Big D. roared into the garage and hit the door opener; dismounted, grabbed the plastic bags in two huge fists and went in. Explosions and Wagner roared at him.

“Yo! Little help!â€? he shouted, trying to be heard over blasts and screams. Big D. wouldn’t have minded doing all the groceries if his bros ever helped with the bags. He dropped them on the kitchen island and grumbled though his thick black beard as he put away things that could melt or spoil.

In the living room, he shouted, “Yo! Any messages!â€?

“In your face, pimp!â€? screamed the man on the couch, pumping his fists as an impressive bloom of fire blossomed across the widescreen. Big D. mumbled and went upstairs.

He rapped on Pest’s door. “Yo, Pest, any messages?â€?

Pest cracked it open. “You get the skin cream?â€?

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s Famy?â€?

“Made a run for the border. War’s downstairs playing Halo 3. And we got a text from Blake. Seems there’s an unlicensed in Chi-town.â€?

Now that was interesting. “Oh really?â€? said Death.