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front of Eight Ball. Eight Ball stared at Rico intently. His eyes flashed behind his glasses. He leaned his pool stick on the table.
    â€œAnd?” Rico said into the phone.
    â€œBallistic has decided to draw first blood. Yours, man. He hired an independent. Spence Parkinson. He’s our triggerman. Mr. Rooftop himself.”
    A cold smile crept across Rico’s face. He clicked off. Eight Ball stood ready.
    Rico stared deep into Eight Ball’s eyes. “Spence Parkinson is the hit man. He missed. The accident is going to cost him, man, ’cause we don’t be hitting no kids. It’s a violation of the most sacred street law.”
    Rico picked up a pool stick. He broke it over his knee.
    â€œFor starters I want Spence dead! This is my turf, man. I created the ground these niggas are standing on. I’m getting serious paid. I’m the only bankroller on these streets, dawg. Ballistic can’t have it. All he’s going to get is air shipment in a body bag to his mama’s house in Irvington. Understand?”
    Rico paced the room again. “Damn. I watched that little girl grow up. We’ll be at the funeral at a distance. Leak the word on the street. Spence will take another shot. When he does you’ll take him out. You’re gonna have to get off the streets after the hit.”
    Eight Ball nodded.
    â€œSpence is just a weak-ass punk. Ballistic will get my message,” Rico continued. “I’ll take care of Ballistic in my own time. You can consider that nigga history walking for now. In a New York minute I’m gonna erase that history, and he’s gonna see death. Word.”
    â€œWhere you want Spence buried?” Eight Ball asked.
    â€œRight beside the Davenport girl.” Rico looked at Temaine.
    â€œMy nigga.” Temaine smiled.

Chapter 6
    A t Jasmine Davenport’s funeral a grief-stricken neighborhood of family and friends gathered at the girl’s grave site.
    It was such a shame.
    Jasmine had been a precocious, smart, and loving little girl. She was a giver and had shared with all her friends, even those less fortunate than her.
    She’d been like a ray of sunshine in the neighborhood that all of the other children had orbited around. She always hugged and greeted her friends when she came outside to play. She generated warmth and caring that wasn’t always common, even among children.
    The adults loved her. She could read at levels way beyond her years. This fact alone made her a teacher’s favorite. She had excellent manners and she was polite. She’d never been known to be a fresh kid.
    Sometimes she ran errands to the corner store for some of the older residents. She’d even pick up their newspapers from their yards or porches and bring them inside for them.
    Her death was tragic beyond belief.
    Marcus was still frightened at the way she had been killed. He looked shell-shocked. He stood near Shannon and Tawney whom he had practically attached himself to since Jazz’s death.
    He had begged his mom to let him attend the services. He hadn’t wanted Jazz to feel alone as though her friends had abandoned her. It was bad enough she was alone in that big old box. After much drama he had convinced his mother he could handle this, and handle it he would. He stood a little taller trying to rep for his best friend lying silently in her coffin.
    Aisha, who was like the other half of Jasmine’s tag team, held tightly to her mother’s hand. Like Marcus, she had insisted she be in attendance. Under the circumstances they were both displaying remarkable maturity for their ages.
    Marcus and Aisha exchanged looks. That one look between them said it all. They were there for their friend Jazz until the end.
    Marcus looked up at Shannon, who was tense and withdrawn. His look drew Shannon’s attention. Shannon reached for his hand, clasping it warmly in his own.
    Rico and his crew were in attendance.
    The minister’s