Paul Dutton was the middle child of three boys. His mother worked as hard as she could to raise them after their father decided that a piece of sixteen-year-old trim was worth more than the wife he had uprooted from humble roots in Ohio, and the children they had bore. When the girl’s parents found out their relationship, they didn’t hesitate to sic the law on him. He was currently in the eighth year of a ten-year sentence.

For all of their mother’s efforts, and the multiple jobs she worked, her children still managed to be swayed by the call. Paul’s oldest brother, Boo, managed to make jail his home. He had been in and out of different correctional facilities since he was thirteen. He was on the last leg of a three to nine, and looking to come home by the following summer.

His baby brother Jahlil, or Jah, as he had taken to calling himself, was a loose screw. All of the Dutton boys had a touch of the devil in them, but Jah was just evil. He had taken to running with a pack of young kids from the Polo Grounds. They were behind several murders and strong-arm robberies. The old heads gave them a wide berth, and in return they let them be. Anyone who didn’t fall under the umbrella was food.

Paul wasn’t a career criminal like Boo, or a sociopath killer like Jah, but he was no angel. Paul’s game was the con, and his weapons of choice were words. He had learned it from a dope fiend named Bub who used to hang on his block. He started out hitting up cee-low games and switching the dice. This held him down as a youth, but when he became a teenager, his need for dough increased. He saw the things that hustling friends had and wanted to keep in step, but he didn’t have the stomach for the risk that came with it. He would rob with words, as opposed to iron. Paul talked his way in and out of various department stores and other businesses using smoke and mirrors to fleece them of their goods.

The boost game was sweet, but Paul’s greed pushed him to bigger and better scores. He got in good with this bitch who worked for the post office as a casual and kicked his hustle game up. Shorty would snatch credit cards and mail order checkbooks, bringing them to Paul to get off. Now instead of coming off with a few stolen pieces, he could simply walk in and purchase what he needed. He had even set up online accounts via the ’Net, making his job that much easier. Everyone in the hood was checking for Paul to cop the newest and flyest shit at half price.