Game On (9 page)

Xavier gave Dexter a “what part of be cool don't you understand?” look.

Sean Desmond pompously laughed like he had the whole world in the palm of his hand. “Good one,” he said to Dexter, still laughing. Sean looked over at his bodyguards. “You know . . . a simple order from me and they would make it hard for your mother to identify your remains, little boy.”

Xavier had to play this thing just right, because it had the potential to ignite into a swinging free-for-all of knuckles, caved-in teeth, and broken jaws.

“Come on, cuzzo,” said the goon standing to Sean's right, dressed in black Gucci sneakers, tan cargo shorts, and a matching top. “Let me smash these two cowards.”

Cash stood to Sean's left. “Sean, you and the bodyguards can fall back. No need to get y'all's hands dirty.” This one was wearing the opposite—tan sneakers, some black cargo shorts, and a top to match. “That's what you got us for. Taking care of that light work.”

The crowd around was pumped and seemed ready to get this potential crime scene on the road.

Xavier said to Sean, “Homeboy, outside of Samantha we haven't had any real beef.” He glanced at her. “You seem like you got that all sewed up now. So what's this really about?”

Before Sean could open his mouth, Samantha blasted Xavier. “ ‘Sewed up'? Let me tell you something, Xavier. I'm not a ‘that' or a piece of property. Maybe if you were a lot more goal-oriented and a little less ghetto we probably could've had a future.”

Samantha's words sliced through Xavier like a power saw through wood. He hadn't meant any disrespect. But Samantha's shot was vicious. Cut right through to the bone.

“Nah, you got it wrong, Ms. Fox. It was your father that was up in arms when he found out I was feeling you,” Xavier said before he knew it. “Dude is so intelligent when it comes to business, but I can't believe that he sucks so badly at being a good judge of character.”

Samantha yelled with tears in her eyes, “I should've had my head examined messing around with you, ghetto trash.”

Jennifer grabbed Samantha and tried to comfort her.

Tracy went off, though. “Better treasure those memories, boo,” she said to Xavier. “This will probably be the last time that your little hood rat behind comes anywhere near somebody like her again.”

A few minutes ago Xavier was thinking that Linus had jumped ship, like he'd done that day in the lunchroom when Bangs and her crew of scalawags had tried Dakota for the first time. He shook his head as Linus staggered through the crowd, pushing people out of the way.

At the sight of Linus Flip's bumbling approach, Sean Desmond's bodyguards became animated, like humongous stone statues springing to life.

“What's this?” Linus asked Xavier, stopping right next to him, swaying—his every clumsy movement screaming out, “I'm drunk as hell!” to everybody.

Sean Desmond laughed. “This supposed to be backup?” he asked Xavier with a hand up to his mouth, smirking. Then he turned to look at his entourage, waving his thumb in Linus's direction. “This is their backup, y'all.”

One of Sean's bodyguards yelled out, “Somebody get him to an AA class, and quick!”

Everybody was laughing, except Linus, Dexter, and Xavier. Linus Flip might've been hammered but he wasn't too smashed to steal on Sean, clocking him in the right eye with a straight jab. Nothing but pure chaos ensued.

Dakota bolted like she'd been instructed to, but not before witnessing Linus being knocked to the ground and disappearing behind sneakers and Timbs. Dex wasn't faring too well either. While two bodyguards were stomping, trying to make Linus a permanent fixture in the asphalt, Sean Desmond's two henchmen were wiping the floor with Dexter. Xavier was trying to hold his own against the biggest bodyguard—it wasn't happening, though. The punk's chin seemed like it had been made from titanium, the thing was so tough. Xavier's right and left combination would've been enough to put anybody else to sleep. Not this mug, though. Dude walked right through Xavier's punches. Immediately following, he delivered a straight right of his own and sent Xavier stumbling backward.

As bystanders scrambled across the parking lot, running for cover, the two security guards from earlier stayed out of the way. The only thing they could do was dial 911 and wait for the arrival of the Detroit police.

But Xavier didn't have too long to wait for reinforcements. His homeboy Bigstick showed up with the entire football team. They jumped into the skirmish, knuckles swinging.

The appearance of the first police cruiser was enough to stop the brawl and send everyone fleeing.

Working off pure adrenaline, Xavier staggered over to Dexter and helped his homie up from the ground. They ran, blending in with the others, all the way back to the silver Ford Fusion. Dakota was waiting by the car, trembling and shaking. The three of them jumped in and Xavier backed up and drove off, carefully maneuvering his way through frantic pedestrians. The parking lot was in complete chaos. But Xavier managed to stay calm and fought his way through car traffic. As soon as he hit open road, homeboy floored it.

