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Bingbong protested, “I got this shit legit.”

“I’m counting on you to get the word around. Pass out a taste or two.”

“That little-ass bag of shit go for two-fiddy large, once we cuts it,” Bingbong said.

“I got two words for you,” Cravitz said, fixing his gray eyes on his brother, “Pelican Bay.”

Cash blinked. That stint at Pelican Bay had nearly killed him. When Cravitz stumbled out of there he had called in some chits. Within a decade, the monster—his big brother—had been transformed into an avatar of L.A.’s high society and culture. It was insanity to throw it away.

Cravitz jerked a thumb toward Bingbong Jackson. “I’m ’bout to kick his pindick out of here.”

“You owe me,” Cash said evenly. “You gonna show me love or not?”

“I need some air,” Cravitz said.

Cravitz got back in the T-Bird and called Yippie on the cell phone. “Yes, the broad is there. I’ll get back to you. Remember, keep Cash out of this.”

“You got my word,” Yippie Calzone said.

His birthday was not going well.

At Pico and Dunsmuir, Cravitz pulled into the parking lot of St. Benedict’s. The church was quiet and cool. In the solitude of his meditations, Cravitz began to form an idea. He’d bust into his brother’s vault and remove the dope. Titfor-tat, his brother would have his goons break into his View Park pad and reclaim the contraband.

Cravitz didn’t care. He was determined to do the right thing.

He thanked St. Benedict for the tip.

* * *

The Château Rouge was packed when Cravitz returned. There was one masked face he’d recognize even in a coma—a girl from his past, Athena Powers.

They were a heartbeat from colliding.

He shut his eyes and cheerfully awaited his fate.

Then he felt Athena’s grip on his arms and the soft press of her boobs against his chest.

“Hey! Quick! I almost ran into you. What luck.”

Cravitz stared at Athena Powers with undisguised delight.

“’Member me? Thena? Jordan’s little sister!” she finally exclaimed.

Fuck yeah, I remember you, you gorgeous doll, he wanted to say, but he just nodded his head and grinned. He had done a year with Jordan Powers at Juvenile Hall when they were thirteen.

“Jordan told me you was a cop or something. Y’must be on a case. Not a damn murder, I hope.”

Athena chattered on, the patrons at the Château Rouge fading around them.

Then Cravitz blurted out, “You sure have grown, Thena.”

“Yeah,” the young woman said, blushing. “I’m an old woman now. Downside of twenty-five and sinking fast.” Athena pulled nervously at her hair. “Oh my god, I must be a wreck. I been runnin’ all day.”

“No, no,” Cravitz said, “you look … cool.” The last time Cravitz had been this close to Athena she was sweet sixteen, and he was twenty—her brother’s hoodlum friend. On that day, while she was giggling among her cousins and dressed in her great-grandmother’s antique silk gown, he saw her budding into womanhood before his eyes.

“You staying at the Château Rouge?”

“Just for the weekend. I write for Ebony. Can you believe it? We’re doing a story on black Hollywood. So I figured I might as well catch the Halloween bash at the Château Rouge.”

“You got a date?” Cravitz heard himself asking. “Oh my,” she said. “Are you asking me?”

“‘Might give you a shot,” Cravitz said evenly.

“Y’know, Jordan is still a thug. He’s gonna kick your ass when he hears you’re trying to get with his little sister,” Athena said.

“Jordan don’t want none a this,” Cravitz replied, spreading out his arms above her head and standing the full measure of his 6’5” height. His dark magnificent head hovered over her.

“I’m in room 313,” she said, then disappeared in the crowd.

Cravitz took his usual route, up the rear stairwell to his brother’s private suites ten floors above. He’d watched his brother work the combination many times.

He cracked the safe within minutes, removed a liner from a trash can, and stuffed the dope inside. Then he drove wearily out to the safe house in La Caja.

Yippie was elated when Cravitz arrived. He put the dope in his briefcase. Esmeralda