. I've been in all kinds of programs and none of them ever worked for me"

"Trust me. What the Savior has to offer will never disappoint. I have to go to the church in a little bit, but I'll be back. Is there anything you need in the meantime? You want something to eat from outside or extra blankets? You want the T.V on? Anything like that?"

The young man couldn't believe his ears. How was this man offering him stuff and he didn't even know him like that. Was this some shady dude putting the moves on him? He wanted to ask for $20.00, however, he knew the preacher would know what he wanted it for and probably wouldn't give it to him. He'd experienced his kind before.

"Nah, I'm good"

"Oh, and I wanted to know if it would be alright if some of the members of the church came by to pay you a visit?"

He shuddered for a moment when he thought of the woman in the pink sequins. He hoped he could get himself discharged before any of them showed up. He felt bad enough as it was, and could use another fix. He'd O.D'd before and no other hospital ever kept him more than 48 hours after he woke up. With any luck he could probably get the doctor to let him go at the end of the day. Whatever day 'today' was. Then he could get something to help him deal with the pain he was feeling.

"Whatever, Rev. Just long as you know I'm not making no promises to come down to that church"

"That's up to you. But I hope you change your mind. See you later, Chris. God bless you"

He said nothing, but the young man considered what the preacher had said.

Twenty-Six

Smoke had just come from the barbershop and was walking toward the Poppa's Fried Chicken on 145th near Frederick Douglass Blvd. The summer sun was bearing down on him and the coconut oil that had been sprayed on his head had found it's way into his sweat that was coming down in long drops. The water he had grabbed outside from a street vendor hadn't cooled him down a bit, and his white t-shirt was clinging to him with perspiration. He hurried down the street, hoping to find relief in the air-conditioned atmosphere of the restaurant.

When he came in, the place was virtually empty, except for Bobby, who was sitting at the back where the tables were. Smoke waved to him before he went to the counter and ordered his meal: chicken strips, seasoned fries and a biscuit. It took a good ten minutes to get his food since the service was so slow. When his order was ready, he took the cup of ice they gave him and stopped to fill his cup with cherry cola before heading back to Bobby who was doggin' out a three piece with Cajun rice.

"Hey, my man" greeted Smoke, giving him his fist for the pound.

"How you holdin' up?" He greeted back after washing down what he had been eating with a gulp of lemon soda.

"It's hot. I'm not just talkin' bout this heat neither"

"I hear you" he replied before taking in another fork full of rice. "Ain't nobody seen you at the club in a while. Even your own soldiers ain't even seen you that much lately."

"I been busy makin' money man. I don't have much time to socialize anymore. Too busy travelin' all over the east coast trying to keep up my supply. I just came back from picking up a package in Virginia"

"Everybody sayin' you scared since they did that hit outside Rocafella"

"Let them think that. In fact, that's exactly what I want Trace to think. I want him to come out bold, so I can cut him down. Any word on what we was talkin' about?"

"You was right about having a traitor in the midst. Somebody is givin' Trace info on you. Trace been givin' little hints about it here and there. Hasn't come out and actually said who it is yet"

"You need to find out yesterday. Until I find out, I can't set a trap for Trace" said Smoke as he bit into a chicken strip.

"Who you think it is?"

"I have a very strong suspicion it's C-Note"

"For real?"

Bobby looked up at Smoke strangely after scarfing down a chicken wing and another spoon of rice. "I would have suspected that new dude before Note"

"Nah. After his old lady got sprayed up, he wants Trace dead even more than I do. Even asked me personally for the contract"

"That could be the real set up. Note's been wit' you since he was a little bit. You like family to him"

"I thought the same thing about Rollo and Zee and look what happened. Nah, C-Note's been testin' me for a long time. Always complaining about this and that. Never satisfied no matter how much I'm giving him. Problem is I gave him too much. I should have kept him on a short leash. I practically gave him the means to betray me, letting him be my info man"

"But he's just like all them other kids. He just wants a chance to prove himself"

"Or the chance to prove he's bigger than me. Ever since I gave him a piece of the action he's been smelling himself. I think he thinks he can overtake me"

"I think you got it wrong, Smoke. I ain't never heard that boy say a bad word about you to anybody"

"It's not words I'm worrying about, it's actions"

"What kind of actions you talkin' bout?"

"Check this out. I didn't teach Rollo or Zee my knock, but somehow they used it to get into the warehouse. Only people who knew it at the time were C-Note and Jay"

"That's not much to go on. Somebody could have been watchin' you and picked that up"

"Aiight, now get this. That night at the club, I had just told Note that we had to be on the look out for brothers trying to start wars and he goes out and gets into it with some guy at the bar. Then when me and Jay got ambushed, he wasn't nowhere to be found. Turns out to be nobody but the guy from the bar who did it and he's one of Trace's soldiers. Now I know you not thinkin' of tellin' me all that is just coincidence!" fumed Smoke. He had to take a swig of his cola to cool his heated temper.

"No, I can't say that now. If what you sayin' turn out to be somethin' I'ma be really disappointed. Back in the day a G always had an inner circle he could trust. It ain't like that no more"

"That's why I need you to get confirmation. If I find out that this ni**a could do me like that after all I done for him, I'ma make sure he goes out of this world in the worst way possible"

"Don't worry, man. I'm on it" Bobby had finished his meal and was getting ready to leave. "I gotta jet uptown for a doctor's appointment. But you right, Trace is getting bold, so he may just end up blabbling too much cause he think he got it made"

"Let's hope so"

"Peace, man"

"Back at you"

Smoke stayed to ruminate over his situation. He wasn't going to let Trace or this traitor, bring him down. It didn't matter if Bobby got a name for him or not. He was going to set a trap for the traitor that he couldn't resist. Smoke wanted the traitor to die by Trace's own hands. Then Smoke would come in and take out Trace himself. Smoke didn't like to be dramatic, but Trace's demise had to be in order to send a message to others that Smoke could not be messed with.

Twenty-Seven

"Another day, another dollar" quipped Bricks as he reported for duty where he and the others were conducting another days business. For some reason Bricks always showed up after everyone else and Smoke never seemed bothered by it. His comment echoed through the apartment meeting no response. Caesar was in a room in the back processing kilos and bricks for sale. Jim brooded silently in the vestibule as he served customers. He wasn't in the mood for talking.

"Heard anything from Smoke?" asked Bricks.

"He got back yesterday. He had Caesar pick up a load this morning for processing" replied Jim.

Jim really didn't give a rat's narrow behind about Smoke anymore. As far as he was concerned, Smoke was just a punk. He couldn't believe how Smoke went missing for a whole week after the shooting. Smoke didn't bother to visit Jim in the hospital when he got treated for the gunshot wounds. He didn't even bother to come to Angela's funeral. When Smoke did show up again, all he could talk about was the shipment he went to pick up. Meanwhile the rest of them walked around town conducting his business with targets on their backs.

"Any news about Trace?"

"No"

Another person that Jim harbored a deep hatred for. He wished he could kill Trace himself. As a matter of fact, he wished he could kill all of them: Trace and his soldiers, Smoke, Bricks, C-Note, Caesar, Nemo – all of them. It wasn't fair that they were all alive and Angela wasn't. She was a warm and caring person who wanted to make a positive impact on the world. All any of the others ever thought about was money. She wanted to help others while they only wanted to help themselves. Jim had no respect for any of them anymore. The night after Angela's funeral, Jim did so much coke he thought he should have overdosed. But no matter how much coke he did, his conscience would not allow him to hide the ugly truth about what happened to her.

At the viewing that they had for Angela, she truly looked like an angel. She had been dressed in white and they put a crown of white gardenias around her head. Make up was used to hide the scars from the bullets she took to the temple and neck. Her mother was absolutely hysterical with grief. She just kept asking "why?" while sobbing into another woman's arms. Angela had just turned 23 years old; way too young to be leaving the world. The scene brought back old memories of what had happened to Jim's own dad.

Josiah Reid was a good guy: a cop, and an upstanding man of the law. He was also a devoted husband and father. Jim didn't have many memories of his dad, but he did remember the love and respect he showed. Momma read stories from a book or from the Bible, but Pop would always make up his own stories. They were big tall tales that Jim would dream about after he had fallen asleep. Pop was the one who encouraged Jim to climb to the top of the jungle gym on the playground, even though little Jim was scared witless. Pop was the one who took Jim fishing and showed Jim how to set traps for mice. There were the piggyback rides, the hugs, and the lessons. His dad had spanked him only twice, but when he did, he always let Jim know why. Like the time that Jim had taken a toy car from the grocery store without paying for it. Josiah Reid was warm and gentle, but tough and firm at the same time. When Jim was little, he would watch his dad cleaning his service revolver, or putting on his police uniform and wish to be just like him. That was before Officer Ballard came to their house one night with tragic news.

Jim remembered it was late at night and Momma was waiting for Pop because he was late coming home. She was pacing up and down the floor, stopping at intervals only to check the clock. Jim was supposed to be asleep, but instead he was sitting in the doorway of his room. He could still see the clock even from where he was. It was 12:45pm. There was a knock at the door and Momma rushed to answer it. Jim stood up where he was hoping it was his father. Momma flung the door open, but was almost speechless when she saw who it was.

"Ballard?"

Momma sounded so confused. Maybe she thought it was supposed to be Pop, too.

"Mrs. Reid...I mean, Merta. May I come in?" Officer Ballard asked somberly.

Momma clutched the front of her robe and gasped. She used her free hand to reach out to grab Officer Ballard's shoulder. She could read everything in his eyes.

"He's gone, isn't he? That what you've come to tell me?" she asked still gasping as if she were trying to catch her breath. Her voice was quivering, full of tears.

"I'm sorry, Merta"

"Noooo! Nooo! Oh Lord, please help me!!"

Momma slumped down to the floor wailing, and Officer Ballard tried to help her up. Jim stood frozen where he was in the hallway. As young as he was, he understood everything. His father was dead. Later on Ballard would explain what happened to Pop, and then Momma explained to Jim. Pop and Ballard had been the first ones on the scene of a robbery at a bodega. The men were on their way out when the officers arrived. Pop ordered the men to stop and one of them shot him. Ballard fired back injuring one, but the other got away. Ballard stayed with Pop until help arrived, but it would come too late. Pop had taken a bullet to the throat and he was dead before the ambulance came. He was killed – for $153.00, the total sum in the bodega cash register. The men were well-known crack addicts who were stealing to support a habit.

The pain came rushing back and nearly broke Jim's heart all over again as the memory flashed across his mental movie screen. Before the funeral, his eight-year old self held out hope that somebody had made a mistake. Maybe Pop was just faking his death so he could catch the bad guy that escaped. It was a special undercover assignment, like on those cop show he watched on TV. Once he finished his special assignment, Pop would come back and things would be normal. But when Jim saw his dad lying in the open casket, all of his hope evaporated. Pop looked like he was sleeping, but Jim knew that he wasn't going to wake up. He remembered Momma weeping and leaning on Momma Lena for support. Momma just couldn't stop crying. Jim couldn't cry. He was too angry.

Jim could remember what he was thinking that day. That it wasn't supposed to be like that. It wasn't fair. Good guys weren't supposed to die, only the bad guys. That's the way it happened in all the stories he'd read at school. That's the way it happened on the cartoons, the super hero shows, and the cops shows. That crack-head was supposed to be the one in the casket, not Pop.

"You lived by the book, and what did it get you? What was your reward? Death. A wife widowed too young. Your legacy in pieces." Jim thought to himself in the present. Now the same thing had happened to Angela.

A tear began to form in the crease Jim's eye. He closed his eyes and squeezed them tight to stop the flow. He needed to be by himself for a moment.

"I gotta use the can. Watch out until I come back, aiight"

"You got it"

Jim went to the bathroom in the apartment and closed the door after himself. Then he went to the sink and took out his coke. The mirror was right in front of him, but he wouldn't dare glance up at it.

The irony of his situation was not lost on Jim. He wasn't any better than the men who had killed his father. He wasn't any better than Smoke was. Jim was just as worthy of death as they. He was just as responsible for Angela's death as any of the others. How could he let her ride with them, knowing that he and Smoke had been marked by Trace? Angela was the third person whose life he had been responsible for destroying. There was not one moment since Angela's funeral that he wished he could just take back everything. Jim wished he had never met Smoke. He wished he could just walk away from Smoke and the whole operation. Unfortunately he couldn't.

