I couldn't help myself. I broke out in relieved laughter. I thought I was okay with Manny potentially not coming back, but I hadn't been. Doing it without him would have felt wrong, despite how much closer I was feeling to the LSS boys.

  I pulled Manny into a hug, slapping him on the back.

  "Welcome back, Manny. Come on. We got to get going. We got lots of work to do today. There's time pressure, you know," I said.

  "Shit, bro. I can't cut. I've got chemistry this afternoon," Manny protested.

  I heard Flattop snort from where he was still resting on the hood of his Javelin. "You ain't got time for school, Manny. Get in the damn car."

  "No. My moms will kill me."

  "Listen, Manny. Things have changed. We have to sell a bit more weight than we did before. And we need your help. We've got a lot of work to do before we start selling tonight. We need to find some more guys, too," I said.

  He started sputtering, multiple questions fighting each other to get out, but I just started leaning him towards the passenger side of the car.

  "Wait, my car," he said in one final protest.

  "Nah. Leave it, Manny. You can come get it later. We gotta go," Flattop replied. I nodded in support. This wasn't the time to split the party.

  Manny climbed in the back and I took my previous spot in shotgun and just like that, the Javelin roared to life and left Harvey Keitel High School behind.

  Manny was perched in the middle of the long bench in the back seat. Looking a little shell-shocked.

  "What's going on? What do you mean we have a little more weight?" he asked.

  "Look in the bag back there," I said, pointing out the duffel bag in the footwell near his left foot.

  He unzipped it, exposing the vacuum-packed kilo of weed. A solid brick, dwarfing the 10 ounces weed we had acquired from Brass Lee.

  "What the fuck, bro. We can't afford this. Where'd this come from?" he protested, pulling the brick out and turning it over and over in his hands.

  I opened my mouth, but Flattop beat me to it. "We can't tell you, Manny. Sorry. Not unless you're in."

  "In. What do you mean?" he asked, looking a bit puzzled, and then it obviously clicked. "Wait. You're a member of the gang now, Mack? When did that happen? Why?"

  "I joined up the other night. It needed to happen, and these guys are great. I'm not going to say you should join too, but if you want to, as far as I'm concerned, you'd be welcome," I replied. "But, Flattop is right. We can't tell you where it came from, unless you're one of us. It's just too sensitive."

  I felt a bit bad about it. But honestly, he'd be better off not knowing. He might stroke out if he found out our new relationship with the cartel.

  "I don't like it, bro. I don't like this. If you got in deeper with the Brass Dragon Tongue, we're screwed. You know that, right? Those dudes do not fuck around."

  I shook my head, sadly. "Sorry, man, can't tell you anymore. Anyway, we need to sell. And we need to sell a lot, today, tonight."

  "Yeah, homie, you got a plan for that or not? I'm driving, but I don't know where."

  "Yeah, we've got two things we need to do," I said.

  Fifteen minutes later, gravel crunched as we pulled to a stop in front of a nondescript single-story house with a chain-link fence and a barking dog in the yard. Deep in Blades territory, neighboring LSS turf.

  Manny looked nervous. "This isn't good, man, we shouldn't be here. What are we doing?"

  "I told you, Manny. Chill out. These guys are friends. We're going to ask G-Mog to help us packing this weed for sale. We don't have what we need to do it," Flattop replied.

  I had no idea who G-Mog was, but Manny had more pressing concerns and piped up immediately.

  "What do you mean? I've got all the shit in my shed at home. Scales, everything," Manny protested.

  "Yeah, but we needed to go a little faster than that and we can't have your mom getting involved. There's a lot more weight to pack than just the 10 ounces we had before," I said.

  Manny was still protesting weakly as we all piled out of the Javelin and walked up to the chain link fence. The gate was closed and the dog behind it was barking fiercely at us. A large black and brown Rottweiler looking like it meant business. It wasn't charging the fence or anything, but it was clear it would be a bad idea to enter. I wondered how G-Mog got his mail. There's no way a postman would do anything but drop it at his front gate, and there was no pile of mail there.

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  "What do we do now, then?" I asked, not seeing any way to get to the front door to ring the bell or knock.

  "No need for a doorbell when you've got a dog," Flattop said, settling back on his heels. We all did for a minute before the front door of the house opened and a harried looking middle aged black woman wearing a bathrobe and slippers came out.

  "Sauron, quiet," she barked and the dog immediately stopped barking and sat, his eyes not leaving us.

  "What do you boys want?" she asked, eyeing us.

  I identified her.

  "Ma'am, we're here to see G-Mog. We've got business," Flattop said, using the most polite voice I'd ever heard him use.

  Shela eyed him from the porch, giving it a moment's thought.

  "LSS? Gato's in prison, what business do we have with the LSS?" she asked.

  "Yes, ma'am. We're coming back up. Can we talk to G-Mog?" he asked again.

