They laughed out loud over the football announcers on TV. And they respected Ivan as the chief of the party.

Perry Browning yelled out from the players’ section on the left, “Hey, Ivan, how come you didn’t bring ten of Lucina’s girls? I don’t see enough of ’em in here to go around for me.”

Ivan hollered back to him. “Oh, that’ll happen for you next week. We wanted to see what we were working with first.” Then Ivan addressed the crowd. “But now we know. So make sure y’all show up bright and early again next week. The only reservations we’re taking up in here is cash money.”

“I heard that!” Herman the Big Bad Hitta yelled out.

“THERE GO THE BUS! THERE GO THE BUS!” Perry yelled toward the screen in reference to the Pittsburgh Steelers’ massive running back Jerome Bettis. Bettis rumbled over several Dallas defenders in the secondary for a touchdown, to give the Steelers a 16–3 lead in the second quarter.

As the crowd responded to the replays on the large screen, Perry boasted, “You wait till we play his ass in week twelve! I’m gon’ knock his damn wheels off!”

The Big Bad Hitta hollered right behind him, “THE SHOCK-W-A-A-A-AVE!” and high-fived his teammates.

OUTSIDE AT THE INTERSECTION of the street, Lucina pulled up in her black E-Class Mercedes and eyed the dense crowd of sports fans and exotic cars that surrounded Raymond’s Hot Spot Lounge in the parking lot, as well as on both sides of the street.

“Oh shit, it looks like they did it tonight,” her passenger commented. It was her girl Maya, the dark-haired Colombian.

Lucina remained speechless at the wheel. She pulled up to double park outside the lounge entrance, next to a dark blue Bentley. She pressed her hazard lights on.

“I’ll be right back out,” she told her girl.

“You’re going in to see Ivan?” Maya asked her.

“Of course,” Lucina answered snidely. Why else would I go in?

Maya didn’t think anything of it. “Tell him I said hi.”

Lucina closed the car door behind her without responding.

Out in front of the lounge, the security guards were still trying to clear the disgruntled crowd.

“Look, you all just need to clear away from here. There’s no more room to stand inside.”

“Man, you don’t own this sidewalk,” someone jabbed from the crowd.

Lucina walked right past them all.

“Hey, Lucina Gallo,” one of the security guards noted.

A dark brown baller, draped with jewelry around his neck, in both ears, and across his front teeth, turned to recognize the Brazilian beauty for himself. He had only seen the much-talked-about San Diego woman before from a distance. Twice.

He responded, “Oh, shit, she’s up in the flesh out here.”