"Out of gas, old timer?" Grainger put a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm all right." I shook loose, straightening up and heading off to the gym.
"If you say so." He walked past me, his cleats blending in with the rest of the men stamping on the concrete.
I went easy on the leg lifts so as not to aggravate the hip. By the time I got in the shower, everything was smooth. I soaped up, trying to remember when Davida's funeral was. Tomorrow? Or was it Friday? I should have written it down when her moms told me the other day.
I was dressed and on my way out when I spotted that big bruiser Trace loitering around. That had to mean Weems was talking to Stadanko. I tried not to think if it was about me.
The flaming cross on the bodyguard's cheek looked funny in daylight. He was standing near the entrance to the locker room, tossing a football to himself in the air. He had hands like a line man kept dropping the pill.
Just to mess with him I said, "How come you ain't out there tryin' out, Trace?"
He caught the ball this time, then frowned at me as his tiny brain kicked in. "The question is, what are you doing here?"
"I belong here, baby. But you still ain't answered my question. You young and in shape."
"I have more serious work to pursue."
Posing nude for Weems, I imagined. "What's that?" Grier floated past, making like he had some place important to get to.
"You and these others have a responsibility, Raines. Children in the ghettos and barrios, even in the suburbs, follow what you do. They buy the obscenely overpriced shoes you sell for athletic companies. These sheep cut and shoot each other over these shoes or jackets with your signature on them."
"Them clothes and shoes are a reward for those kids, man. Ain't nobody spendin' the rent money on them things."
"Really, Raines, is that so?" He twirled the ball in his glovesized hands.
Enough of this chump. "You just happy being Weems' strongarm."
"It serves a purpose."
He tossed the ball to me, thinking he'd catch me off guard. I snatched it out of the air with one hand. "Then it must be righteous." I heard footsteps and turned to see Blake coming out of a door down the side of the building. He started to walk toward us, then changed his mind, taking off in the other direction.
Trace scratched at his cross with the back of his nails, not looking in Blake's direction.
"Raines, I'd like you to step in here." It was Cannon. He'd come out of a room down the hallway. I knew what was up.
I went over to where he stood holding the door open. Inside he had me pee into a bottle, and some dude with latex gloves on drew some of my blood.
"I'm not going to be surprised, am I?" Cannon fooled with his glasses, moving 'em this way and that on his large face.
"Nothing to be surprised about, coach. Only how good I'm doing."
He folded his arms but didn't say anything. Afterward, driving home, I got that old urge for a controlled substance boost. I guess it was something about my wiring that made me want to go out and get high right after taking a drug test. For more than a few moments, I considered going all the way east back to the 'hood to score some rock.
Instead I smiled at myself and got my ass back to the pad. There were two messages on the machine.
"You better had sent some money, Zelmont." Terri was all class. Then she put some sugar in her voice. "Why don't you come down here and spend some time with me and your son? You should make an effort." I was. I was trying to get my career going again.
The other message was from Alicia. "Don't be late for mija's funeral, Zelmont. It's at St. Benedict's at 10 this Saturday Don't forget, you understand."
I sank into the couch, sipping on a jolt of V.S.O.P, and nodded off. I woke to some knocking and got up slow, my hip having stiffened. I opened the door to see Fahrar's silly mug.
"Why don't you go roust some hoes on Spring Street?"
"There's always more fun at Zelmont's pad." He made to enter, but I didn't move out of the way "May I come in?"
"You think you like Dracula, don't you? Ask some moron to let you in and that way you say later in court you was just talkin' to me, like I voluntarily asked you inside my house." I'd had enough dealing with the law to know what was what. "If you ain't here to arrest me, then you best get to steppin'."
He fooled with his hat. "Why'd you bring up court, you got something you need to tell me?"
"Tell you like you deaf, home. I got shit I got to do."
"Like work on your alibi?"
"Work on my chill. See ya." I closed the door and sat down again. He was letting me know he was gonna stay on my jock like a bad rash. But there wasn't nothing he could really do to me. He didn't have anything 'cept his own hard-on about me being a player and him not.
I took a long drink of my brandy and put my head back. On the ceiling a daddy longlegs made his way across, looking for grub. Being that size, the world must have seemed like this endless place with no way out. But if he found an ant or fly, he was the man. That spider would show 'em who was the eater and who was the eaten.
I knew exactly how he felt. It was feast time.
Chapter 7
There was more water flowing at Davida's funeral than a busted shower. Mostly it was Alicia, Isabel, and more cousins than any one family should have. The way the priest said his eulogy, you'd have thought she'd been giving out food and candy to kids in the streets. The picture they put on the front of the program book was one of the few from her portfolio where she hadn't turned on the sex. The photographer must have told her to go for the innocent look. That turns a lot of dudes on.
Like I figured, there were a couple of news crews there too. It wasn't Metro front page stuff, but there had been one item in the paper about her murder, with me linked to her. That's how them jokers at the Times put it, so you could read between the lines, nodding your head over morning coffee. "Yeah," they'd be saying, "we know that nigger did it." Uh huh.
"Zelmont, isn't it strange that this happens after your return to Los Angeles." It was that uptight skank Lisa Choo from Channel 5.
"I think it's a tragedy." I was using the lines from the second episode of that show I did for a hot minute on the WB. The one where my best friend from the old neighborhood is killed. "The police must find who did this."
"You have any ideas?"
Jam that mike up your drawn-up ass. "No, but of course I'll do everything in my power to see that Davida's death is answered for." That sounded pretty good. Her sister was looking at me, dabbing at her red eyes.
Afterwards, we gathered at Isabel's swank pad in Montebello.
There were hip-hoppers, cholos from the old 'hood, other chicks like Davida who had booty but little talent. They were all yappin' at each other, mixing English and Spanish. I stepped out on the patio to get some air. I'd done my duty, been seen in public at the funeral to stall out speculation and finger pointing.
There were people out in the yard too, holding onto paper plates with food or sipping on soda and juice. Isabel had a golden retriever that romped around, wagging its tail and barking to get your attention.
"I was kinda surprised to see you at the funeral." Isabel had come up beside me so quiet, I hadn't heard the sliding glass door open.
"What are you talking about, girl?" She was looking good. Women in black dresses and nylons always got me charged.
She flicked her head to one side. "You didn't love her."
"I didn't hate her."
"You played rough." She gave me that fake innocent look her sister had on the cover of the funeral program.
"How would you know?" I got closer.
Before I could get an answer, Alicia stepped outside.
Her daughter put on the right face and placed her arms around her mother's waist. "It's okay, mama, it's going to be okay"
Alicia used a soggy Kleenex to tap at her eyes. "It's just so wrong, isn't it, Zelmont?"
"Yes it is." I tried to keep from looking at Isabel's legs.