Mace let a small groan escape as Psycho turned to Roy. “You got a problem with around here? What, you don’t like around here, Mayonnaise Boy?”

Roy managed to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. “I never said that.”

“Yeah, you ain’t got to say it. I smell it.” He glanced at Mace. “This your old lady?” He ran a tongue over his lips as he checked out Mace. “Fine-looking woman.”

“It’s a business relationship,” said Roy, who instantly regretted having said it.

“A business relationship!” whooped Psycho. “A business relationship?” He turned to his men. “He got himself a business relationship with the chick.”

They all laughed, and then Psycho spun around so fast it was a blur. “Then you ain’t mind if I do this, then, business relationship dude?” He moved to squeeze one of Mace’s breasts, but Roy grabbed his hand and pushed it away.

“Yeah I do mind.”

The crew fell silent.

Psycho looked down at the hand Roy had grabbed and then back up, his grin intact. “You really want to go there, mayo?”

“Not really, no. And I won’t so long as you keep your hands off her.”

“So not you then?” Psycho’s arm moved so fast Mace heard the impact before she even saw the swing of the fist. Roy staggered back, grabbing his face, and then fell down. The blood streamed down from his nose, and his eye was already swelling.

Mace quickly moved in front of him. “Look, we talked to Alisha about helping her and her son. That’s all.”

Psycho shoved her aside. “’Scuse me, bitch, but I ain’t done thumping me this asshole.”

As Psycho advanced on Roy, Mace reached in her pocket for her Taser phone. But before she could snag it two of Psycho’s men grabbed her and held her arms behind her back.

Psycho’s foot snapped into Roy’s gut, doubling him over.

Mace yelled, “We’re leaving, okay? We’re outta here right now.”

Psycho turned back around. “I say when you outta here. And how you outta here. Walking or not. Breathing or not. Up to me. Me!”

He faced Roy and aimed a leisurely kick at his ribcage. The next moment Psycho had been spun around and was dumped on his knees. Roy’s arms were angled through Psycho’s arms and boxed around the other man’s head, his blood dripping onto Psycho’s scalp.

Roy said, “Seventy pounds of torque to the right and your spine snaps right in half. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it, you prick. And one of your guys pulls a gun, you turn into a corpse.”

Psycho could only kneel there, his thick arms stuck uselessly out from his sides.

“They will kill your woman. All I got to do is say it.”

“You’re going to kill us both anyway. At least I’ll have the pleasure of taking you along for the ride.”

“What’s this pounds of torque bullshit!”

One of Psycho’s men stepped forward. “It’s Marines. It’s how they’re trained to kill perimeter sentries. Shit’s for real, boss,” he added quietly.

Psycho looked up at his guy. “You in the Marines, Jaz?”

“Older brother was. He told me.”

“You a Marine?” Psycho said to Roy.

“Would it matter?”

“You kill me, they kill you and the woman. Now if you don’t kill me, I’m gonna kill you both. How ’bout that?”

Roy looked past where Psycho’s men were standing. “How about another option?”

“What?”

“The really manly way to settle disputes.”

“Knives? You ain’t that dumb. I’ll cut your mayo ass up.”

“I said really manly.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning basketball. One-on-one. There’s a court and a ball right over there.”

Mace turned her head to stare at the single netless hoop and the old ball resting next to the support pole.

“Basketball!” roared Psycho. “Just ’cause I’m black you think I play ball?”

Roy glanced down. “No. But you’re wearing the same shoes that the UNC team wears on the court. And they’re not just for show. They’ve got black scuffs all over the bottoms and the sides. That only comes from playing ball on the asphalt. In fact, I can tell from the scuff patterns that you’re a drive-to-the-hoop and not a pull-up jumper kind of guy.”

“So you know your basketball?”

“I’m a fan. Is it a deal?”

“Sure, man, no problem.”

Roy tightened his grip on the man’s neck. “Don’t bullshit me.”

“I ain’t bullshitting you.”

Mace said, “That’s a good thing. Because if you say you’ll do it and you don’t, then you just lost the respect of your entire crew. They may not show it today, or tomorrow, but one day they will. Their boss, who wouldn’t take a white boy on in hoops? Rather shoot his ass? Yeah, that’s real easy. See, you already let him get the jump on you. And you may try to sound all cool and everything, but you’re the one on your knees with another man making the decision whether you live or die. He could kill you right now. But he didn’t. What he’s offered you is respect. A way to settle this, man to man.”

Psycho’s superior manner slowly faded as he eyed his troops one by one. None of them would fully meet his gaze.

“So what’s it gonna be?” said Mace.

“Play to eleven, a point a hoop and win by two,” snarled Psycho. “Meaning I win by two. Now you let go of my neck so I can kick your ass.”

Roy slowly released the man and Psycho stood, carefully wiping off the knees of his jeans. He looked Roy up and down. “Do you even know how to play ball?”

“A little.”

“A little don’t cut it, around here.”

“We can flip a coin to see who gets the ball first.”

“Oh, you can have it first. Be the only time you get the damn ball. Oh, and here’s one more thing to keep in mind. You win, you both walk. I win, you’re both dead.”

CHAPTER 61

PSYCHO STOLE the ball from Roy by burying a shoulder in his gut and knocking him down before dunking and scoring the first point. He walked back over to Roy, who was slowly getting to his feet. Psycho kicked him hard in the shin.

“That’s one.”

“That was also a foul,” said Roy.

“Ain’t no fouls on this court. Just man to man.”

“Your ball.”

Roy had played against every competition imaginable both on the college basketball court and on the streets. Most guys had one signature move, the best two, the very best three. He let Psycho drive past him and score, taking an elbow shot to the thigh.

That was one move, Roy thought to himself.

Psycho scored again, using a different move.

That was two moves.

He glanced over at Mace, who was staring at him anxiously. He gave her a quick wink and then went back on defense, setting his butt low, his feet and hands spread wide.

Psycho drove again and scored using his first move. Or he would have if Roy hadn’t stuffed the ball so hard it knocked Psycho flat on his back on the asphalt.

“My ball,” said Roy as he snagged it and dribbled it back and forth between his legs without even looking down.

As Psycho started to guard him, Roy backed up and banked a twenty-footer.

“That’s one,” said Roy.

A minute later a reverse dunk and then a twenty-foot fader by Roy tied it.

“Three-three.”

Five minutes later, and despite Psycho fouling him brutally at every opportunity, Roy was up by six and his opponent was bent over clutching a stitch in his side while Roy wasn’t even sweating.

With a perfectly executed crossover dribble that had Psycho frantically backpedaling and then falling on his ass, Roy drove past him and slammed the shot home.

“That’s ten,” announced Roy. “One more to go.”

He took the ball and bounced it back and forth between his legs while he studied his staggered opponent. Psycho was humiliated, tired, and pissed. Roy could at least let the guy make it respectable.

Screw that.

He dribbled backward and stopped, set up, and nailed a twenty-five-footer. The ball didn’t even touch the metal rim as it dropped through.