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had asked; mostly because he had felt like doing so himself. Screaming and running. But he knew better. His father couldn’t stand weakness in his only son.
    Mack had chuckled at that. Like father, like son. “Probably so. But remember this tho’, real men die brave.”
    â€œFor real.” Topps didn’t see anything brave about the dark, thin man down on his knees, crying and begging for his life.
    His father had the gun in his hand, trained on its target. “Take this nigga here. He’s what you call a skimmer. You pay him well. Treat ’im like he’s family and still he skims off the top of your money. Stealing like he deserves it. You give his ass a break. Give ’im time to return what he’s taken, but he don’t listen. Punks you in front of your soldiers. That ain’t good. See what I’m saying?”
    Topps had bobbed his head. “Yes, Daddy.”
    â€œMack, please,” the man had tried to plead. His hands had taken a praying position. “Man, don’t do this, please. I’ma get your money. I promise.”
    Mack had snorted back, “Man, that’s what you said last month, so shut the hell up!”
    â€œC’mon, man. You know me. We like brothers. You know my woman just had a baby. It was borrowing; that’s all. You know, for milk and diapers.”
    Mack had hauled his hand back but didn’t slap him. “Man, didn’t I tell you to shut the hell up? Ain’t nobody trying to hear that sorry shit. The game is over for you.”
    Topps had felt sorry for the poor fool. He wanted to close his eyes until it was all over, but he couldn’t. His father would think that he was weak.
    â€œHere, lil’ man. You wanna pull the trigger?”
    His father had passed the heavy gun to him. The feel of coldpower had been in his small hands, right at his face. He felt like he was in control. Like he held the power of life and death. But he couldn’t pull the trigger.
    â€œDaddy, I can’t.” Topps had tried passing the gun back.
    â€œPull the trigger, TJ. Don’t think about it. Pull the damn trigger!”
    Tears had sprung to his eyes. “Daddy, I don’t want to.”
    â€œNigga, what the hell!” Mack had angrily yanked the .38 from his young hands. The gun popped off twice and the begging man fell over with bright red seeping from the center of his head. A few splatters of blood and brain went everywhere, even some on Topps’ hands.
    â€œNow you listen to me.” His father got in his face. “One day this whole damn operation will be yours. You understand me? Yours! And you can’t be giving chances and slipping when it comes to your damn money. Ain’t no forgive and forget in this game. Niggas get popped every damn day. You get they ass before they get you. That’s the goal. You understand me?”
    â€œYes, sir.” Tears had rolled down Topps’ ten-year-old face.
    â€œNext time I tell yo’ weepy ass to pull the fucking trigger, you pull it. You understand me?!”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œStanding here crying like some sissy. Go wash yo’ damn face!” Mack walked away to get his soldiers to come clean up his mess.
    Topps had hurried into his father’s private bathroom to wash his hands and face. He had never felt so dirty in his life. Blood felt like it was burning on his skin. He had scrubbed with a frenzy, but the more soap he had used, the dirtier he had felt. Never the less, his father’s words had remained with him. “Get their ass before they get you. Pull the damn trigger!”
    The next time came two weeks later. Another soldier was caught stealing. Mack gave the order. Fearful that it was either his lifeor the perpetrator’s, Topps popped him. He became a ten-year-old murderer, ruthless and cunning. He never dwelled on it. Shit happened. People did what they had to do in life.
    That was twenty-five years ago. Eight