Everyone in the hood turned out for Rhonda’s funeral. It was amazing how someone who had pissed so many people off could’ve touched so many lives. Whether it was good or bad, everyone had something to say about Rhonda’s crazy ass.

Sometime during the course of the funeral, True had slipped in. He was dressed in a dark suit and shades so black that you couldn’t see his eyes if you were standing right in front of him. Though neither of them would’ve ever admitted it, there was a special connection between True and Rhonda. No matter how much of a hood rat she might’ve been, something always seemed to draw him back to her. Whether or not they could’ve ever coexisted as more than fuck buddies was a question that would never be answered. Some of the chickenheads had tried to press True for autographs, but he rudely dismissed them. He was grieving and the limelight had no place in his darkness.

“Hey, True,” Rita said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“How you doing, ma?” He placed his hand over hers.

“Hanging in there.” She shrugged. “It’s gonna be hard, but I’m strong. Damn, I’m gonna miss my baby.” When Rhonda died, Rita had been destroyed. She ran up and down the street screaming and pulling her hair out. She had treated Rhonda horribly all her life and now that she was gone, there would never be a chance to make it right.

Little P.J. came darting past, almost stepping on True’s shoe. True grabbed the youngster and tossed him into the air as he scolded him for running in a funeral home. Rita looked at the two of them interacting and her breath caught in her chest. She had never seen the two of them together, so she never saw the resemblance between True and P.J. She had known Rhonda had doubts about who P.J.’s father was, but she never mentioned True as a candidate. They were dealing with each other at the time, so it was possible, but there was no way Rita could know for sure. It was just another secret Rhonda took with her to the grave.

Since the murderous summer of ’06, things hadn’t been the same in the hood. The police were riding around shutting all the hustlers down, trying to bring the end to the crack era in one swoop. They didn’t have much luck, but as long as they kept their feet knee deep in black asses, the mayor was happy.