Jayson Aaron was Antwan Dixon’s best friend. He’d grow up a street away from Antwan’s house and played Center on every AAU team Antwan had been on since the age of seven. That was, until he’d begun to pack on the pounds a little and moving around the court started being a little troublesome for him. He loved basketball more than anything, to this day he swore he had the sickest handles of any Center in Pickett County, but food was his first love. It had been two years since he’d last set foot on a set of scales but he figured he was well on his way to three hundred pounds. Were he anyone else in Norman, he’d never hear the end of it, but luckily for Jayson being best friends with Antwan had plenty of benefits. Not being bullied for his weight was one of them.

So was getting to ride in the passenger seat of the brand new Charger Antwan had been given by Mr. Spencer for his performance the other night.

“I can’t believe Roland gave you this ride, man, this thang is tight.”

Antwan shrugged his shoulders casually, “Yeah, well, you know Roland and me are cool like that. The kind of paper he’s making? I reckon he could give ten of these babies away without it even making a dent in his pocketbook.”

Suddenly Jayson’s chubby brown face began to crumple up in the way it always did when he had an idea,“You think he’d give one to me?”

As loyal to Antwan as Jayson was, he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the box. He knew that though and he figured that made him better than all the potheads in Norman that thought they were philosophers. He’d heard a saying once, something about known unknowns and unknown knowns or something like that. He wasn’t sure how exactly it applied to him but he had a feeling one of them did.

“Keep dreaming,” Antwan said with a chuckle.

“It’s not gonna matter once you’ve made it in the league,” Jayson said with a smile. “You’re going to be making so much paper that even Roland’s gonna seem broke in comparison.”

One more year of high school ball, one of college or even playing overseas if Antwan wanted to get that paycheck early, and then Antwan would be playing in the same league as LeBron James. It was unreal, Jayson couldn’t wait until he could tell the whole world he’d played on the same team as the Antwan Dixon. Heck, he’d even beaten him one-on-one a few times back when they were eight. It wasn’t much but it was more than anyone else would be able to say.

“Damn straight,” Antwan beamed. “But I’m gonna take care of my people first. Get my moms out of Pickett first, some big house in California for the two of us.”

Suddenly a flicker of nervousness flashed across Jayson’s face. He’d never envied Antwan, not once, but there was one thing he was worried about more than anything else. Once Antwan left Pickett, Jayson Aaron would no longer be Antwan Dixon’s best friend, he’d be fair game for the first time in a decade. They’d been together for so long that the thought of being on his own scared him more than he’d ever admit out loud. Luckily he didn’t need to.

Antwan spotted his friend’s apprehension and looked across at him in the passenger seat, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you and yours get a little something something too, Jayson. You think I’m about to forget about you? Come on, man. You know me better than that. You’ll be out in Cali with me.”

Instantly Jayson’s fears were put to bed. Antwan wasn’t without his faults. He had a temper, something he said he’d inherited from his dad, and could be a little self-regarding at times, but disloyalty was not something he could ever be accused of. When Antwan said he’d look after his people, he really would look after them, and it was that trait that Jayson appreciated in his friend more than his fame or his skill with a basketball. It was that which made him unique.

They drove around for a time through the long, winding roads of Norman, crossing Jardin, and even passing by Saloon City briefly before heading back. Jayson insisted, as he always did, that they bump Buddy Cuz throughout. He could talk for hours about how South Carolina rappers would shit all over rappers from Georgia and North Carolina if they were given the same amount of radio play.

Eventually they came to a stop outside of the old park where they’d come to play as kids. Jayson remembered playing tag here until he was red in the face and long the days used to seem then. He’d watch whilst Antwan worked on his free throws whilst he and the rest of kids would muck around and have water fights. He’d felt bad for him then, the look he used to get on his face whilst he did it, like he wanted to be doing anything but playing basketball.

Antwan looked over at his friend in the passenger seat, clearly lost in thought, before punching him in the leg to catch his attention, “You know Chew’s getting out this week.”

“For real?”

Chew Lewis. Every kind that grew up in Norman knew about Chew, they’d spread rumours about his exploits, the kind of things he was meant to have done.

“Yeah. Seems like a lifetime since he went away, man. It’s going to be good to have him back. All that nonsense with my moms, none of that would have happened if Chew were still around. Whole family’s about to be back together once he’s out.”