Although he had been trying to save his money to create a little cushion, Jim's coke habit had eaten away the entire savings. If this were a legitimate job, he'd be living paycheck to paycheck trying to support a $400.00 a day habit. Smoke once joked that maybe he should pay Jim with coke since he was spending so much on it. It was coke for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Coke to wake up, to keep his energy up and then weed or some tranquilizers to wind down in order to get some sleep. There was no more getting high. Jim developed such a tolerance that he needed to finish a whole eight-ball in the course of a day (and then some) just to feel normal. Dealing was the only job that would allow him to make enough money to pay his bills and support his habit. Dealing was the only thing that kept him from being put out on the street. Once you were on the street, you lost your credibility. If you were on the streets, you had no choice but to admit that you were strung out. Jim couldn't bear the thought of being strung out. That was like being less than a nobody.

The only solution would be to get rid of the habit, but there was no way Jim could go on each day doing what he was doing without it. So he was stuck working for Smoke, probably forever. Jim was ensnared in a never-ending cycle: he had to work for Smoke, to make the money, to get the drugs, so he could work for Smoke and keep his shirt tucked in. The thought of it all made Jim sick to his stomach.

After he had done a number of lines, Jim washed his face and went back out to his post. He felt better, but his mood was not as lightened as he wanted. He just hoped Bricks had gotten the message that he didn't really want to talk and just left him alone.

"How much you think we moved already?" asked Bricks who seemed to be unusually chatty today.

"I don't know. Maybe eight grand" replied Jim.

"Word? I remember when we was doin' that in a whole day and here it's only 11:00am. I say we gon' have at least forty grand by the end of the day"

"Most likely" Jim replied disinterestedly. It always came back to money. Money was the only thing anyone in his crew ever talked about. It was either that or how they planned to spend it. Jim was getting sick of it. He was beginning to see where Angela was right. Jim was up to making thousands of dollars a week, which was more money than he had had with his transit job, but it hadn't made his life easier. In fact, he'd had more drama, heartache, and loneliness than he'd ever had in his life.

"And it's like we just a little operation. Think about what them big cats like them dudes on Washington Heights is pullin' down. Probably a hunnid grand or somethin' like that. You know how many people in this country gotta be on somethin' to bring money like that?"

Jim just wished Bricks would shut up.

"Never really thought about it like that"

"I think everybody's on somethin'. Some people like to front like they straight – you know- like they don't do drugs, but we wouldn't be makin' money like this if its just a few people like the media like to claim"

"I don't know man. I'm not really tryin' to be up in other people's business. Just tryin' to survive"

There was a knock at the door. It was a customer. She was a tall fair-skinned African-American woman who wore a dirty, matted wig, cheap make-up, and a soiled sleeveless t-shirt that came to the top of her thighs along with some flip-flops. Everybody knew her as Passion.

"Phew! It's hot as hell out there! Y'all need to get an AC up in here!" she exclaimed, fanning herself as if she were about to pass out.

"We do. You the one that's hot" quipped Bricks.

"You know that!" she replied with a loud cackle.

Jim could see that she was probably a very beautiful woman at one time, but drugs and hard living had taken their toll. Her honey colored skin was dry and ashen, clinging to her bones. There were track marks all over her legs. Her large eyes bulged from their sockets and her once full and plump mouth was now shriveled and drawn against toothless gums. Her complexion was riddled with sores, acne and burns. Jim just couldn't see what Bricks saw.

"Hey, Jay. Let me have my usual" she cooed at Jim while handing him her money.

"How's it going?" asked Bricks.

"I'm still alive, baby. That's all you can ask for, right?"

"I hear you. Where you gon' be tonight?"

Jim cringed in disgust. He knew why Bricks was asking. He couldn't understand why anybody would want to sleep with a prostitute knowing the risks involved. It was like eating out of the garbage.

"By the bridge"

"I'll be by around midnight. Wait for me"

"Don't worry, baby. I ain't got nowhere else to go"

"Here's your usual," said Jim handing over several small bags of heroin.

"Thanks. By the way, y'all seen Way-lo?"

"He been in and out lately. He was missing for a few days then he came by a couple of times after that, but he ain't been by today at all," answered Bricks.

"What you want with him?" asked Jim.

"I just wanted to know if he alright. Brother said he saw him taken outta the church on a stretcher about a week ago"

"He probably just OD'd again"

"I know, but he would'a been by my way by now. It's Spade birthday and we was gonna have a little party. I wanted to invite him, but he ain't nowhere to be found"

"He's alright. Like I said, he's been by here since then" said Bricks.

"But you said you ain't seen him all day and ain't nobody else seen him either. I just hope he ain't lyin' round dead somewhere. That's what happened to my uncle. One day I come to his apartment and the super telling me he found him in there dead. Just died in there and nobody knew 'till his body started smellin'"

All at once Jim became anxious. He had been in mourning so long over Angela that he had almost forgotten about Way-lo. Bricks was right. Way-lo hadn't been coming as often as he used to and he hadn't been by at all today. Had he indeed died? This couldn't be. Jim listened attentively to Passion and Bricks conversation.

"I don't think so. You know Way-lo, he always around somewhere. He just like them sewer rats. They can eat all the green pellets they want and they don't die. Just when you think they gone, they back and lookin' for more pellets," said Bricks.

Passion laughed high and raspy. "You right about that! He the strongest ****** ****** I know!"

"You think he could've gotten locked up?" asked Jim.

"Oh, yeah. That's right. Maybe he got locked up. I'm gonna ask around the block. You know who I'm gonna ask? Bobby - he would know"

"Let us know when you find out," said Jim.

"I will. But I got to get back to work now. I'll see you later, aiight"

"See you"

Jim had to find out what happened to Way-lo.

Twenty-Eight

"This looks bootleg," he thought as he walked into the meeting room. There were not more than five guys sitting around in the few chairs that had been strategically placed in front of a podium. Along the side there was a table with all kinds of refreshments: iced tea, hot tea, lemonade, crackers, bagels, cake and fresh juices of various flavors. Chris thought this program would have been a little fancier. Maybe some music and fancy finger foods and an ice sculpture somewhere. With all those fancy looking people who went to this church, he thought they'd be able to afford more than this. Maybe that preacher was keeping the money for himself. Chris was beginning to re-think his decision about coming.

Since everyone else was helping themselves to what was being offered, Chris decided to get a cup and have some hot tea. He wasn't feeling well and thought that the tea would warm his insides and take away some of the chills that were beginning to creep up on him. It had been a while since his last fix. He had made a resolute decision not to go by Smoke's despite the fact that the monster was beginning to kick up. Chris was fighting with everything that he had, but it was hard. "I can't believe I let that preacher con me into this" he thought.

That preacher sure was slick. He knew how to get a person to come down. He sent people to visit him as promised. The lady with the sequins was nowhere to be found, thankfully. The guy with the plaid suit showed up, looking more casual. His name was Allen. He was nice enough. He brought some soup his mother had made. The soup was good, but all Chris could manage was a few spoonfuls of the broth. They talked about sports and stuff. The guy gave Chris his number, but he forgot where he put it. Then a girl came. Chris forgot what she said her name was. He knew it started with a "T". She seemed familiar. She was with two other guys that looked like her bodyguards. They had come with more food and clothes. Chris thought the girl was nice enough, but she talked too much for his taste. Her bodyguards didn't have much to say but he could tell they were aiight. Then another guy came, seemed like he was the preacher's son. His name was Daniel. He seemed like a real down to earth guy. They talked a bit about life. That guy gave him a Bible, but Chris couldn't do anything with it. Not once did any of them put pressure on him to come to the church. They were just friendly. Friendly enough to get Chris interested in taking a chance to see what Greater Apostolic's addiction counseling program had to offer.

"At least the tea is good," he said to himself after taking a sip. The warmth of the liquid radiated through him but it only made him feel a bit better. The monster was unrelenting in its assault. Chris shuffled over to a chair at the end of a row away from everyone else in the back and sat down. By the time he had finished his cup, the Preacher had arrived at the podium. He was glad for that because the sooner they started the sooner the session would be over and then maybe he could do something about the monster that was flaring up inside him. There were three other dudes that were helping the preacher to move the podium and put more chairs in the center where they took their seats. Chris recognized two of them from the hospital: one of the girl's bodyguards and Daniel, the guy who looked like the preacher's son, but the last one was new. By the looks of things, it seemed like the Preacher wasn't going to do a sermon, which made Chris curious as to what was going to happen.

"Praise the Lord, Everybody!"

No one responded.

"I said Praise the Lord, Everybody!"

Some of the men mumbled an incoherent response. Chris gave a faint "Praise the Lord", afraid of having his voice heard over the rest of the crowd.

"You all should be more excited than that, or is the food that bad?" Pastor Bynum joked. A few of the men chuckled.

"How about we get things started. Let's clear out the chairs we don't need and make a circle so we can all talk for a while"

The men who were with the pastor began to move chairs over to the side and the other men brought the chairs they were sitting in to make a circle. This made Chris a little nervous since he could no longer hang out anonymously in the back. Once the chairs were in a circle all the men were facing each other. Chris just looked down at his hands as he listened to the Pastor talk.

"My goodness, y'all just the saddest lookin' bunch of people I've ever seen and I can't think for the life of me why. This is a new day. This is the first day of the best days of your lives. None of you had to be here, but I believe the Lord called you and you came. That means you're going to be blessed! Aren't you excited?"

A few nods and hushed 'yeahs' floated in the air.

"Well I'm sure excited and so are our brothers in Christ that are with us today. I want us to start this session by having everyone introduce themselves. Just say your name, how you got here, and what you want God to do for you. Tell us what change you want to see happen in your life. I'll start us off"

"As you all know by now, my name is Julius Bynum. I've been the pastor of this church for over 20 years and the reason why I'm here is because I love God and I love people. I know what it's like to be free from the bondage of the ways of this world and it is my deepest desire to share that with others with the hope that they, too, will understand what it means to be free. That freedom comes from a relationship with Christ. Over the years there are many that have entered that door and have given their lives to Him. I was led to begin this program so that we could reach more people and change their lives for the better. My sincerest desire is to see as many people saved and experiencing the joy and peace that can only come from fellowship with our God and his Son, Jesus. Deacon you want to go next"

"Typical preacher speak," thought Chris. He'd heard it all before. Clean-cut church folks running around trying to make everyone like them. Chris thought briefly about his past and everything he'd been through. Even if he went straight, Chris wasn't sure if he could ever be like the church dudes sitting in front of him. Chris's meditation was interrupted by the sound of the Deacon clearing his throat before he began to introduce himself.

"Name's Thomas Ford. I came to this church straight from the penitentiary. I had been serving seven years for burglary trying to get money for heroin. I didn't have nothing or nobody to come home to, so I came here. Let me tell you, it was the best decision I have ever made. I've been clean ever since. I've been blessed with several degrees, a wonderful wife, two sons, and stable employment. Best of all, I've been blessed to know who He is and with the grace to stand in the hope of His calling. I'm not going to say that it's been an easy road. I've had my bumps and bruises and there were times when the devil almost had me back, but I thank God I'm still here. I'm still trusting that God will continue to keep me clean and sober and use me to help others come to Him and stay the same"

When Deacon Ford was done there was a pause before the next person spoke. It was Daniel's turn.

"I'm Daniel Joyner, and I've been a part of Greater Apostolic ever since I was a baby. Now I know you're probably wondering, 'So why are you here at a rehab-counseling meeting?' It's kind of complicated to explain. My mom, who is really my aunt, brought me here and had me baptized after she got custody of me from my birth mother. You see, my birth mother was addicted to crack cocaine. She was so addicted that she couldn't stop using even though she was pregnant with me and because of that, I was born addicted to crack. Thankfully, I was weaned from it when I was a baby and I've been clean for the past twenty-three years. Even so, there were a lot of complications from that addiction that my mom and I had to pray our way through as I was growing up. I could have been destroyed, but I thank God for his mercy and the people he surrounded me with and worked through to get me where I am today. I'm praying that God will continue to bless me and help me to understand the cycle of addiction and work through me to reach out to and help those who have been overcome by it."

Next up was the bodyguard. He seemed a little nervous.

