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He ran by me so fast I barely had time to flinch. Big guy, must have been closer to seven feet than six. He ran by and slapped me in the belly, and I took the handoff like I’d done a thousand times, only when I looked down I was holding a gun not a football and the guy who tackled me was wearing polyester and handcuffs not shoulder pads.
I was up against the wall before I could blink. He was spitting mad. For real. All up in my face with his getting redder and redder. Shouting questions without waiting for the answers. Then, the cruiser. Then, the tiny room. And I’m trying to tell them I don’t know nothing about no gun. Some fool just slapped it to me and ran by. They kept me there all morning.
Jones was waiting at the park when they finally let me go. He slapped me in the belly again. This time with a bag full of hundreds. I smiled so big I thought my head might bust.
“You think they bought it?”
“Don’t they always? Now, where to next … I’ve always wanted to hit Miami up…”
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