TOMMY:.

Oh Jesus.

STEVE:.

WHY IS THERE A DEAD OLD LADY IN YOUR BED, RUSS???.

RUSS:.

I'm not sure, you f.u.c.king Democrat. Maybe she did too much blow. Maybe it was the ecstasy, or the acid. Could've been anything. Congenital heart disease. Scurvy. I don't know what kind of s.h.i.t old people get. Whatever it was, she went out rockin'. Better than Matlock, I f.u.c.king promise.

DWAYNE:.

Dave, stop by Russ's house please.

DAVE:.

On my way, boss.

DWAYNE:.

We'll talk tonight, guys. I'm probably renting a limo, so get ready to party.

RUSS:.

Always.

TOMMY:.

See you then.

STEVE:.

That's FOUR now, guys.

DAVE:.

LLO.

DAVE:.

Sorry. OL.

DAVE:.

G.o.ddammit. I meen LOL.

DAVE:.

Bye.

Dwayne spent the day doing the things he loved. He hit the batting cages with Alex and Estelle for a couple of hours, then shared a great lunch at Alex's favorite hibachi grill, followed by a full family race around the go-kart track. Other families seemed to stare at them, hoping to someday reach that level of happiness.

In between events, Dwayne coordinated the disposal of a body, the torching of a vehicle used in a homicide, and the rental of a limousine for the fundraiser that evening. In a twisted way, Dwayne almost wanted to go to the gala now. He knew, somewhere deep inside, that the smart thing to do would be to lie low and not draw attention.

But a Jedi Alliance was hard to hide.

That evening, ready for the gala fundraiser, Estelle looked like a G.o.ddess in her formfitting peach-colored Oscar de la Renta dress and diamond-drop necklace. Her a.s.s popped out immaculately with every step she took.

"Oh my G.o.d, babe," Dwayne said. "How did I ever get so lucky?"

Estelle blushed. "You don't look too shabby yourself. I'm glad everything fits."

Dwayne didn't dress up often. Estelle had purchased an insanely expensive outfit for him at Neiman's, which he now wore. He had never heard of any of the fine Italian brands he was sporting.

The limousine arrived shortly after the babysitter. Dwayne had spent an hour prerolling thirty joints for the evening. He had five bottles of his favorite Scotch, three bottles of champagne, and a case of his favorite Cabernet.

"You think this will be enough, babe?" he asked Estelle as she climbed into the limo.

"Better to have too much than not enough, sweetie," she replied.

"G.o.d, I love you," he said back, touching her cheek.

The driver shut the door behind them and hopped in the front. He revved up the engine and took off down the road.

"Yo, driver," Dwayne called out to the front of the vehicle as they headed to Tommy's house. "What's your name, bro?"

The driver lowered the window that separated the pa.s.sengers from himself. So far, the driver hadn't attempted small talk. No bulls.h.i.t. Dwayne liked him.

He was an extremely short Asian kid dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and black driving hat. He wore black driving gloves to complete the look. He appeared to take his job seriously. Dwayne figured he was maybe twenty years old.

"Name's Uzi, sir," the kid said.

"Cool name," Dwayne replied. "Where you from? What got you into this line of work?"

"I'm from LA, sir," Uzi spoke into the rearview mirror as he drove. Dwayne thought he could see a neck tattoo creeping above Uzi's collar.

"I built street racers out there since I was fourteen. Got pretty heavy into the underground racing scene. Always loved to drive. I needed to get out of town and lay low for a while. I headed to Texas. Figured this was at least a job I could do and stay behind the wheel."