“Who the fuck is this, Cleo?”

Tyrone gazed up at the unknown face looming behind him, hard faced and trying to make an impression in the empty, smoke filled room at the back of Slates barbershop. The business was closed for the day, and a poker game was to take place in an hours time. Tyrone sat behind a fold-out poker table, puffing on a joint. The smell of cush lingering throughout.

“He’s cool, T,” Cleo said. “He’s with me. This is Ace, the guy I told you about, the one from the projects.”

Tyrone looked on, clueless. He wasn’t a mobster or someone who called the shots like one would see in a movie. He was, however, someone to be feared. He had no respect for life, and trusted no one. He had grown up in and out of prison, and had become hardened from a young age. He took what he wanted by force and intimidated his goons with fear and at the end of a weapons barrel. Only a handful called by his nickname ‘T’ – Ace wasnt one of them.

“Who the fuck is Ace from the projects?”

The thin, acne-faced kid stepped forward.

“The rim’s, T,” Ace said, promptly. “I got you the rim’s for your Escalade outside. Two weeks ago, Remember?”

Tyrone quickly looked at Cleo, annoyed.

“So? Cleo, can you please explain to me what the fuck is this mutha-fucker doing at my spot?”

“Relax, T, its cool-“

Ace interrupted him.

“I…asked him to bring me here.” Cleo quickly placed his hand on Ace’s chest, attempting to keep him from speaking any further. But Ace seemed determined and spoke up.

“Its…cool Cleo,” he continued. He looked at Tyrone. “I got something for ya, T. Something you gonna wanna hear!”

Tyrone stood up,...