Especially since that asshole Weems had his spies all over the place. Talk was Coach Blake was one of his brown nosers, had been forced into it. Weems was supposed to have fag files on the secret bungholers in pro ball. Nap had told me about playmates of his who'd spotted Blake tipping out to his share of gay spots.
Either' cause of his agent or Weems' jive, Grier played it cool this time. He didn't say anything much the rest of practice 'cept grunt now and then when we bumped.
My hip was twinging and moving in and out a little, but I did my best not to show any sign of pain. Cannon was the one I was worried about. He was watching me like a homeless dog eyeing a crippled cat, waiting for me to slip. I leaned against the wall leading to the gym after our sprints.
"Out of gas, old timer?" Grainger put a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm all right." I shook loose, straightening up and heading off to the gym.
"If you say so." He walked past me, his cleats blending in with the rest of the men stamping on the concrete.
I went easy on the leg lifts so as not to aggravate the hip. By the time I got in the shower, everything was smooth. I soaped up, trying to remember when Davida's funeral was. Tomorrow? Or was it Friday? I should have written it down when her moms told me the other day.
I was dressed and on my way out when I spotted that big bruiser Trace loitering around. That had to mean Weems was talking to Stadanko. I tried not to think if it was about me.
The flaming cross on the bodyguard's cheek looked funny in daylight. He was standing near the entrance to the locker room, tossing a football to himself in the air. He had hands like a line man kept dropping the pill.
Just to mess with him I said, "How come you ain't out there tryin' out, Trace?"
He caught the ball this time, then frowned at me as his tiny brain kicked in. "The question is, what are you doing here?"
"I belong here, baby. But you still ain't answered my question. You young and in shape."
"I have more serious work to pursue."
Posing nude for Weems, I imagined. "What's that?" Grier floated past, making like he had some place important to get to.
"You and these others have a responsibility, Raines. Children in the ghettos and barrios, even in the suburbs, follow what you do. They buy the obscenely overpriced shoes you sell for athletic companies. These sheep cut and shoot each other over these shoes or jackets with your signature on them."
"Them clothes and shoes are a reward for those kids, man. Ain't nobody spendin' the rent money on them things."
"Really, Raines, is that so?" He twirled the ball in his glovesized hands.
Enough of this chump. "You just happy being Weems' strongarm."
"It serves a purpose."
He tossed the ball to me, thinking he'd catch me off guard. I snatched it out of the air with one hand. "Then it must be righteous." I heard footsteps and turned to see Blake coming out of a door down the side of the building. He started to walk toward us, then changed his mind, taking off in the other direction.
Trace scratched at his cross with the back of his nails, not looking in Blake's direction.
"Raines, I'd like you to step in here." It was Cannon. He'd come out of a room down the hallway. I knew what was up.
I went over to where he stood holding the door open. Inside he had me pee into a bottle, and some dude with latex gloves on drew some of my blood.
"I'm not going to be surprised, am I?" Cannon fooled with his glasses, moving 'em this way and that on his large face.
"Nothing to be surprised about, coach. Only how good I'm doing."
He folded his arms but didn't say anything. Afterward, driving home, I got that old urge for a controlled substance boost. I guess it was something about my wiring that made me want to go out and get high right after taking a drug test. For more than a few moments, I considered going all the way east back to the 'hood to score some rock.
Instead I smiled at myself and got my ass back to the pad. There were two messages on the machine.
"You better had sent some money, Zelmont." Terri was all class. Then she put some sugar in her voice. "Why don't you come down here and spend some time with me and your son? You should make an effort." I was. I was trying to get my career going again.
The other message was from Alicia. "Don't be late for mija's funeral, Zelmont. It's at St. Benedict's at 10 this Saturday Don't forget, you understand."
I sank into the couch, sipping on a jolt of V.S.O.P, and nodded off. I woke to some knocking and got up slow, my hip having stiffened. I opened the door to see Fahrar's silly mug.