It was the first time Jayson had heard Antwan talk about that period in his mom’s life in a long time. Even Jayson felt bad thinking about the kind of things he’d heard she’d got up to after Antwan’s dad had died. Seeing her that way, hearing about the things she’d done, it was enough to scare him away from drugs for the rest of his life. Antwan rarely spoke about it and even less frequently acknowledged it had even happened. Jayson couldn’t say he blamed him for that. He’d probably do the same.

But with Chew back everything would be different. The man was the definition of an OG. 

“Is it true what they say about him? He really walk all those guys out into The Bog and none of them come back?”

“I don’t know,” Antwan said with a shake of his head. “And I don’t wanna know, man, all I know is it’s going to be good to have him back.”

Jayson nodded as he reached for the dial on the radio and leant back in his seat, “I hear that.”

[center][b]*****[/b][/center]
Michelle Lewis sat opposite from Gus Harris and eyed him anxiously as he took a generous mouthful of sweet tea. He’d insisted they meet again at Hobie’s Diner despite liking very little on the menu outside of the sweet tea. She’d never seen a man gulp it down as greedily as Deacon Harris did, it was an endearing sight to see a man in his position to do something so unbecoming. Once he set down his empty glass he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked in Michelle’s direction.

“I spoke with Roland.”

That was it? Seriously? Michelle’s brow furrowed, “And?”

“Let’s just say that he wasn’t too receptive to taking a less active role in Antwan’s life and leave it at that.”

She wasn’t sure why she expecting anything other than that response. He had invested too much in Antwan already, both in terms of money and time, there was no way he’d walk away from it without getting some kind of return. 

“Jesus,” Michelle muttered under her breath as it began to dawn on her how overmatched they were. “Oh, sorry about that,” she added sheepishly upon realising whose company she was in.

“It’s fine, I’ve heard much worse in my time, Michelle.”

His impish smile told Michelle that he’d said a lot worse too.

“You know he gave Antwan a Charger? He didn’t even ask my permission. Who thinks giving an eleventh-grader a brand new car is appropriate? I swear to God, he’s not going to be happy until he gets my baby killed.”

Antwan had always thought he was cleverer than his mother, ever since he was a young boy, but stealth certainly wasn’t his thing. He’d hidden the car a few blocks away from the house in an attempt to hide it from Michelle but had driven straight past it to pick Jayson up last night. He hadn’t even bothered to roll the windows up as he past the house. If she didn’t know her son better than that, Michelle would have thought it was an act of open defiance. That Jayson had attempted to duck as they drove past the house a second time all but confirmed that it wasn’t.

After a couple of seconds of deliberation Deacon Harris shrugged his shoulders, “You could always speak to the Sheriff’s Department if you’re serious about getting him to leave Antwan alone.”

“PCSD? You think a man as rich as Roland Spencer doesn’t have someone on the inside there? You think the people he fronts that tire company of his for don’t have people in there? Come on.”

“It was just a suggestion.”

Pickett County Sheriff’s Department might have had a good reputation amongst some of the other parts of the county but in Norman their name was as good as dirt. Eugene Parker had earned the respect of the African-American community over the years, most considered him an even-handed man and fair to boot, but the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the department. There had been rumblings for as long as Michelle could remember that some of them were dirty.

Helplessly, Michelle threw her hands in the air and let out a long, pained sigh. “There’s nothing I can do, is there? I have to stand by and watch whilst that smug bastard takes my son from me.”

“You’re his mother, Michelle, and I know it’s not always been easy between the two of you, but that’s always going to count more than whatever friendship he thinks he has with Roland. Give him some time, he’ll see it soon enough.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to think that given time her baby would come back to her and thank her for having tried to warn him about Roland from the start. But all the money? That new car of his? It wouldn’t be long before people started getting ideas. 

“I’m not sure I have that kind of time.”

A few minutes passed and Deacon Harris poured himself another large glass of sweet tea whilst Michelle played every possible outcome her son’s friendship with Roland could have in her head. None of them were good.

After another large mouthful of sweet tea, Gus cleared his throat and then spoke, though this time in a voice less certain than he usually spoke, “A little birdie told me that Charles is going to be released soon. How do you feel about that?”

Chew. How on Earth had Gus found out he was getting out? Michelle had almost forgotten and he was her blood. She shouldn’t have been surprised he knew about Chew getting out, church folk always found these things out before anyone else.

“I came to you to speak about Antwan, Gus, not my piece of shit brother.”

“You know, the past few years will have been tough on Charles.”

Even the mention of her brother’s name made her blood boil. He’d been hero growing up, looked out for her when nobody else would, but she’d never be able to forgive him for what he’d done. She swore to herself five years ago that she’d never go back on that and she felt as strongly now as she did then that it was the right decision.

