“What the f**k!” A seated soldier said loudly to the men he was seated with. He rose and strutted to the far end of the bar. The Phoc Roc’s music system had an amplifier powerful enough to blow out the building’s flimsy walls. The soldier turned the volume up drowning Whiteboy’s and Molino’s duet and the shrieks and hoots from the theater.
“Keep yer mitts off the dials,” Molino commanded loudly. He threw his fists into the air feeling Whiteboy behind him. “Watch yerself, Cool.” Molino turned the stereo volume down, snarled at the soldier, replaced the record that had been playing with a Cat Stevens album and played “Moonshadow.” Molino sang along with the record.
“Here come Doc Johnson and the dudes,” Molino announced to Whiteboy. “Floor show must be bad.”
“Ef it ever was my feet,” Jack
