onny, what were you thinkin'?" The black man's voice was suspiciously calm.

The young man felt his stomach coil with anxiety. He was the condemned waiting for his sentence. Donny's clammy forehead glistened under the dim light of the single swinging overhead bulb. Every wiry muscle on his lanky frame was tight as a rock. Each breath came into his fear-hardened chest through some invisible barrier that required massive effort to pass.

Even though the blow to his solar plexus had jarred him incredibly, he kept his eyes on his assailant. Looking away, crying out, cringing, any sign of weakness would be blood in the water.

The dark-skinned man exploded, "Mothafucka! You thought you'd steal from me, tell one a my bitches, and I wouldn't know about it! Zat what you thought, bitch!"

The man stepped back and pulled a .45 from his Nike jumpsuit.

Temporarily defused by his outburst, Lucky set the gun on the desk beside him. Muscles along the border of his square jaw bulged as the fleeting respite passed. "Nigga! I got a real problem with mothafuckaz tryna cheat my ass! You tell me, bitch, what would you do!" Spittle frothed in the corner of the man's contorting mouth.

Lucky's face was thin with prominent cheekbones, and braids sprang randomly from his head. The pendulum swung. His black mood passed a second time, replaced by a disconcerting composure, and he sat on the corner of the desk with his arms crossed and the .45 within easy reach. "I'mol aks you one time, who else is in on it?"

Donny couldn't see the man's eyes behind the dark lenses of his Oakley Blade sunglasses, but he knew the man saw lies. Lucky had not made it to the top being stupid. "Vitranno, Vinnie Vitranno, he promised me back-up in exchange for half." Lucky's black, serpent-like lenses flashed in the pale light. He nodded at the two guards in the rear of the room. Donny knew the gig was up.




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