“Reese, that’s my word. I was walking True out the building and Von pulled up to the curb. I thought the shit was gonna get ugly, but it ain’t go down like that.”

“Von ain’t flip?” Reese asked.

“Nah, you know how True roll wit’ that thing. Von walked up on the car, but it was a short conversation.”

“You lucky as hell. What if them niggaz had butted heads?”

“It wouldn’t have been my problem,” Rhonda said flatly. “Don’t neither one of them have no papers on this pussy.” Rhonda patted her crotch for emphasis.

“Rhonda, you be playing dangerous games.”

“They’re only dangerous if you get caught slipping, and you know slipping ain’t even in my character. Besides,” Rhonda pulled a stack of bills from her purse, “sometimes the gains are worth the risk. Now bring your naïve ass on.” Rhonda began walking.

Reese fought off the feeling of stupidity Rhonda had tossed on her and fell in step behind her.

14

“Check, nigga,” Larry said, wiping his forehead with his tank top.

“You sure are a glutton for punishment,” Paul teased, dribbling the basketball between his legs. “It’s ten-six, me, and your ass is already out of gas.”

“It ain’t over till it’s over, punk,” Larry responded, still trying to catch his breath.

“Have it your way, old man.”

Paul bounced the ball to Larry, who gave it back with an overly aggressive chest pass. As soon as Paul put the ball on the floor, Larry was on him. He slammed his gut into Paul’s back, trying to knock him off balance, but Paul kept his footing. Larry tried to swat the ball away, but ended up slapping Paul on the wrist. Paul dribbled out, then faked right. When Larry bit, Paul went left. Thinking Paul was going in for a layup, Larry darted into the lane. To his surprise, as well as the small gathering of people watching, Paul stopped short. Giving Larry a friendly wink, he put up a jump shot that went soundlessly through the net.

“Game!” Paul announced, tossing the ball to a winded Larry.

“Man, fuck you. All you got is that punk-ass jump shot.” Larry tossed the ball back to him.

“That jump shot just won me twenty dollars of your hard-earned money.” Paul laid the Ball up.

“Ain’t neither one of you niggaz got no skills,” Jah informed them, stepping onto the court with one of his shifty-looking cohorts. They were both dressed in white T-shirts and long denim shorts.

“What’s up, purse snatcher?” Larry joked.

“Still trying to get your girl to stop calling me.” Jah smiled. “What’s good, yo?” he addressed Paul.

“Ain’t shit. Just teaching this lame dude how to hoop.” Paul nodded at Larry. He went to dribble the ball, but Jah swiped it away.