Country Plus grinned. I gave you that one, he said. Felt sorry for you. He took the ball in. Lifted off his toes for the jumper. Jesus caught the ball in the palm of his hand, midflight, fly to fly strip. Swatted the ball to Freeze, who lifted for the easy basket.
You got lucky on that one, Country Plus said. He looked Jesus flush in the face.
Guess so, Jesus said.
Mad Dog fired the ball to Country Plus. Country Plus crouched low in the dribble, challenging Jesus.
Pass the ball, Country.
Nigga, stop showin out.
Jesus punched the ball from between his legs, scooped it up, and arched it into the net.
Country looked at Jesus, anger and frustration concealed like fishhooks in his eyes.
Thunderbird inbounded the ball to Mad Dog, who bounced it in MD 2020’s direction. Jesus hopped on the ball mid-air, squeexed it tight between his thighs, and rode it for a second or two like a bucking bull. Country Plus faced him, crouched, arms out, yellow sweat covering his forehead. Jesus bobbed and weaved, then broke for the basket, elbows working, tearing off a layer of Country’s flesh. Jesus soared in solar heat — he could stay up in the air long as he wanted — gave niggas plenty time to count each tread mark on his rubber soles. He looked down on the basket miles below him, and released the ball like a bomb.
Okay, okay. Don’t get happy. Game ain’t over.
Country Plus planted his feet, tent in a field. Wind, Jesus blew him flat. Jumped for the shot. The ball hit the rim. Bounced. Once. Twice. Freeze snatched the rebound. The enemy unit trapped him within a wall of raised arms. Freeze fired the ball to No Face. Perfect pass. Except No Face was three seconds behind the ball.
Bitch, Freeze said.
Damn you slow, Jesus said.
Bitch, Keylo said, you better stop fuckin up. Or I’ll wrap my dick around yo head like a turban.
No playin bitch, Jesus said. Sweat dribbled down his nose, his mouth, his chin, every inch of his skin, every cell flooded with the energy of the game, the rhythm of his breathing. He studied his heart’s double beat. Defense. That was the key. Offense through defense. Offense through defense. Fundamental. Time and distance. Count the pauses between bounces. Feel the game, deep down, somewhere behind the belly, near the lungs. Play as you breathe.
Country Plus rose like a wave for the basket, and Jesus chopped him down with one stroke.
Damn!
Jesus dunked and almost threw himself through the hoop. He landed on the court with easy footing, tiptoes, a ballerina.
That’s game.
We won.
Country Plus lay flat and still on the concrete, like something you could stick a fork into. Mad Dog extended an aiding hand. MD 2020 and Thunderbird followed his lead, but Country Plus slapped their hands away, then raised himself warily, like someone trying to stand up on a rocking boat.
Next time, Country.
Next time.
Good game.
Yeah, Country said. Good game. He studied Jesus with nonforgetting, nonforgiving eyes. Good game. Catch yall later. He turned and led his unit from the court, parading his anger and his wound.
Jesus gave Freeze a high five, palms slapping. Slapped some skin with Keylo and No Face. Memory warm like sweat on his skin, of the Funky Five Corners — John, Lucifer, Spokesman, Ernie, Dallas — celebrating a victory.
You play a strong game, Freeze said. He greeted Jesus with a quick hug.
Yeah, Keylo said. He removed his pilot’s cap, exposing a thick wave of greased hair, raised and stiff, a parrot’s comb. He turned the cap upside down and dumped out a gallon of sweat. Liked the way you conned them mark niggas, actin like you couldn play at first. He fit the pilot’s cap back snugly on his head.
You got it going on like a big fat hard-on.
Jesus said nothing. He wanted more game.
Straight up. Hard.
Ain’t no man, woman, or beast can beat me, Jesus said, words warm with his heart’s heat.
You got that right.
Word.
You the man.
Aw, Freeze, No Face said. You don’t know him from Adam. This nigga can tell some stories.
Stories? What kinda stories?
Like—
Like the time he fucked yo mamma.
No Face looked at Freeze.
Keylo twisted off the metal cap on a cloudy, missile-shaped forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor. Threw his head back and gulped down the liquid, Adam’s apple working. A big booty switched by. Some bitch got a big booty around here.
Keylo, Freeze said, you got no class.
Freeze, you know I’m a dog.
Yeah. Sniffin a bitch’s ass.
No Face burped some laughs.
Tell one of them stories.
Later for that, Jesus said.
Nawl, tell one.
You really want to hear one?
Straight up.
Word.
All ears.
Aw ight. Why not? Once upon a time, this nigga went to this bitch’s house. Her daddy come to the do. The nigga be like, I come to see your daughter Sally. The father let him in. Sally roll into the room.
Roll? Keylo hunkered down to listen.
Yeah, in a wheelchair. See, she ain’t have no legs. Got nubs up to here. Jesus put the edges of his hands at the knees.
Damn. Head bent in listening.
Check it.
And she ain’t have no arms. Nubs. Right here. Jesus put the edge of his hand at his elbow.
Shit.
What kind of bitch …
And she had this special wheelchair and all she had to do was throw her hips like this. Jesus demonstrated.
Oh, I see. One of them. Big-booty bitch.
Mad back.
Word.
Lumpin.
So the father say, Yall gon out in the backyard and talk. So the nigga and the crippled bitch go out. So he start kickin it to her. And she get hot, but she ain’t never been fucked before. How you gon fuck a bitch with nubs? So the nigga see this clothesline stretched across the backyard. He gets an idea. He grabs two clothespins, then he takes the bitch out of the chair and pins one nub arm to the line, then pins the other nub arm to the line. He props an old wood barrel under her butt. Then he bump her from the back.
Damn!
Word!
Bumped that crippled bitch!
After he nut, he zip up his pants. Then he be like, See ya. Her father come out and find her three hours later. Pinned to the clothesline.
Laughter bounces around the court. Jesus is deep into it too, rejoicing from the gut.
And he left her like that?
Word.
Cold-blooded.
Hanging on the clothesline.
Word.
Heart.
But, nigga — Keylo shoved No Face’s head back — that wasn’t no joke.
You don’t know me from Adam. I ain’t said nothing bout no joke. I said a lie.
Bitch, stop lyin. Keylo stuck a big eyedropper into the forty and suctioned up liquid into the tube. When the dropper was full, he craned back his head, poked the dropper in his mouth, and squeezed liquid from the flooded ball at the dropper’s end.
Funny story, Freeze said. He took Jesus’s shoulders into the circle of his arm. Jesus saw that his own feet were no longer touching the ground. He bobbed in the air, bobbed in the circle of Freeze’s sweat-warm arm. He could stay here, forever, and hang. Hang. Freeze released his shoulders. Anchorless now, Jesus concentrated, concentrated so as not to float away. Freeze walked a few steps, then turned to Jesus’s trailing eyes. Keylo, he said, go to the sto fo me.
Damn, Freeze. I wanna check out another one of them jokes. Lies. Stories.
Me too, No Face said.