Cigarette smoke trailed from the little glowing ember in the cigarette, hanging like a ghostly specter in the pale moonlight. Prae watched his bodyguard, Vincenzo, as he smoked. Weighing in at a solid 300 pounds of solid muscle, Vincenzo was the kind of man that could break through a brick wall with his bare hands. If only he didn't smoke like a chimney...

It was warm, with salt-filled sea air brushing across the back of Prae's uncovered neck, putting him on edge. The dealer was late for the deal. And it was never a good sign. What if he was busted? Ratting Prae out to the cops right now. A siren in the distance made him jump; something felt weird about tonight.

A pair of bright white headlights blinded him temporarily; his vision started to come back just as he saw the silhouette in the headlights. A pair of goons followed him.

You're early, the dealer said, with a smartass grin on his face.

No, you're late, Prae replied. I don't like being stood up.

Don't worry about it, man. I had something that required my attention. The way he lingered on 'thing' told Prae that the word should've been 'who.'

Well that thing just cost you a sale. Prae's eyes narrowed. Don't plan on getting any more buys lined up from me, either.

A look of shock went across the young hood's face.

What the fuck do you mean the sale's off? You can't fucking do this to me! I'm a Durden!

The young fool stepped up, his chest hitting Prae's. Immediately Prae had him stumbling backwards in the dust from a two-handed shove. The boy's bodyguards went for their weapons, but Vincenzo had one floored and a gun on the other before they could clear their pockets.

This is Los Angeles, not Delaware. One way or another, you'll get your ass out of California, if I have to send you to Tyler in a pine box.

Prae drew his gun for emphasis.

And leave the drugs. And your guns. You don't need them anyway.