"He's a needle freak players go to when they're starting to lose their edge. It makes sense, Rudy."
"Very well," he said, sounding like he bought the lie.
We rode along, the night passing by with me trippin' off the notion that it might be my last look. But I figured I still had one chance left, and I made my move as we hit the on ramp to the 105 going east. I kicked out with my heel at the floor shift, hoping to send the car into reverse.
"Watch it," Chekka screamed.
As I kicked, I had fallen against Chekka, hoping to wrap up his gun hand. The kick was good, and the Navigator slammed into reverse. Someone driving behind us had to swerve wickedly as the Navigator smashed into the concrete wall lining the on ramp. I kept kicking Cannon as he tried to get the car going forward.
Meanwhile me and Chekka were mixing it up. I had ahold of his arm and was shoving myself against him for all I was worth. The gun went off and ripped a hole through the roof. Cannon had the SUV in the right gear again and got going.
''Nigger," Chekka hollered. He hit me on the side of my face with his free hand.
But I did what he wasn't expecting. I lurched forward, holding onto him as the car took off up the ramp again. We were moving onto the freeway and our bodies slipped into the opening between the two front seats. Cannon put a hand on the gear selector to keep it in place, but that meant he had to steer with one hand while me and Chekka went at it.
"Get him off me." Cannon batted at me with his arm while he concentrated on keeping the car straight.
The gun went off again. The bullet penetrated the front windshield, a spider web spreading out from the center where it had punched through the glass.
Me and Chekka were all over the back seat, throwing blows and yelling at each other. Traffic kept whizzing by us. Maybe the people in those cars didn't see what was going on inside, or maybe they did and figured with all the road rage in L.A. it was best not to get involved. I threw another kick, catching Cannon upside his temple. At the same time, Chekka got me good in the stomach and I went slack for a moment or two. He was bringing the gun around on me. Thinking he was gonna pop one of my knees, I twisted my body and threw all my weight against him, grabbing his arms with whatever strength and energy I had.
"Get him settled down," the coach yelled. He was looking back at us and swerved the SUV into another lane. A big-wheel truck blasted its horn at us.
Like it was when I was on the field, the action seemed to slow down. I was in the zone and I could see the opportunity present itself as Chekka brought the gun up. I could hear my heart thumping in my ears and the blood rushing like lightening through my torso. As his finger twitched on the trigger I rammed his forearm with the heel of my hand. Chekka's gun now pointed at the back of the driver's seat and the barrel jerked when the bullet left it. The shot went through the seat at an angle.
"Fuck, you idiot, you shot me." Cannon gritted his teeth but managed to keep both hands on the steering wheel. I did my best to grind my foot into the wound in his stomach, and also tie up Chekka's gun hand.
"Zelmont, for Christ's sake," Cannon shouted, beating at my foot and ankle with his hand. Chekka got on me and I rammed against the back of the passenger seat. Our weight made the seat back snap forward, and I shot up against the dash. Cannon was trying to control the car as he drove on the freeway, but I could tell out of the corner of my eye the wound was bothering him.
"Black nigger," Chekka screamed. He pumped off another shot, blowing out the car's radio.
"Watch out," Cannon hollered. The blood was leaking from his side and had stained his shirt and pants.
I grabbed Chekka and rolled us into Cannon.
"Goddammit." The steering wheel came loose from the coach's hands as we plowed into him. The SUV swerved toward the concrete divider as cars hit their breaks and tires screeched. Somebody rear-ended us as the Navigator bounced off the divider. The SUV shot back into the number two lane as some chick in a red Mustang came barreling along. She made to zoom around us but clipped the coach's vehicle on the ride side, dead across the door.
By this time more cars were honking and screeching to a halt. The chick in the Mustang was pointing at us to pull over, like three dudes duking it out in a Lincoln Navigator was something ordinary.
I got hold of the steering wheel and whipped the front end into the Mustang. The cars came together in a 'V' and slid along the freeway. A Lexus rammed into the Mustang's bumper and the Navigator went up on the divider going too fast. The damn truck skated along on two wheels and then tipped onto its side. This was getting to be a habit. Our momentum kept us going until we slammed into the rear of a pick-up truck.
The front windshield exploded as I got a grip on Chekka's jaw. I propelled the top of his head into the door handle and didn't wait to see if he was disoriented or not. I latched onto the coach and started to wiggle past him to get out of the driver's side window, which was now pointing up towards the night sky.
"Zelmont, you've got to help me." His seat belt was still clicked in place. He had his head back on the seat, holding himself with his arms crossed. It was as if he were afraid his spirit might leave him forever.
"You was about to bust my head open a few ticks ago there, coach."
"That was only to scare you, Zee." Cannon was sounding too friendly. Bastard was scared. "You know I'd never really hurt you." He started breathing hard, coughing blood and spit. "I've never been shot."
"Neither have I, coach, and I intend to keep it that way." I started to climb past him again. I could hear people outside. Soon the law would be here.
"Zelmont," he said, pawing at me with his beefy hands.
"I'm here, coach." I leaned in close like I was gonna help him get loose. Instead I hit him a couple times, knocking his conniving self unconscious. I had to kick out what was left of the driver's side window 'cause it was up and was an electric number. Then I pulled myself loose. A crowd was around, including the irate broad with the Mustang we'd fucked up.
"You are in big trouble, mister." She shook a finger under my nose as I heard sirens getting close. A lot of eyes were on me in the dark. Several cars were stopped and traffic was backing up in the lanes on our side of the divider. That was good 'cause it meant the cops would have to go around the other way to get to this spot.
"These men kidnapped me." I leaned against the Navigator, looking all dazed and shook up and shit. That got some whispers going in the crowd. "Can somebody get me to an ambulance?" I started massaging my stomach. "Something doesn't feel right."
The Mustang chick, who was tall and had a sweet-looking pair of jugs on her, stared at me, not knowing what to do.
"Why don't you sit down until the police and ambulance arrive?" a woman in a flower print vest said, trying to be kind.
I could see the blue and reds blinking behind the sea of cars that had backed up.
"Yeah, that's a good idea." I stumbled over to the divider and leaned on it but remained standing.
Mustang Sally and a couple of young studs, no doubt hoping that being a Good Samaritan might earn a phone number from her or more, stood close to me, making sure I wasn't going to book. Then Cannon saved my ass. He came to and started bellowing.
"See, I told you they were up to no good." I pointed at the truck like a little kid telling on his sister.
"Help me," Cannon begged, his voice getting real weak.
The two studs had to prove their manhood. They looked at each other and marched over to the coach's SUV with some of the others who were standing around.
I pushed Mustang Sally to the ground and went over the divider into oncoming traffic. There was braking and cursing as I dashed across the lanes, hoping like hell I'd make it. An MTA bus almost flattened me. The driver, a woman with long braids that went flying everywhere as she rode the air brakes, stopped about four inches from my popped-out eyes. We looked at each other with our mouths wide open, my face all bright in her headlights.