Dakota's crib had been Xavier's first stop. He was now waiting on Dexter to get into the front door of his house. Xavier pulled away once his friend was safely inside. On the way back from the skating rink, the car had been silent. Nobody discussed any details. The soft hum of acceleration had been the only noise.

Ten thirty p.m. was the time on the digital clock in the dash. As he drove through the streets, Xavier struggled to put what happened into perspective. All it probably would've taken to dead the whole situation was he and Samantha leading by example and talking some sense into their friends. But instead they'd allowed themselves to get sucked up into the craziness. Truths had been spoken in anger. Words that couldn't be taken back. As a result, feelings were hurt. Physical damage had been done. The blood on the Kleenex Xavier was holding up to his left nostril was proof. And poor Dexter would probably have to disguise his black eye with sunglasses for the next week. There was no way of knowing what type of injuries Flip had sustained. And it was no better for him. The whole thing was his fault anyway. They probably could've squashed the beef if Linus hadn't dotted Sean's eye. Flip would have some explaining to do tomorrow, like why he couldn't keep the liquor bottle away from his lips. Dude had a straight-up drinking problem, and Xavier was going to get to the bottom of it.

Xavier was stopped at a traffic light on a major street when a black car with dark tinted windows pulled up on his right-hand side. He was too mentally and physically spent to pay attention to anything else but the traffic light. Call it intuition, but whatever it was caused Xavier to look in that direction. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have seen the driver's window halfway down on the Mercury and the pistol pointed at his head.

The first shot exploded Xavier's front passenger glass. He wasn't sticking around to see if he was hit. He got low, cutting the steering wheel hard to the left and flooring the gas pedal. The Ford jerked and spun out of control, moments later hitting a parked car, throwing him forward. There was another loud explosion. Xavier couldn't tell if it was a second gunshot because of the noise made by the air bag deploying, blowing up in his face. As he slowly drifted into unconsciousness, the only thing he could hear was tires screeching and the sound of a car speeding off into the distance.

12

SAMANTHA

 

D
ance had been Samantha's last class of the day. She was now hanging out in the back of the school with Tracy and Jennifer while waiting on her ride. Students were walking home in crowds.

The weather forecasters could be jerks sometimes in getting the weather report accurate, but when Samantha had stepped out to retrieve the
Detroit News
before breakfast early this morning, she found out that last night's weather prediction had been right on the money. Morning temps had been swimming around in the low 40s but gradually ascended throughout the day until reaching the chilly high of sixty-five.

The sudden drop in temperature had been Samantha's excuse to show off her new cute Gucci purchases. Between the three of them her ensemble leapt out and grabbed most of the spotlight. Samantha's hair hung in tight curls, stopping right at the shoulders of the black Gucci quilted leather biker jacket that hugged her ebony dimensions like the thing had been tailor-fitted. The same brand jeans firmly clung to her backside and snaked downward over the tops of black Gucci riding boots. The showstopper was her black Gucci swing leather tote, though. She'd been receiving mad props on the bag all day long.

An after-school job interview had Jennifer casually dressed in a black wrap pencil skirt, three-quarter-sleeve blazer, and three-inch heels. Tracy was chilling in a hooded jacket, stretch knit pants, and some kind of black futuristic sneakers that zipped up at the sides.

It'd been seventeen days since the skating rink brawl and it was still the hot topic around campus. But “Who shot Xavier?” was the million-dollar question that had staff and students chattering and trying to pick out an assailant from Xavier's long, steadily growing list of enemies.

“Gurl, you know the boy ain't nothing but a thug and he had it coming,” said Tracy. “Besides, he's the one that started the whole mess at the skating rink.”

Jennifer made that face at Tracy that girls make when a girlfriend stepped out of pocket to say something stupid.

“You don't own a heart, do you?” Jennifer asked Tracy. “You have a hole with an ice pump in it.”

“Which skating rink were you at?” Samantha asked Tracy. “You know Linus was responsible for throwing the first punch.”

“Y'all heffas are just soft,” said Tracy. “I could care one way or the other about a hood rat, especially when you have a man like Sean Desmond riding for you.”

“Is that all you think about . . . your own self?” Jennifer asked Tracy.

“Gurl, bye,” Tracy dismissively said, waving Jennifer off.

Since hearing the unfortunate news, Samantha had been crying on and off in secrecy. Tracy had been so negative about the incident that Samantha didn't want to let her know how the news had affected her. Plus, she didn't have the energy for an emotional tussle with her girl.

“Has anyone heard any updates on Xavier since this morning?” Samantha asked, trying to hide the emotion in her voice.

