"Dealer was probably his dad," Qadira said.
"Why would you think that crap?" Dwayne asked. Qadira slapped the ball from his lap. "I'm sorry for my attitude. It just some time your thinking is ignorant. Nobody knows who his dad is?"
"Moving on Dwayne." Qadira's attention concentrated on the middle school kids struggling to make lay ups. “You can't rule out the dealer.”
"The pimps, hustlers, and his classmates call him pee pee," Dwayne said turning Qadira's face toward him. "He started calling himself PP to have power over them. Killing a person if he didn't."
"Madness," Qadira said. "You can't get power out a horrible incident that happen in your life."
"No, but you can survive from it," Dwayne said.
It sounded stupid, Qadira thought. Yet PP had made it the only way he knew, killing for power.
A punk dressed in a red Adidas outfit jabbed his way to the gymnasium floor. Cutting through three teens running toward the net, he found his target. He punched the kid Floyd hard in his face, knocking him to the gym floor. He snatched the gold chain from his neck. "You work for me and I work for Mrs. Z."
Qadira and Dwayne hurried down the benches. Dwayne cleared the way to where Floyd's body covered the floor. He shoved back the punk.
"Get out Hefty, this is our center," Dwayne said.
"Forget you," Hefty said, scurrying out the way he came in. "I'll handle my business where I want."
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