Joel awoke to find himself on the street.
Then he saw his good friend Billson Truger shaking him continuously.
"Billson," Joel rubbed his aching head, "what are you doing here?"
And the African American elite Billson asked with confusion, "Wasn't it you who asked me to come here, Joel?"
"Me?" Joel's eyes widened, "How could it be me? I..."
Looking around at the surroundings, the sky had already brightened, as Joel tried to recall what had happened the night before.
He had been framed!
But if he had indeed been framed, shouldn't those who framed him be making demands of him at this moment?
Why would they let him go so easily?
"What... did I ask you to do, Billson? Sorry, I had too much to drink at last night's reception and can't quite remember."
Billson immediately gave a knowing look, "You asked me to pick you up, Joel. You said the deal was done. Told me to come here to meet you."
"The deal... was done?"
