A/N: A few things. One, I'd like to apologize for the lapse in this update, a whole lot has been going on and this had to go on the back burner for a second. Anyway, this I do believe might be the longest chapter; I'm shooting for slightly longer chaps so that you won't feel like you're getting cheated in between updates. I can say though, the updates might get a little spotty, at least until Jan. With all my flights and tests I have to take coupled with working retail during Christmas, I need to let something hang out for a second—I hope you can understand. (Don't worry, its only two or so weeks!)

The next morning, Riley awoke earlier than he normally would on a Saturday. It was about seven-thirty. He cursed silently as he climbed out of the bed throwing his covers off of him. Seeing that his brother and grandfather had not yet woken, he didn't feel compelled to race to the bathroom. Running the water to brush his teeth, Riley gingerly ran his tongue over the cut in his mouth. He could feel where the flesh had split and it made him sigh. At least it wasn't bleeding anymore, but his eye had officially blacked like he hoped it wouldn't.

Not long after the younger Freeman boy finished washing up did the phone ring. Riley felt his body tense as he hurried to the phone to answer it.

"H-hello?"

"Rise 'n shine lil nigga."

Riley swallowed hard as the voice on the other end spoke to him.

"Fifteen minutes." Click.

The boy held the receiver to his ear long after the dial-tone began to sound. Finally setting the phone down, he moved into the living room to sit on the couch. What else could he do besides what he said? As of now, there was no time for lengthy speculation. Just get dressed, and go face your fate like a man…he guessed.

Riley had barely knocked when the door came open—Thugnificent had probably watched him walk over.

"Follow me." He said shortly as he moved deeper into the house.

Not sure of what would happen, Riley had made up his mind to say little to the older man—but as he trailed Thugnificent up the stairs, he just let it lie.

"Ay--" he began softly, gathering his courage. "I jus wanted you ta'know that wut chu did yesterday wunt cool. I know you see ma'face."

"What you did to me wunt cool, an' yes I do see yo'face. Let it remind you not to fuckin' lie ta'me." Thugnificent countered calmly without turning around. 'Whatever' he thought indignantly, but his inner rebelliousness didn't keep him from wincing at the memory. Riley decided not to push his luck when the man didn't say anything else; apparently this man had no problems with beating children.When they arrived at a pair of large French-style doors, Thugnificent opened them and allowed the boy to walk through.

Thugnificent's bedroom.

Immediately Riley's pulse began to quicken. Why the hell would he bring him there? The boy stiffened as Thugnificent strode past him and knelt down beside the bed. From underneath it he pulled out a box, then motioned with his index finger for Riley to come closer. When he was near, Thugnificent proceeded to open the box and pull from it a silver gun.

"You see this?" He asked the boy.

"Yeah, it's a gun." He said matter-of-factly. "My friend Ed has some guns and he let me shoot--" Riley's words garbled as the man snatched his arm and pushed the barrel of the gun to the soft underside of the boy's chin.

"Nigga, you think me and my SW 500 giva rat's ass about what you did wit whateva gun?" Riley swallowed hard against the cold of the metal as it bit into the flesh over his trachea. Riley looked into the man's eyes; No anger. No malice or rage as he asked the question, just a level of collection that made Riley's blood run cold.

"N-no."

"Damn straight." Affirmed Thugnificent as he released the boy. "Now, this lovely little thing I hold here is my pride an' joy." The man said referring to the pistol—seeming unaffected by the fact of having just endangered a minor. "This here is a Smith and Wesson Model 500 Standard Compensator Revolver—2003, otherwise known as a real gun." He looked at Riley. "Hell, it very well may be one of the most powerful handguns out there—plus it don't drop shells." He continued as he held up the weapon. "A nigga get hit wit a bullet from dis, whatevea body part struck is getting' blown the fuck off. An' guess what? I'm'll teach you how to use it."

Riley's eyes widened at this.

"What, you scared?" Thugnificent taunted.

"No…" Riley said taking an instinctive step back. "I jus…"

"Jus what? If you ain't scared, why the hell you backin' away fo? Get yo bony ass back close here an' hol'out cho han'."

When he came back near, Thugnificent placed the revolver in Riley's upturned palm. It was heavy and cold…he didn't want to hold it anymore.

"Now," the gangsta-rapper crowed. "Befo'you get to askin' stupid questions, I got my basement rigged up like a range. You lil nigga, will be the only person besides me and the people who set it up ta'see it. So thas a sign fo'you to keep yo mouth fuckin' shut about it so you don't say shit like you jus did bout yo boy Ed. You can file that shit right under the no snitchin' rule—don't EVER give names Riley, you here me?" Riley gave a quick nod before the man continued. "Now com'on, we gots some work ta'do."

The basement was largely unfinished outside of the makeshift firing range that was worked into it. It was colder than the rest of the house and considerably darker by contrast. The walls were unpainted concrete, as was the floor and ceiling, making it ideal for such a setup that Thugnificent had. There were three stalls separated by thick Plexiglas with ear and eye protectors hanging on hooks in each of them. On the far end of the range, there was taped to the wall three targets, all with holes in them.

