VERY FEW HAVE EXCELLENCE

The front door of the house opened. A man swung the screen door aside to empty an ashtray into the dead bushes next to the porch. He disappeared without closing the door behind him.

“This is our chance,” said Billy.

“We pay ‘em a visit?” asked Juan, smiling.

I took air through my nose and summoned some nerve. Billy and Juan both screwed suppressors on their guns.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We crossed the yard and into the street in a crouch, Juan and Billy a foot lower than I could manage. They both made it to the porch before I did and sat on the first step waiting and smiling. When I reached them, they straightened and walked up the steps with their guns at their sides. I remembered to pull out my Walther.

They both stood on either side of the door listening. Juan held up a finger, then he opened the screen and slid into the house with Billy behind him. I caught the door before it slammed shut in my face and followed them.

Lamar and two men sat in old and tattered upholstered chairs. The two men flanking Lamar wore warm-ups with strapped t-shirts underneath and electric blue gym shoes without laces. Both wore sunglasses. Lamar wore a short, black leather jacket over a white shirt with a collar. His pants were shiny material and were sharply creased. He wore high-tops with the laces untied. Portable trays were set in front of each of them with boxes of Chinese food everywhere. A large ashtray on the end table next to Lamar held a bag full of pot and a pipe. On a tray in front of one man was a nine-millimeter gun. All three men were smiling like we were an unexpected pleasure. Lamar pointed to the marijuana.

“Smoke?” he asked. The other men giggled. Billy and Juan held their guns on them.

“Where’s the girl?” I asked.

“What girl?” asked Lamar. “You don’t see no girl here.” All three men giggled now.

“Where is she?”

Lamar broadened his smile. “Whoever she is, I ain’t got her.”

“Who does?” I asked impatiently. I pointed the Walther at Lamar. Lamar exchanged glances at the two men, and the three of them broke into laughter. One man made a move for the nine-millimeter, and Juan shot him through the left half of his sunglasses. The gun made a phhoot noise. Plastic exploded and blood ran along the man’s nose and past his mouth as he pitched forward in slow motion across the tray to the floor. The other men looked at him with shock on their faces and their mouths open.

“You’re next,” I said to Lamar. “Where’s the girl?”

Lamar held his hands up in front him. He was trembling. “I don’t know, man,” he said. “I swear.”

“How’d you get her car?” I asked.

“What car?” he asked, panicking.

“The Camry,” I said. “The Toyota.”

“It got delivered! I swear. They dropped off the keys.”

“Who are they?” I asked.

“White guys, man. Guys delivering product.”

I glanced at Billy. He shrugged.

“What product?” I asked, deflated by this news.

“Crack cocaine,” said Lamar. He dragged out the word cocaine like he was savoring it.

“Where’s the product now?”

“On the street, motherfucker.”

Lamar was gaining confidence back. He sensed that he wasn’t going to get shot while he held information. He leaned back in his chair and smiled.

“You play basketball, Lamar?” I asked him.

“Some.”

“Because if you make me drag this shit out of you, I’m going to have Juan here blow a hole in your foot. That’ll be the end of basketball, won’t it?”

Juan took a step forward, and Lamar straightened in his seat, his eyes opening in terror. Billy chuckled next to me.

“Tell me the whole story, Lamar.”

“I don’t know anything, man!” he insisted, returning to panic. “I was told to distribute. I get the product and get it on the street. I don’t even hand over money. They just drop it off. They left the car and the keys.”

“Who, Lamar?”

“Two big white dudes, look like cops. They drop the shit off and don’t say nothin’.”

“Why’d you give the car to Wert?”

“What am I gonna do with a motherfuckin’ Toyota?”

“What was Wert doing here?”

The screen door behind us opened, spooking us. A man stood in the doorway. Juan shot him the chest and he fell back through the door onto the porch.

The man next to Lamar reached under his chair, and Billy shot him in the forehead, his gun making a cough sound. Lamar spun out of his chair and ran down a hallway that split the house in half. I shot at him twice, aiming below the legs. The sound of my gun filled the living room, surprising us. Lamar was down in the kitchen, struggling to crawl to the back door.

“Keep an eye out,” I said to Juan.

Billy and I walked back to Lamar. Blood was everywhere. A gaping wound was opened in the back of Lamar’s thigh, and he was twitching through his death throes.

“Artery, dude,” sa