Free Lost Art Assignment by Austin Camacho

followers, he would soon have Slash’s routine pinned down.
    While Morgan chewed a kosher Sabaret frankfurter, J.J. Slash visited a small candy store on a cross street off Amsterdam Avenue, just a few blocks from the projects.
The Towers,
Morgan corrected himself.
Times change.
At midday, this street, lined with five and six story flat roofed tenements, was alive with small black kids with runny noses and women with mules on their feet, curlers in their hair, and nowhere to go.
    Morgan assumed Slash was on a business call. He had watched Slash visit several small operators. He assumed his purpose was to bring them onto his team. Morgan knew a numbers runner when he saw one, and this candy store was probably the neighborhood three digit gambling palace. The boy was ambitious, no doubt about it. He worked a long day, networking and moving money.
    Since Morgan planned to make contact that day, he hoped he didn’t look too intimidating. He was black leather from boots to cap, wearing mirror shades with his jacket collar turned up. He hadn’t shaved in three days, giving him a short brush of a beard and a mustache hanging over his lip.
    He turned when, across the street, Slash’s massive driver stepped out of the building. Slash followed, reminding Morgan of the cartoon version of Bill Cosby as a kid. The tall, light skinned guard followed him. Morgan wondered why the security men always wore dark colored business suits, while Slash looked like he was going to the studio to film a hip hop video. Today he wore the silly jeans with thecrotch hanging almost to knee level. Oh well, Morgan thought, even in this game image was important, and you can’t knock success.
    Morgan straightened and turned to step into the narrow street. He had the bodyguards’ attention right away. No harm there. He would simply cross the street slowly with his hands in plain sight. He knew what to say to worm his way onto the team.
    Scraping noises drew his eyes left. Two Puerto Rican teens on skateboards were weaving back and forth down the center of the asphalt. They had their white iPod speaker wires running up to their ears and wore identical denim jackets. Morgan stopped to let them pass. Then he saw the nearest one reach to his side and pull out a small object.
    A gun. Both kids had guns, and their bodies hid them from Slash’s side of the street. They planned a quick hit, smooth and neat. With luck they would kill Slash and disappear before anyone knew what was happening. At worst they would eliminate one or two of his close guards.
    â€œDown!” Morgan shouted before he even realized he would. He dived forward into the oncoming skaters’ path. One boy collided with him, his board continuing on under Morgan, his gun flying over, as he folded across Morgan’s body. The other managed to weave around Morgan’s outstretched arms, but it cost him a precious second. He had time for one shot, and took it.
    When Morgan yelled, the giant stepped in front of Slash. The thin guard leaped into the air. Morgan heard the crack of pistol fire and looked up in time to see the big man absorb the shot. The thinner man hit the limousine’s roof with one foot and continued forward. His other heel thumped into the side of the gunman’s head. The skateboarder dropped to the street, rolled, and sprawled stillon the black surface. His attacker landed on his feet in a relaxed tae kwon do ready stance.
    Morgan lay sandwiched between a teenager’s upper and lower body. A car, at first headed into the block, was cautiously backing out. The gunshot had emptied the sidewalks, but cautious faces began to appear in windows and doorways. Morgan had just gotten to his hands and knees when a fist as big as a twelve pound ham wrapped around his left arm and he was yanked to his feet. With no words exchanged, Morgan was flipped into the white limo’s front seat. The giant squeezed in behind the wheel, pushing Morgan against his