“Who the fuck is this kid, Nick?” Greasy asked and Freeze punched him in his stomach for asking. He doubled over in pain.

“I already told you who I am,” Freeze said calmly. “I’m the nigga who’s gonna put a bullet in your head if you don’t do what I tell you, which means you don’t talk unless I tell you to.” Freeze hit him in the stomach again. “Understand?” And then he hit him in the stomach again. This time Greasy went down to one knee. Those shots to the gut had taken all the wind out of him.

“Okay, okay,” Greasy said, sucking air, trying to catch his breath.

At that point I knew Greasy wasn’t gonna be any trouble, at least not that night. I was impressed with the way Freeze had taken control of the situation, just like Black would have.

What I didn’t know, and didn’t find out until much later, was that Freeze had been rollin’ with Black. Freeze had learned his craft directly from Mike Black. Like I said, Black doesn’t like to drive, and at the time, Freeze didn’t know how to drive, so they would take the train. Picture that; they do what they gotta do, and then walk calmly back to the train station and go back uptown.

It only took a few more shots to the gut before Greasy went on and handed Freeze twenty large, and promised to have the rest in three days. “Three days, big boy, no more,” Freeze threatened and we left.

After that night, Freeze and I got tight, as close as brothers. He saved my life and I saved his. When I was accused of murder and needed somebody to ride with me to settle things, Freeze was right there. Ride or die, just like it always had been, even though he hadn’t seen me in ten years. Now he was gone and it was my fault; my fault because I was careless.