“Yeah. Whackin’ the guy in front of his family ain’t right.”

“Now it ain’t right. Now it ain’t fuckin’ right! Is that what you’re sayin’, Angee? The shit ain’t fuckin’ right! After all these fuckin’ years later, and now you say it ain’t right.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Back then it was all about how I was a chicken shit, a punk, that I was a fuckin’ coward!”

“I never said that shit.”

“Yes, you fuckin’ did, Angee. The whole way back to Andre’s that’s all you kept sayin’. Chicken shit!”

Angee took another sip of his drink, and started nodding his head. I guess he remembered that too. “I guess you’re right. I did say that shit.”

“You know how long I carried that shit around?” I respected Angee; wanted him to respect me. I didn’t want him thinkin’ I was a coward.

“Sorry, Mikey. I didn’t know that shit bothered you. You wanna lay down on the couch and tell me about it?”

“I’m ’bout to take out my gun and shoot your ass.”

“If that’s what you’re gonna do to make it right, Mikey, go ahead and shoot. But you’ll miss me.” Angee finished his drink and motioned for me to drink up so he could pour me another. “So you gonna tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“Your first.”

“First what?”

“What the fuck have we been talkin’ about? How you made your bones!” Angee said, much louder than I needed him to.

“Why you yellin’?”

“I’m not yellin’.” Angelo poured me another drink.

I took a swallow. “When I got back to Andre’s, he was there with Bobby and five women.”

“Five of them?

“Andre was the king of the orgy, and he didn’t mind sharin’. After the women left I told him what happened, and after they both had a good laugh, he told me and Bobby to go a little bar up on Bronxwood later that night,” I said and laughed.

“What’s so funny?”