Knockout Games (9 page)

They made room for me to play. Kalvin wasn't going to be there for awhile, so I sat down with them. I had to admit, it was kind of fun. If anyone tried something on me, that's what I'd do to them—rip out their spine or cut them in two. But after a few rounds, it became too much. There's only so much spine ripping I can take.

Instead, I just talked to them while they played, taking out my camera without them noticing (which wasn't too hard since their eyes were glued to the screen). I felt it might be good material to sprinkle into the videos. “So how's it feel to rip someone's spine out?” I asked.

I got all kinds of answers. “Like a badass!” “Like I'm immortal.” “Like I can do no wrong!” Things like that.

I asked them if Knockout was like playing videos, but for real. Most of them liked that comparison. But really, they did it because they liked proving themselves to Kalvin.

“What's playing Knockout mean to you?” I asked.

They didn't really have an answer. “I dunno. It's a game. We play it when we bored.”

I asked Tyreese if he wanted to be like Kalvin.

He stopped playing, his eyes darting back and forth. “Nobody can be like K. He the One, like the dude in
The Matrix.
”

So if they can't be like Kalvin, then what? Did they have dreams of becoming something when they grew up? None of them said
go to college, get a job,
or anything like that. They all laughed like the thought was stupid that they might grow up and become something else.

C-Jay made a face. “What'chu wanna know my dream for? What's yours?”

I couldn't answer. It had been so long since I had one, I didn't even want to think about it.

They went back to their games and I filmed Kalvin working out through the window instead. He was all muscle, lean and tough. The way he attacked that punching bag was pretty amazing. I could see he had some kind of demons he was working out—that bag was gonna come off its chain from how hard he was hitting it. I could see him becoming a boxer or one of those mixed martial arts guys.

“So when does he ever play Knockout?” I asked Destiny.

“K? He doesn't play anymore. He's more of a. . . coach, like Teacher Man, I guess. It just got old, having people trying to dethrone you all the time. I think he even got a ulcer or something ‘cause for a while, all he drank was milk.”

“I don't see him getting worried about things.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, on the outside. But between you and me, he's sensitive. Last KO he ever did, the target pulled a gun on him. K just snatched it from him and threatened to shoot him. But he couldn't. He was no gangbanger. He just walked away and said, ‘That's it.'”

“So what, he retired? Why have a club, then?”

She watched him pummel the punching bag. “Rival clubs started coming up, copycats. Even some group of white kids in the burbs slumming like they something. K got pride. So he had the idea of creating his own club where he'd train these Tokers and that's when he got his mojo back. More satisfying, I guess.”

About thirty minutes later, Kalvin emerged, drenched in sweat. He smelled like some kind of wet cat, his eyes burning as he watched the Tokers playing their game. Pissed, he marched over and yanked the plug from the TV. They protested but shut up real quick when they saw he meant business. “Video games are for pussies. You need to be in the fight for real. Breathe it in. Feel your fist as it cracks somebody's skull.
Then
you'll know you're alive. This”—he knocked the controls out of C-Jay's hands—“is not what we do. Now let's go out and have some
real
fun.”

13

There was something in the air that afternoon. It smelled like fire. We descended into an old neighborhood park like a pack of lions heading out for a feeding frenzy. I found myself moving deeper into the pack, closer to Kalvin, as we kicked up leaves in our wake. They were hunting for new targets. Me, I was hunting for the right image, trying to make each video fresh and different. I wanted the viewer to feel they were right in the action—the sweat, the taste of blood, the shock of the punch, the thrill of it all.

Kalvin and Prince stopped the group at the swing set. That was a great contrast—them strategizing on the playground. It was all a game. There were only a couple of toddlers there, but when their moms saw us coming, they cleared out. As they did, Destiny's phone went off. When she saw the caller ID, she stopped in her tracks. She went kind of pale, then answered—taking off in the other direction.

“Where you going?” I asked. But she ignored me and kept moving, listening to the caller on the phone. I let her go and refocused on the group.