"Why don't you go roust some hoes on Spring Street?"
"There's always more fun at Zelmont's pad." He made to enter, but I didn't move out of the way "May I come in?"
"You think you like Dracula, don't you? Ask some moron to let you in and that way you say later in court you was just talkin' to me, like I voluntarily asked you inside my house." I'd had enough dealing with the law to know what was what. "If you ain't here to arrest me, then you best get to steppin'."
He fooled with his hat. "Why'd you bring up court, you got something you need to tell me?"
"Tell you like you deaf, home. I got shit I got to do."
"Like work on your alibi?"
"Work on my chill. See ya." I closed the door and sat down again. He was letting me know he was gonna stay on my jock like a bad rash. But there wasn't nothing he could really do to me. He didn't have anything 'cept his own hard-on about me being a player and him not.
I took a long drink of my brandy and put my head back. On the ceiling a daddy longlegs made his way across, looking for grub. Being that size, the world must have seemed like this endless place with no way out. But if he found an ant or fly, he was the man. That spider would show 'em who was the eater and who was the eaten.
I knew exactly how he felt. It was feast time.
Chapter 7
There was more water flowing at Davida's funeral than a busted shower. Mostly it was Alicia, Isabel, and more cousins than any one family should have. The way the priest said his eulogy, you'd have thought she'd been giving out food and candy to kids in the streets. The picture they put on the front of the program book was one of the few from her portfolio where she hadn't turned on the sex. The photographer must have told her to go for the innocent look. That turns a lot of dudes on.
Like I figured, there were a couple of news crews there too. It wasn't Metro front page stuff, but there had been one item in the paper about her murder, with me linked to her. That's how them jokers at the Times put it, so you could read between the lines, nodding your head over morning coffee. "Yeah," they'd be saying, "we know that nigger did it." Uh huh.
"Zelmont, isn't it strange that this happens after your return to Los Angeles." It was that uptight skank Lisa Choo from Channel 5.
"I think it's a tragedy." I was using the lines from the second episode of that show I did for a hot minute on the WB. The one where my best friend from the old neighborhood is killed. "The police must find who did this."
"You have any ideas?"
Jam that mike up your drawn-up ass. "No, but of course I'll do everything in my power to see that Davida's death is answered for." That sounded pretty good. Her sister was looking at me, dabbing at her red eyes.
Afterwards, we gathered at Isabel's swank pad in Montebello.
There were hip-hoppers, cholos from the old 'hood, other chicks like Davida who had booty but little talent. They were all yappin' at each other, mixing English and Spanish. I stepped out on the patio to get some air. I'd done my duty, been seen in public at the funeral to stall out speculation and finger pointing.
There were people out in the yard too, holding onto paper plates with food or sipping on soda and juice. Isabel had a golden retriever that romped around, wagging its tail and barking to get your attention.
"I was kinda surprised to see you at the funeral." Isabel had come up beside me so quiet, I hadn't heard the sliding glass door open.
/> "What are you talking about, girl?" She was looking good. Women in black dresses and nylons always got me charged.
She flicked her head to one side. "You didn't love her."
"I didn't hate her."
"You played rough." She gave me that fake innocent look her sister had on the cover of the funeral program.
"How would you know?" I got closer.
Before I could get an answer, Alicia stepped outside.
Her daughter put on the right face and placed her arms around her mother's waist. "It's okay, mama, it's going to be okay"
Alicia used a soggy Kleenex to tap at her eyes. "It's just so wrong, isn't it, Zelmont?"
"Yes it is." I tried to keep from looking at Isabel's legs.
"I think it was one of those crazy rappers she was hanging around with," her mother went on. "All the time singing about killing policeman and doing terrible things to women." Her whole body shook. ''I told that officer that too."
I was surprised Fahrar hadn't come to the funeral, hoping I'd break down crying and make a confession at the graveside. "He's steady on the case, he'll find out who did this."
