“I wouldn’t give a fuck. That’s the problem with pregnant hood rats—they always bumpin’ they gums. Thinking ’cause they pregnant can’t nobody touch ’em. I will two piece a pregnant chick upside her head with the quickness, and it won’t hurt the baby at all. Getting back to you, though, I’ma say this, then leave it alone. Yeah, Chaz was dead wrong for even jayin’ her, but you real foul. You crossed the line.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Kennedy replied, rolling her eyes, then changing the subject. “What you need me to do for you, Kane?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

Just as Alexandria promised, the package arrived at the small Upper East Side studio, where Kisa had requested it be sent.

“What’s in the box?” Kennedy asked while watching Kisa use a box cutter to open it.

“Fifteen bricks.”

“Huh?”

“There are fifteen kilos in here that I need you to put your magic touch on.”

“Why do you have it?” Kennedy questioned.

“’Cause I need to flip as much cash as I can in order to take care of a few things. In case you haven’t heard, the police froze all of my accounts … personal and business.”

“Kane, you don’t have to go this route. I can give you money until this thing passes.”

“Kennedy, you can’t give me the type of paper I need to work with. All I need you to do is stretch this coke out for me as far as you can.” Kisa looked up from the box and noticed the worried look on Kennedy’s face. “I’m only gon’ flip the paper a few times, then I’m out.”

“That sounds good, but you know as well as I do, you can choose to step back in the game, but you may not have the luxury of choosing how or when you step back out.”

Kisa rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, “Look, Kennedy, I don’t need you to be my life coach today. I need you to cut this coke, so I can get that guap. Either you gonna help me, or you not. I can do it myself, or get somebody else,” Kisa bluffed. Kennedy had the meanest whip game. She could take one kilo of top-quality cocaine and turn it into three kilos.

“You already knew before you asked me that I got you. Go to the store and get the stuff so I can get started. You know the ingredients.”

“Yeah, I know.” Kisa smiled. “They already in the cabinet over the sink.”

It had been more than six years since Kennedy had cut cocaine for anyone. She still had the golden touch that plenty of coke dealers used to love and pay for. It took all day, but by late that night Kennedy had turned those fifteen kilos into twenty-five.