Tracy popped her lips sarcastically. “That's your old boo, gurl. Don't you still have his cell phone number?”

“When I heard about it I tried his cell a few times and it went straight to voice mail,” Samantha answered, like she was fighting back the tears.

Jennifer asked, “Don't you know where he lives?”

Samantha answered, “They recently moved and I never got a chance to visit his new house.”

“Dexter has been walking around campus looking like a sick puppy all day, why didn't either of you two geniuses ask him?” Tracy said. “He has to know something.”

Samantha was in the dark—matter of fact, the entire school seemed to be in the same fix. Nobody knew anything. The only information that had been leaked was that somebody had pulled alongside his car Friday night and opened fire. Her ex, for all she knew, was laid up in a hospital bed somewhere with tubes, wires, and all types of machinery dispensing, draining, and beeping in sync with his heart.

Samantha told Tracy, “I asked Dexter.”

“What did he say?” Jennifer wanted to know.

“Said he didn't know and walked away, like he was mad at me.”

Tracy butted in. “Why's he tripping? You didn't twist Xavier out.”

Jennifer shook her head at Tracy. “Samantha, do you think Sean had anything to do with it?”

“Of course not, Jen, don't be silly,” said Samantha. “Sean wouldn't risk his dream to do something that heinous.”

“He wouldn't, but what about the two bodyguards, Ozzie and Cash?” Jennifer asked.

“Don't go putting that sexy Ozzie on blast,” said Tracy. “Y'all already know that everybody had it out for Mr. Zulu.”

“That is true, Samantha,” Jennifer said. “It could've been anybody from Xavier's long list of enemies.”

Samantha was about to address Jennifer when a white Ferrari 599, top off, with red interior roared into the school parking lot. The students standing around stopped talking and let their eyes feast on the $200,000 whip as it maneuvered through traffic, high-performance engine revving, pulling neatly up to the curb alongside Samantha and her girls, skidding to a halt.

Sean Desmond looked up through the open roof at Samantha from behind high-priced designer shades. “Get in,” he said in a voice that sounded more like an order.

Samantha just looked at him, like the boy was out of his mind for speaking to her as if she was his property. She was about to check him until Tracy went all super groupie with it and started sweating the ride.

“Ooh-wee, this joint is on and poppin',” she raved, stepping off the curb and excitedly walking the length of the driver's side. “Sean, it looks like you just rolled right up off the set of a rap video, fam. This is straight beast mode.”

The smile across Sean's face showed the appreciation for Tracy's worship of his Italian sled. “Just treating myself because I landed a seven-figure deal with Nike,” Sean said with all the cockiness of a MLB rookie sensation.

“That's a nice car, Sean. Congratulations,” Jennifer complimented.

He said to Jennifer, “Thank you, Ms. Haywood.”

Tracy added, “Why don't you hook a sistah up with her own Ferrari, since you banking like that.”

Sean laughed at Tracy and ignored the small crowd starting to gather around the car, students with cell phones out and snapping pictures.

He looked at Samantha. “I'm sorry. Where are my manners?” The driver's door flung upward at an angle, causing a symphony of oohs and aahs to play out as Sean slid from behind the wheel and stepped out like a true boss. He stood tall, impeccably dressed in an expensive black business suit and leather Italian shoes.

Tracy was having a fit. The girl had both hands up to her mouth like they were a megaphone. “This joint is out cold. Let the record show that Sean Desmond only rolls in the very best.”

Sean walked around to the passenger door and opened it up. He elegantly waved an arm in Samantha's direction. “Baby, we have to hurry along. There's a team meeting I have to attend, and from there, we have dinner reservations.”

Samantha smiled and looked at Jennifer. “Looks like I'll be seeing you later, Jen.” She leaned in and whispered, “Text me if you hear anything else about Xavier.”

“You got it, girl,” said Jennifer.

Samantha walked up to the door, pointed at Tracy, who was still making a fool of herself over the car, and glanced back at Jennifer. “And do something about the gold digger.”

“Oh no, you didn't, boo-boo,” Tracy said, waving an index finger back and forth. “I ain't no gold digger. I just appreciate finely dressed gentlemen driving nice cars.”

Jennifer cracked up. She said, “Translation: gold digger.”

Samantha laughed as Sean closed the door behind her. He signed autographs for a couple of students and slid back behind the wheel, reaching up and closing the door. Sean revved up the engine and slowly pulled away.

 

The sun was going down around seven p.m. when Sean pulled up to a crowded valet at the restaurant. He nosed the Ferrari behind a brand-new Chevy Silverado with a beautiful burgundy paint job and a set of sparkling twenty-two-inch rims. Being that they were four cars down from being attended, Sean took the time to inquire about Samantha's gloomy mood.

