Cynt leaned close to me. “Bet he chooses the.44 Magnum,” she whispered. But the Kid surprised us both when he came out with a Sig Sauer SP2022 9mm pistol with a 15- shot magazine. “I’m impressed,” Cynt whispered.

When we left Cynt’s, me and Freeze caught the train to 59^th Street, and then caught the D train to Tremont Avenue. From there we walked up Tremont to a building on Martin Luther King Boulevard. We were going to see a dealer named Mark Mitchell, who liked to get high on his own supply. When we got to the door, I started to go over the rules again, but Freeze hadn’t said a word since we’d left Cynt’s, so I didn’t think he would start now.

I banged on the door and waited. It wasn’t long before I heard, “Who is it?”

“It’s Black. Open the fuckin’ door before I start shooting through it.” I actually heard him say, “Shit,” before he opened the door.

“What’s up, Black?”

As soon as I was inside, I punched him in the face and he went down from the blow. I kicked him in the face while he was laying there. “That’s for making me come down here,” I said and kicked him again. “Help him up, Freeze.”

Freeze stepped up and helped Mark to his feet. I punched him in the stomach and when he doubled over; I went to the face with a knee lift. He went down again. Then I went into the living room and sat down. Freeze came and stood near where I was sitting, and we waited for Mark to get up and join us. I was glad that I didn’t have to tell Freeze not to help him up.

When Mark did finally join us, he ran down some long, drawn out story about why he didn’t have the money. But as usual, he promised that he would have it if I’d just give him some more time. I got up and smashed his face into the wall a couple of times before I left that day, and ended up killing Mark when I found him the next week.