Tupac stepped forward, swung his arm hard in a gang-style greeting, then clasped Eminem's hand.
"I've heard of you. Dr. Dre, that white rapper, said your 'Infinite' was pretty good. He's considering whether to discover you."
Eminem looked surprisingly delighted. He reached up and touched the area beneath his nose and his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing as he said, "Really? I thought hardly anyone had heard it."
"We listen to every West Coast rap track. Most of it is trash, but you can still find gold." Tupac lowered his eyes again. He did not seem particularly energetic, though his dark skin made it difficult to tell whether he was utterly exhausted.
If Hal and Clark really had been two white men there to bully Tupac, they should have turned their attention to Eminem by now. Racists hated white people who defended Black people even more than Black people themselves. People always despised traitors within their own group most of all.
"You came at the right time. We really aren't here to give him trouble. We heard about him from a friend, and that friend is in some trouble now. We wanted to know if he might know anything."
Clark's words were exceedingly sincere, and it was truly difficult for anyone caught in the gaze of those blue eyes to say, "You're lying."
Tupac looked hesitant. He always looked hesitant, but Eminem reached out to stop him and looked at Clark. "Is your friend his fan, or does he actually know him?"
"They went to the same high school, but they may not actually know each other," Hal said honestly. "Still, you might have heard of him. Oliver Queen, heir to the Quinn Group."
Tupac took on a recollective expression, but Eminem shook his head. "If they haven't actually met,