She reached out a hand and I had to take it. The three of us stood there like we were in one of Nap's self-realization meetings. I looked over Alicia's head at Isabel. She just stared at me, making me work to get inside her head.
I stayed around a little while more, then split. I didn't get a chance to say much else to Isabel, but she gave me her business card, the home phone number written on the back. I drove out to the Valley to see how Nap was getting on.
''Mr. Raines, Mr. Raines." Burroughs came up to me, his boat end of a face yellow from whatever narcotics he was currently popping. "Your smile is your umbrella today, isn't it?" He used his bony fingers to feel the material of my sleeve. "Dark material becomes you."
"Where's Nap, doc? You got him hooked up to one of your joy juice IVs?"
He leaned back, holding his hands in front of his long body. "Such a mordant wit."
He was too much. Burroughs buttoned up his sport coat. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth like he was looking for a taste he couldn't get enough of. "Nap's out jogging. Should be back in a few ticks, I believe you'd say" He turned away, and a dude I recognized from one of those hot sheet soap operas they got on at night came shuffling out of a side hall. He was in a silk bathrobe and ratty-ass slippers with an old school small-brim hat on his head. He went up to the doc looking like a lost dog.
"I'm paying premium dollars for you to take care of me." He played a spoiled rich boy on the show, and now I could see it wasn't much of a stretch for him. Burroughs leaned into him, putting his arm around his waist like he was a hottie. He planted that skull's smile of his on the dude, his eyes glittering like I'd seen psychotic linemen get after taking a running back's head off.
"Yes, of course, young sir, Doctor Burroughs is only here to accommodate you. Yes, of course."
The kid bobbed his head up and down like that's the way it was supposed to be. Burroughs put an arm on his shoulder and walked him down the hall. He looked back at me, a nothing emotion on his face. Then the doc followed the young actor into his room.
I found Nap doing cool-down stretches on the side of the clinic, in a kind of garden area with orange and purple flowers. The only thing I knew the name of was the cactus. There was a lot of cactus.
"You back on it, huh?"
"Getting there. Wilma told me your tryouts have been going good."
He left words hanging off the end of what he'd said. "Looks like I'll get to the exhibition games, then should be gettin' my slot on the regular."
Nap rotated his big shoulders and crossed his legs at the ankles. He bent over, his palms flat to the ground. "What about Rudy?"
"What about him? Danny only capped one of his boys. You said yourself it was just business. Well, now he understands we can't be punked."
Nap straightened up. "We?"
"I get on the Barons, I got bread. I got scratch, I'm a partner, right?"
Nap rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "I wish it were that simple, Zelmont. I'm into Chekka large."
"Yeah, so, I know that."
"So why in the hell would Stadanko let you on the team when he's in bed with his cousin? Neither one is gonna be willing to let you butt fuck them and take what they want for your own."
"They don't want the Locker Room, do they?" I asked. "It's money the two of them greedy fucks want."
Nap started walking, his hands on his hips. "I'm not sure, Zee. It would make sense for them to want the club it's a happening venue and washing money through it would be easy. Plus the joint gives them an excuse to rub shoulders with all kinds of people Chekka can get his hooks into." He worked his jaw muscles. "I originally assumed Rudy had me snatched on his own"
"Yeah," I blurted, interrupting him as I walked beside him. "The way Wilma broke it down to me, Rudy's the sure-nuff gangster and Stadanko's just a prop."
The big man was quiet, then said, "Stadanko may have more to do with his cousin's business than Wilma thinks. And anyway, after y'all rescued me I was going to close the place down, but I realized that would be a mistake. I can't show weakness to Stadanko or Chekka. On the other hand, I need to lay low for a while to get back in peak form and set things up for the job."
We had stopped in front of a window with the blinds shut inside. Suddenly Burroughs looked out through a slat, his eyes roving over us. He winked and shut the blinds again.
