"Fucking right, pig. Cuno's filling bath tubs with that shit. Cuno's a kingpin."

"Fucking right, pig. Cuno's filling bath tubs with that shit. Cuno's a kingpin."

"Can I have some? Just a little?"

"Did Cuno not tell you? Cuno doesn't do that entrapment shit. King Pin Cuno ain't going to the pork pen. Get the fuck out of here!"

He's not worried about prison. He just wants to antagonize you.

Belying the act, he's actually telling the truth. Or at least 0.00001% of it. He has a little speed. He's just not giving it to you.

He's GOT to at least know a source, look at him! You need to figure this out somehow.

You need to befriend him first.

"Fuck no, pig. Cuno ain't dealing to the popo. Not doing the pork pen for your sad speed habit! You don't know Cuno."

"You're yanking my chain, aren't you kid?"

"Don't be yankin' your shit in front of the Cuno. Cuno's always serious. Always rollin'. Big kilo, but you ain't gettin' any. Get the fuck off!"

"All right, so you got Cuno's kilo." He rubs his hands together. "Here is how we do it. First, you give Cuno Cuno's kilo. Then Cuno gives you half back."

"That's how we split it -- it's the best way. Street way."

"Aren't you going ask how I got past your dad?"

"Word on the street is you sent your little friend in dressed as a hooker. Distraction-style. That's some sick shit." He nods approvingly to the lieutenant.

Not a single muscle moves on the lieutenant's face.

"Cuno wants to hear all about it, but first we split the kilo." He leans in. "Then we shoot the shit."

"Word on the street is you sent your little friend in dressed as a hooker. Distracted him. That's some sick shit. Tell your little slanty-eyed friend -- respect from the Cuno."

"By kilo you mean gram, right?"

"Cuno knows what Cuno means."

Cuno means gram.

"I already did it all, Cuno. Sorry."

"The fuck outta here, pig! You better have a baggie on you the next time Cuno sees you. You can't advance with the Cuno when you tryin'a play him like that."

"Speed fiend tryin'a play the Cuno."

"All right. Fair is fair." (Give Cuno the vial.)

"Whooh that's heavy..." He waves the minuscule bottle around, then slips it into his coat pocket.

Out comes another, similar vial -- from the sock above his running shoe. "Here you go -- more than half in there. Cuno's fuckin' honourable like that."

There is no movement on the lieutenant's face as he stares intently at the trash container.

But he does not approve.

"Now tell me, how the fuck are you still alive, pig?"

"Cuno, I met your dad."

"Yeah -- you do some Sam Bo shit, sneak in?" He looks at the lieutenant. "Is the hooker thing real?"

"I killed your dad, Cuno."

"What is this shit? He's fucked up on 'roids to drink more, you can't kill him. Cuno's dad says he'll die by his own hand. Die suicide-style."

In his mind, his father isn't vulnerable the way other mortals are.

"It was dark in there. We sneaked in and got out."

"You got lucky. Cuno's dad was out getting more drink. Cuno knew that. That's why he sent you... Cuno cares about his pig. Doesn't want his pig to get hurt." He nods empathetically.

"You got lucky pig. Cuno's dad was out getting more drink. Cuno knew you'd have a window there. Now that Cuno thinks about it -- it was a mistake."

"Should've sent you in when he was there pushing 'roids in his ass. Thievin', double-crossin' liar-pig. Cuno got sentimental. That shit won't happen again."

"Cuno, your dad is a half-dead alcoholic. He was sleeping under some clothes."

"What?!" His eyes become large and round.

His posture changes, the swaying rooster motion stops for a second. Then he gets it going again. Reorienting himself.

"Fuck right Cuno's dad was sleeping like a bum," he snaps back. "Cuno told you -- Cuno's dad doesn't give a shit about anything. Fucking breaking-and-entering shit -- that's nothing to Cuno's dad."

"You got lucky, pig. Cuno knew this." He points to himself. "Cuno's fucking violent fiend dad's been drinking hard lately. Cuno knew you have a way in. Narrow window. Cuno window."

Cuno window?

"'Cuno window'? C'mon kid. Just stop."

"Fuck you tryin'a do... get the Cuno to stop? Cuno's just getting it on!" His tone wavers.

A small lump forming in his throat.

"Keep your ass together, Cuno..."

"Yeah. I was wrong. He's hard core. A real killer."

"Stop trying to give Cuno your pity shit." He squints -- a pained expression. "Cuno knows what that shit is. Cuno's dad's gonna be a fucking vegetable. Stroke shit, stomach fucked up, and..."

"Cuno's gonna go out like that too. Gonna be just like Cuno's violent dad. Fuck on speed, do crime shit -- go out fast, Revachol West-style."

"Stop saying all this sad shit, Cuno." The whisper comes smaller than usual.

There is a touch of grief in there.

"Fuck are you talking, sad?" The kid breathes in and out like a boxer. "Cuno's got hard shit." He punches the air. "Death shit. Nothing shit."

"You don't have to turn into that."

"Get your fucking nun ass out of here before Cuno fucks it dead." He punches the air again. "F****t. You think 'cause you brought Cuno one gram of speed you're friends now?"

"'Turn into...'" He pants from exhaustion. "Cuno ain't turning into shit! Cuno is! CUNO IS THAT SHIT."

If he doesn't stop soon, he's going to collapse from exhaustion. He's red all over.

"Cuno won... You won, Cuno!" The relief is palpable. The little hat jumps up and down behind the fence.

He did not win. There is a crack in there now -- and it's spreading across the face of his certainty.