Ball Don't Lie (18 page)

Lincoln Rec Shuts

down at eight on most nights. That’s what the sign on the door says: HOURS OF OPERATION—10 AM TO 8 PM. But when closing time rolls around and the games are still solid, Jimmy’s pretty flexible. He’ll handle other business first: tally up the books or post new gym announcements. Help pass out bused-in meals to the homeless. Some nights he doesn’t start kicking guys out until well after ten.

But today’s a different situation.

It’s a quarter past five and Jimmy’s taping a cardboard sign on the door that says in thick black marker: GYM CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. When he gets the sign up sturdy, he turns around and scans the parking lot. He spies all the guys jiving around Big Mac’s Caddy and shakes his head, says under his breath:
B-b-bunch a kn-kn-kn-knuckleheads
.

Then he slips back into the gym, shuts and locks the door behind him.

Dallas steps up to the snack cart and tells the Mexican vendor he wants three waters. When the vendor says how much, he pulls a soggy five out of his sock and hands it over. He takes the waters and his change and tells Sticky and Dante he has some chairs stashed behind the gym. Then he hands them both a bottle and leads them around the corner.

There are four plastic chairs stacked between some overgrown bushes and the back wall of the gym. Dallas pulls out three and brushes off the leaves and spiderwebs. Sets them up as far away from the big trash receptacles as he can get.

Sticky sits down and tosses his bag on the ice plant, listens to the buzzing Rob’s fist has left in his ear. Runs a couple fingers over the three or four lumps on the back of his head.

Dante swallows some of his water and sets the bottle down next to his chair. He checks his right hand, shakes it out and checks again: there are a couple small nicks on his knuckles from Rob’s teeth.

Sticky sets his water down and looks at Dante’s hand too.
Your hand messed up?
he says.

Nah,
Dante says, and he stretches out his fingers.
This is
what you gonna deal with when you dot a man in his mouth
. He picks up his bag and pulls open the zipper.
I just hope
that dude don’t got AIDS
.

The tall gym has the sun blocked out, but the air is still warm and thick. It brings out the sour smell of the overflowing trash bins, where buzzing flies dip in and out in clusters. Dallas wipes beaded sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Dante pulls a towel from his bag and wipes down his face and arms. Through a seam in the buildings, Sticky watches all the businesspeople filing out of their big glass building. Loosening their ties and marching toward their shiny cars. Women fan themselves with magazines and everybody chirps their alarm before reaching for a door handle.

You did good today, young Stick,
Dante says.
You stood
up for yourself, and I’m proud of you
. He throws a playful little jab that glances off Sticky’s chin. Sticky smiles and looks at the ground. He takes a sip of water and screws the cap back on.

Hit em right in his neck,
Dallas says.
Last place somebody
wants to get hit
.

That’s right,
Dante says.

An old homeless white woman staggers past pushing a cart. Her eyes half-closed and empty. Mouth moving without sound. She holds a hand out as she passes. When nobody makes the move to give up any change, she continues by, parks her cart near the trash receptacles and reaches two hands into the mess. As she digs around, her soiled jeans slip down her backside.

Ah, man,
Sticky says, pointing at the spectacle.

Come on, lady,
Dante says, and he puts a hand up to shield his eyes.
Get em up!

The woman reaches back with one hand and pulls her jeans up. But when she goes back to the trash, they immediately start the slow slide back down.

Go on, old lady,
Dante says, laughing.
Ain’t nobody tryin
to look at that old flea-bitten ass
.

She pulls two cans from the trash and sets them in her cart. Continues forward. Holds her jeans up with one hand and steers with the other. The sound of her rattling cart becomes more and more faint after she rounds the corner of the gym, out of sight.

She don’t know no better,
Dallas says.
That’s all
. He reaches into his bag and pulls out some foil and a pack of Zigs. Opens the foil and drops a clump of brown weed into his palm. He rolls it, lines it and licks it.
She just tryin to get
herself some cans,
he says.