I tugged on Nap's buffed arm, pulling him away from the window and the doc's big ears. "You and Wilma gonna try and rip homeboy off?"
Nap let the band holding his dreadlocks they were sky blue today loose. He shook his head and they whipped around like they were insect antennas. "It'll work, Zee. The way she's put it together, we take his money, put the feds onto him, and Chekka goes running too." He stopped, putting a hand on each of my shoulders, his face close to mine.
"I got no choice on this, man. These business talks of his are going to escalate, you dig? Bodies gonna start droppin', and I don't intend it to be me or Danny" He showed his gums and teeth. "Plus, I got an inside straight that's a thriller-diller." He threw back his head and laughed. We started walking again.
"This is my time, Nap," I said, excited. "I been lookin' good out there, man. My shit is back and I'm not going to fuck it up this go-round. I can't, this is my last chance, you know that. Stadanko don't give a fuck we bopped his cousin's boys. What's-his-face, the one that was grubbin' while they were working you over, said it was just business. No harm, no foul in our world, right?"
"You trying to convince me or yourself, Zee?"
I felt like running away from him and this whole crazy thing sucking me in. "You gonna bust this move during the season?"
"Best time to do it, home. Stadanko does want a winner, he'll be into the games. That's the best time to hit him."
"Fuck." Even if I wasn't involved, Stadanko was naturally gonna think I had a hand in this mess. And Nap knew I sure wasn't gonna call him up and tell him about this foolishness. At least I hope he believed that.
"You gonna have the club knee-deep in Danny's Victoria Avenue Rolling Daltons? That ain't good for pullin' in the public."
"Only temporarily," he said coldly.
"I'm out of this, Nap, you understand?" I yelled. "I'm the fuck out of this and y'all on your own on this shit."
"That's a mistake, Zee," he said calmly.
I stomped off, my hands and arms in the air like I could wave it all away "You and Wilma do what you're gonna do, I'll do what's right for me. We don't know each other, dig?"
I booked from the Seven Souls Clinic in a hurry. Zooming along the Hollywood Freeway, I couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how fast I drove, I'd never get far enough away.
Chapter 8
Three weeks later I was in top shape and had passed every goddamn random drug test they used to trap me. The first one that afternoon during the walk-on period had me worried. But not
having tried too much of Wilma's crank that past night, and burning it off in my system, was the smartest thing I could have done. Plus I'd drank lots of water and taken a whole mess of vitamin C for absorption, and some B-2 to make sure my urine was yellow. Them lab motherfuckahs get suspicious if your pee is too clear. The water helps dilute the shit in your system along with sweating it off. Good thing crank burns off cleaner than boo.
The physical was another matter.
The fibula had been giving me a little trouble, but it worked great the day I had to get on the treadmill. In the old days teams had one pill roller and maybe his assistant. If you and he were on the same wavelength, certain things could be forgiven. Especially if you were a multi-million dollar stroker and were bringin' in the ducats, including his salary bumps.
The new thing was a roomful of these sports medicine types, women too. They had their machines, their electronic scopes, and their charts and graphs and clipboards telling me how and what a muscle should do and when. They'd X-rayed my leg and hip from different angles, slapping electrodes on different parts of my leg when they'd done it.
Their results only told Coach Cannon what he must have learned from the Barcelona Dragons' medical exam.
"Zelmont, this tendon strain on your hip is exacerbated by contact, and you know that." Cannon scratched at his chest with one of his big hairy hands.
"Stress on the abdominal musculature too," I said, having memorized the words. "The ligaments are strained in my thigh and the fibula has bone chips. I know all that, coach. Your docs told you all that too. But there are days I'm duckin' and dodgin' like ten years ago. You seen me out there, you know."
Me and Cannon were standing near the locker room. From inside I could hear the sounds of the men getting dressed for practice. "They say if you keep this up, osteoarthritis will surely be the result before you're fifty, Zelmont."
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