"My name is Davis Martinez. I had been in the thug life since I was 14 years old. I was runnin' with a gang, dealing drugs and taking drugs – smokin' weed and poppin' pills like adderol, and xanax. Then one day, I got shot down, but I thank God that I didn't die that night. He gave me another chance at life. Since then I gave my life to the Lord and left the gangs, the drugs and the guns alone. I had been looking for a church for a long time until I met Dan over there. I been with GA for about a year and a half and I'm prayin' that God keeps me on the straight path I been walkin' with Him, and uses me to help encourage others who want to change and walk that path, too"

Chris was floored. These weren't the kind of things he thought he'd hear coming out of the mouths of sanctified church folk. They sounded like him. Or at least they used to be like him. They had been where he'd been. Chris never would have known by looking at them. It wasn't that they were decked out in the finest clothes or anything, but they had a certain aura about them. He knew they were telling the truth about being clean. Chris could always spot a user. No, they were the real deal. Chris's heart trembled. Maybe this program wasn't a con game.

Chris listened to the other men talk about their situations. One man had come because he was tired of smoking crack-cocaine. He'd been on drugs for nearly two decades. That was fifteen years longer than he'd been on heroin. The man was tired of lying, stealing, cheating and everything else he had to do to support his habit. Another man had just come out of a rehab program and just wanted to get away from the people and the life he was used to living. He wanted to stay sober. Another had trouble with gambling and another with alcohol. They too wanted to be free from the addictions that had taken hold of them. These men were also just like him and they were ready to change. Maybe it was possible. But then doubt began to form in Chris's mind. "You've been through two rehab attempts. What makes you think this is gonna be any different?" a voice growled. The voice startled and unsettled him. Chris's head started to hurt as the monster's strength increased. Chris was deciding whether or not to leave, when he realized it was his turn.

He didn't know if he could do it, but he had to try. He took a deep breath and let it out before opening his mouth to speak, but it seemed like the words wouldn't come. Then he tried again, but only managed to stammer a few words.

"I...I'm sorry..."

"It's okay if you need to take some time to get your thoughts together" said the preacher reassuringly. Chris started again, looking down at his hands and the empty foam cup.

"Around the way, people call me Way-lo...but my real name is Chris. Christopher Wayne Lodon. That's what's on my birth certificate, anyway" he began, his voice low. "I been taking heroin...like about five years or somethin' like that. In the beginnin' I was handlin' it, ya' know. Now it's handlin' me, if you know what I mean."

For the first time, Chris was really being candid about his situation. In the past he'd only admitted to using, but he couldn't fool himself anymore. Being a 'user' implied he was in control, which was the furthest thing from the truth. This thing had him by the throat and he finally had the guts to admit it. It was a truth that was humiliating, but at same time it was also liberating. Chris had been carrying a heavy bag on his back for a long time, but now there was a hole in it and the contents were spilling. It was making the load lighter.

"I used to think heroin was magic, man. I thought it was making things better for me, but it wasn't. It was taking me to hell..."

His voice trailed off. Chris struggled with his emotions and with feeling ill. Still he continued on.

"I don't want this no more. I don't wanna live like this..." he sobbed, his voice cracking. The tears came despite his best efforts to hold them back. He looked up at the preacher who had come across the circle to give him some tissue. "Please...if you could help me stop this like you helped them other guys over there. I just want to be free...to have some peace"

"I can't help you with this. There's only One that can deliver you from this. I can lead you to Him, but you have to accept Him and you have to believe that He can"

"You mean, God?"

"Yes," the preacher said, putting an arm around Chris. "Once you come to him and accept his Son, Jesus Christ, as your Savior, he will take the burden of this addiction away from you-from all of you here today, but you have to come to him and surrender everything.

"Just tell me how," begged Chris. He was absolutely desperate. The monster always won and Chris was always the loser. Chris was tired of losing. He wanted his life back.

"You've already taken the first step, by admitting that the life you've been living isn't the one God has intended for you and you have the sincere desire to change. Now all you have to do is to believe in God: believe that He can change you and allow His Word to work in you"

"Now you lost me. What you mean, 'let His Word work in you'?" asked the man with the gambling problem.

"It means that when you hear the Word, you move in faith. Whether we hear the Word through preaching or by reading the Bible, we must believe it and we must make a commitment to follow what it says. Once we do this, God is faithful to put his Spirit within us that will enable us to stand fast in His will, even when our flesh is weak. The work is not accomplished by us or our will alone, but by God"

"That's it? So we're just supposed to 'believe' our addictions away?" asked the man who was addicted to alcohol.

"There is a lot of power in our belief, or in our faith. In the book of Romans the Apostle Paul tells us, 'Abraham believed God and it was accounted to him for righteousness.' Do you know why Abraham's belief was accounted to him for righteousness? Because it was borne out in his life in the things he did and the choices he made. Abraham's belief in God's promise led him to leave the land of his parents and travel to the land of promise where his descendants would make a prosperous nation. His belief led him to offer his son Isaac as a sacrifice because he knew God would be faithful in his promise and could even raise Isaac from the dead. And just think of all those people who were healed when Jesus walked the earth. They first believed that Jesus was the Son of God: the only one who could heal them, and that belief lead to an action. Belief led the woman with the issue of blood to struggle through a huge crowd just to touch Jesus' clothes. It was his belief that led blind Bartimaeus to cry out despite the fact that people were telling him to be quiet. It led the friends of a paralyzed man to even take the roof off a house. In every case, their belief led to an action that put them at a point of contact with the power of God, which delivered them. And God is the same today as He was yesterday. Just ask the men sitting before you. Today your belief, and your faith in Jesus can subdue the power of your addiction. It has already begun to lead you in the right direction. All of you could have gone to a secular program somewhere else, but you didn't. Something led you here, not to me or this church, but to the only One who has the power to deliver you."

Chris thought about what the preacher was saying. There was definitely something drawing him here. Deep down in his heart, Chris knew that something led him inside the church that day to hear the preacher weeks ago. Something or someone had spoken to him through the preacher's message. He felt it when the preacher and the members of this church came to see him in the hospital. Before that, it had saved him and kept him from dying. It was speaking to him right now.

All of a sudden the pattern of his life started to unfold before him. It seemed like everything he had ever went through was to bring him to this particular moment in time. It was like a light had come on in his head. His eyes were opening to something new. The strength of the monster began to abate, if just a little. He was still hurting, but something was giving him the strength to push through.

"I don't know, Pastor," groaned the gambler. "I thought you was gonna tell us what we could do to get ourselves together. Like maybe talk about places where we could get counseling, or jobs, or get some benefits or somethin' That's what we need: to get back into life again"

"Life is more than just jobs or benefits. It's more than being able to figure out why we have issues. Having a fulfilling life, a life that will keep you from relapsing into addiction is about having a relationship with God. You see that's what we were made for. When God is missing from our lives we feel empty, we feel insecure, and there's a void. When we try to fill that space in our hearts that exists solely for Him with other things, that's when we run into trouble and end up getting into these addictions. That's why the first step in becoming delivered from addiction is by building a relationship with our Savior. We need to believe that He is real, that He loves us and believe in the promises of His Word to us. I ask you all here today. Do you believe?"

"Believe what?"

"Believe that God is real, that He is the Author of creation. Believe that He saw us in our fallen condition and sent His only begotten Son, Jesus Christ, to die on the cross to redeem us of our sins. Believe that God raised His Son on the third day and in so doing, made it possible for us to be reborn in newness of life through His Spirit. Most of all, you must believe in the promise of eternal life and salvation, which He has reserved for those who believe and that you will inherit the Kingdom when He returns again. If you believe these things, and move in your belief, then there is no way your addictions can continue to have power over you. So I ask again, do you believe?

All of the men were silent as they mulled over what the preacher had said.

"I believe...I believe," said Chris quietly.

Then the former crack addict also declared his belief, along with the man who had just come out of re-hab.

"Sorry, Rev. I'm gonna have to opt out." said the gambler "I'm not really feelin' this. No offense, but I thought this was like a community service thing. I didn't come for no religion"

"None taken. I'm not actually offering 'religion', though. But if you ever change your mind, you know where we are"

"Thanks, but I don't think I will"

"For the rest of you, I'd like to offer you the chance to be baptized into the Body of Christ as believers"

"Uh, I don't mean to interrupt, but I have an appointment I have to keep. I might come back later for the baptism thing" said the man with the alcohol problem.

"That's fine. Whenever you're ready. We'll be here. Is there anybody else that needs to leave right now?"

Chris and the other men said nothing.

"And just so you know, being baptized here in no way obligates you to be a part of this particular church or this program. The baptism is an expression of your faith. Should you feel you want to go to another church or program, that will be up to you. After the baptism, if you would like to continue with our counseling program, we will all exchange contact information and each of you will be given a prayer partner. Your prayer partner is going to be your helper in Christ. This person is going to assist you in making an appointment with our network of clinics for a physical evaluation and to make a health plan for the physical detoxing process if you need it. Your prayer partner will also help you with getting any services you need and they will also be your go-to whenever you need someone to pray with, a word, or some encouragement in between counseling sessions here" advised the preacher. "Do any of you have any questions for us?"

There was a brief silence among the men as they nodded their heads. They were all resolute in their purpose.

"Alright then, Deacon Ford will lead us to the pool"

All the men stood up and the deacon led them in a procession to a room behind the altar where the changing rooms were. Each man was given a baptismal robe and a fresh pair of underwear. As Chris undressed in one of the stalls, the monster dug it claws into him, but he wouldn't let it keep him from his purpose. "Lord, I know You're real now. If You love me, please help me. Don't let this thing win", he prayed as he dressed. "I'm tryin' but I need You to help me, please"

Shortly after, the preacher came into the changing room to take the men to the pool. All the men lined up in front of him dressed in their white robes. Chris was doubled over inside his stall. It took all his strength to stand up and shuffle to the end of the line. The preacher came to the end and took him by the arm.

"It's going to be all right, son. Just put yourself in His hands"

The preacher guided Chris and the others to the pool. Chris was the first one in to be baptized.

"Lord I believe in You, please help me" he prayed within himself each time he was dunked into the water. Each time he gained more strength. The pain was still there, but there was a change happening within him. Now Chris knew that he wouldn't die. He didn't have to die. The monster could do whatever he wanted to him physically, but he knew he wasn't going to die. The pain was temporary. He could see the other side and he was halfway there. Chris had won. He had finally won.

Twenty-Nine

"Well speak of the devil" began Doug, the bouncer in astonishment "me and Nemo was just talkin' about when you'd be back. Long time no see!" he said greeting him with the customary pound and the man hug.

"C'mon, man! You know this is my spot!" beamed Smoke.

"Where the hell you been?"

"I had a little business trip to Virginia. Had to manage my assets so to speak"

"We missed you, man"

"You mean you missed my money. I was throwin' down enough to make my own VIP"

"You crazy, man"

Smoke left him and headed to his spot in VIP. He had all of his soldiers meeting him here today. It was time to put out the bait for the trap.

When he got there, they were all at the regular table drinking. None of them seemed to be in a good mood.

"W'sup soldiers" he greeted them.

A few sullen 'Hey's were all he got in return.

"Why's everybody so down. It's Friday night. Somethin' going down at the spot I need to know about?"

"You said you were gonna take Trace out" blurted Jim bitterly. "When are you gonna make good on that?"

Jay sounded impatient and angry. He was obviously still moping about that chick that got put down. As if getting Trace would somehow bring her back to life. This punk needed to be checked. Still, Smoke wouldn't let Jay's blowing force his hand.

"When the time is right"

"And when will that be? When one of us gets knocked off?" Jay fumed.

"Let's get this straight, I'm not playin checkers – this is chess. I'm makin' tactical decisions. Business comes first –always. Trace wants us to get caught up in the revenge thing, so he can get us to lose focus on the operation"

"Which we stand to lose anyway, since people are sayin' you punked out" added C-Note.

"I don't care what fools have to say. And I'm not feeling how my soldiers are second-guessing my decisions. Y'all don't know everything I know so just trust- I got this"

"Aiight, so maybe you can explain it to us, 'cause we just not seein' it"

"Check it -we're still growing and Trace's business is still crumbling. And it's not like he's never going to get his – he will, but business comes first. While I was in Virginia picking up our last score, my connection was able to get me another big deal that's really going to put us over big time"

"What you mean?" asked Bricks.

