Kevin Jackson ran his fingers over the smooth slide of the Glock 19 and slowly exhaled. It was just for show, that’s all. But when their gray Camry hit a bump in the road, he gripped the handle tight. The handgun was still real. And deadly.

            His older brother Chris glanced at him from the driver’s seat. “Nervous? I know it’s your first meet, but –”

            “Those guys aren’t like the rest of our suppliers.” Kevin kept his eyes on the gun.

            “Damn right, they’re big time. With one hundred pounds, just think of the distribution we could reach. We’d save enough to get out of Philly, with new identities. Go anywhere we want. You could even train at those fancy-ass chef schools, start cooking ratatouille or some shit.” Chris chuckled with the same easy-going laugh he had since he was a boy.

            Kevin smiled briefly at the thought, but the weight of the handgun was ever present. “Something still don’t feel right. Why hasn’t Jones ever heard of them? He knows everyone in the ring.”

            Chris groaned. “You know Jones. He’s mad these new guys are taking away his business. He’ll say anything to keep his buyers.”

            Sighing, Kevin gazed out the window as their Camry rolled to a stop at a red light. Spray-painted buildings and overgrown weeds poking through cracks in the sidewalk surrounded them. They were close.