He sat against the fence, his flabby chest straining the buttons on his Karl Kani shirt. "I'll get your money." He held up a protesting hand with a gold ring on each fat finger.
"Gimme those for collateral."
"Aw, home, Moms gave me these as family keepsakes." He rubbed the rings with his other hand like he was gonna transport somewhere else.
"Look here, Kelrue. I put up 40K for your rap record label thing and ain't had nothing to show for it 'cept reachin' a disconnected number when I try callin' you these last few months."
He finally stood up, squawking. "Shit, Zee, used to be you wouldn't blink about no chump change thousand dollars or so."
He was right, which just got me madder. On my last go-round on a crack binge, I'd signed a check to Kelrue while I was more focused on getting my pipe lit. He used to be one of my go-boys go get this, go get that and hell, it had seemed like a good plan. Then.
"It's been two years. You played me, man." I backed off some in case the chump tried to book again.
"Aw, brah, you was handin' out cash to them hang-on punks on the go. Me, I had a for-real business plan for In the Cut Records.
We had talent lined up, fine-ass girls for the videos. We even put together a couple of CDs."
Kelrue's features were tiny, swimming in the round baby fat of his overstuffed head. There was something about the way he screwed up his face that always made me want to believe him. "Yeah, I remember goin' to a release party or some such."
"Yeah," Kelrue shook his big head, doing the sad act. "But you wasn't the only one to put money in, man. Napoleon, Scottie, DeJesus, they all ponied up the ducats. Hell, I put my own bank in too." He tapped his chest over and over like Mighty Joe Young to show me how sincere he was.
"So what, man? I have to hear from the streets you was back in Philly a few months ago." I leaned against the fence, my mad-on cooling down. "You should have told someone."
"What could I do, Zee? Them sharks in the record business buttfucked me with no Vaseline. Studio costs, engineer costs, processing the videos, plus putting Gs on the mike who was one day slangin' and the next thinking jus' 'cause they made one record, they was all that. What did I know about running a business?"
"But the business plan was tight on paper."
"You didn't think I did that, did you?"
"You showed it off like you did." A cop car rolled past, the uniforms mad-doggin' us. They made the corner and went on.
"Man, you know you got to front. Got a cousin in the MBA program at 'SC. She helped me write it up. But I thought I had the contacts to make it happen. Pretty soon, I was in deep. What could I do but keep tryin' to get something out that would bring the rest of the company up?"
"Yeah, keep goin' forward." I'd actually forgotten for a while about the money I'd loaned Kelrue. I was so doped up, a lot of what happened then is buried in brain fog. Three years ago I'd been bounced from the Falcons for failing my random drug test. The following year, I'd gotten a month-to-month with the Ravens, but then blew out my hip in a game against Pittsburgh. And I was shoveling out buckets of money to lawyers fighting a charge of statutory sodomy rape. "But now's different, man."
"I thought you was still overseas." He scratched at his head.
"Just got back yesterday." He looked like he was expecting me to go on, but why in hell did I have to explain anything to him?
"Oh, I see," he said, as if he did. "Look here, Zee. I ain't got your funds no more than I can make a toad go meow. Why you think I been layin' low for all these months?"
"The point is, I invested in you, Kelrue. You supposed to be responsible."
"Why just me?" he squawked. "Shit, you lent money to Choo Choo, Lemon, Big Pockets… "
"Nigga, I know who the fuck's got my money," I shouted. "Don't you think I'm gonna collect on all them punks? You just been the easiest to find."
"Aw," he did a turn on his heel, grabbing the top of his head. "That motherfuckah Danny finked me out, didn't he? He's still upset 'cause I messed with Tori, that fine Filipina Baronette he's been tryin' to get next to."
Danny Deuce had left a message on my machine. Two weeks ago he'd actually seen the cable broadcast of the game against the Rhine Fire where my hip had been knocked out of place again. Now I knew why he'd dropped a dime. "About my money, man."
"Zelmont, I ain't got it. And it don't seem like I'm gonna get it anytime quick. Why the fuck would I be livin' here back in the 'hood if I was still a player? You can see I ain't got shit."
"What about what you owe me? How do I recover?"
"Zee, all I can say is you need to see your partner, Napoleon. He opened a club called the Locker Room downtown near the Staples Center where the Lakers, them sorry-ass Kings, and the pathetic Clippers play. The place is jumpin', homes."
I hadn't seen Napoleon Graham since last year. At the time, he'd been talking about maybe opening a night spot. "What's that do for me?"
"You and he is boys," Kelrue snapped.
"Gimme two of them rings."
He stamped on the ground. "Damn, Zee."
"Damn nothing. You signed a contract, boy. You gonna honor that paper. We gonna work out a payment plan, and this is the first installment." I stuck out a hand and gave him my game face.
He was deciding whether to swing and see where it got him. But I knew he wouldn't. Kelrue started to twist off the ring on his little finger.
"Not that gangrene-turnin' bullshit," I said. "Gimme the one with the diamond shaped like a triangle in it and that rope gold, baby."
That fight look came back and I grinned at him to say bring it on. Kelrue grumbled but forked over the two rings. "Next month, let's have some cash," I said. I put the items in my pocket and started to walk away.
"You used to be the one, Zelmont. You used to have me lookin' up to you," Kelrue whined.
I used to have a $7 million deal and get a signing bonus worth more than my entire Barcelona Dragons salary. I used to not have to settle for $17,000 a game like I did playing for the third-rate Dragons. I used to be a lot of things.
I drove past the rear of the Coliseum on Vermont, the home of the Barons. Last season they were 9-6, and word was they'd take division this season. The retracting dome with the hole in the top they'd put over the joint was sparkling chrome-gray in the daylight. Soon there'd be large crowds in there to see the third season of the expansion football team that had been formed in L.A. A homegrown team more loyal than the Raiders, who, like the scrubs they were, had left town. I could almost hear people cheering and high-fivin' as a dude makes a spectacular catch and cakewalks into the end zone.
There were some black and Mexican kids playing touch football on the grass on the Exposition Park side of the stadium. I pulled to the curb and watched them for a while. Then I went over to the Four Stars pawn shop on Western and got money for the rings.
Chapter 2
Davida was bent over the chair in the living room, her purple skirt hiked up over her tight brown butt. She had on a pair of those black thong panties the President likes, and I was yanking on them as I jugged her coochie from behind. The muscles in her buffed arms stood out all sculpted-like as she braced against the top of the chair.
"I missed you, Zelmont," she gushed.
I slapped her ass and she moaned. I slapped it harder several times, making it blush. She moaned some more as I did her from behind. That's my girl. Damn. I felt like a million bucks. "I'm about ready to bust, baby."