“So what you saying, man?”
“I’m saying I see your true colors shining through, Ton.”
“Yo, y’all is bugging,” I said. “I got shit to do, Coke. You straight with that paper.” I stood up.
Lately Cocaine had been stressing Anton about his inability to make things happen as he used to. He’d been that way ever since Anton had popped these two auxiliary police officers in Flushing Meadows, Queens a couple of months back. I felt in my gut that Cocaine wanted Ton dead, because his mouth would leak if he ever was caught by the pigs for that murder.
“Yeah, youngblood. We be done. Y’all seen my brother around? I ain’t heard from him in a couple of days.”
“Naw, man, not me,” I said. “I just got out.”
He said to Ton, “You, nigga?”
“I ain’t seen him in a couple of days.”
“All right, whatever. Hit my phone later, Mack,” Cocaine said as we walked out the door. “We need to talk.”
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