“Try bringing up a son on your own in Pickett County and then tell me what tough is,” Michelle said with a shake of her head. “I appreciate the concern, but as far as I’m concerned I don’t have a brother anymore.”

With that, Michelle stood up and walked out of Hobie’s leaving Deacon Harris sat alone. There was only man in Michelle’s life and that was Antwan. Once there had been another though, but her brother had seen to it that she’d live the rest of her life diminished by bringing an end to that. By bringing an end to him. 

[center][b]*****[/b][/center]
Charles “Chew” Lewis strode out of the prison with a duffel bag sagging over his shoulders. He was a big man, standing all of six feet six tall, with the type of body that would make even the bravest of men think twice. Prison had saw to make him even more of a specimen, though his once curly black hair had been shorn away entirely.

“Look who it is,” Dante Fulsome said in a voice so loud it was as if he were oblivious to his being in public. “The Saloon City Ripper.”

Dante threw his hands around Chew and hugged him. Dante had been a friend of Chew’s before he went inside and since Marcus Dixon was gone he was probably the nearest thing Chew had left to a best friend. In truth, Dante got on Chew’s nerves at the best of times but he had always been handy in a fight despite being a small man and had a knack for finding things. In their old line of work those skills had come in particularly handy.

Fulsome placed his hands on Chew’s chin and titled it side to side, “You haven’t aged a day, motherfucker.”

Chew shrugged as he glanced Dante up and down, “I’d say the same of you but you know I’ve never been too hot on the whole lying thing.”

“Well fuck you, motherfucker, I’ll have you know I moisturize every fucking day.”

Well, that was definitely new. Before Chew had gone inside Dante had been as close to the stereotypical bean-eater as humanly possible. He’d cleaned up some, his short black hair was side-parted and he wore a buttoned down white shirt with trousers, it was almost enough to make Chew think that Dante had gone legit. At least he might do if he didn’t know otherwise.

“You’d better look into getting your money back then,” Chew said with a smile. “Whatever’s in that moisturizing you’re using ain’t worth a goddamn cent.”

Dante burst into laughter and slapped his friend on the back heartily before directing him to the pickup truck opposite the prison.

“It’s good to have you back, man.”

Chew glanced at Dante as he climbed inside the truck and smiled, “It’s good to be back.”

Where was back? He’d only ever known Norman but there was nothing for him there anymore. His sister had all but disowned him after what went down with Marcus and everyone else Chew knew except Dante were either dead or in prison. He wasn’t exactly expecting a surprise party when he got there. Where else could he go though? There was nowhere else. Norman was his life.

As they drove Dante regaled him with tales of varying degrees of interest. His sister had got married, moved to Florida with some Chinese man, and in doing so had broken his mother’s heart. John Norman had thrown in with Billy Brown after the Norman Crime Family had gone down, much to the surprise of everyone in the entire goddamned county, but outside of that it was practically business as usual.

“You get your GED whilst you were in there or should I put in a few calls and let some people know the nastiest motherfucker Norman ever produced is back in business?”

He knew the second he answered that Dante was going to laugh at him. He’d almost laughed at himself when he’d decided it, but the way he saw it he didn’t have much of a choice. “That’s not me anymore, man.”

They stopped at a set of lights and Dante looked at him, completely bemused. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m out of the game,” Chew said with a sigh. “Took too many years of my fucking life as it is, Dante, I’ll be damned if I end up back in that place to line some other guy’s pocket.”

It wasn’t that he was tired of the bloodshed or that he’d decided he wanted to settle down and have kids that had made him changed his mind. It was whilst he was on the inside, listening to stories of guys who’d spend the rest of their lives in that goddamned prison talking about how they didn’t regret a thing. How if they could go back and change how things went down they’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. How fucking dumb did you have to be? It was one thing to throw your life away once but to say you’d do it all over again? He knew then he was done. The gang-banger life wasn’t for him anymore.

“What the fuck else are you going to do? I hate to break it to you, Chew, but the labour market’s not exactly a welcoming place for ex-cons.”

“I don’t care,” Chew said with a shrug. “I’ll find something. Stacking shelves, construction, who the fuck cares? I’m out of the game this time, Dante, I mean it.”

As the lights turned to green and the truck began to pull out, Dante looked at his friend blankly, his face completely emotionless and without expression. Chew couldn’t tell whether it was pity or worry on his face but neither left him feeling particularly comfortable.

Finally Dante let out a long sigh.

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that in two week’s time.”