"I got a shipment coming in and I'm going to need some back up getting it up here. I was thinking me and Note could jet down to Maryland and get it, while the rest of y'all watch the house"

"Don't you think you'd be better off if Bricks went? He is security," suggested Jay.

"True, but he's caught warrants in Maryland before. If a cop sees him in the car, it's gonna be 'game over'. Then I lose everything"

"That's a big haul. You sure you want to trust the kid with that?" asked Caesar.

"Note knows what he's doing. He's done it for me before. We're going to take two cars. I'll be the decoy, while Note will have the stuff. I'll be watching him ahead and will run interference if there are any problems with the cops and what-not. In any case this is going to be big. This shipment is what's going to help us put Trace out of business once and for all"

"How's that?"

"This deal cost me $30,000.00. We're talkin' fifteen to twenty bricks of powder. We could flip it on the street for at least $100,000.00 within a matter of days. And this is quality stuff. Everybody know that **** Trace sellin' is nothin' but killer filler. Once all the regulars get a hold of it, ain't no way they could ever think about goin' back to Trace. On top of that, I got word for some new markets. Classier markets, people who don't have to beg to get money for their high"

"True that. Most people only go to him because they desperate or if they don't have the money cause he let ni**as get away with trades. And his customers are the roughest of the rough. Ni**as way past strung out. Tryin' to trade baby formula for dime-bags," laughed C-Note.

"And there's going to be more coming if this works out. We got to keep our eye on the prize. If we play our cards right, by the end of the year we could all be millionaires"

"When's it coming asked C-Note?"

"We're going down on Wednesday of next week"

"How long do you think this is going to take?" asked Bricks.

"Not more than a few hours at the most. We're driving round trip. No stopping"

"Where you want me to meet you at?" asked C-Note.

"At the gas station by the Bruckner overpass. I'll give you the directions then. We'll take main roads on the way there and side streets only on the way back"

"Now this is definitely worth our attention," noted Bricks. "Trace himself would forget about us if he had somethin' like this coming in"

"Trust me, I haven't forgotten about Trace. Not at all"

Now the bait had been laid. Smoke knew Trace wouldn't be able to resist. All the traitor had to do was to relay the information.

Thirty

Jim couldn't help feeling tense as he walked down the street to a coffee shop over on 145th and Broadway. Ever since the ambush at the club a few weeks ago, he felt as if he had to keep his antenna up for danger. As long as Trace was alive and Smoke was in business, the lives of Smoke's soldiers was in danger. Jim did his best to stay away from lonely alleys, curb-crawling cars and open, unpopulated spaces where someone could get a clean shot at him. He was always on the look out to see if someone was trying to watch his movements. He tried to disguise his appearance with ball caps and wearing clothes in a style that was different than what he was used to. Jim stopped hanging at his usual hangouts like the Blue Note or the small mom and pop coffee shop over near where he lived. He didn't like going out much at all, but he had to get away from the house today, if not just for a few minutes.

Jim had done a few lines before he left, hoping that the high and the fresh air would help him to feel better. Whenever he was at the spot, he felt oppressed: like his spirit was being crushed into the ground. Now that he was away he didn't feel much better. The coke had made him over-sensitive to everything and he was beginning to feel paranoid. When he finally got to the shop, he rushed inside and hid himself at a table in the back. It just seemed like he could never feel safe. Even when he was high, his bravado was short-lived.

Jim scanned the place about twenty times, marking each patron, what they wore and what they were doing. There was an old man reading the paper while slowly eating a flatbread breakfast sandwich. In another corner across from him was a woman with two children who were sharing a large juice and two bagels. Finally there were two younger men with large backpacks, sitting at a table in the center. Jim surveyed them cautiously from the corner of his eye. They could have been summer school students, or they could be Trace's soldiers who had followed him to this place to take him out. Jim hadn't noticed these boys had been there quite some time before he showed up.

As Jim eyed the men, a waitress, had walked up to him without his notice.

"What would you like today, sir?"

Jim nearly jumped out of his seat. He tried to gather his composure to make his order.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you..."

"S'all right, I just didn't see you there. Lemme get a large coffee – black with a lot of sugar," he mumbled still trying to keep his eyes on the boys.

"I'll be right back" smiled the waitress. She was an older woman who reminded him of Momma Lena, his friend Allen's mom. Momma Lena was always protective of him just like his own mother. He could have used that protection now.

Jim continued to eye the two boys until they left the shop. Not long after, the waitress came back with his coffee. Jim thought he would feel some relief now that a possible threat was gone, but he still felt on edge. He took a sip of his coffee. It was as bitter as the feelings that were welling up inside him.

Jim was livid that Smoke was planning another trip out of state without having done something about Trace. All of their lives were in jeopardy as long as this guy breathed, but it seemed to be of no concern to Smoke, as long as he was making money. Smoke kept talking about strategy and being tactical, but Jim couldn't see how allowing someone to live who recently tried to kill you made sense. Then again, nothing in this business was making much sense anymore. Nothing made sense and nothing mattered.

Jim felt his days were numbered as long as he remained in the game. Even if Trace were eventually killed, it wouldn't be long before more enemies popped up. The bright patina that Smoke had painted of this life had now worn away. Jim had made yet another wrong turn in his life. Any day his life could be taken away from him and what would he have to show for it all? What would it all be for? A high? A few lousy dollars? A haircut and a pair of shoes? To say he worked for a big drug dealer? Even if he had all the money in fort knox, it wouldn't have made a difference. It's not like any of it did anything to fill the emptiness that was in his soul.

Jim was back to square one. Alone. No family, no real friends. All he had was an expensive habit that wasn't doing anything for him except draining him financially and kept him enslaved to a man he had no respect for. Sure he had his apartment, sure he had a lot of fancy clothes in his closet and a new car to boot, but at the end of the day he knew he was no more than a puppet for Smoke and a very disposable puppet at that. Just when he thought he was finding his way, there was another dead end. Once again, his life was an unsatisfying mess and he had no idea how to change things.

Jim sat up as he heard another person entering into the coffee shop. He seemed like an older man dressed in an old oversized polo shirt, Bermuda shorts and sneakers. Jim could tell he had just had a haircut because he could smell the coconut oil all the way across the room. The man seemed familiar to him. There was something about the man's honey colored skin and his shriveled mouth.

"It couldn't be him. No way. Could it?" he considered. Jim was going to call out to the man standing at the counter, but wavered at his decision because of his uncertainty about the man's identity. Jim couldn't help but notice how clean the man was. His clothes were old and of the thrift store variety, but they were neat and pressed. Still, Jim just couldn't shake the feeling.

"Way-lo?" he called to the man.

The man turned suddenly, looking for the face that matched the voice. Then their eyes met. The man stood frozen in fear.

"Hey, man" smiled Jim, trying to keep the other man from the defensive. It had been so long since he had seen Way-lo and he looked so different, Jim just had to find out what he'd been up to. "Been a while since you been round my way. Where you been keeping yourself?" Jim got up and walked over to him. The man stood still and looked down as Jim approached.

"I been around" he said looking around "I been around, but I just ain't been by that way"

The woman handed him his order in a take out bag and Way-lo reached into his pocket to get his money, but Jim stopped him.

"I got it, man. Don't worry about it" said Jim handing the woman a few bils. "Why don't you have a seat back here with me, so we can catch up"

"I don't know. I don't have a lot of time. I got someplace I got to be"

"I won't keep you long. Just want to know what you've been up to"

Way-lo went with him to his table in the back and sat down. He didn't bother opening his bag. He just sat down at the table staring at the condiment bottles on it.

"I heard you OD'd on those speedballs. I warned you that **** could kill you"

"Yeah, I know. But I'm alright now, thank God"

"How come you haven't been by the spot? You know somebody got something better than Smoke?"

"Nah. I ain't been by nobody. I done put that habit down. I don't mess with that stuff no more"

"You!" Jim couldn't help but laugh. "Are you for real?"

"Yeah, man. I'm for real. I'm gettin' counselin' and everythin'. I'm tired of all that. I want to get my life right"

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, man. That's what I'm tellin' you" he said sounding a little irritated with the fact that Jim didn't seem to believe him.

Jim was ready to call Way-lo's bluff. He took out a little bag that he had in his pocket and put it on the table, so that no one else could see it but Way-lo.

"What if I told you that was free? No strings"

The sight of the package jarred Way-lo. He stared at it intently and started rubbing his neck. Jim could see that he wanted it. He had Way-lo right where he wanted him.

"Nah, man. Nah. I don't think that I should take that"

Way-lo said no, but Jim saw that he couldn't take his eyes away from the package. He was sure Way-lo's resolve would be as weak as water.

"Well just take it. You don't have to take it right now. You can keep it just in case" Jim cajoled, giving him a wink. Way-lo didn't move, so Jim opened his bag and slipped the package in.

"I got to go"

"Okay. I don't want to hold you. See you around Way-lo"

Way-lo didn't answer. He just grabbed the bag and left.

Jim just knew Way-lo would be back by the spot before the day ended. All he had to do was just wait. Now Jim began to feel better. He couldn't rely on much in this life, but Way-lo would always be Way-lo.

Thirty-One

Smoke had seen C-Note stop the car up ahead near a row of abandoned houses off to the side of the road. He had seen another car trailing them from afar and continued to watch it in his rear view mirror as he parked his car (a rental the exact make and model of his own) near the rental C-Note was driving. Smoke noticed the detour the car was taking. "Hopefully this won't take long," thought Smoke as he opened his car door. As he got out Candy Man, an agent for Smoke's connection, emerged from the darkness. He was a tall thin olive-skinned white dude with short curly black hair.

"It's all here" he said quietly as he came near Smoke "Check it out for yourself"

Candy Man led Smoke to the back of a car that was parked by some underbrush. The 'bricks' were in the trunk, which was open. As Smoke counted them, C-Note peered over his shoulder as if to double check.

"Aiight. We good" confirmed Smoke "Note, take 'em in"

At Smoke's word, C-Note began to transfer the bricks to the rental vehicle, and Smoke handed a briefcase to Candy Man. Candy Man checked it and placed in the back seat of his car while, C-Note continued to load the rental car. When C-Note was done, Candy Man drove off.

"Now we in business" cheered C-Note "We in the big time"

"Word. Trace can kiss his operation goodbye," said Smoke his face serious. He could hear rustling in the bushes nearby. He had to be ready.

C-Note had gotten into his car and started the engine. He headed off onto the main road until he came to the detour. Smoke got into his car and followed him. As they both approached a stretch of the dark roadway, another car approached from the other side of the road and cut between C-Note's rental and Smoke's car. Smoke had to slam on the breaks to keep from colliding with it. He then ducked under the dashboard and grabbed his own gun. Shots rang out, hitting the windshield and passenger windows. Smoke stayed down as the gunfire ceased. He knew the man in the other car would be getting out to check to see if he was hit. He heard the man get out of the car and approach his when more shots were fired. Cries of pain and the thud of a body dropping resonated before it all went quiet. Then he heard a familiar voice call out.

"Smoke! I got you! Come on!"

It was Bobby. Smoke eased himself up to look through the bullet-ridden front windshield. Bobby had it handled. As Smoke emerged from the car, he saw one of Trace's soldiers shot dead. It was the guy from the club ambush.

"Let's go see if Drew got the traitor," said Smoke as he headed down the road on foot with Bobby following behind him. Drew was an old-head associate of Bobby's who Smoke enlisted to help him with the trap. Before they could reach the spot, Drew was running toward them out of breath.

"Don't tell me you let that ni**a get away?!" fumed Smoke.

"He's dead...he's dead," gasped Drew out of breath.

"You were supposed to keep him alive until I could get his confession!"

"I didn't kill him! Trace had two more guys further down. They got to him before I could. They shot him and threw him out of the car before one of them took it and drove off."

"They shot him?!" exclaimed Bobby.

"Come and see for yourself"

All three of the men ran down the darkened road. At times Smoke could barely keep an eye on Bobby and Drew because it was so dark. Thankfully, Bobby brought a little pocket flashlight that helped him to keep track of them. Finally, they reached the spot.

Drew was right. As Bobby shined his flashlight, he could see the tire tracks from the other car near C-Note's lifeless body.

