Pool_1

But Zee Zee without a blink, without a slightest hint of movement, had a long sharp switch blade to Marcus's throat, while somebody in the distance was yelling, "Yoo hoo. Yoo hoo. Hey." "Gee, Zee Zee, that's fast! How do you do that? Could you teach me? Nobody ever taught me how to defend myself. That's beautiful. Could you teach me that move?" Marcus went the praise route. Looking around, Alvarez put the knife back into his belt in a twitch, "Here's what you do," as he seriously showed his moves, his methods, his feint, his sure fire trajectory to the throat, to the eye. "Practice!" He walked away. Only then did Marcus notice that it was Gerry Penchant who was calling yoo hoo's with his elbow propped on his car hood supporting his rifle aimed at Zee Zee's head. "It wasn't slick talk that made him walk." Gerry bragged later, probably correct in saying that. "Any way, he doesn't kill with witnesses around," Gerry added matter-of-factly. "He'll stalk you and cut you up later," laughing. That evening Gerry and Frank had a talk. Zee Zee was a problem without an official solution. Marcus grinned thinly at Penchant's last tease but decided to practice the knife moves anyway, just in case. He practiced his fingers raw, on guitar, as well, for three days before getting the nerve to try his skill with little Nella. Practice is usually a good investment. This turned out to be the case. It was worth it. That child could sing. She followed anywhere and led everywhere. Several of the boys came in with elegant harmonies and complexities of sound that made the current rock music seem like a plastic Jesus up against Michelangelo's David. "No wonder you kids hate pop music," he sighed after Nella finished God Bless The Child. They did