Marshall stepped forward, drove his fist into the man’s solar plexus to double him over, then hammered an elbow against the back of his neck to drop him. He straightened, shook out his hands, and pushed the release bar to open the back door.

Jack smiled as he stepped over the bouncer. He passed Marshall the.22, and the four of them started for the stairs.

THE BRUNETTE BLUSHED A LITTLE, her eyes throwing a challenge at the blonde, and then she leaned forward and touched her lips to the other woman’s. The boy kneeling on the cushions tipped up a bottle of champagne, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “Use your tongues.”

Children. Undisciplined, foolish, and entitled all their lives. From the Star on down, they were all children, and they grated on Malachi. “My brother,” he said, smile wide and arms open, the Rolex sliding down inside the cuffs of his shirt. “How’s it hanging, dog?” Playing the role of the big bad black guy.

The Star flashed white teeth and stepped into the embrace. “Hey‚ G! Thanks for coming.” The room was decked out like a sultan’s palace, dangling fabrics and candles everywhere, cushions instead of chairs. “Drink?”

Malachi smiled, shook his head slightly. He unbuttoned his Armani jacket and tucked his hands in his pockets, exposing the shoulder holster. By the way the Star’s eyes fell on it, Malachi could tell he loved it, loved the image he had of himself, a tough guy hanging with gangsters. Movie people. Shit. “I’m straight,” he said.

“We got Ketel, some Cristal. Oh, I could send down for Hennessy…”

“We’re good.” Malachi smiled. “How’s the picture?”

The Star sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “It’s a nightmare. Director doesn’t have the first clue. I don’t know who the guy blew to earn his statue.” He shook his head, then said, “You sure I can’t get you a drink?”