Loc Dog wanted the whole block to fear him, and he planned to do it in pink bunny slides. This morning he stood in the front room of the duplex, cigar clamped in his teeth, watching Big Marc weigh product on a scale by the window. Bags stacked on the table. A pistol with a switch sat next to them, a chain looped around the grip. Money moved fast through that room. Loc Dog had been telling everybody it was his operation now. That big talk had reached the wrong ears. "You hear who came asking?" Big Marc said. He didn't look up. Big Marc had known Loc Dog since they were kids, and he still talked to him like a little cousin. "The old head who runs this whole strip. He heard your mouth. Says you don't move a thing till he gets his cut." Loc Dog spit the cigar out. "Man runs nothing over here." "He runs everything over here," Big Marc said. He set down the scale. "You want a crew? Then handle him right. Or he shuts us down before we start." Loc Dog knew Big Marc was right, and he hated it. The old hustler would be waiting on the corner soon. If Loc Dog paid, the whole block would call him soft. If he ran, he'd never build a thing. He grabbed the black book bag off the couch. He slid the pistol inside, chain and all. Then he zipped it and swung it on one shoulder. "I'm not paying him," Loc Dog said. "You coming?" Big Marc looked at the slides on his feet and shook his head, smiling. But he stood up. He pulled his jacket on. "I go where you go. Always did." They found the old hustler on the corner, two younger men behind him. He looked Loc Dog up and down, stopped at the pink slides, and laughed. "This the terror of the block?" the old man said. "Pay me my money, clown." Loc Dog set the bag on the ground and unzipped it slow. The pistol showed. Big Marc stepped up beside him, wide and quiet, arms loose. The two younger men saw Big Marc's size and stepped back a foot. "I don't pay," Loc Dog said. "You want a war over a corner, we bring it. Marc here, he don't miss." The old man's eyes moved from the switch to Big Marc's face. He knew that face. He knew the family. The math changed behind his eyes. "Keep the corner," the old man said finally. "But you made an enemy today, slides." He walked off with his two men. Loc Dog zipped the bag and grinned around nothing. He had the block. He also had a grown man who now wanted him gone. The old hustler wouldn't come alone next time. He'd bring people who didn't laugh.