“Yo, let’s go holla at them niggaz, son. I know Pain from my old hood.”

“Come on, man, I ain’t trying to jump on nobody’s dick.”

“How are we dick riding when I just wanna say ‘what up’ to my dude?” Groovy asked.

“Fuck them niggaz.” Rel spat.

“Man, bring your hating ass on,” Groovy said, heading in their direction. Rel sucked his teeth and followed.

“Pain, what’s good, my nigga?” Groovy approached the table.

“Oh shit, li’l-ass Groove!” Pain shouted over the music. His speech was slurred from the drinks they had consumed. “I ain’t seen you in a minute. Where the fuck you been?”

“I’m making moves in Harlem now,” Groovy told him. “Yo, I hear y’all niggaz is getting crazy spins on the radio.”

“You know how Bad Blood do it,” Pain said, giving Lex dap. “Sit down and have a drink wit’ us, my dude,” he told Groovy.

Groovy eagerly took a seat. “Yo, this is my dude, Rel.” Groovy pointed at his partner, who was still standing.

“What up?” Rel said dryly. The men at the table exchanged snickers, peeping Rel trying to play the strong silent type.

“Take a seat, my man,” Jay told him. “All are welcome here.” Rel reluctantly sat down. “Yo, we got two more bottles of Moёt on the way, but y’all niggaz order whatever you want to drink. It’s on Big Dawg!”

“What do you mean, you’ve gotta go? Where the hell are you going?” Valerie asked.

“I told you, I gotta bounce for a few weeks,” Ralph replied, tossing a pair of jeans into his duffel bag. “I gotta take care of this thing, but I’ll be back.”

Valerie looked at him as if he was foolish for even attempting such a weak lie. She had been with Ralph for three years, so she knew his character better than he did. “That’s a load of shit and you know it. Ralph, tell me what’s going on!”

“Woman, I ain’t got time to explain it to you right now!” he shouted, drawing the strings on the duffel bag.

“Oh, you’re gonna tell me something,” she said and sat on the bag, “or you ain’t going nowhere no time soon.”

Ralph wanted to belt her, but he knew a run-in with the police was the last thing he needed at that moment. Telling Valerie the truth was his best option of getting the hell out of Harlem before the wolves came out.

“Listen, some shit went down with me and my niggaz and somebody got killed,” he finally admitted.

“Killed? Did you have something to do with that boy that got killed on One thirty-fifth?” Valerie asked.

“Ma, I was there, but I didn’t have nothing to do with it. I rode with Slick and them niggaz to hit Jah and—”

“Jah? I thought y’all was friends?”