At eighteen the younger Tremont was handsome. His biracial background had given him a milk chocolate complexion and dark hair that curled naturally the way some guys spent mass money to achieve with Jheri curls. His dark brown eyes were nowhere near the same color of Scotty's cornflower blue but the similarity in brow, eye shape and facial structure left no mistake that the two were definitely brothers.
Phonso's expression grew serious. "Have you talked to G lately?"
Scotty shook his head. "I don't think I'm his favorite person right now. Why?"
"He's been using that new shit; the crack. And man, he's using it like a fiend. In New York they call people like him crackheads."
Scotty's brow furrowed and he leaned forward. "G can't be a junky that quick …"
Phonso slid a French fry through a glob of ketchup that puddled one corner of the paper tray containing his meal and then he plopped it into his mouth and chewed absently.