Dante throws his towel back in his bag. He takes out a baseball cap and pulls it low over his forehead.
You can get a
couple cans without showin everybody the goods, right?

It ain’t easy livin on the street,
Dallas says.

No, I ain’t arguin that,
Dante says.

People get all weird, Sticky says. Look at Crazy Ray. He takes in another sip of water and swooshes it around in his mouth, spits it out.
Why you always helpin that old dude
out, Dallas?

Dallas shrugs his shoulders and pulls out a yellow lighter. He flicks the fire on, cups his free hand to block the wind and lights the joint. He sucks in deep and passes to Dante.

Dante pulls in a drag, holds the smoke in long and then lets it slip out over his lips.

Sticky stares at all the years of graffiti spray-painted up and down the back wall of the gym. Ten years of gang names, he thinks. Fifteen. All the different colors on top of each other turning the white wall brown. Anything over six months old has been crossed out or covered up by something new. And then Rob’s face flashes though his mind. The glimpse he got of Rob’s expression through the flurry of punches coming at the back of his head, his face. And to get Rob out of his mind he thinks back on all those hours he spent painting over graffiti walls just like this one when he did his community service. The burn in his shoulders, the ache in his feet. It didn’t sound so bad when the judge gave his ruling: 100 hours of community service instead of jail time. But those ten-hour Saturdays were no joke. Painting up and down, side to side, standing on ladders all day, the brush turning so heavy in his hand he could hardly keep it above his head.

He reaches down to untie his laces. When loose laces don’t feel quite right he ties up and unties again. Turns a little to the side so Dante and Dallas won’t recognize his process. Ties up and unties.

Ties up and unties.

Ties up and unties.

Ties up and unties.

Dante passes back to Dallas and pulls a clean shirt out of his bag. He peels off his sweaty shirt and says:
It’s survival of
the fittest out here, man. Too many people
. He slips the clean shirt over his muscled-up black shoulders. Takes his shoes and socks off and slides his feet into Nike sandals.

You say you wanna make it playin ball, right?
Dante says.
And you good, Stick. I ain’t gonna take nothin away, your
game is real tight. But it’s more than that. Every one a these
guys wanted to make it playin ball. What makes you any different? What separates you?

Sticky nods his head.

Look at Dallas here,
Dante says.
How much you wanna bet
he thought he was gonna make it too. And you seen his
broke game
.

Now wait a minute, D,
Dallas says, waving his hand in the air and laughing.
I didn’t play no overseas like you, but I
gets mine out there. You know that
.

I’m playin, money. You all right
. Dante takes the joint, lights and sucks in. He holds the hit in his lungs and passes to Dallas. Blows out.
I’m just lettin you know, Stick, you can’t
back down from nobody on the court. I used to fight three or
four times a week when I was comin up. And I was skinny, too.
Like you. Sometimes cats would beat my ass, man. I’m not
gonna lie. But them same cats found out quick, if anybody ever
came at me, there was definitely gonna be some fightin
.

Sticky nods his head.

That fight with Rob,
Dante says.
I’m gonna tell you right
now, there’s gonna be more where that came from
.

Especially cause you white,
Dallas says.
Brothers don’t like
no white boy makin em look bad playin ball
.

That’s right,
Dante says.

Damn,
Dallas says, fumbling what’s left of his joint.
That’s the only stuff I got
. He gets on his hands and knees and digs through the ice plant looking for it.

Look at you, man,
Dante says.
Like a damn crackhead
. He and Sticky both laugh.

Dallas finds the joint and sits back in his chair. He flicks off a little mud hanging from the tip and pulls a roach clip from his bag.
What?
he says, looking up at Sticky and Dante.
I don’t even care
. He lights up and pulls in as much smoke as he can get.

Dante reaches into his bag and pulls out his watch. When Sticky sees the watch a wave of panic rushes over him and he straightens up quick in his chair.
D, what time
you got?

