“I don’t know.” Fonzell replied, eyes still focused on the screen of the cell phone. He was trying to decide if he should answer the call or not.
“Well, if you don’t know who it is, f**k ‘em! I been trying get nice all mothafucking day.”
“Nah, this could be my boy. I gotta take this one, gon’ and do you, Ducey.”
“Hey, no argument there.” Ducey unbuckled the belt and removed it from Fonzell’s arm. He put the belt around his arm and buckled it, searching for a vein in his arm so he could shoot up.
Fonzell answered the call.
“What’s up?” Fonzell spoke into his cell phone.
“Your punk ass son.” A familiar voice responded.
A surprised expression crossed Fonzell’s face. He hadn’t heard the voice on the jack in almost twenty years. The surprised look on his face disappeared, being replaced