"If they killed him, he couldn't have been the traitor. He would have been too valuable to them," opined Bobby.

"Not necessarily. They would have killed him anyway, because after a score like the one they think they got, they wouldn't need him and they couldn't trust him. And Trace doesn't like to share"

"I'm tellin' you it wasn't Note! There's no way that boy would've done that to you!"

"Well somebody gave them information or else we all wouldn't be here!"

"And that somebody could still be working for you. I told you to wait until I got the name! Now Note is dead and we still may not have the guy!"

"Look, I hate to interrupt, but we all got to get out of here before the cops show up"

"Aiight. Let's get the cars and get out of here. Leave Note till the cops find him then when they send for his moms to ID the body, I'll offer to pay for the funeral."

They all went their separate ways fleeing the scene. Smoke was frustrated. He had set up the perfect trap and yet he still may not have caught the person who had betrayed him. Smoke had to make it clear to Bobby that the next time they met, he would have to have a name for him.

Thirty-Two

"He still hasn't come" Jim thought as he manned his post in the vestibule of the apartment. It had been a couple of days since he had given Way-lo that little gift, and he still hadn't returned. "He's gotta be buying from someone else" pondered Jim "Maybe he's getting his high from Trace, now" If that was the case, Way-lo was definitely going to catch a serious beat down the next time he ran into him.

Jim had been obsessed with Way-lo since he saw him that day in the coffee shop. He couldn't get over the fact that Way-lo was actually claiming he was going straight. It had to be some kind of game he was running. In Jim's mind Way-lo was strung out. Jim had never seen anyone come up from where Way-lo was. Most of the strung-out junkies he ever heard of always wound up dying in the gutter. There was no hope for someone like Way-lo.

And yet he hadn't shown up to get his fix. Jim couldn't ignore what he saw the last time he saw Way-lo. He had gotten a haircut, his clothes were clean and ironed, and his skin didn't look as dried out as it had been. He didn't stink either. Something was definitely going on with the dude and it scared Jim to death.

"Maybe he's selling for somebody to support his habit or somethin' like that" Jim mulled, unable to release Way-lo from his thoughts. "If I find out he's workin' for Trace, he's a dead man." Jim channeled his fear to anger. It made him feel stronger.

In the midst of his meditation, a customer came to the door. It was Spade.

"Hey, Spade. How you doin' tonight? Did you have a happy birthday?"

"I sure did. We partied 'til the break of dawn and then some"

"Did Passion ever catch up with Way-lo? Last time I saw her, she said she was lookin' to invite him to the festivities."

"We both saw him only just yesterday. Caught us to say goodbye. He movin'"

"What?" asked Jim who was perplexed by what he'd just heard.

"Yeah. He talkin' bout how he gon' start over. He don't want to do the streets no more. Done got religion now"

"Fa real?"

"Fa real. He sayin' he done got saved and he goin' to church and everything. He tried to get me to come with him, but I can't get with all that"

"Did he say where he was moving to?"

"He didn't really say, but I'm sure it ain't far. He probably just moving from one part of Harlem to another that's all. He got a WEP job with the parks department, too. Most times he be cleanin' the park over there on 145th"

"So that's where I can find him. Talkin' 'bout he 'saved'. Who the hell does he think he is? Just wait 'til I get a hold of his ***" thought Jim angrily.

"I guess he done outgrown us now, huh" said Jim.

"It happens. I don't take no offense. I don't think he tryin' to be better than nobody, he just want to do somethin' different for a change"

Jim had made up his mind that he was going to find Way-lo and set him straight. He had to make him know his place. Way-lo was a junkie and he was always going to be a junkie.

Thirty-three

Chris was sweeping the park on 145th Street and Lenox Avenue. He was trying to work as quickly as he could, but the heat wasn't making it easy. Labor day weekend had just passed and lots of people had used the outside grounds of the park for outdoor barbecues leaving behind lots of garbage in the aftermath. Chris had to sweep up all the ground beef cartons, tin foil, half-eaten burgers and hot dogs, paper plates, paper cups, soda bottles and anything else they had left. Thankfully he always carried a large bottle of water that he would stop and take a swig of when he felt himself getting overheated. It was dirty work, but Chris didn't mind it because it kept him busy and kept him focused. Nowadays he had a lot to focus on. He had a new life ahead of him.

It started off a little rough at first. He spent a whole two weeks going through heroin withdrawal. It felt like the longest two weeks of his life. Chris was in a lot of pain. He spent most of the time in bed huddled in a ball and when he wasn't in bed he was in the bathroom crouching over a toilet. Through all this, Chris was able to find the strength to attend the counseling services at the church. His prayer partner from the church, a guy named Davis, came to check on him a couple of times during each week, brought him supplies, doctored him, prayed with him and just listened to him when he needed it. Davis also helped him to get back and forth to the church's counseling program as well. With everything that was going on, Chris knew that God was working in his life.

It was his faith in God that had given him the strength to finally overcome his addiction. In the past, Chris would always get caught up in the negative of what was going on. He couldn't get past the chills, the pain, the lonliness, his past, and the uncertainty of the future. This time his faith helped him to see things differently. Now he could see small victories, like on the second day when he found that he was able to get two hours worth of a really restful sleep. Then by the fifth day, he found the pain wasn't as intense as the previous days. Instead of dwelling on the negative things in his past, he started considering all the ways he had been preserved. He had overdosed a number of times, but he didn't die. It was no coincidence that the preacher showed up in the hospital when he did or that someone like Davis (who had pretty much the same kind of life he had) was here to help him now. Everything that had happened was a part of a Divine plan that he was starting to see. Chris wasn't alone anymore. There was Someone who was guiding things. Now Chris knew he would make it. He just had to wait until he was on the other side. He kept his focus on getting through one day at a time.

Then one day, he woke up and there wasn't any more pain or nausea. He felt really tired, but at the same time there was a sense of relief. The monster had left his body, and he didn't have any cravings for heroin. He didn't think he would have any more cravings ever again. Then he had to meet that guy from Smoke's spot.

Chris couldn't lie to himself. When Jay put that stuff on the table, it seemed like all his old impulses came rushing back. His mind started calculating how much was there and how long it would hold him. Chris could see himself cooking it on the spoon with a lighter, filtering it, and filling his syringe: the syringe that he had always carried with him until a few days ago. It was as if seeing that stuff had triggered some kind of auto-response in his brain and he was just going along with the flow. Chris grabbed the bag and ran out ready to find a place to shoot up, but something stopped him.

"You're free, now"

Just those three words made him stop to think. He was free. Chris was free from the monster that had controlled his life. Before he came into the coffee shop, Chris had been thinking about how he was going to the thrift shop to see if he could find some more conservative looking threads to wear to church. He was thinking about hanging out with his new friends he'd met at the church. He could go over the 23rd Psalm in his head, trying to memorize it. Chris had never been free to have his mind on things like this. Before he had gotten saved it had always been about the heroin: get the money, get the drug, calm the monster, stay alive. Now he was free from that. Why would he go back? So he threw the whole bag in the garbage, walked away and never looked back.

That was a close call and he knew God had reached out to him in that moment and strengthened him. Chris knew that God was on his side helping him through in all kinds of ways. After spending four years of living in shelters, the housing people came through and got him a new apartment away from the polo grounds and away from Smoke's territory. Though his new neighborhood wasn't that far away, he was still grateful for a change of scenery. Chris not only wanted a change of scenery, he wanted to make more friends and have a whole new life for himself. He couldn't wait to see what God had in store for the rest of his life. Most of all he hoped that he never had to see that Jay dude ever again.

Chris started sweeping and going over the psalm in his mind one more time. As he worked he saw someone approaching from the corner of his eye. Since Chris was standing in front of one of the benches, he assumed the person was waiting for him to move his rollaway garbage pail and materials to get a seat. When he looked up he couldn't believe his misfortune.

"So I give you a gift and you don't even come back to say, 'thank you'? Is that any way to treat a brother?"

Jay's face was like a stone and his arms were folded against his chest. It seemed like he was here for trouble. Chris couldn't understand why this was happening. Why did this man keep coming around to bother him? Was this a test of his faith and perseverance? Chris didn't want trouble. He just wanted to be left alone.

"Look, man, if you want the money for it, I'll give it to you, but I don't want none of that stuff no more. I'm done with that" Chris went back to sweeping, hoping that Jay would take a hint and just go away.

"Spade tells me you running with the church crowd, now. Is that right?"

"I just go to church. I wouldn't say I got a crowd or nothin' like that"

"And just how long do you think that's gonna last?"

"As long as the Lord keeps me"

"You think He can keep you like that dime bag I gave you the other day?"

Chris stopped what he was doing and looked at Jay straight in the eyes.

"To tell you the truth, He's better than anything I've ever had in my life"

Chris had hoped that what he had said would end the conversation. However, he saw Jay's face darken with rage.

"You think being saved changes the game?! You think it's gonna make you somebody? Huh? It don't change jack! Look at you – sweepin' the parks for a welfare check, lookin' like a toothless rat, wearin' some ni**a's hand-me-downs! Don't nobody want you around! In this world you're nothin' but a bum and getting' religion only makes you a religious bum!"

Chris was starting to get angry even though he was trying hard not to. He wanted to live his life differently than he had in the past, and here was Jay who seemed to be deliberately trying to sabotage him. At first, Chris thought it might have been about money, but after this recent vitriolic outburst, he was certain it had to be something deeper. It was as if Jay was taking out his frustrations about something on him. Whatever it was, Chris knew Jay would never leave him alone unless he called him on it.

"What's this really all about, man?!"

"What you talkin' bout?"

"You know what I'm talkin' 'bout! I ain't never did nothin' to you and you comin' down here to cuss me out cause I'm doing somethin' different. Why you care what I do anyway?! Why can't you just leave me alone and let me do my thing, man?!" fumed Chris, swinging his broom in an almost threatening manner. It made the man step back a little bit. For the first time, it seemed like Jay was afraid of him.

"Don't get it twisted, man. I don't care nothin' 'bout you!"

"So why you down here?! I didn't come lookin' for you! You came to me! I tell you I'm done with that stuff and then you come raggin' on me and tryin' to play with my head!"

"Ain't nobody playin' with your head! I'm being real! Look around you, ni**a! This is what it's all about! Shoutin' in a pew on Sunday ain't gonna change that!"

"And I know needles and crack pipes don't change nothin' either! I'm not trustin' in shoutin' or needles. The only person who can change things is God. I know He's changing me! I know He's helping me and I'm not gonna let you or nobody else take that away from me!"

Chris straightened himself and moved toward the man until their faces were just inches apart.

"So lemme make it clear. I'm through with that stuff. That's the way it is. I'm not asking for permission. So now why don't you go do your thing and let me do mine"

"You want me to leave you alone? Aiight! But when you fiendin' and you feel like you about to die, don't come to me cryin' talkin' 'bout you need your ****, 'cause from here on out, your money's no good with me"

Chris just ignored him and went back to work. He put his mind on the 23rd Psalm again. "The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures..." He began to recite to himself.

"You gon' see that religion you got ain't nothin'"

Finally the man left. "You're so wrong," thought Chris. "I don't got no religion. What I got is way better"

Thirty-Four

"So where's Note? Where's the supply?" Jim asked Smoke when he had returned from his trip? His face looked somber and worried. It made Jim very uneasy.

"There was another ambush. Trace's men got to the supply. C-Note's dead"

Jim couldn't believe his ears. C-Note was practically Smoke's right hand. Given the way he relayed the news, Smoke didn't seem to be upset, but rather annoyed as if he lost his favorite pencil. This was very strange to Jim, not because of his reaction to the loss of life, but to the loss of $30,000.00 worth of product with a possible street value of $100,000.00.

"How?"

"Somehow they got word that we were expecting the supply. When we went to get it, we were set up"

"Oh ****!" exclaimed Bricks. How you think they got word?"

"Had to be from someone on the inside. The only people who knew about it were in VIP that night. I'm thinkin' it was C-Note"

"No way!" exclaimed Jim in disbelief. Sure C-Note hated his guts and the feeling was mutual, but he knew for a fact that C-Note would never turn on Smoke. Smoke was like a father figure to him. Jim had to say something in C-Note's defense.

