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robbing banks shit ain’t gon’ cut it. We need to hit hustlers. That way, we don’t have to worry about no police heat. If we hit a nigga in the game, what he gon’ do? Run to the police screaming that someone ran in his spot and stole his drug money?”
    There was a brief silence as Scratch looked to Malek for a response. The look on Malek’s face let Scratch know he was making sense. “Exactly, youngblood,” Scratch replied to Malek’s non-verbal response.
    â€œThat’s what I’ve been on, but it’s only one person I’m trying to see right now and that’s Mitch.” Malek slowly nodded his head up and down, agreeing with his own statement.
    â€œWhat about that Fredro fella you was talking about earlier ?” Scratch asked. “We go against Mitch, we might as well sign our own death certificates, because them Italians don’t play.”
    â€œDominican,” Malek corrected.
    â€œItalian, Dominican, Swiss and cheddar . . . whatever—you know what I’m saying, youngblood. We mess with Mitch’s money, we gonna catch heat. Now, don’t get me wrong. Scratch ain’t no punk. I don’t mind any heat it may bring. I’m willing to go all out, but you got to know what you are jumping into before you even take that first leap.”
    Malek was desperate, and although he knew Scratch had a point, he didn’t see any other options. “Fuck it! Like I said before, if Fredro got a problem, then he can get it too,” Malek said, putting all the pieces in place as if he were playing chess.
    â€œWe gonna rob that boy and pay him with his own paper, huh?” Scratch repeated more to himself than to Malek. He began to chuckle and nodded his head. “I’m in! We have to move fast though, ya dig?” Scratch sat up, leaned in over the table, and began to put together a plan as the seconds ticked by. “Yeah, yeah! We can hit Mitch’s spots and give him his own money before word get back to him that his trap spots have been hit. We can get Li’l Rina back that way.”
    Malek didn’t think the idea was the smartest way to go about things, but with only a day left to get the money, it seemed like the only option. “Mitch isn’t dumb,” Malek said, trying to look at the plan from every angle. “He probably changed up the whole operation since I left. I know he doesn’t keep the money in the same spot that we used to. We have no way of finding out the main spot where the dough is. That shit isn’t as easy as it seems, old man, and if I know anything about Mitch, it’s that he ain’t a stupid nigga.”
    â€œWell, in my world, nothing is a secret. In the smack-user circle, everybody knows something. Maybe we need to ask around and see what we can come up with. It might not seem like it, but users have their own little community, ya dig?” Scratch stood up. “Take Scratch to his old stomping ground and let’s see what we can come up with.”

Chapter Five
    M alek held his nose as he followed Scratch through a walkway and under the overpass of the highway. The stench was horrendous, and the smell of blood and body odor was overwhelming. The Michigan snow didn’t hit under the overpass as it did the rest of the city, so it became the safe haven for the city’s underworld. There, bums and users, with their cardboard-box houses, huddled around barrels of fire, trying to stay warm.
    As Scratch made his way toward the back, he was being greeted left and right, like a hobo superstar. Scratch’s popularity reminded Malek of his own, back in his days of walking the hall at his old high school. Malek couldn’t help but smile as he watched Scratch do his signature pimp walk through the slum. Not only was Scratch respected amongst the homeless, he was like their mayor.
    Malek was surprised at how influential Scratch really was, and how much he knew the ins and