Last Call

Levon said, "Ke

"Yes, sir!" he shouted.

Levon pulled a revolver from his belt and held it in the air for everyone to see.

It was a Russian Ml 895 Nagant, and the excitement in the room gave Moses the distinct impression that everyone understood the significance of the chosen firearm – everyone except him and the wa

Levon quieted the gang and said, "Bring me Wallace."

The two soldiers walked over to wa

"Front and center!" shouted Levon.

The soldiers brought Wallace to their leader and left him there to stand on his own power. His face was swollen from the earlier beating, and he couldn't open his left eye. The blood around his nose was starting to dry a crusty brown, but the big gash on his forehead was still ru

"On your knees," Levon said.

Wallace complied as quickly as he could, which wasn't quick at all, his every movement painful.

Levon flipped open the revolver's six-chamber cylinder, which was empty. He took one round of live ammunition from his pocket, inserted it in the first chamber, closed the cylinder, and gave it a spin, Russian roulette style. Then he handed the gun to Butler and guided the barrel of the gun to the base of Wallace's skull.

"You got a choice, Butler," said Levon. "Squeeze the trigger. If the gun don't go off, both you and Wallace is in."

That drew a loud woo-hoo from the peanut gallery.

"What's my other choice?" said Butler.

"You can do the line, just like Wallace did."

The line was a common initiation rite that even Moses and the O-Town Posse had used. The wa

"And if I make it through the line?" said Butler.

"You're a Gangster Disciple," said Levon.

"What about him?" he said, pointing to Wallace, who was still on his knees.

"You walk the line, Wallace is out. The gun is the only way you both get in."

Wallace bit down on his lower lip. Part of him looked as if he wanted to stand up and run, but he remained on his knees.

Butler swallowed a lump in his throat.

"The gun!" one of the soldiers shouted.

"Shit, yeah!" said another, and soon a chant filled the room: "Gun, gun, gun!"

Levon raised a hand in the air, silencing them. "What's it go

Butler stared down at the top of Wallace's head. It wasn't hot in the room, but both kids were sweating.

The chant continued: "Gun, gun, gun!"

Levon said, "I need an answer!"

Butler's hand gripped the revolver. The tip of his finger caressed the trigger.

"Gun, gun, gun!"

Still on his knees, Wallace's expression tightened. "Gun!" he shouted.

Butler seemed caught off-guard. It was a ballsy decision for a guy on his knees with a gun to his head.

Levon said, "It ain't Wallace's call. It's yours, Butler."

"Gun!" Wallace shouted again.

The other gangsters cheered.

Butler's arm went straight as a rod, as if he were trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the target. The gun moved high and then low, left and then right, all around the back of Wallace's skull.

It was obvious to Moses that the kid had never shot anybody in his life – let alone a friend.

Butler retracted the gun and dropped his arm to his side. "I choose the line," he said.

The gang groaned and booed with disapproval. Levon snatched the revolver from his hand and brought a knee to Butler's groin. The kid doubled over and fell to the floor. Levon kicked himhard in the face, bloodying his nose and mouth. "There ain't go

Levon's soldiers grabbed Butler and dragged him away. Wallace was still on his knees, smart enough not to move until Levon gave the order.

"Moses!" said Levon.

All eyes shifted to the man from Miami as he stepped forward. Levon handed him the firearm, saying, "He's all yours, bro'."

The rhythmic chant resumed: "Gun, gun, gun!"

A flat smile creased Moses' lips. He opened the cylinder, and he didn't even have to verbalize his request. Levon knew what he wanted. He handed Moses another bullet.

The gang cheered, loving the way Moses had changed the odds and upped the stakes.

Wallace placed his hands behind his waist, wrists crossed. Moses noticed they were trembling.

Even so, the kid shouted, "Gun!"

Moses inserted the second round in one of the empty chambers, slapped the cylinder closed, and pushed the barrel of the revolver firmly against the back of the teenager's skull.

The room went stone silent.

"What you want, Wallace?" said Moses in a booming voice.

"Do it!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Moses pulled the trigger.

It was almost simultaneous – Wallace falling face-first to the floor and the loud crack of the hammer against an empty chamber. But his head was intact. Raw nerves and emotion had caused his collapse.

Moses popped open the cylinder and let the two unspent rounds drop to his feet.

Levon shouted, "Meet the newest GD!"

The gang went wild. They were suddenly all over Wallace, slapping him on the head and body, screaming and yelling in his face – all a form of congratulations and praise.

Levon pulled Moses into another room, leaving the gang to celebrate. It was time to get down to business. He closed the door and locked it. They were in a bedroom with no bed – just a table, a few chairs, and a wall of tall metal lockers. Levon opened the one on the far right with a key, removed a packet, and tossed it onto the table in front of Moses.

"Your new ID," he said.

Moses opened the packet and inspected it. There was a Social Security card, a Georgia driver's license and voter registration card, and two credit cards.

"Miles?" said Moses, making a face. "My new name is Miles Becker?"

"I set you up in twenty-four hours, and this is the thanks I get?"

Moses grumbled, but he didn't protest. He tucked away the IDs and said, "What else you got?"

Levon opened another locker. It was loaded with weapons – handguns, rifles, even an Uzi. "I assume you dumped the piece you used to waste that trooper," said Levon.

"You assume right."

"What do you like?"

"Nine-millimeter," said Moses.

"How about a Glock?" Levon said, as he laid it on the table with two ammunition clips.

"Glock is good," said Moses.

Levon went to the next locker. This one had two locks on it. He opened them both and pulled a cardboard box from the top shelf. He placed it on the table and opened it. The inside was lined with green plastic. He punched a hole in it, just big enough for Moses to see the contents.

"This is the best shit we got in six months," said Levon. "We cut it three times and it still kicks ass. Your boys in Miami know their trade."

"We aim to please," said Moses.

"I'm serious," said Levon. "Filthy Mexicans have been killing us in Atlanta. Latin Kings got way too much turf. Eighteenth Street is here, too. Last week I seen two old guys – must have been in their forties – all the way from L.A. Tacos are makin' a push here. But you keep this up, and we'll cut their balls off."

"There's plenty more where that came from."

Levon made the hole in the bag a little larger. "Wa

Moses shook his head. "Ain't touched that shit in ten years."

"Twelve for me," said Levon. "Not one brotha' I grew up with back in Robert Taylor Homes did the shit and got outta Chicago's South Side alive."