"I mean he was a little headstrong sometimes, but I don't think he would have betrayed you like that"

"He was grumbling and groaning a lot, lately"

"Still, he trusted you Smoke! It didn't matter if he disagreed with you, he always went along with what you said"

"There were too many coincidences for it not to be. First the ambush in the parking lot at Rocafella, which he was conspicuously absent for. Then the ambush in Maryland. He had to be the one. If it wasn't him then it was someone else who was in the room that day when we were all discussing the deal"

"It may not have been anyone. Like you said before, Trace knows where we go. He could've had the place rigged," suggested Bricks.

"Not likely. First, Trace don't got the money or the know-how to bug nobody's nothin'. Second, Nemo would never let somebody else in our area. Especially knowing what's going down,"

"So where's Note, now? Did the cops come or an ambulance?"

"We left him there. When the cops get to him they'll see the ID and give the body to his moms. If she ask me I'll front the funeral bill"

"So this is how years of dedication and loyalty are rewarded," mused Jim to himself. Since he was high and his inhibitions had been cast aside, he couldn't hold back what he was feeling.

"Now do you think the time is right to get Trace? Or are you going to wait until another one of us gets put down? I mean as long as it's not you, right?"

Smoke hauled off and punched him in the mouth. The blow sent Jim into the table where they had some of the product for sale. Blood trickled from his mouth onto the table and he could feel the teeth that had loosened.

"That's for being a smart ***. You been irking me for some time, ni**a. Always second guessing me about Trace. Keep it up, he won't be the only one I'll scratch"

"Okay then, now what?" inquired Bricks "He's got our supply, and we're one man down. I can see where Jay's coming from. It looks like Trace has the upper hand"

"That's right. It only looks like Trace has the upper hand. There's still a lot that you don't know"

"So why don't you let us in on the game?" asked Caesar

"You heard him. There's a traitor. He can't really trust us until he finds out who it is," said Jim breaking his silence after a time.

"No. I got the traitor. I got him just the way I hoped. Trace took his treacherous *** out. Now I'm gonna get Trace. But my way"

Something about the whole thing didn't seem right to Jim. Smoke just lost over $100,000.00 worth of product to Trace. He would have thought Smoke would have been chomping at the bit to get Trace, if just to get his supply back. Not to mention, he was dead set that C-Note was the traitor, which just didn't make sense to Jim at all. There had to be something going on with Smoke. Something was distracting him or playing with his head. It made Jim think that if Smoke didn't snap out of it, he just might lead all of them into an even bigger trap.

Thirty-Five

The pool hall was deserted except for the attendant at the bar. This was the seediest dive he had ever been in, but Bobby had insisted that they meet here. Smoke had decided to play a few rounds of pool while he waited for Bobby to show up. He finally had a name. Now Smoke could get confirmation of his original hypothesis and continue to execute his plan.

There was no way it could have been anyone else but C-Note. It was always the guys like C-Note – the ones who were always so eager to make it in the world. In a way, he couldn't blame him for what he did. Smoke had always felt that life was like a game. There were winners and there were losers and you couldn't have a winner without having a loser. Someone always had to suffer for another person's gain it seemed. May not have been fair, but that's just the way it was. Only Smoke had made a decision early on in life that he was determined to win at whatever cost.

Smoke hadn't made many shots at the table when he heard the familiar heavy tread. He looked up only to see Bobby taking a cue.

"You mind if I get a shot in here?" he asked.

"If I miss"

Sure enough after two more shots, he did indeed miss. Then Bobby came in and began to finish off the table.

"Looks like I'm winning, now"

"Looks like it is right. So who's the traitor?"

"Tell you one thing. It wasn't C-Note"

"What you mean it wasn't C-Note?!" Smoke was livid. It had to be him. If it wasn't his well-laid plan was in shambles.

"I got it straight from his right hand"

"And who does this 'right hand' say it is?"

"None other than your man Jay"

That couldn't be right at all. Jay was still pretty green and he depended on Smoke more than anyone else, for his stash, for his livelihood - everything. If Smoke went down, then so did Jay. Not to mention, Jay thought they were boys. Even though they had their disagreements as of late, Smoke was absolutely certain Jay was true. There was no way that Bobby could be right. It didn't make sense at all.

"Bobby, don't play with me. You can't be serious"

"I'm very serious"

"They almost killed him at the club that day! He got shot twice! They killed his old lady!"

"It was all set up, so that you would trust him. He was the one that took the bait and set up that ambush for you and C-Note. Think about it. C-Note was your right hand and he never trusted him"

"He even defended C-Note when I called him as the traitor! Naw. That ni**a you got in your ear is a ******* liar!"

"Why? Cause it ain't what you wanna hear? C'mon Smoke, don't tell me you so caught up with this dude you can't hear what you need to? That ain't you! You got to be objective in this game!" scolded Bobby.

Bobby was an old head that had his own money. He had no interest in the whole drug game because he was a pimp and only scored drugs every now and again to keep his whores chained down. He was one of the few people who didn't have an interest in taking Smoke down. He had gotten him reliable information before. How could he not believe what he was saying? Still his gut was telling him that Jay wasn't the one. Not because they were friends, but because none of the signs were there. If he had to choose though, he had to go with the cold hard facts and evidence.

"Me and Jay ain't bosom buddies. I just don't see it, that's all. I don't feel it"

"That's how traitors operate. They not going to be obvious. If you want more proof, check your stuff. Trace been braggin about getting' supply on the side from him for a long time. He's been trading his cheap **** for your high quality stuff, sellin' for double, and breakin' that ni**a off on the side. That's how he's been able to stay in business"

"Nah. I always check my stuff. My **** is tight. I ain't never seen nothin' like that"

"Get off work early one day. Take a half-day and then check it. You'll see the difference"

"Aiight. I'll do that. If the evidence is there, then I'm gonna take that ni**a out"

"Trust me. You'll find it"

"Then I'm gonna need to get pictures of Trace. I need to know who I'm lookin' for if I'm gonna take him out"

"That's gonna be tough. He's like you: on the D.L. People who buy from him have never seen him. He does everything through soldiers. Even with his soldiers, only one that deals with him directly is his right hand. But I'll do my best"

When they had done talking. Smoke realized Bobby had cleared the table. He had won the game.

"I win."

"Only because I wasn't playin'"

"That's a lesson to you. The only way to win is to keep your head in the game" admonished Bobby before he took his leave of Smoke's company.

Smoke would take the day off tomorrow and go back to the apartment and check the inventory and the money. He'd make sure to send Jay out first. Maybe send him to do some drops like C-Note used to do. Once he got the confirmation, Jay was as good as dead.

Thirty-Six

Jim was on his way back to the apartment after doing a couple of drops. Now that C-Note was gone, someone had to do them and Smoke had chosen him. Jim wasn't crazy about the idea because leaving the apartment meant leaving protected space. At the apartment he had Bricks and Caesar as back up. Being outside doing drops meant he was more vulnerable to a possible attack from Trace or his soldiers. Such an assignment was great for someone with C-Note's kamikaze personality. C-Note was young and full of the bravado of kids his age. No matter what the situation presented, C-Note felt nothing could ever really happen to him. The best men to face real danger are those who weren't aware of it. Smoke knew that. Smoke also knew that Jim was a lot more conscious of what was at stake, which was why he thought his new assignment was payback for mouthing off the other day. It was to scare him back into compliance and it was working.

Even with all the coke he had done, Jim could barely summon the courage for his task. He jumped whenever someone got close to him, especially if it was another brother. So far, since Smoke had gotten robbed, the heat from Trace had died down a bit. "Getting his hands on those drugs was probably better than getting Smoke" mused Jim as he walked along 135th Street. Still, such thoughts did little to alleviate Jim's apprehensions.

All of a sudden, he noticed a man on the other side of the street he was walking on. He looked over and it seemed as if the man was watching him and following him from across the street as he walked. Jim picked up his pace, and noticed the man on the other side picking up his pace. Jim walked faster and soon his heart was going as fast as his feet. The man was now a few yards behind him so he turned a corner onto a side street to see if the man would cross and follow him. The man did cross and Jim stood back and put his hands on the gun that was in his jacket. There were people around, but at this point, Jim didn't care. He had known of many soldiers that were willing to kill their target in broad daylight on a crowded street. If this guy came to him, he was going to be ready to be the living one.

Jim watched the man carefully advancing in his direction. When he crossed the street, he didn't come down the side street but turned and crossed the next corner and went out of sight. Jim didn't trust it. The man could round the block and get him if he went further down the side street. If he went back up he could be waiting for him on the corner. Jim felt trapped, but he had to make a decision. He continued down the side street to the end. As he cautiously approached the next curb he scanned the traffic of pedestrians at the intersection for the appearance of the man. He didn't see anyone. He stayed on the curb and waited a good few minutes before deciding to go up the block.

After a few blocks, he began to let his guard down. It was a false alarm. There were many such false alarms. On any given day or night, there were cars he thought were tagging along side him and he'd run into a shop or bodega and wait until it passed. It got to the point where he was beyond paranoid. Jim spent most of his days in a state of hyper-awareness that resulted in an overwhelming sense of anxiety. As he continued along the block he could feel himself losing it. He was finding it hard to breathe and he was shaking. He stopped to sit on a bench outside of a chain store.

Jim put his hands into his pockets fumbling about for a piece of crumpled tissue. Inside the tissue were two blue pills. Caesar had said that they were Xanax. Jim had didn't care what kind of medicine they were, just as long as they could take away what he was feeling. He felt as if he was going to lose his mind. He popped both of them in his mouth and swallowed them without water. Then he waited for them to do their job. After a bit his head began to lighten. The pills didn't make him feel that much better. They just made him feel tired and sleepy.

"This is no way to live," thought Jim. Jim was tired of the constant fear and apprehension. He was tired of being strung along by Smoke. He was tired of the drugs and just about everything else about this life. But if he stopped, what would he have? What would be his alternative? He thought about Way-lo.

Way-lo had went and got himself caught up with that church nonsense. What had it done for him? He was working for welfare, wearin' those same old hand-me-down clothes living like a nobody. He was the same old bum he was before. Or was he?

Despite everything, Jim did notice that Way-lo was different. He wasn't dirty anymore. He looked taller than he usually did. Way-lo certainly wasn't as pathetic as he had been. It was like he'd manned up overnight. But more than anything else, Jim noticed that he had a sense of sureness about him. Way-lo seemed to know what he was doing, like he had some inside information that rendered his circumstances irrelevant. He was kind of like C-Note, but instead of being oblivious to all the stuff that was out there, Way-lo was handling himself fully aware of what kind of world he was in. The fact that the world would call him a bum didn't mean anything to him. The fact that he was still poor didn't signify anything to him. The only thing that mattered was what he had on the inside. And it was making a difference. The man he saw at the park a couple of days ago, wasn't the same man who came to him for drugs. Jim couldn't deny it anymore.

"Maybe God is real, after all" Jim pondered. "Still, how could he do all that for someone like Way-lo and not his mom, or his dad, or Angela? Thinking about them made the bitterness come rushing back. Jim just didn't understand it. Weren't blessings supposed to be reserved for good people only? Wasn't misfortune and judgment only for the evil? Jim knew that with all he had done in the past few months, he probably didn't deserve any kind of favor. But even before when he was living as a Christian, he didn't feel that God had ever done much for him. Jim got up resignedly from the bench and walked on down the street.

Despite his fear of being apprehended by Trace's men, Jim was in no hurry to get back to the apartment. He stopped in a fast food joint nearby to get a burger and a soda. Jim wasn't hungry, but the Xanax was really kicking in and he just wanted to sit and rest for a while in a familiar place. He went in and got on line. The place was crowded, but as he looked around, Jim noticed most of the patrons were more preoccupied with the menu on the wall than him. He decided on a double cheeseburger and a cola. When he went to find a table, he was surprised to see a familiar face.

Way-lo was sitting at a table looking at a magazine. He must have been on his lunch break from his WEP assignment. It was funny, but each time he saw this dude he just looked better and better. He looked like he was gaining weight and his mouth wasn't shriveled anymore. "He must have gotten himself some dentures," surmised Jim. Remembering their exchange from the other day, Jim was ready to turn in the other direction and leave him alone. But Jim was curious about something.

"You mind if I talk to you for a minute?"

He looked up from his magazine, clearly disturbed.

