Johnny Boy kept on laughing. Eventually Spencer started chuckling too.

“Jesus, Johnny Boy! What the fuck!”

“‘Had him killed.’ Ha ha. I was going to say I had him tortured first, but I would have lost it.”

He got himself under control. “No, Spencer, I fired his ass. I’m just telling you: Don’t get bored. Stick to my rules or I’ll fire your ass in a heartbeat. Got it? Now pull up next to that alley, the one running into this apartment block.”

Johnny Boy peered down the alley, checked his phone, then checked the alley again.

“Keep your wits about you in these areas, Spencer, at least until they know who you are. Then you should be fine. We do these people a favor.”

Spencer saw junkies and pushers working their pitches, clear as day. He didn’t associate his coke with this kind of scene. Vincent, his most reliable dealer, seemed like a regular guy. Creative musician type, hardly dangerous. Vincent was always on the verge of moving to LA. He’d leave a wrap in the tailpipe of Spencer’s car or even meet up for a coffee. None of this rot-to-the-fabric-of-society bullshit. But the stuff going down here was crack. Kids Abby’s age were being used as lookouts and runners.

Only for a while. Make some cash.

He and Johnny Boy were the only white faces he could see.

“How come Dom doesn’t have any Black people working for him, anyways?”

“All Dom’s people go way back together.”

A rangy Black guy in a puffer jacket and red headscarf emerged from the shadows of the alley, flanked by two compadres.

“These gentlemen here? They’re clients.”

The lanky guy got straight in the back while his two bodyguards leaned up against the wall.

“Hey, Pucky,” said Johnny Boy.

“JB.”

“What’s it been since I last saw you, Pucky? Like, two months?”

“Fuck knows. Probs.”

“I thought you guys were going to do your own thing.”

“We was.”

“What happened?”

“Where you bitches been, man? There’s a fuckin’ war on y’all. Fuckin’ war.”

“Yeah I heard a little something happened over on the west side. They got three of your guys?”

“Yep. One of them was Sweepstakes.”

“No way. Your little brother?”

Pucky nodded. “Fucking little taco niggers. Anyway, they got it comin’ good.”

He took a bag out from his coat and almost tossed it at Johnny Boy.

“No doubt,” said Johnny Boy. “Something showy right?”

“You know it. Whole world’s gonna know not to mess with these niggers. Black City Disciples are claiming those bitches’ turf.”

Johnny Boy nodded thoughtfully. “It’s the only way. They’ve got to have no doubt.” He held up the bag. “Well, I guess we’ll just keep handling this side of things for you guys while you handle business. What have we got here?”

“Thirty-nine eight. That’s everything from here over to Clark Park.”