Pool_1

"Trouble," Fred muttered with a flit of his eyes. Trouble was an understatement. Alvarez Diaz, known as Zee Zee, was walking down the pavement. He was about five feet two inches tall, lean, dressed in black denim and a black silk shirt with a wide wide belt bearing sharp studs and a big jagged buckle. He strode on tall heeled pointy toed boots. His face was that of a Pekinese dog, sunken and twisted, with nasty vacant squinting eyes, overlooking a perpetual sneer. Zee Zee just got out of jail for stabbing his mother and was already randomly pulling his switch blade on local girls, two of whom were cut, although not seriously. It was clear that he had no agenda. He wasn't for or against anything. His brain was mush. You didn't want to talk to him. Anything said, no matter how innocent, might become a stimulus to his violence. However, if he perceived that he was being ignored, that too was cause enough for his blade. "Shit, man," He spun looking Marcus in the eyes. "You're blacker than the boos." "That's what happens when you put an Italian out in the sun all day long." "I'm in the sun. I'm not black. I wear black," a classic Diaz non sequitur. "Looks good on you." "You mocking me, man? You fuckin mockin me?" He was working himself into a froth with no help from Marcus. His right thumb was now resting inside that belt of his. That was very dangerous. "Zee Zee, I don't mock people. It's not my..." "Hi man," he sneered as he walked past Marcus. "Hi Zee Zee," was the carefully neutral reply.