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brown liquor burned when it first touched his tongue, but within a few seconds, his taste buds had gone numb, and the drink flowed smoothly. He tried to hand the bottle to Cain, who was in the backseat, but he declined.
    â€œI’m good,” Cain said in a raspy whisper. He was tugging at the strings of his hoodie to the point where it almost completely engulfed his face. All you could see was his eyes and his long braids spilling out. He always wore hoodies because he was self-conscious about his scar.
    Cain’s silence unnerved Ashanti. He’d known Cain long enough to recognize the calm before the storm. He was ready to get it popping, and before long, it wouldn’t matter who he got at. He was an adrenaline junkie and needed to get his fix regularly.
    â€œWhy we still just sitting here like this instead of going in and handling our business?” Abel asked. He was generally the more docile of the brothers, but he tended to get agitated when Cain did. It was some twin shit.
    â€œBecause it’s not time to go in yet,” Ashanti told him. He picked the blunt back up and fished around in his pocket for a light. Before he could find one, Cain was leaning over the seat with a Bic in his hand.
    Cain sparked the lighter and lit the blunt for Ashanti. Whilethe flame danced under the charred cigar, Cain whispered in Ashanti’s ear. “My nigga, I know what you’re thinking. On the hood, I’ll be mindful of any kids in the spot, but everything else is food. I’m starving, Blood. Let a nigga eat before I lose it,” his voice was almost pleading.
    â€œWe move when I say we move,” Ashanti said through the smoke. A few seconds later, the door to the barbershop they’d been watching came open. A woman stepped out, leading her little boy by the hand. He was smiling and eating the lollipop he’d gotten for being a good boy during his first haircut. When she and her son disappeared down the block, Ashanti addressed his crew. “Now we can go in.”
    â€œAbout fucking time,” Cain said, chambering a round into the big Glock in his hand.
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    The small bell hanging above the door of the barbershop announced Ashanti when he entered. There were three barber chairs lined up. The first and the third had men sitting in them getting haircuts, and in the second sat a gray-haired old barber, reading a newspaper. He glanced up at Ashanti, then went back to his paper.
    In the chair farthest from the door, a man sat getting a shape-up and talking to the barber who was taking care of him. He was light-skinned, with a thin mustache and curly hair. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, if he was a day. One of his manicured hands rested on the arm of the barber’s chair, and you could see the flawless diamond pinkie ring poking out. It was obvious from his appearance that he was handling. He glanced up at Ashanti in the reflection of the mirror, and for a moment, their eyes met. Ashanti turnedaway like he was afraid. Seeing that the young boy didn’t want any sauce, the man in the chair went back to his conversation with the barber.
    â€œLike I was saying, the bitch got the nerve to come back talking about she ain’t made but two hundred. I knew off top she was lying,” the man in the chair said.
    â€œSo what’d you do next, Percy?” The barber loved it when Pretty Percy came to the shop. Not only was he an excellent tipper, but he always had a funny story to tell.
    â€œI did what any sporting nigga would’ve done, stripped that ho butt-ass naked and checked her until I found the bread she was trying to hold out on,” Percy said.
    â€œAnd where was she hiding it?” the barber asked.
    â€œIn her pussy!” Percy told him, and they both burst out laughing.
    â€œYou boys need haircuts?” the barber at the first chair asked.
    â€œNah, no cuts for us today, fam. As a matter of fact, why