Rolla tossed the light duffel bag on the table as soon as they got back to the safe house.
Inside of it was the three thousand dollars and the packages of product they had taken back from Trevon at the pool hall.
James unzipped the bag, checked the plastic seals, and gave a slow nod. "Everything is accounted for. The corners on 36th are clear again."
Ryder leaned against the kitchen sink, drinking a fresh glass of water. "Trevon folded like a little bitch. But we need to focus on them Fantanos motherfuckers. What's the deal with the Southside sets?"
Arslan pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, looking at Rolla who had the most knowledge among them. "Break it down, slim. Who runs it, and what are we looking at?"
Rolla lit a cigarette once again, resting his forearms on the edge of the table.
