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He looked at Tyrel, who had knocked the owner to the ground with his shoving. Shit, he thought.
    He looked at the clock again. Three minutes, and they still didn’t have the money.
    Sweat trickled down the middle of his back, and his face began to itch beneath the mask. He nervously opened and closed his hands around the butt of the .45. He didn’t like holding it at all.
    Laughing hysterically, Will gyrated his hips, standing over Mrs. Patel as she continued to cry rivers, and then he made the ultimate mistake. “Yo, Brian, check this shit out, son.”
    Brian and Tyrel looked at one another in disbelief as time stood still.
    Tyrel turned and glared hard at Will, who, realizing what he’d done, quickly looked down to the floor.
    Tyrel shook his head and then pointed his unloaded weapon at Mr. Patel, who was pleading for his life in a language Tyrel didn’t understand. He kicked the owner in the side. “Shut the fuck up, you fuckin’ terrorist ma’fucka! And get the fuck up and get our money!”
    Brian’s body seemed to shake with each beat of his heart. His hands shook with adrenaline and nervousness.
    His name.
    Will had used his goddamned name. It wasn’t an uncommon name, but still it was something to give to the police.
    He took a quick peek to the outside. The coast was still clear, but they were losing time. Five goddamned minutes, he thought. He looked over at Will, who stood silently with slumped shoulders, pointing his weapon at Mrs. Patel’s chest.
    Mr. Patel scrambled up, and, with some help from a hard shove from Tyrel, went behind the counter. With trembling hands, he opened the register.
    Before he could do anything else, Tyrel hit him across the forehead with his gun. He reached into the register and grabbed all of the money he could, and shoved it into a book bag he’d had over his shoulder.
    â€œLet’s get the fuck outta here!” he said, running past Brian and through the door.
    They raced to the stairs leading up to the J train on Eldert’s Lane. As they did, they removed their masks and stuffed those and the guns in their pants pockets.
    â€œThe train’s here. Come on!” Tyrel yelled.
    They raced up the steps, hopped the turnstiles, and made it onto the train just as the doors were beginning to close. As it pulled away, they all sat silent and winded.
    Tyrel’s eyes were fixed on Will, who kept his head down, while Brian leaned his head back and stared up at an advertisement for New York Metropolitan College.
    They got off at the Broadway Junction exit, and, after walking as calmly as they could past police officers posted there, they headed to a side alley, where they dropped their masks in a Dumpster.
    Tyrel took the guns from Will and Brian, dropped all three of them into the book bag with the money, and then before either of them could react, grabbed Will by his shirt collar and shoved him hard against the building’s brick wall. “Nigga, what the fuck is your problem?”
    His eyes wide, Will shook his head. His voice low and tight, he said, “My bad, son. The shit just slipped out.”
    â€œJust slipped out?” Tyrel said, shoving him back again. “Nigga . . .”
    â€œYo, come on, son,” Will said, his eyes growing dark. “Let go of my collar.”
    Tyrel shook him and drove him back hard into the wall again. “Or what, nigga?”
    Will looked at Tyrel, as Tyrel glared back at him.
    â€œYou wanna test me, nigga?” Tyrel seethed.
    â€œI’m sayin’, man,” Will said. “Just let my shit go.”
    Brian shook his head. He could see the temper rising behind Will’s eyes, while steam was already spilling from the top of Tyrel’s head. In another second, things were going to go from bad to worse, and although Will had a nasty temper and could hold his own, he was no match for Tyrel.
    He had to break it up.
    â€œYo, T, son, let him go,” he said,