"I done said all I got to say to you, man," he grumbled, returning his attention to his magazine.

"Look, I'm not tryin' to piss on your parade anymore. Okay? I just wanted to ask you somethin'"

"What?"

"Why you want to be saved? What's it doing for you?"

"Do you really want to know? Or is this just a slick way of tryin' to rag on me?

"I really want to know," said Jim taking a seat.

"I been through a lot in my life. A lot of bad stuff has happened to me. For a long time I thought I was going through what I was because God didn't love me or I had done something really bad when I was a kid that God hated me for. I even started thinkin' maybe there was no God"

"What kind of stuff was happenin' to you. Somebody you love died?"

"That and other stuff. I was abused, lost my family, and it seemed like I didn't have nobody in my corner for nothin' ever. I felt like I was garbage and that's the way it was supposed to be."

With exception of the abuse part, the man's story seemed familiar to Jim.

"What changed your mind?"

"I feel like God is showin' me that bad stuff happens to everybody: the good and the bad alike. It's like the preacher say: there have been rich saints like David and poor saints like Elisha. They both had their good times and bad times. God loved them both alike. There have been evil rich people like Herod and poor evil people like Judas. They both had their good times and bad, but they both got theirs in the end. Preacher say, 'you can't judge God's love for you by what's happenin' to you'. A lot of people think if everything goes their way God loves them and if its not, He hates them or He's not real. It don't work like that. He never promised nobody that life on this earth was ever going to be fair the way we think fair is or that you never gonna have no problems, pain, or heartaches"

"That doesn't seem very comforting if you ask me"

"But lemme finish. Like I said, God didn't promise fair, but he is just, faithful and loving. If we trust and follow him, then no matter what we go through on this earth, He is faithful to help us get through it. You can't do it by yourself. You can try, like I did with the drugs, or money, or anything you can think of to put in there, but in the end you'll just make a mess of things"

"I don't get it. So why are we serving Him if we gotta go through the same stuff as the people who don't believe? What's the point of making it then? What are we making it for?"

"You thinkin' bout this life. We ain't workin' for nothin' down here. All this stuff down here ain't gon' last and you can't take it with you. God got eternal life for all the people who accept Him and his Son Jesus Christ. We trustin' him to keep us so that we can get there: to inherit his Kingdom. That's what we're striving for"

"I'm not sure I'm gettin' you."

"Think of it this way. I remember when I was in school as a little kid, and one day the teacher told the class that if we did our work and were good, we'd get cupcakes at the end of the day. A lot of the kids asked her if they could see them. She told us not to worry about seeing them or not, just do your work and behave and you'd get one. Well, some of the kids did their work for the cupcakes, some of the kids didn't because they thought the teacher was lying and was just playing them. I never doubted what the teacher said. I just trusted her so I did my work. And I was never good at school and I wasn't big on schoolwork. I was probably just as lazy as the rest of the kids, but I tell you the idea of sinking my teeth into one of those cupcakes made long division seem a lot easier to bear. Sure enough at the end of the day, her husband came with the biggest cupcakes I'd ever seen. And you know what? I might have messed up during the read-out-loud period, and I got most of the math problems wrong, but I forgot about all that when I was eating my cupcake"

"Aiight. I get you now"

It reminded him of the parable of the rich man and Lazarus that he had learned about in Sunday school. That was the whole point of this life to get to that rest. The true rest, and not accumulating any of the material stuff the world had to offer. Maybe his mother hadn't been gypped. Maybe her death was more of God doing her a favor. Taking her from her suffering in a sinful world to a place where she wouldn't have to worry about sin or suffering anymore. It made sense now. Now Jim knew why his mother seemed so sure when she was admitted to the hospital. She knew no matter what the outcome she was going to win. But Jim wished God would let him have a peek at what lay ahead. It was hard working for a prize he wasn't exactly sure was there. It was hard to trust that you're going to come out on the other side of a trial, without some reassurance on the way. Jim had been disappointed so many times, he didn't know if he could be like his mother or even this guy who could just simply trust.

"Still, that teacher would have had a lot less problems, if she just let the kids see the cupcakes. The kids who didn't get one probably felt bad, too."

"Some of those kids would have acted up even if they had seen them, but God is better than my teacher. He is faithful to reveal himself and his promises to us. If anything I've learned, He's looking for us, and showing us what He has for us but at the same time, we got to be looking for Him. You can't see what you're not looking for"

"I don't know, man. There were times when I was going through stuff, and it seemed like I was looking for Him, but I couldn't find Him nowhere. I just felt let down"

"Were you really looking for Him, or were you looking for what you wanted to happen? For a long time I was lookin' like that. I couldn't believe in God unless He made things a certain way. I was like a man drowning in an ocean looking for a yacht to rescue me, but it turned out to be a raft. For a long time I wouldn't get on that raft, because I was insisting on my yacht. Now I'm ridin' that raft and glad for it. It's better than drownin. I'm learnin' God don't always go by what we wantin' or expectin'. Now I just try to look at how He is helping me, rather than look for how I want Him to help me or how I think He should help me"

Jim couldn't help but to stare in awe at the man that sat before him. The words that he spoke were hitting him in his heart. This was not the Way-lo he knew. "I gotta give this guy props, man. I'm trippin' right now. This is some deep stuff he's putting down. I wasn't expectin' that" Jim wondered to himself.

"Well that's all I wanted to know. I won't bother you no more"

"I don't mind talkin' to people. I just don't want no drama, that's all. We can always talk sometime"

"Look, Way-lo..."

"Please don't call me Way-lo no more. I never liked that name. That's just what somebody called me one day and I let it stick. I was born Christopher. But you can call me Chris if you want"

"Okay...Chris..." began Jim awkwardly "like I was sayin', you seem like you got your head together and you doin' what you supposed to do. You don't need some brother like me bringing you down, so..."

"The doors of the church are open to everybody, man. You can come, too. I told Spade, but she didn't want to go"

"I don't know man. I'm in this thing deep"

"Preacher say, 'if He got to reach way down he can pick you up.'"

Jim paused for a moment. It almost seemed as if his mother was speaking through Chris from the beyond.

"It's too late for me, Chris"

"It's never too late as long as you breathin"

Jim didn't know how much longer that would be for him.

Jim took up his garbage and left. He wished he could be more like Chris.

Thirty-Seven

"Bricks! How much we got today!" asked Smoke anxiously, as he entered into the apartment.

"Kind of early for the pick up, ain't you?"

"Just get the stuff! I wanna know how much you took in and what you got left" he demanded.

Bricks called Caesar and together they all went over the inventory. There were a couple of dollar bags that were missing. There were also several larger bundles that looked like they'd been tampered with. The powder was darker than it should have been. Smoke opened the bundles and inspected them. He even tasted some of the powder. There was no doubt about it. This was not the stuff he scored from his connection. Bobby was right. Someone was trading in this garbage and unloading it along with the regular supply. By the time Smoke came to do the pick up, it would be gone and he would have no idea that Trace was making extra money that he was splitting with this traitor.

"What the **** is this?" said Smoke after tasting the powder on his finger.

"What you mean, man?"

Smoke felt insulted by the question and he was in no mood to be messed with. He sent a wave of obscenties Brick's way to make his point.

"This ain't my ****! Who's been messin' with my ****?!"

Caesar got up and checked the bag.

"He's right. This stuff is already cut. Nothin' but filler. You think your connection..."

"This ain't got nothin' to do with the connection! And where are the dollar bags?" asked Smoke.

"Jay took them for the drops" said Bricks.

"He was supposed to take dime bags only!" blared Smoke.

"Jay said you told him to take the dollar bags!"

"Why would I tell him something like that and not tell the rest of y'all?"

"That's between Bricks and Jay" shrugged Caesar. I have no idea what goes on out here. I just cut and process"

"Jay is the one that deals with the customers. He give Caesar the stuff to process. He do everything. You left him over everything," added Bricks.

"I can't believe y'all sat around and let this ni**a steal from me for who know's how ******** long!"

In his rage, Smoke threw the money and drugs at them.

"Stealin'?!" exclaimed Caesar.

"That's what I said, ni**a! Soundin' like a ******** echo!"

"Smoke we didn't know nothin' bout what he was doin"

Smoke wanted to kill them both on the spot for allowing this screw up, but he knew better. He was going to need their help to get his revenge.

"Just shut the hell up!"

Smoke paced the room up and down a number of times. Bricks and Caesar were silent and motionless as if a hungry lion was circling them. Smoke was trying to calm himself down. Enough damage had been done. He had to keep his head in the game if he was going to fix this. He wasn't about to let that punk, Jay, bring him down.

The worst part was how he had trusted this traitor. Never in a million years had he thought that Jay could bring him down. He always thought that Jay was so green that if he tried something funny, he would be able to spot it a mile away. What had been happening to him? Had he become soft? Smoke had never allowed himself to become this vulnerable. He was more than uncomfortable with the situation. Jay had to go. Immediately. It had to be as painful as humanly possible and he didn't want Jay to see it coming at all.

Thirty-Eight

Jim was sitting on a flowerbox outside of the apartment complex thinking about his conversation with Chris. He couldn't help but think about how Chris was right. Jim had spent a whole lot of time angry with God about things that he shouldn't have. Everybody in this life has his or her own crosses to bear. His mother had hers, his father had his, and he had his own. There was no way around problems and heartache and no one is immune to life's vicissitudes. Even Jesus suffered when he was here. There was always going to be death, racism, conflicts, poverty, disease, natural disasters, war and the like so long as we all lived in a fallen and imperfect world. Instead of blaming God for his problems, and being angry for not making things the way he wanted, he should have been thanking Him for all of the ways he had been keeping him through it all.

Yes, his mother had died from cancer. That was one of her crosses that she had to bear. His father had his crosses, too. Instead of thinking about how they suffered, Jim started to think about how they reacted to what they went through. He thought about the day after his father's funeral and what his mother said to Momma Lena at the kitchen table.

"There's gonna be another side to this, Mert. Just got to trust God and hold on"

"I am, Lena. And you know what else? I just feel like thanking God right now"

"What you mean, Mert?"

"I mean I'm gonna do what Job did. I don't want to think about what I done lost. I'm gonna thank Him right now for what I got. I thank Him for giving me 10 years with one of the most wonderful souls I've ever met. I thank Him for saving his soul and giving us a son. I thank Him for you and Vern and Rose and Pastor and everybody He has used to support and comfort me. And I'm gonna thank Him for what he's going to do cause I know He hasn't left me"

Tears were rolling down her eyes, but she gave thanks. That's the way his mother was. No matter what she was going through she didn't allow it to make her bitter. She continued to trust God. His father was the same way. Jim remembered a conversation his dad had with his mom about his job years ago:

"I can't believe they gave the promotion to that young cop. You had to end up saving his life that night" moaned Merta.

"I can. You know how it goes Mert. People have they favorites"

"And they gonna give him a raise to boot! And he doesn't have any children! We could have used that more than he did"

"God ain't blind. He sees what's going on. Anyway let them keep it. God can take care of us and don't need no promotion to do it"

"But Pop, that's not fair! Maybe you should just quit them!" chimed little Jim.

"No, Jimmy" Pop laughed. "That wouldn't hurt them, that would just hurt us. Naw, I say let them give them promotions to who they want. That's not what I'm lookin' for, no way"

"What you mean, Pop?"

"I mean, I know God got something for me that's a lot better than anything they handin' out at City Hall"

Pop didn't so much worry about people, and what they could do to him or give him. He kept his eye on the prize that mattered most.

Jim might have lost his parents, but he had still had a mother, a father and a little brother. The Sharpes had always been there for him, but in his anger and self-pity he pushed away the loving family that had been provided for him. He didn't get the legal aid job that he wanted, but he had been blessed with a good job with benefits, that had he made the right choices, he could have used to pay for law-school. Racism couldn't hold Jim back. God was not working with the racism in America, He was working in spite of the racism. His arrest could have been a lot worse. He could have been charged with a felony and been sent to jail for more than 10 years, but amendments were made to the Rockefeller drug laws that reduced his possible sentence to probation with re-hab. His record had been expunged, however Jim had placed himself in a position that if he were caught, he ran the risk of being imprisoned for a very long time. Jim had been blessed over and over again, but the spirit of bitterness and self-will had kept him from seeing it. So he had made the worst choices he could make; choices that impacted his life and others like Angela, Chris, and the boys that were killed. He couldn't blame God for the situation he was in right now. He could only blame himself.

