Jah watched a couple enter the club and turned his attention back to Bear. “Trying to get my swerve on like everybody else.”

Bear looked Jah up and down and noticed that his shirt didn’t set right on one side. He had been doing his job for too long not to know when somebody was holding. “You looking a little heavy there.” He nodded at the very slight impression in Jah’s shirt.

“Come on, Bear. Why you giving me a hard time?”

“Jah, you know damn well they don’t want no hammers inside this joint. You trying to make me lose my job?”

“I would never jeopardize your job, Big Bear. Me and you too cool for that. I’m rolling solo tonight and you know how niggaz feel about me in these streets.” Jah nodded toward two cats on the line who were trying to act like they weren’t watching him. “Do ya boy this solid,” Jah said, slapping Bear’s palm and leaving a hundred-dollar bill in it.

The bouncer eyed the bill in his palm and pretended to be pondering the idea. “A’ight, li’l nigga, but you better not start clowning up in here.”

“Bear, you know me better than that. I’m just trying to fuck with some of these bitches,” Jah said, passing through the velvet rope. “Yo, come uptown and see me tomorrow and I’ll give you a good deal on this watch I came up on.”

“A’ight, but don’t be trying to rob me on the price,” Bear warned him.

“My dude, you just got me for a hundred cash. You got the best hand all day.” Jah gave him a nod and disappeared into the crowd.

Bear grinned as he pocketed the hundred dollars Jah had given him. He felt like he had gotten over on Jah, but in actuality, the youngster didn’t give a fuck. The hundred dollars had come out of Slick’s pocket, so it wasn’t like Jah felt it. Besides, with the way niggaz had been acting on the streets, the hundred dollars for the insurance policy under his shirt amounted to money well spent.

Slick and his crew rolled to the spot G-style. He was dressed in a black suit, with a V-neck silk shirt and hard-bottom Stacey Adams. For the event, Slick had rented a black Infinity truck, also black to match his outfit, with custom rims. It had cost him a grip, but you couldn’t put a price on fashion. He jumped out of the backseat, looking every bit like a movie star coming out to greet his adoring public. The iced-out Jesus piece swayed from the end of his thirty-five-inch chain, in tune with his shoes clicking on the ground.