Robert imagined Arlen Novis somewhere in the back, maybe an office, looking at the business card that said Germano Industries, and smaller, Manufactured Home Specialists, a Detroit address and the name at the bottom, Caesare Germano.

Jerry said, "You think he can read?"

"There he is," Robert said as Arlen came out of the doorway next to the bandstand, "the one in the Confederate hat." Following him was a dude with a build, short sleeves tight on his arms, the shirt hanging out. "The other one I'm gonna say is Arlen's gun, Dennis told me about, they call Fish."

Arlen was looking at the card again as he reached them. He said, "Who's Ceezur Germano?" fucking up both parts of the name. Robert thought of helping out, but Jerry stepped in.

Jerry telling him, "It's Che-za-ray," and Arlen, trying to understand what that meant, shook his head.

"Like Julius Caesar," Robert said to him. " Mr. Germano 's name. Call him Caesar, be close enough. He wants to talk some business with you."

“What kind of business?” The man suspicious.

"Why don't we sit down at a table," Robert said, "have Wesley bring us some cold drinks? Caesar likes rum and Coca-Cola, working for the Yankee dollah, as they say." Arlen looking at him, not knowing shit what he was talking about. But it got all five of them sitting around a table by the dance floor, away from people watching them, Jerry saying to Arlen, "You're at Southern Living, right?"

He said yeah? Still holding back.

"You do all right?"

"What is it you want to know?"

"You have building materials you don't need?"

"I'm head of security," Arlen said.

"That's why I'm talking to you," Jerry said. "I'm asking do you have anything you want to move, yes or no? I'll make you a good offer."

Robert watched him, the man tempted, thinking of what he could move in the dead of night-shit, a whole house, take the motherfucker apart-but was still suspicious.

Saying to Jerry, "You want to show me some ID?"

They were wasting time. Robert moved on him. He said, "Arlen?" in a quiet tone, almost soothing. "I know what you been up to, don't I? What we talked about in Vernice's kitchen? You got deals going you have to protect. The reason you had Junebug pop Floyd. The reason you had this man here-Fish, they call you?-pop Junebug for telling people your business. Arlen. Haven't I kept all this to myself, as I told you I would?"

Robert paused, giving Arlen, both of them, a chance to speak if they wanted to.

No, they both stared, Arlen looking cold but had to be wondering, shit, what was going on here? In his place of business, people around, Shania Twain belting out country.

"You have to trust somebody, the kind of deals you must have going-and it ain't hard to speculate about that. I imagine, for instance, you run the drug business in Tunica County. I bought some fine weed here the other night and could've bought anything, Junebug going down the list-what do I need, crank, blow? All I had to do was name it. I understand why you popped him, the man was dangerous. But there always people you have to trust. You can lose all the Junebugs around as long as you have a man like Kirkbride with you. Am I right?"

Robert laid it out there to see what the name would bring and watched Arlen take his time before saying, "Well, he ain't a bad guy to work for." Shoved that aside and said to Jerry, "Who am I talking to here, Caesar, you or him?"

"What's the difference?" Jerry said. "You haven't said a fuckin word yet. I ask you about a Midnight Sale, what you can move, you don't say yes or no."

Arlen said, "If I'd been able to get a word in-"

And Robert cut him off. "Let's wait, Arlen. You got your mind on the reenactment. We're getting ready, too. We ain't about to move anything right now anyway." He said to Jerry, "Me and Arlen are in the same outfit, Forrest's Escort. We both gonna be shooting at you, man." Robert turned to Arlen again. "Caesar's going as General Grant. Can't miss him."

Jerry got into it with, "How you decide who wins?"

"Whoever won the real battle," Arlen said. "Brice's it was us."

Robert, one of Forrest's colored fellas, said, "That's right, man, us."

They left. Got in the car and drove off, Hector Diaz telling them a couple of guys came by and looked in the car.

Robert said, "They wake you up?"

"No, man, I was awake. I cocked the pistol and they left."

Jerry said to Robert, "You find out what you wanted to know?"

"I have to think on it," Robert said, "but I'm pretty sure, yeah."

He dropped the three off at the hotel and got back on Old 61 to Tunica, to Vernice's house.

It was late now, the house dark as Robert pulled up and parked in front. No, a light showed in the yard, he believed coming from the porch. Robert walked around to the side and there was Dennis on the porch by a lamp, reading. Robert scratched on the screen and watched Dennis jump. "Jes' me, man, the nightstalker."

They sat down and Robert said, "You learning anything?"

"Rap rivals Lil' Kim and Foxy Brown were involved in a shootout, in New York."

"The place to have it. My money's on Lil' Kim," Robert said, "even though she's chubbier than I like."

"One was going in a radio station," Dennis said, "when the other was coming out and their posses started shooting at each other."

"Nobody killed, huh?"

"One guy hit, a minor wound."

"They think they gangstas, the hangerons, the en-tou-ragers, shit. All they are's unemployed niggas. Ask me where I been."

"Where?"

"Junebug's. I took Jerry and Tonto to see the place and another one's joined us, Hector Diaz from Mexicantown in Detroit. Use to be a bullfighter."

"What's he do now?"

"What we all do, man, help Jerry develop land."

Dennis said, "Land or territories?"

Robert didn't speak for a moment, looking at him.

"You know what you talking about?"

"Carla says Jerry's a gangster. She said, `I thought you knew that.' From my hanging around with you."

"Bad influence."

"You told me yourself you sold drugs."

"When I was a child."

"Young Boys, Incorporated," Dennis said. "I think you have your own young boys now, your own crew."

Robert was shaking his head. "Gangs, Dennis. You recruit the gang, walking around in their colors, nothing to do. They Young Dogs now I send on the road. Go to Fort Wayne, South Bend, Muncie, Kokomo. Was in the paper, two out of three dealers in Muncie, Indiana, are from Detroit. We move over to Ohio, set up Young Dogs in Lima, Dayton, Findlay. You ever hear that joke, the traveling salesman gets laid in Findlay, Ohio, and goes to confession?"

Dennis said, "And then gets laid in New York and goes? Yeah, I heard it."

" Canton, Ohio, man, there's a neighborhood there, projects, they call Little Detroit account of all the Young Dogs operating there. There's gangs from L.A. working into the same territories. It's how come you have your drive-bys. Mostly the trade is crack, 'cause you make more cooking and then cutting a hundred-dollar gram of coke into a hundred rocks you can sell for ten each. The Young Dogs go to a town, set up crack houses. It's like a franchise, Dennis, the McDonald's of drugs."

"What do the Dogs need you for?"

"The product, man. Where these kids gonna score it in quantity?"

"They could skim on the profits."

"I sell 'em the hamburger patties, the McNuggets. They sell it and come to me for more."

"Now you're looking at Tunica County? Working south, setting up your franchises?"

Robert said, "Dennis, you approaching your crossroads. You know what I'm saying? You come a long way, baby, and you almost there."

"Playing your stooge. I make your con game look legitimate. The con throws them off while you look into the drug business here."