"Uh Thugnificent? If its jus you down here, why are there three spots to shoot from?"

Thugnificent scowled at the inquiry. "Ya'know, we really gunna hafta work on these dumb-ass questions you be askin'. I can shoot from whichever I want fool! Ain't nuthin' nowhere say'in I gotta shoot from jus one stall. Think befo' you open up yo mouth!"

"I was jus askin'! You don't hafta get mad!" Riley sneered…then immediately regretted the retort as Thugnificent snatched his arm harder than before to make his point.

"Look'it here. Youse jus a lil snot-nosed bitch that don't know when to shut the fuck up! You wanna be so fuckin' gangsta, you betta start actin' like it! Hard niggas don't be doin' what you do! You wanna be gangsta for real, some body gotta fuckin' teach you! You an' neva gunna know shit or be shit for jus watchin' the damn T.V. boy! Yo' granddaddy be beatin' dat ass widuh belt, well I beat dat ass widuh muthafuckin' fist ya heard? I'm yo teacher now boy, get used to it."

With that, he shoved the boy roughly into the stall and ordered him to put on the eye and ear ware. At a loss for words, Riley slowly put on the gear and awaited his next command. He had really gotten in over his head now.

The boy had watched his newly self-appointed instructor walk over to a large metal chest of drawers. The rapper walked back and promptly handed the boy a .45. At a little over two and a half pounds it seemed heavy in his small hand, Riley figured, but not nearly as much as the five pound Smith and Wesson monster he held shortly before.

"Now," said the man. "The magazine in this 1911 Colt Series 70 handgun is full. We'll empty it on practice shots so you can get use to the recoil. So take the gun and hold it like this…" The man stepped behind him and guided Riley's fingers over the weapon to demonstrate the proper grip. Once he was satisfied with both Riley's stance and grip on the gun, did he remove the safety and place on himself the eye and ear gear from another stall.

"Aim for the torso, the widest part. Pull the trigger only once ya'hear? There'll be some spring back from the gun, so don't ever lock yo'elbows unless you wanna break yo'arms. Shoot on my mark…FIRE!"

No sooner than he had discharged the weapon did there come an angry smack on the back of his braided head.

"Nigga how the fuck you g'wn shoot any damn thing wit yo eyes closed??!"

Riley looked up to see that not only had he missed the target completely, it was up near the ceiling.

"That's why niggas cain't shoot shit as it is! They be too scared ta'look! Take them protectors off so you can here me! Listen, you'll drop yo' enemies quicker if you keep yo eye on'em! The gun ain't gunna turn around an' poke you in yo' eyeball, damn! Put that shit back on yo head an' get ready ta'shoot again, an' this time don't blink!!!!"

It was a quarter after twelve when Thugnificent finally turned him loose to go home. As soon as he walked through the door, his grandfather immediately dug into him for going out without telling anyone, among other things. Only after did he finish his bitch-out did he ask Riley about is bruised up face. Giving him his fabricated excuse, Riley headed back upstairs to his shared bedroom. Huey once again was reading a book on some assorted subject on his bed.

It was a beautiful day, why wasn't he out enjoying it?

Riley climbed up onto his own bed and laid back. His arms ached terribly and his hands were still tingling from all the practice shots they fired. Apparently Thungificent had ammo by the ass-loads, because in the four or so hours he was there, he had to have shot off no less than two hundred rounds. Had he gotten better since the first round? Oh yes. He had to, because every time he blinked or missed the target, he'd get smacked or yelled at.

It was funny really. Most boys his age would probably run and tell a parent that they had even seen a gun, certainly not begin training under a boogie gangsta-rapper on how to properly fire the damn things. He felt like a freggin' Iraqi insurgent! Riley rolled over on his side away from his brother, who he realized had not said anything to him yet. Riley thought about Gangstalicious and the trio of niggas who had been runnin' after him that time last year. In the end they tied him up and blindfolded the man so they could kill him—only to fail miserably because even at point-blank and with three people, they STILL couldn't shoot him. It was shocking enough that they even hit him the first time at the concert! And it was what Thugnificent was talking about; you can't kill'em if you can't hit'em. But was that what Riley wanted? Money and bitches seemed a lot better, not to mention safer. Did you really have to kill someone to be considered gangsta? Was that what it was about? He had his doubts, but then again, Thugnificent had been pretty merciless toward him regarding this whole thing—not to mention, he was apart of Lethal Interjection. Maybe this had some point.

It was stupid, and his family of course would never approve, but somehow, maybe this would give him an advantage he otherwise wouldn't have had? Yeah, that was it. Thugnificent wanted to see him tomorrow. He would go again. He was gunna prove that he at least wasn't afraid to do it, whether he wanted to or not. If he wanted to be a real gangsta, this is what it was gunna take…but still…it didn't make him feel any better.

A/N: Ok, so this was one of those 'necessary evils' chapters, i.e. total snoozefest I know. I'll try my damnedest to crank out another chapter so this can chill on a relatively high note. Till next update.