When Pain rounded the corner to the living room, there were several men present. The three men seated around the table he was familiar with, but the fourth man wearing the baseball cap was a new face. He glanced over his shoulder at Pain briefly, but kept his eyes on the several bundles of cocaine stacked on the table in front of him. After a brief exchange of words, the bundles of cocaine disappeared into a Macy’s shopping bag and the man in the baseball cap got up to leave. His eyes lingered on Pain for a minute, trying to place his face, but he didn’t stare. Nodding, the man in the baseball cap brushed past Pain and made his exit.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the big rap star.” The smallest man at the table smiled.

Pain detested the little man, but still managed to muster a smile. “How you doing, Paco?”

Paco was a big-head Dominican cat getting money uptown. He was born into a family of career criminals and cocaine dealers and carried himself as such. Paco was a vicious man who would kill or order murders on a whim and respected nothing other than a dollar. He was a loathed and feared man all throughout Harlem and, unfortunately, the remedy to Pain’s problem.

“I assume you’ve come here today because you have my money?” Paco asked, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Paco, you know you’re my nigga and I’d never shit on you.” Pain smiled, trying to keep his hands from wringing together in anticipation.

“So where’s my bread?”

Pain looked at the ground. “I ain’t got it right now, Paco. But that’s my word, I’m gonna have it to you within a week or two. I need you to look out for me this one last time, and I’ll hit you wit’ that. We about to get our first royalties from the single.”

Paco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The two gorillas sitting at his sides tensed up, but didn’t move. “Pain, how long have you been telling me this shit? I don’t wanna hear about your fucking royalties!”

Pain felt the chill of fear grip his heart, but tried to maintain his gangsta façade. “Stop acting like that, man. You act like I don’t spend money with you.”

In a flash, Paco was on his feet and in Pain’s face. “Don’t come in here telling me what the fuck you spend, little nigga. I get money up in this bitch twenty-four seven. You think that little punk-ass couple of hundred dollars you spend every so often means something to me? Don’t be fucking funny, kid.”