He asked, “What's up with you, babe? You've been quiet ever since leaving Comerica Park.”

Xavier had been her first love. Of course she was quiet. How could she think of anything else when his condition was a complete mystery? While she'd been waiting in a comfortable lounge area until the team had finished the meeting, Samantha hadn't been able to resist the urge to try Xavier's phone again. Butterflies were still fluttering around in her stomach as she thought about the call going straight to voice mail, text messages unanswered.

Samantha was never one for biting her tongue. And she wasn't about to start now.

She asked Sean straight up, “I know you heard about Xavier. Did you have anything to do with it?”

He didn't answer right away, which made Samantha suspicious. Sean was looking away, like he was trying to concentrate on his place in line.

The boy wasn't getting off that easy. Samantha pressed, “I asked you did you and your thugs Ozzie and Cash have anything to do with what happened to Xavier?”

Sean managed a smile. “Do you know how much trouble that gangbanger could've cost me? Thank God this city loves a winner and recognizes the fact that I can help the Tigers win a championship. One phone call from my manager made all of that drama at the skating rink vanish. No media coverage. Simply squashed the entire thing like it never happened.”

She could remember the chaos of the night. Samantha and Xavier had traded painful insults. Up 'til that point there had been a tiny spot in her heart reserved with hopes of them getting back together. Not now, though. What had come out of his mouth seemed laced with hatred. It hadn't been what he said, but how he said it that pierced her soul. And it pained Samantha to recognize it, but for the very first time since meeting him, she thought maybe Xavier was just a common street thug.

“Sean, let's be real,” Samantha said. “Xavier isn't a saint, but you started that entire fiasco when you went after his manhood.”

Sean looked like he was disgusted with her. “How was I supposed to know that he didn't have a sense of humor?” He looked in the rearview and worked his lower jaw from side to side. “It was his boy the alcoholic who I want—fool snuck me.”

“Well, you asked for it.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I'm not on anybody's side, Sean. All of you were acting like immature little children.”

As Sean inched the car toward the valet attendants, Samantha couldn't help but think about Xavier. Not knowing what kind of shape he was in had her nerves twisted in knots.

Her door opened upward. Samantha was greeted by a smiling, clean-cut young dude who looked like Justin Bieber.

“Good evening, ma'am,” the Justin Bieber look-alike said, as he politely stood off to the right.

Samantha stepped out into the night chill. It was pretty busy. The valet line stretched as far as the eye could see, with a colorful assortment of makes and models. Some folks stood around with valet tickets in hand waiting on their cars to be brought up. All marveled at the Ferrari while anticipating to see which high-profile figure would slide from behind the wheel.

The surprised looks on faces when Sean stepped out confirmed that all knew his identity. He walked around and swept Samantha up in a rush.

He said, “I really don't feel like signing any autographs.”

“This is the life you chose,” Samantha said as they were herded through a spotless glass revolving door.

On the way up, the elevator ride provided spectacular scenery. The car was glass and looked out on the River-Walk and the darkness of the Detroit River. Samantha's hopes and prayers were with Xavier as the doors dinged open. The interior of the steakhouse was elegant, sophisticated. Proper attire only. When they stepped up to the maître d', Samantha couldn't help but feel slightly underdressed. Most of the guests, much like Sean, were dressed in pricey garments. Any other person not fully dressed to code would've immediately been rolled out of there. But since it was Sean Desmond, the Detroit Tigers' million-dollar baby, the distinguished maître d' dressed in blue looked the other way.

Tables covered in cheery white tablecloths with elaborate centerpieces sat throughout the restaurant. Servers moved around different tables attending to the needs of the guests. Almost every eye in the dining room was primarily focused on Sean Desmond. He and Samantha followed the maître d' to the back, a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a surprise sitting at the table behind a humongous pillar. It was Samantha's mother and father.

Mrs. Fox was wearing a pretty dress, and her husband, a dark business suit.

Her father stood from the table with a hand held out. “Well, if it isn't the rookie sensation.”

As Samantha hugged her mother, Sean and Mr. Fox shook hands.

“Mr. Fox, you're too kind,” said Sean, “and I appreciate you accepting my late dinner invitation.” He flashed Mrs. Fox a charming smile. “My, my, my, Mrs. Fox, don't you look beautiful this evening. I tell Samantha all the time that this world was vastly improved when God blessed it with you and your daughter.”

Mrs. Fox blushed, smiling. “Thank you, Sean. How's everything going for you?”

They sat down, with Sean unbuttoning his jacket. “The usual—practice, two-a-days, meetings with Nike, sandwich and soft drink companies. Business never stops.”