ball.
You trippin’, Vernon.”
Vernon grabs his beefy arm and then checks his wrist.
“Joe, you are a hack. You tried to take my arm off. You were just embarrassed because I was lighting your ass up from the three-point line.”
“We don’t even have a three-point line. What you talking about?”
“That’s what I’m saying. I was busting your butt with those thirty-footers and you got jealous and lost your mind. You trying to put a brotha on injured reserve, dawg,” Vernon whines, rubbing his arm.
“See, that’s why I don’t like playing with you. You cry worse than Magic Johnson when he was playing.”
“Now, why you got to be hatin’ on Magic?”
“Why are you lying, saying I fouled you when I blocked your shot clean?”
Vincent Alexandria
65
“Joe, why don’t you just walk over there and get the ball. We’ll shoot the mystic ball to see who’s lying,
’cause you know the ball never lies,” Vernon reminds me.
The mystic ball is how we settle arguments and bad calls. The person who makes the bad call is challenged to go to the free-throw line and shoot. If he makes it, the call was a good one. If he misses, the verdict is that he was lying through his teeth.
I retrieve the ball and throw it to Vernon, who has already placed himself at the free-throw line. He bounces the ball three times and lets it fly. The shot is all net. It goes straight in.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire! I told you, you hacked the shit out of me, and you know the mystic ball never lies!”
“Whatever! Your ball, Vernon.” I throw Vernon the ball out of bounds, and damn if he doesn’t make the next eight shots in a row.
“Fool, I told you to try and hold me and play some defense. You don’t believe the legend,” Vernon says, grinning from ear to ear.
“Dude, I let you win. Shut up!” I say, laughing. Then my laughter dies.
“Vernon, I need to talk to you.”
Vernon frowns, “This about you and Sierra?”
I place the basketball between my legs, sit on top of it and look up. “Yeah, but it has to do with you, as well.”
“Joe, is this gonna be one of those cigar moments?”
A cigar is something Vernon has to have when he’s about to hear something he isn’t going to like.
Vernon rubs his well-manicured hand over his close-cropped head. “Yep, you might as well go get it now, Vernon.”
66
Black Rain
My friend gives me a curious look and heads to the driveway for one of his cigars. Vernon always puts a cigar in his mouth when he’s nervous, serious or about to get violent. I know my partner and he’s not going to like what I have to tell him one bit.
Vernon strolls back up the driveway, takes a seat on the step leading to the back door of the house and places his cigar in his wide mouth. He never lights it, he just chews on it. “All right, boy, you got me out here. What’s on your mind?”
I get up and throw Vernon the ball, which he places under his arm. I pull up one of the lawn chairs and sit across from him.
“Vernon, Chase is deep undercover on a case that involves dirty cops killing drug dealers for money.
They’re also killing cops who try to get out of the organization. Chase has gotten in next to the head guy, some Cuban named Dread Cattanno. He’s a police sergeant for the Nebraska Police Department. He’s been under suspicion for a while, but they haven’t been able to bust this guy. Agent James gave me the case file. He also has reason to believe that Agent Smelley is dead.”
Vernon leans back on the steps and his brown skin seems to get darker as his eyes narrow. “Damn, Joe. This sounds like some serious shit. If Smelley got his cover blown, Chase is on borrowed time.”
“Exactly! So, something has to be done. And fast.”
Vernon scrunches up his wide nose. “Joe, what the hell we know about Nebraska?”
“Vernon, it doesn’t stop there. This guy has got connections and is operating in Oklahoma, Iowa, Nebraska Vincent Alexandria
67
and Kansas. They call
You trippin’, Vernon.”
Vernon grabs his beefy arm and then checks his wrist.
“Joe, you are a hack. You tried to take my arm off. You were just embarrassed because I was lighting your ass up from the three-point line.”
“We don’t even have a three-point line. What you talking about?”
“That’s what I’m saying. I was busting your butt with those thirty-footers and you got jealous and lost your mind. You trying to put a brotha on injured reserve, dawg,” Vernon whines, rubbing his arm.
“See, that’s why I don’t like playing with you. You cry worse than Magic Johnson when he was playing.”
“Now, why you got to be hatin’ on Magic?”
“Why are you lying, saying I fouled you when I blocked your shot clean?”
Vincent Alexandria
65
“Joe, why don’t you just walk over there and get the ball. We’ll shoot the mystic ball to see who’s lying,
’cause you know the ball never lies,” Vernon reminds me.
The mystic ball is how we settle arguments and bad calls. The person who makes the bad call is challenged to go to the free-throw line and shoot. If he makes it, the call was a good one. If he misses, the verdict is that he was lying through his teeth.
I retrieve the ball and throw it to Vernon, who has already placed himself at the free-throw line. He bounces the ball three times and lets it fly. The shot is all net. It goes straight in.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire! I told you, you hacked the shit out of me, and you know the mystic ball never lies!”
“Whatever! Your ball, Vernon.” I throw Vernon the ball out of bounds, and damn if he doesn’t make the next eight shots in a row.
“Fool, I told you to try and hold me and play some defense. You don’t believe the legend,” Vernon says, grinning from ear to ear.
“Dude, I let you win. Shut up!” I say, laughing. Then my laughter dies.
“Vernon, I need to talk to you.”
Vernon frowns, “This about you and Sierra?”
I place the basketball between my legs, sit on top of it and look up. “Yeah, but it has to do with you, as well.”
“Joe, is this gonna be one of those cigar moments?”
A cigar is something Vernon has to have when he’s about to hear something he isn’t going to like.
Vernon rubs his well-manicured hand over his close-cropped head. “Yep, you might as well go get it now, Vernon.”
66
Black Rain
My friend gives me a curious look and heads to the driveway for one of his cigars. Vernon always puts a cigar in his mouth when he’s nervous, serious or about to get violent. I know my partner and he’s not going to like what I have to tell him one bit.
Vernon strolls back up the driveway, takes a seat on the step leading to the back door of the house and places his cigar in his wide mouth. He never lights it, he just chews on it. “All right, boy, you got me out here. What’s on your mind?”
I get up and throw Vernon the ball, which he places under his arm. I pull up one of the lawn chairs and sit across from him.
“Vernon, Chase is deep undercover on a case that involves dirty cops killing drug dealers for money.
They’re also killing cops who try to get out of the organization. Chase has gotten in next to the head guy, some Cuban named Dread Cattanno. He’s a police sergeant for the Nebraska Police Department. He’s been under suspicion for a while, but they haven’t been able to bust this guy. Agent James gave me the case file. He also has reason to believe that Agent Smelley is dead.”
Vernon leans back on the steps and his brown skin seems to get darker as his eyes narrow. “Damn, Joe. This sounds like some serious shit. If Smelley got his cover blown, Chase is on borrowed time.”
“Exactly! So, something has to be done. And fast.”
Vernon scrunches up his wide nose. “Joe, what the hell we know about Nebraska?”
“Vernon, it doesn’t stop there. This guy has got connections and is operating in Oklahoma, Iowa, Nebraska Vincent Alexandria
67
and Kansas. They call
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