[b][center]Prologue Harlem Shakedown [/center] Harlem 4:24 AM [/b] Anton Morrison hadn't felt this alive in years. His heart pounded in his chest and the adrenaline coursing through his veins made his teeth chatter. He walked at a herky-jerky pace down the sidewalk towards 120th Street's collection of rowhouses with his woman. It was chilly that night and he wore a leather jacket, but he was sweating through the chill. Anton wiped his forehead and felt Isabelle's soft hand on his. "It's gonna be alright, daddy," she said reassuringly. She knew how much he loved it when she called him daddy. Just her touch and few words put his mind at ease. Good God, did he love that woman. Isabelle was the type of woman Anton never thought he could get. Sophisticated, well-read, and beautiful. Was she ever beautiful. They'd been together for a few months now and Anton still couldn't figure out how he managed to get her. He remembered her asking him something one night at the club. He replied and saw her smile... that smile that made him feel warm inside. After that it was nothing but a blur. Isabelle was cultured, the type of woman Anton couldn't afford on his meager salary working for Mr. Davis. She needed the finer things in life. She had to have them, Anton thought, or she would leave him for someone who could give her what he wanted. There were lots of brothers in the neighborhood who were caught up in the Game and had fat pockets. Anton had always been a square, never even getting close to anything stronger than a joint. His mamma worked hard to keep him off the corner and out from slinging. For twenty-nine years her hard work had been a success. Tonight was the night that all ended. "Who is it?" a voice asked after Anton banged on the front door of one of the houses. "Morrison..." "I don't know no Morrison," the voice said. "You best get outta here before I mess you up." "It's Anton," he said louder. "We spoke on the phone about that package. C'mon, man." "Calvin," Isabelle said with a sharp tone. "It's me, Izzy. Open the damn door up, boy." A few seconds later the heavy door of the rowhouse opened up and squeaked on its rusty hinges. A fat, light-skinned black man in a greasy tanktop and boxers stared at Anton and Isabelle before stepping aside to let them come into the house. Once they were in he locked the door with a heavy deadbolt. Calvin looked at the two lovers with indifference before shuffling through the house towards a sofa. "Go on back. They waiting on you." Isabelle led Anton through the cluttered rowhouse towards the very back of the house. In the kitchen a dark-skinned and muscle bound man with sunglasses and a do-rag watched them enter. On a card table in front of him were two bricks of white powder. "There's my man," he said with a giggle. "Tony Montana himself. What's good, man?" Anton shrugged sheepishly and shook his head. "Just looking to get that package, man... like we talked about?" "For sure," the man at the table said with a wide grin. "Just, gotta pay before you can play. Let's see what you brought." Anton reached into his leather jacket and pulled out the manila envelope stuffed with cash. It had sixty grand, his entire life savings plus a little something extra he borrowed from his boss. Well, borrow wasn't the right word. Borrow always implied there was consent from both parties to the borrowing. Anton more or less stole the ten thousand dollars. Getting involved in a coke deal was Isabelle's idea. The plan was that Anton buy two keys wholesale and cut them up before reselling them to a few of the dealers around the neighborhood. With markup and his cut from the slingers he could easily net eighty thousand. Isabelle said she did it because she wanted the best for Anton, she wanted him to have the cash that would keep him happy. She knew all the right people, made all the calls and the introductions. She did the easy work, Anton though. He had to scrape the money together. "Here it is," Anton said as he passed the envelope over. The man at the table scrutinized the money and counted it, his lips moving as he counted the six hundred one hundred dollar bills. When he was satisfied he pushed the two keys across the table towards Anton. "And here it is," he said with a giggle. "How's it feel to be in the Game, player?" Anton was about to respond that it felt pretty damn good. What stopped him was the loud bang from the front room. Calvin's loud cursing could be heard on the other side of the house, followed by more bangs and yells. Anton's blood went cold when he saw the black man in a kevlar vest and pistol round the corner. The vest had NYPD stamped on it, a badge dangled from a chain around his neck. "NYPD! GET THE FUCK ON THE GROUND!" Anton was about to comply when the man at the table cursed and flipped the table up unto the air. Shots rang out from the cop's gun and Anton hit the deck. On the way to the ground the metal folding chair the dealer had been sitting on hit him square in the head. His head took further damage when it smacked against the tile floor of the kitchen. Groggy, he heard more shouts and gunshots and footsteps that got louder before they receded and disappeared all together. It was several minutes before he got the cobwebs out of his mind. Anton stood up and felt the small cut on his forehead while he looked around the kitchen. The table was flipped along with the chair. The cop, the dealer, and Isabelle were all gone. Anton nursed his head and looked for the coke or, more importantly, his money. Neither were around. His heart raced even faster when he went through the house and couldn't find fat Calvin. All four of them were gone... along with the coke and his money.... [center]*****[/center] [b] Ray's Social Club Harlem 11:32 AM [/b] They call it Ray's Social Club to make it not sound like the low-rent bar it is. Still, they make a mean hamburger. The lack of hamburgers was one of the many things I hated about prison. They had burgers every so often as a treat, but a prison burger was about as tasty as you might imagine it would be. Burgers and women were two things I got denied after ten years in the joint, and I've managed to get ready access to both in the year I've been home. One of the few good things about prison though were the books. I hated reading before I went in, but with nothing to do in there but lift weights and read I managed to make a habit of both. I figure I had to be the strongest man alive who could quote Proust. At Ray's that day my meal was a crunchy burger with all the fixings and a paperback copy of [i]A Rage in Harlem[/i] by Chester Himes. I like Himes' work since it seems the black crime writers are few and far between, and he was one of the best regardless of skin color. Twenty pages and half the burger went by before I even noticed the man sitting next to me at the bar. He was a straightjohn if I ever saw one. Looked to be on the backside of twenty with a sizeable gut and a plaid shirt. He had watery doe eyes that looked to be on the verge of tears. "You been watching me this whole time, homie?" I asked after a bite of my burger. "Yes, sir, Mister Cage... I just... I don't know how to do this." "If you trying to pick me up, homie, I gotta say I'm not interested." "No... I mean... I wanna hire you. You the Hero for Hire, right?" "That's me," I said as I dog-eared the page of my book and tucked it into my coat. "What is it you need from me?" "It's just..." His battle with keeping the tears back soon became a losing one. I let him sob himself out for a few minutes and went back to my food. He blew into a napkin I had passed him and sighed. "Sorry about that... It's just, I need your help. They ran off with my girl, my money, and my dope." The word dope had me keyed. This man who looked liked as square as a right angle was bringing up drugs. Stolen drugs. On top of that there was something about a girl and money. Had this been any other day I might have told him to take it somewhere else, but I hadn't had a job in nearly two weeks. Even though I swore I wouldn't do it, I let curiosity get the better of me. "Tell me what happened. I'm listening." [center][b] Luke Cage Hero for Hire IN The Brother and the Shill[/b] [/center]