Almost six,
Dante says.
And, that’s right, Stick, you still
ain’t done nothin about no birthday gift
.

Whose birthday?
Dallas says.

His old lady’s,
Dante says.

Stick, you messin up, man
. Dallas laughs and tosses the lighter back in his bag.

Sticky stands up, pulls his Walkman out of his bag and puts the phones around his neck.
I gotta go,
he says.
I gotta
jog home right now
.

Don’t sweat it,
Dante says.
I’ll give you a ride
. He leans back in his chair.
But chill a minute. Sit down. Let’s discuss
what options you got
.

How much time’s left?
Dallas says.

Until she gets off work at nine,
Sticky says.

How long you been together?
Dante says.

Over six months. I got it handled, though.

What you got handled, boy?
Dante says.

I’m swipin this bracelet from Macy’s.

Macy’s?
Dallas says.
You know department stores got all
kinda security, right?

Sticky nods.

I’m just sayin,
Dallas says,
my dawg just got busted at a department store. He was tryin to make off with a toaster oven
and security tackled him just as he was steppin into the parking lot
.

I hear you,
Sticky says.
But I got a plan
.

Dallas rolls his eyes and laughs.
Oh, I see, Stick, you got
a plan
.

While Sticky and Dallas go back and forth a little, Dante leans forward in his chair straight-faced and kicks Sticky in his leg, tells him:
Yo, it’s me, I might mess around and rob
somebody
.

What?
Sticky says.

Back in my day I’d have probably hunted down some
rich cat, stuck a knife to his throat and told him to give me
his wallet.

You crazy, Dallas says. Sticky don’t know nothin about
muggin nobody. He ain’t got no experience
.

I ain’t sayin for him to do it,
Dante says.
I’m just sayin
what I’d do. If I had some cash I’d figure I could buy the
bracelet and take my girl out to a nice little dinner somewhere.
Italian. And some cats, man, they got enough extra cash that
they could fund a little somethin like that
.

Nah,
Sticky says.
I wouldn’t wanna rob somebody. That
ain’t right. Stores, man, they don’t even know the difference,
but robbin a person ain’t right
.

What’s the difference between stealin from a store and
stealin from some rich cat?
Dante says.
Huh, Stick? Explain
your logic behind that last statement
.

Sticky looks up at Dante and thinks hard about it for a minute. He says:
Cause stealin from a store isn’t as bad
.

But why?
Dante says.
I want to hear your reasoning
.

I don’t know,
Sticky says.
It just isn’t
.

Damn, boy,
Dante says, shoving his shoes and socks in his bag.
You ain’t listened to a word I said since I met you
.

Yeah, I have,
Sticky says.

You heard me talkin, but was you listenin to my words?

Sticky looks at Dante, but he keeps his mouth closed this time. He can tell Dante’s getting frustrated, and that’s the last thing he wants. He thinks about the question again: What’s the difference between stealing from a store and stealing from some rich guy? Dante must think it’s the same thing, but why? It doesn’t make any sense.

Dallas sips his water quietly, glances back and forth between Sticky and Dante.

Dante picks up a stick and lobs it against the back of the gym, says:
I’m not sayin for you to do the shit. In fact, I’ll tell
you this right now, Stick: Don’t do it. For real. It ain’t in your
nature. But just hear me out for a minute. No matter how you
look at it, this ain’t no righteous world. It just ain’t. I mean,
there’s no debatin about that. The laws we operate under are
set up by those who have everything, in order to protect themselves from those who have nothing. That makes sense, right?
Now, let’s take me for example. When I was comin up on these
same Westside streets, I was one of the ones who had nothing.
Just the same as you. So it was up to me to find ways to acquire
the basic things that other people already had. That was my reality, and I understood the situation. Now, when you don’t got
enough to live an adequate life you can do one of two things:
either you can sit there and accept your fate, or you can do
somethin about it
. He shakes his head and leans back in his chair.
I chose to do somethin about it
.