  She snorted, before turning back into the house. "G, visitors," she shouted, and the armored screen door slammed shut behind her.

  A minute later, G-Mog emerged, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. His cornrowed hair was a bit messed up, but most noticeable was the fact that he was wearing boxer shorts and nothing else. His chest was covered in fantastical tattoos, bright colors and images reminding me of the pictures from my D&D manuals. Dragons, elves, a sword. My kind of guy. I smiled seeing it.

  Something twitched in my brain and it took a heartbeat to connect the disheveled, nearly naked figure with the driver of the deep blue low rider that Old Pete had pulled up in what seemed like years ago. I hadn't been able to id him then. I tried again.

  He nodded when he saw us, walking up to the front gate. When he reached Sauron, he clicked his tongue and pointed to a ratty dog bed in the corner of the yard. Sauron immediately relaxed and ran back to his bed, flopping down and chewing on a bone, paying us no further attention.

  "What's up, boys?" G-Mog said as he opened the gate.

  He shook hands with Flattop, myself, and then we introduced Manny.

  "This is Manny, he's a friend of ours. He's going to help us with sales and packaging," I said.

  "Great, come on in, we can talk business in the living room," G-Mog said. He closed and locked the gate behind us, and a minute later we were sitting on a plastic-covered couch in an immaculately clean living room.

  "What can I do for you guys?" he said as he flopped down in a similarly plastic-ed easy chair. The coffee table between us had three artfully arranged coffee table books and not a speck of dust. There wasn't even a TV in the room, only pictures of relatives on the walls. I'd never been in a place like it before, only having seen it in movies.

  G-Mog caught my glance around the room.

  "Yeah, it's my mom. Thinks if the plastic never comes off it, it will last forever," he said, scratching his chin.

  Like she had been lurking in the other room, Shalo entered carrying a tray of four clinking glasses full to the brim with rich brown liquid. She set it down on the coffee table.

  "You know it's true, G. Ain't this furniture lasted forever so far?" she said. "You boys help yourself to some sweet tea. I'll get out of your way."

  I picked up a glass and sipped along with my friends. It was super sweet but cold and refreshing.

  G-Mog had already asked, so after a few sips, I started talking.

  "We've got some weed that needs to be packed for sale and Pargo said you might be able to help."

  G-Mog nodded and set down his glass, making sure it was securely on a coaster.

  "Yeah, we can help you with packing, or at least provide the scales and vacuum sealers, et cetera. But we can't do it for free."

  "What you need, brother? We're a bit tight on cash these days. Need to sell first," Flattop supplied. Like the rest of us, he was desperately trying to keep his sweating glass from dripping on anything that wasn't covered in plastic.

  "I get it, cash flow, the bane of startup businesses. Just give us a percentage of the weight, call it good," he replied.

  I tried to think of what kind of percentage would work for him. I honestly had no idea. How valuable were his services? My experience in haggling for commission-based things was pretty low, but I took a stab at it since Flattop didn't immediately jump in with any kind of offer. I knew he was trying to leave this kind of thing to me.

  "What's good then, five percent?" I asked.

  He made a funny sound with his mouth, a kind of click and a sound of him sucking on his teeth and looked like he'd eaten something sour.

  "A little low. We got to pay the packers, we got to pay the security, plus provide bags, et cetera. It adds up," he replied.

  "I can pack," Manny spoke up.

  I nodded, "Yeah, Manny can pack, and we have the bags and stuff, we just need the scales and maybe a packer or two to help with Manny's work."

  "Okay, then how about this, 6% and we'll keep the security and keep one packer helping you. It's not being used right now, so it's fine, but if you need it in the future, you're gonna have to let me know in advance, so that we can make sure the house is clear for you guys, cool?"

  I looked at Flattop and he was completely unreactive, leaving it to me. I turned back to G-Mog, "Deal."

  We finished our drinks and ten minutes later, we were past the thick armored door inside the stash/pack house the Blades operated in this territory. A row of ten scales and vacuum packers stood empty and clean, except for the very first one in which a very short, old woman sat on a stool beside it.

  "Abuela, help these guys package their product. Take 6% as commission and put it in the safe, entiendo?" G-Mog instructed.

  She nodded, saying nothing.

  "Here you go, should have everything you need. Let me know if there's any problems and when you're done just leave and the security will make sure everything's locked up."

  The security we had passed on the way in, a collection of teenagers, skinny and with thousand yard stares, obviously packing, floating around the house, looking alert. If anyone tried to rob the house, this deep in Blades territory, it wouldn't go well for them.

  "Manny, you okay to stay here?" I asked.

  He looked a bit uncertain but then straightened up. "Yeah, I'll get it done. But how am I gonna get out of here when I'm done?"

  G-Mog spoke up, "I'll have one of my guys run you where you need to go when you're finished. Just let them know that you need a ride."

  Then it was handshakes, back into the Javelin. Ready for the next part of the process, recruiting.