West Baltimore: State Penitentiary

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"Barksdale! You got a visitor!" The guard opened the cell of one Avon Barksdale to escort him to the Visitors Room, complete with phones and a plexi glass shield that ensured nothing could be exchanged between visitors and "guests of the state" except words and glances.

Avon Barksdale seemed the typical West Baltimore prisoner: black. Only his name and reputation distinguished him from his fellow inmates. Barksdale, sentenced to an 8 year stint and no chance of parole, was not a worried man. He lived comfortably (for a jail anyhow) with all the amenities not usually in possession of a fresh off the streets convict (being a major drug lord on the streets of West Baltimore, you gain more than a few contacts on the inside. Bribe the guards, make friends…it was easier than kindergarten. By the end of the first week, Avon filled his time with cigarettes, magazines, an X-Box, and visits from Stringer. Avon was not worried, because he would be outta here in a few months.)

If anyone could keep the street competition in check while Avon was serving out his sentence, it was Stringer Bell, Avon's right hand man. Sure, String still had a thing or two to learn, but his leadership was short term and Avon would be out soon…nothing to worry about. They had grown up together, they were like brothers.

Avon turned the corner with the guard, and he saw Stringer through the plexi glass, already sitting down. Avon smiled. Prison was such a cake walk.

______

Russell "Stringer" Bell sat in the passenger seat of a black Lincoln Navigator, being driven to the penitentiary. The man was 6'5…a big black guy. He was intimidating. He had recently developed a penchant for nice suits, today wearing grey Armani. His glasses were pushed down his nose, as he was going over some reports from the Modern Economics and Entrepreneurship class he was taking at the local college.

The thing about Stringer Bell, that one couldn't help but notice after a conversation with him was his intelligence. His dark eyes held a charm and intellect one doesn't usually see among the street gangs of Baltimore. The result could be formidable. Stringer Bell could talk up Senators, bankers, businessmen, stockbrokers, and local politicians to discuss local land development and market saturation before heading down to the projects to make sure business was business as usual. If the dope was good, business was good. And lately, the dope was great.

The Navigator pulled into the parking lot outside the prison. Stringer sighed and folded his glasses into his front chest pocket. Avon was like a brother to him, but Avon had a flaw. He was a gangster, just a gangster. He was ignorant and cocky. Avon's lofty ideals extended as far as the competitions corner. Stringer knew better, and he wanted more. Not just West Baltimore. If he played business right, New York, Philly, Boston…he could have them all. But Avon would be a problem. To conquer like a king, petty grievances with local thugs like Proposition Joe must be put aside. He needed those thugs. Baltimore's drug ring had to unite before expanding. Avon was too stupid to realize that. So, for now, the prison sentence could buy Stringer some time.

After going through the technicalities of being a visitor of a State Penitentiary, Stringer sat down and waited for Avon. Avon was such a tool.

Smalltime street corner, mother fucker. I got bigger fish to fry. They would have to wait…for now. Stringer was good at waiting.

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Billy walked back to the car, feeling like shit, Bosco not far behind. A domestic disturbance had been reported, finally. A lot of memories that she didn't want to think about had been drug up. In another way though, she felt a little lighter. Who knew talking actually helped?

. . . .

The RMP pulled up near an alley off 86th and King, just south of the station house.

"You gotta be kiddin me!" Bosco groaned.

Two middle aged asian women, were going at it in loud, shrieking, foreign voices. Neither was over five feet tall, but Bosco still felt like he didn't want to be anywhere near either one in a few moments.

"This should be good." Billy was already laughing, "Which one do you want?"

"If I get bit, scratched, or clawed by either of those damn rice eaters, I'm taking them both down town." Bosco growled as he slammed the door to the RMP shut.

"Jesus, Bosco, Rice eaters?"Billy snorted, "I don't even wanna know where you learned your extensive vocabulary."

As they approached, the shouting match only seemed to escalate.

Billy hesitated, glancing at Bosco, who only cocked an eyebrow, "Please, after you!"

Billy shook her head, "Tough guy my ass…"

______

How the two cops managed to separate the two women, and eventually settle the dispute, even with the language barrier remained a mystery in Bosco's mind. It had been aggravating and involved a lot of yelling and pointing, but it had passed some time until it was ready for a quick, if late, meal. Once he had food in his stomach, Bosco always felt in a lighter mood.

He pulled the RMP into a diner he and Faith would frequently stop at. This got him thinking about his partner, which subsequently depressed him. They sat up at the bar to eat.

"So how's Faith doing, Bosco? I haven't heard much about her lately."

He answered between bites of his hamburger. "I don't really know. Fred won't let me visit her at the apartment; can't say I blame him, though."

Although Bosco stated this casually, he avoided eye contact and seemed to visibly stiffen up.

"She'll be alright, Bosco….Faith's too stubborn to stay in a wheel chair for too long. You two will be back in 5-5 David before you know it."

"Why the hell would she do that?...She won't want to ride with me, I can tell you that right now. If she knows what's good for her she'll stay as far away from me as she can." Bosco got up to leave, his plate half finished.

Billy threw a few bucks down and turned to follow, pushing through the diner door. It was dark outside by now, or as dark as it can get in a city like New York. A light shower was coming down, more like mist than rain. Bosco was heading towards the RMP. She jogged to catch up with him, falling into step.

"You're giving up on her kind of easily, aren't you?" At this remark, he stopped short to look ahead at her with a look that held all the classic signs of 'go fuck yourself'. She beat him to it before he could voice his thoughts.

"I mean, it's Faith, right? Who says one bullet can scare her away? I don't think you give your partnership enough credit."

Bosco let out a lungful of air, suddenly feeling too exhausted to argue. "I got her shot and paralyzed…what kind of a partnership is that? She was the only one…the only person left I could truly count on. She means…she's worth more to me than I'm willing to risk…obviously I can't even protect her."

"I'm not saying you didn't fuck up. Hell, the whole situation is fucked up. But you're her partner. She doesn't need you to feel sorry for yourself and stay away. She needs you to be there…she may still be pissed at you, but at least she'll know you haven't given up on her." Billy opened the RMP door and paused. "Look, I know what it's like to lose a partner. It's not something you wanna experience. It doesn't matter whether it's a death or a fall out. She's lucky to be alive…you've been given a second chance, Bosco….Don't mourn what you haven't lost yet."

"I'm not worth it Billy."

Billy looked straight at him before getting in the RMP, "Why don't you let her decide that?"