Revenge

"Let me get this straight, you and this dude Chason spent time in jail together?"  Lance asked, inching closer to Terrence while unable to avoid any of the beer or cigarette stains covering the "vintage" tan velvet sofa.

"That's what I said.  Why you keep asking me all these questions dawg.  You don't want to tangle with that yellow cat.  He's straight thug to the bone for real, yo.  Black mafia all the way,"  Terrence closed his eyes, smiling dreamily before taking one final hit of his "happy" stick. "Gave him my number," he mumbled through a thick plume of slow motion smoke,  "told the brotha to look me up if he ever got out to the other side.  That's what you call a lil' jailhouse networking."

"Do you know this guy's last name," Lance asked, ignoring the excited pressure of blood thumping behind his eyes.

"How the hell should I know?  All I remember is he said he had a twin brother, some big-shot lawyer all Willie Gary-like and sh*t."

If Lance Johnson had a strand of hair on his shiny bald brown head, it'd be sticking straight up from shock.  "Did you just say a twin brother?" Lance whispered, his voice barely audible.  "That can't be right."


"Dude, I might be high, but your cousin Tee-Tee ain't no lie.  That crazy mofo said he got an Eye-dentical twin brother that he don't like at all."

"How do you know he doesn't like him?"  Lance asked scooting even closer, his reptilian-mind racing.  He needed access to his cash stash, new clothes, and a plastic surgeon. 

"Chace said if he ever got out, he was gonna kill that mofo.  Stomp him dead."

"Stomp Mason Truce dead," Lance smiled beneath his cousin's sudden snoring.  He could practically taste revenge.  It was only a matter of time.

Sooner than later, Mason Truce would be dead and Devra...well she'd finally be his, which had been the plan all along.

***