"How could I have been so stupid?" Jim thought. He slumped over on the flowerbox and let his head and hands hang down to his knees.

"Lord, I'm sorry. I'm sorry"

Tears started to drop from his eyes onto his shoes and the sidewalk.

"Please forgive me. Show me how to get back to You. I don't want to live this life anymore"

In the midst of Jim's prayer a voice beckoned.

"Jay! Yo, Jay!"

Jim wiped his face and looked up. It was Bricks.

"Where you been, ni**a? Smoke been lookin' for you"

"I was just walkin' around, thinkin.' I guess I forgot the time"

"Forget about what you was thinkin'. Smoke got a heads up that somebody done snitched on us. We gon have to ditch our spot - pronto. Me and Caesar done packed up some of the stuff and we tryin' to get it to a new spot"

"When did all this happen?"

"While you was out man. We got to get everything out of there. Smoke say Caesar gon' stay here with the rest of the stuff and you and me gon' go back and forth 'til everything's up to the new place"

Jim guessed this would be a bad time to tell them he didn't want to be in the game anymore. He'd help them this one last time and once they were moved, he would let Smoke know he was out.

"Aiight. Where we going?"

"It's a real warehouse over on Broadway in the old industrial complex"

Jim followed Bricks to the van he had waiting. Jim hoped it wouldn't take very long. He wanted to start his life over, and the sooner the better.

Thirty-Nine

Bricks was much more taciturn than Jim was used to. A couple of times he tried to strike up conversation, only to get monosyllabic responses. It made Jim a little suspicious. Another thing that he noticed was the fact that this new warehouse seemed way out of the way of Smoke's territory. Why would Smoke put his new place in someone else's backyard? It was a reckless and dangerous move that was not like the Smoke he knew.

Finally the car stopped and he and Bricks got out. The place looked foreboding. There wasn't much surrounding it since it was an old industrial area. Not many apartment buildings or businesses. Just an old abandoned garage and a shipping center. The only lights around were the few odd street lamps here and there but luckily it was still early in the fall, so it wouldn't get really dark for some time. The building itself had no lights on in it at all. Jim was looking for Smoke, but he didn't see him anywhere.

"Where's Smoke?" he finally asked

"Inside" was Bricks terse reply.

"I guess we better start unloading, right?"

"Right"

Bricks went to the back of the van and started unloading some boxes and handed one to Jim. His parcel wasn't heavy at all. He took it and followed Bricks inside the building. Once inside, it was eerily dark and the only light was from some lamps that had been set up. The place was not as big as it looked from the outside. There were only two wide floors, the second with a balcony. Jim followed Bricks up a flight of stairs to the second floor. Then they went to a side office. That's when he saw Smoke.

"This is some new place you got here," remarked Jim. "Kinda far from our part of town. I thought you didn't like attracting unwanted attention"

"I don't like unwanted attention, but I get a lot of it anyways," said Smoke. There was something about his tone that made Jim wary.

"Where do you want these boxes?"

"It doesn't matter"

This definitely wasn't like Smoke who was anal about stuff like this. Everything had its place in his book. He also didn't like the way he was looking at him. His eyes were cold. He had seen that look before, back at the first spot. Back when he killed Rollo and Zee. Jim put down the boxes and looked back at Bricks, who seemed to be keeping his distance. There was something going on and he knew it didn't bode well for him.

"Smoke, is there something going down that you want to tell me about?"

"That's funny. I was about to ask you the same thing"

"Why?"

"'Cause I came back to our place today and I noticed that some of the dollar bags were missing. You know where they went?"

Now Jim knew what was going on. Someone at the house had set him up to look like the traitor. And Jim thought he knew who did it. He'd had his suspicions ever since C-Note was killed.

"I know where this is going," said Jim looking Smoke straight in the eyes. "I'm not the one who sold you out"

"You think I should believe him, Bricks?"

Jim turned to see Bricks nodding in the negative. When he turned to Smoke again, he caught a blow right to the face. It sent him into Bricks, who grabbed Jim, took his gun, and sent a sucker punch to the gut that left Jim gasping on the floor.

"You played it real smart Jay, but I'm smarter"

Smoke kicked him in the ribs and then stomped him in the back.

"Just admit it Jay"

"I didn't...I didin't do it"

Smoke sent another foot to his ribs. The pain radiated through Jim's body. He started coughing up blood.

"So you gon' play me out to the end, huh? Huhn? Now I gotta teach you a lesson"

Smoke grabbed a metal pole of some kind that was lying around and began to beat Jim with it. Smoke struck Jim so hard that the latter knew bones in his arms and ribs had cracked, the pain was so intense. Jim couldn't help but cry out in pain.

"You ready to make your confession yet?"

"I... didn't" Jim could barely manage a whisper, but Smoke heard him.

"You know what? You deserve to get yo' *** beat to death. You lucky I'm tired"

Smoke took out his gun and fired twice into Jim's torso. Jim could feel the heat from the bullets radiating through his body. He felt like his air supply was being cut off. Blood started to come up into his throat and was choking him.

"God, please, help me. I begging you. I don't want my life to end like this. Please help me," Jim prayed silently.

"I gotta give it to you Jay. You a tough ni**a. A lot of other ni**as would just give it up by now but don't worry. You not gonna come back from my next shot"

Smoke put his gun to Jim's head. He pulled the trigger, but there was just a dead click. The reality of a jammed gun sent Smoke into a tirade of obscenities. He looked over at Bricks.

"Bricks! Gimme his piece!"

Bricks reached for the piece he had taken from Jim and stashed inside his sweatshirt, but as he was taking it out, something else fell out onto the floor. It was one of Smoke's dollar bags.

"What the *****!"

Jim could see the dollar bag. He saw the look of terror on Smoke's face. Bricks tried to take back the gun, but Smoke had grabbed it and the two men were wrestling. Jim was having a hard time staying conscious after that. He felt weird, almost as if he was floating on air. It seemed as if the lights were going on and off again, over and over. Not long after that he heard several more shots and a thud. He could feel a coldness coming over him. It started at his toes and was slowly moving up his body. Jim could feel himself slipping away and then it was dark.

Forty

Smoke was sitting in his car near the Manhattan Bridge, where he was supposed to meet Bobby. It didn't matter that he had a picture of Trace for him. His whole operation had been destroyed. Most of his best soldiers were dead, except Caesar, who had gone into hiding. All of this destruction wrought by his own hands. He was back where he started from at the beginning, all of his hopes and dreams about getting big dashed to the ground. For now at least.

"I'ma come back. Next time I'm gonna be bigger," he thought, trying to solace himself.

He didn't have many soldiers left, but at least he still had his product. As long as he had that he could start over. It may take a few months to get back to where he was again. But that was all right. This was just a setback.

He had made a big mistake about C-Note and Jay. He owed their families funerals. He was already working with C-Notes mom, who had scheduled his wake for tomorrow. Once he got word about what was going on with Jay, he'd try to get in touch with his family and offer them some assistance. Smoke thought about calling the cops to come get the bodies. That way Jay may have been able to get to a hospital to get treatment and possibly survive. But on second thought, he felt it was best to let him die. What was done was done and Jay ain't had nothin' to live for anyway. It was a shame what happened to them, but Smoke felt he couldn't be held responsible. It wouldn't have happened had Bobby not misinformed him. Bobby had let him down.

He could see Bobby coming down the road. He opened his car door and let him into the passenger seat.

"It's getting cold out here. I think we're going to have an early winter"

"You never know, the weather's been getting really weird lately"

"So how did it go down? Did you get the traitor?"

"I got him, but it wasn't who you said it was"

"Who was it then?"

"It was Bricks. That stupid ******* had one of the dollar bags on him"

"Word?"

"Is that all you got to say? My operation is in tatters because of that BS you was feeding me, and all you got to say is 'word'?"

"What else can I say? I can only tell you what they tell me"

"I was trusting you to get me the deal Bobby. You an old head, you supposed to be better than that. I'm sorry Bobby, but you off my payroll"

"C'mon, man. Don't be like that. I even went out on a limb and got the ID for Trace"

"Really?" Smoke wanted to laugh. How could Bobby think that Smoke would believe anything he had to say at this point. However, Smoke would humor him before he would off him.

"Aiight. Who is he?"

"You're looking at him"

Smoke's eyes widened in disbelief. Before Smoke could react, Bobby pulled out his 45 and pressed it against Smoke's temple. Smoke had his hand on his own gun in his coat pocket, and he hoped he could be fast enough.

"Blam!"

Before Smoke could pull the trigger Trace sent a round into his head sending parts of his skull and brain against the side window and windshield of the SUV. Then Trace got out of the car and walked off into the night.

Forty-One

The heavy sand had enveloped Jim, pressing him into a deep, dark hollow. It was abysmal and Jim was suffocating, his nose and throat clogged, his body compacted under the weight of the sand. He was feeling the strain on his body from the lack of oxygen. It created an excruciating pain that radiated throughout his being. He wanted to cry out for help, but he was unable to speak. Instead, his soul did what his lips couldn't.

Just as he could feel himself slipping away, the pressure started to lighten. The sand that had been tightly packed around him started to loosen its hold. Jim could now move. He reached up. A small, narrow opening formed above his head. He could see a sliver of light shining through. There was hope.

As Jim reached higher, he could feel something grab onto him. It was pulling him up. This was it. This was his chance. He struggled to hang on while it pulled him. Jim was being pressed through the narrow tunnel. His chest was still aching from the pressure and lack of oxygen. It wasn't long before his face emerged from the hollow into the light of the morning. Tears filled his eyes as he took a longed awaited breath. Then he screamed.

*****

Beep –swish- Beep- swish. It was a funny rhythm that caught Jim's ear. It reminded him of the time when he went to see his mother in the hospital. It was the noise the machines made. The ventilator and the heart monitor alternating their strange melody and harmony. He also heard footsteps, and low-hushed voices. At first that was the only sense that was available to him. Little by little the rest of his senses kicked in. Next, he could feel things. There was something over his face and in his mouth. He could feel hands touching him: taking his hand or touching his face. Then he could smell things, if barely. He smelled antiseptic, mixed with the fragrance of flowers. Jim had to know what was going on. He wanted to see what was happening to him, where he was. It was hard to pull things together. He felt as if he was caught in a thick fog of fatigue, but he fought against it.

Jim wanted to see what was going on. It took all of his focus and concentration, but he finally was able to open his eyes. At first everything was blurry, but soon things came into focus. Jim was amazed with the fact that his eyes were open and the clarity of his vision. He could hardly believe what he saw. He saw his little brother, Allen holding his hand, and his parents Lena and Vernon standing over him. Now he knew that there was a God and He had heard his cry.

"Praise the Lord! Somebody, get the doctor! He's awake! His eyes are open!" cried Lena.

Yes! His eyes were open. It was amazing to experience. Jim saw the grace and mercy of the Lord and oh how precious it was!

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM LAWRENCE CHERRY

After College it's time for an Education...IN FAITH

Commencement

FREE!

Allen Sharpe thought he had it all. As a graduate of one of the nation's most prestigious Ivy League Universities, Allen believed he was poised for a six-figure position as a financial consultant and "the good life". In Allen's world, nothing else could be more important. However, after experiencing a major detour on his road to success, Allen learns there is more to life than what the University has prepared him for. As Allen tries to pick up the pieces of his broken dreams, he is forced to re-evaluate his aspirations and priorities. As a result, he embarks on a spiritual journey to develop a deeper relationship with God. On this journey, Allen and his friends learn many invaluable lessons they could never get from a textbook.

***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lawrence Cherry is a pen name that is used by the author who is a born again believer whose purpose in writing this work is to give glory and praise to God and his son Jesus Christ. It is the author's fervent desire that God will use this work to inspire others to come to the knowledge of Christ and be saved, and to encourage the faith of those who already believe.

Also published by SJS DIRECT by Lawrence Cherry

Commencement

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All About Marilyn

All About Nikki- Three Episodes from the Fabulous first Season

All About Nikki- Four More Episodes from the Fabulous First Season

All About Nikki- The Fabulous First Season

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The Myth of the Strong Black Woman

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