Jeff points at the blaring stereo.

– And turn that down for a second. We got business.

George twists the volume down to nothing.

– What’s the word?

Jeff has his head in the fridge.

– The word is I told you punks to leave me a couple beers.

Paul points at Hector.

– He did it.

Hector throws a beer can at him.

– Faggot.

Jeff stands with his hands on his hips.

– What the fuck are you guys on anyway?

Paul looks at George.

– What’s it called?

– Phenobarbital.

Jeff’s eyebrows go up.

– No shit? You get it from your aunt?

– Boosted it.

– Give me a couple.

George takes a pill from his pocket and tosses it to Jeff.

Jeff shakes his head.

– C’mon, one of these won’t do shit for me.

– That all I got left.

Andy takes both of his from his pocket.

– Here.

Jeff nods.

– Cool. More like it.

He pops two of the pills in his mouth and washes them down with the dregs of the beer he takes from Paul.

– Hey, man, I was drinking that.

– No, man, you were finished with that.

Hector is taking the needle from the album on the turntable.

Jeff taps him on the shoulder.

– Any chance you could put on something mellow? Some old man music for a change?

Hector brushes back his demolished mohawk.

– You got some Carpenters in here?

– Fuck you. Put on some Marshall Tucker or something. Just give me a break for about five minutes, then I’ll be out of your guys’ hair and you can burn the place down.

He plops onto the bench seat torn from a ’55 Bel Air.

– So anyone want to ask how it went? Now you’re all wasted you no longer got the head for business? The big deal no longer bears the same interest for you?

George busts out a smoke and offers one to Jeff.

– There a problem?

Jeff lights up.

– A problem? Well, could be there was a problem. Could be I didn’t get the price we were talking about.

Paul comes out of the kitchen.

– What the fuck? That’s bullshit, man. That was a discount price. That was like a sweet deal for doing it bulk or wholesale or whatever. Don’t tell me you took this guy’s bullshit price, man.

Jeff wags his head.

– Hey, man, sometimes it’s a matter of what the market will bear. Just got to take what you can get.

– Fuck! Fuck, man! Fuck!

Paul stomps out to the porch and kicks something.

Jeff leans forward on his seat and looks out the door.

– Don’t be screwing with my tools and shit out there.

Paul kicks something else.

– I’m not screwing with your tools and shit.

He comes back in and takes one of George’s cigarettes.

– I’m not screwing with any of your shit.

Hector has dropped Searchin’ for a Rainbow on the turntable, shaking his head the whole time.

– How bad we get screwed?

Jeff reaches in his hip pocket and pulls out some bills and counts.

– Well, let’s see. Got twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, aaand, ho, what’s this? Hundred. Hundred twenty, hundred forty, sixty, eighty. Looks like two hundred to me. Who knows how to say thank you? Who can say thank you, Jeff?

Andy puts the garbage sack back under the sink.

– Thank you, Jeff.

George, Paul, and Hector all drop their heads.

Paul nudges George.

– What’s it like having a fag brother?

– Man, I don’t have a brother.

Jeff waves the money.

– Fuck them, Andy. Manners are worth their weight in gold. Come over here and get your cut first.

Andy brushes between his brother and Paul.

– Fuck you guys, manners are worth their weight in gold.

Jeff peels off a couple bills.

– Forty bucks for the kid with some manners.

George tosses his butt in the sink and runs the tap over it.

– Forty?

Paul points at the money.

– Should be forty five, man.

Jeff holds a couple bills up between his fingers.

– Two, minus forty for me, equals one sixty. Equals forty each for you guys.

– Forty for you?

– That’s twenty percent.

Hector stands up.

– Said twenty bucks, man.

– Said twenty percent, holmes.

– Don’t holmes me, man. You ain’t no vato.

– Well you ain’t, neither.

George comes out of the kitchen.

– Cool it, Hector, he didn’t mean anything.

– Sure, sure, I know, but I don’t need that shit. Get enough of that shit out there, don’t need it from my friends.

Jeff puts out his hand.

– Hector, my man, it’s cool. Didn’t mean anything at all. You’re right, it’s all friends here. Be cool.

Hector takes his hand and they shake down, sliding their palms up, down, across, locking fingers and snapping them loose.

– I know, man. It’s cool. We’re cool.

– Alright then.

Jeff leans back.

– So, twenty percent. You guys tell me that’s not what I said, it’s not what I said.

Andy shakes his head.

– No, it’s what you said. Twenty percent.

He looks at the others.

– It’s really what he said.

Paul lifts his arms.

– Hey, man, who’s gonna argue with the human computer. Fagmo says it was twenty percent, that’s what it is. Let’s just get to the cash and go hit the QuickStop for a bottle of Jack.

Jeff splits the money.

– And you guys gotta give the truck a push.

George takes his cash.

– How’d you get the price up?

– Started high, you know. Truth is, guy bit on my price so fast, I was probably asking too low. Looks like you guys got a better eye for this shit than I thought.

He gets up.

– Matter of fact, guy I was dealing with, he’s looking for more of the same.

He heads for the bedroom.

– But he wants to get his hands on it fast. Has some deal of his own going.

Paul looks at the others and sticks his thumbs in the air, yelling down the hallway.

– How fast?

Jeff pops his head out of the bedroom.

– Fast. Couple days at the most. As much as you can get. Gold, silver, jewels, platinum. Coins. Whatever you can get your hands on, he’ll take it.

George waves Paul down.

– Hey, man, that’s cool and all, but we kind of lucked into this shit. Wouldn’t know where to start actually finding the right houses for good stuff.

– Not a problem.

Jeff comes back down the hall, cracked black leather boots draped by the cuffs of indigo polyester slacks with a baby blue stripe down the side, tattooed arms hidden in the sleeves of a matching shirt with the Security Eye patch on the shoulder.

– He’s got a house he says is prime.

Paul freezes, and watches George’s legs as he’s jerked into the bathroom, his jeans catching, pulled low, deep gouges being cut into his thighs.

He grabs his friend’s ankles and digs his heels into the dirt.

– Let go! Let the fuck go! I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t let go!

George is howling, blood running down his legs.

– Paul! Paul! Letmegoletmego! Fucking Andy is! Letmego!

There’s a sound like a piece of firewood hitting a gourd.

George’s legs stop kicking.

Paul freezes.

His friend’s legs are yanked from his hands, disappearing into the window and leaving behind a scrap of bloody denim and a single tennis shoe that falls to the ground.

Fernando’s face appears in the window.

– You coming in, Cheney?

Paul runs.

He runs and boosts himself over the fence and lands in the front yard and runs some more and keeps running.