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Working at McDonald’s?” He grinned. “You owe me, son. You better be around to buy me diapers when I’m eighty and can’t hold my piss.”
    “I’ll buy you diapers and pay some hot young chick to put ’em on you.”
    We laughed.
    “I also wanted to tell you, Ty, that you don’t have to worry about Michael Brown slipping up.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I took steps to make sure he don’t talk.”
    “What kinda steps?”
    “I got connections in juvey. They making sure he keeps his mouth shut.”
    My hands made fists under the table. “Dad, keep them away from Michael Brown. He just a kid, loyal as hell. Ain’t no snitch.”
    “Chill, a’ight? I’m just taking precautions. Michael Brown knows he’ll get seriously fucked up if he talks.”
    “Dad, look. When I need your help, I’ll ask for it. I ain’t asked for it in a while. I’m holding shit down.”
    “No need to get salty, Ty. You your own man now. I ain’t doubting that.”
    “Good.” I told myself to chill. Dad was locked up, for Christ’s sake. I was the one making the calls on the street, not him. If he got some satisfaction out of butting his nose in, fine. Reality was, Orlando wasn’t up for parole for another three years.
    I decided to change the topic. “So, how’s Reg and Midas?”
    “Missing their hos.”
    “Too bad they ain’t got girls like Lorraine.”
    He smiled. “Yeah, she one fine woman. She was here last week.”
    Lorraine was in Dad’s life for as long as I could remember. On the outside, she was just one of his girlfriends. Since he got putaway, she was the only one. Calling herself Orlando’s almost-wife, she strutted the streets thinking she was big-time.
    “What about you, Ty? How are the ladies?”
    “K-Ron was in town last week. We had some wild times.”
    Dad smacked his hand on the table. “Bet you did! D’you know, I tell the niggas in here that my son be friends with K-Ron, and some don’t even believe it?”
    “They just jealous.”

THE CASE OF THE JAMAICAN MUSHROOMS
    I used to believe in trying everything once.
    That was before I tried Cheddar’s Jamaican mushrooms.
    By the time I was fourteen, I was a hardcore hustler. But I wasn’t tempted to start using. I knew too many people who lost everything to drugs, like my uncle Jean.
    Still, Dad always said that a man should try everything once, and the wannabe Original Gangsta that I was, I thought maybe he was right.
    So when Cheddar met me in the park with these Jamaican mushrooms he got from his cousin, I said we’d split them.
    “This shit is sour.” I downed them fast. “They’d be betterwith ketchup. We should’ve gone to McDick’s and mixed ’em with our fries.”
    “I should’ve put some in Mom’s chicken stew!”
    “You think cooking with these would make them stronger or weaker?”
    He shrugged.
    “Well, heat evaporates stuff, right? So maybe weaker. I’ll ask Ms. McEvoy on Monday.”
    Cheddar’s eyes bugged out. “You seriously gonna ask Ms. McEvoy?”
    “Hell, yeah. She get paid to answer our questions, don’t she?”
    “She’ll tell Guidance if you ask her.”
    “So?” I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t think these ’shrooms is working. I think your cousin played us.”
    “Rodney don’t joke about drugs or sports. Just wait. By the time the homies show up, we’ll be all fucked up and they’ll be jealous. You think Kim will be at the dance?”
    “Her mom’s strict. Makes her sing in the church choir. I don’t know if she’ll let her go.”
    “She better be there. She’s so hot.” He leaned forward, staring down at his lap.
    “Cool it down, Cheddar. I can see you sweating. Save it for the bedroom, son.”
    “It ain’t that. My head’s feeling weird.” He turned to me, his eyes bloodshot. “Your head feel weird?”
    “You imagining things. Ain’t nothing in these damn ’shrooms. I hope you didn’t give Rodney no money.”
    “Nah. No money.” He looked past me and waved. “There’s Joe and