Kalvin eased himself into one of the swings and watched Prince.

Prince asked, “So what's the plan,
jefe
?”

Kalvin nodded to himself, deep in thought. “Today's your day, P. You decide.”

Prince was caught off guard, his mind obviously churning, trying to decide if Kalvin was serious or not. When K didn't bat an eye, Prince finally beamed like he'd been handed command of a ship. “
Orale,
Tokeheads, listen up!”

The crew looked at each other, unsure. Prince surveyed the park like he was buying time. Maybe he didn't know what to say.

Kalvin rolled his eyes. “Are we gonna do this or what? Or should I ask Fish to take over?”

That settled it. Prince stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, then turned to inspire his troops.

There were six Tokers. Different from yesterday, except for C-Jay. Prince picked the smallest one. “You. Tyrone.”

“Tyreese,” he answered.

“
'Spensa
—my bad,” he said. “Now come here, Tyrone.”

I took out my camera and decided not to use my zoom. Today, I'd get right into the action. I was right up in his face. I could see through the lens that he was scared, but he put up a good front.

“Ignore her,” Prince said. “You wanna be in the TKO Club, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You ready to man up,
ese
?”

He puffed out his chest to prove it. “Bring it.”

Prince laughed. “A'ight.” He scoped out the park, saw one of those guys with a metal detector sweeping the grass for lost quarters. “Him.”

Tyreese frowned. “Man, he got on a headset. I might hurt my hand on that thing.”

Prince rolled his eyes. “
Chingada
, are you kidding me? Don't hit his headset, then!”

“What if he move when I swing?”

“Jesus, you want me to hold that
pendejo
for you?” Prince had had enough. “You know what? Fuck it. I have another idea.”

I was focused on this kid's eyes darting around when I heard Prince say, “Fish.”

I looked up. “What?”

“Come here.”

I glanced over at Kalvin, but all he did was motion with his head for me to go. I looked to Destiny for support. “What're you afraid of? Prince Rodriguez?”

Fine. I walked up to him. “What?”

Prince motioned to the metal detector guy. “Go ask that dude for a cigarette.”

“I don't smoke.”

He gazed at me like I was the stupid one. “You're the, what you call it—the diversion. You ask him for a cigarette and he won't be able to hear you then he'll take off his headset. Then baby Tyrone here can do his thing.”

“It's Tyreese!” he said.

“You're making this too complicated,” I said. “Why don't you just pick another guy?” I asked.

He was annoyed. “
Nena
, you're a girl. He'll answer you. He's probably the kind of guy who digs the fatties—”

“Don't.” I gave him the stare down.
Don't mess with the Fish
.

He backed off. “My bad.” He shuffled in place, resigning himself to my protest. “Look, just do this, please, and don't make me look like a douche,” he said softly.

“Too late.” I sighed and started walking toward the metal detector man.

“Hey, gimme your camera,” he said. “I'll shoot you.”

There was zero chance of that. I headed down, Tyreese on my heels. When I was about ten feet away, I circled around so I wouldn't be sneaking up on the guy. Tyreese stopped.

The man was about fifty, balding with beady eyes. He was scowling at a stray cat who was rubbing up against his leg and getting in the way of his work. When the cat didn't take the hint, the guy booted it away. Nice.

He wasn't paying any attention to me, so I waved at him, pursed my lips, and held my fingers up to them. He ignored me.

“Hey!” I said.

His eyes drifted up toward me. “What?”

“You got a cigarette?” I asked.

Annoyed at being disturbed from his precious work, he looked like he was going to kick me too. “What?”

I rolled my eyes, motioned for him to take off his headset.

He stopped his little beeping machine and pushed his headset off his ear. “I don't give money to homeless kids.”

That was Tyreese's opening. He just stood there.

“I'm not homeless.” I had to stall. “Uh, what are you searching for, gold?” I asked, staring at Tyreese, who finally got the hint.

Before the man could answer, Tyreese jumped into action. The man saw my reaction to Tyreese charging and swung around just in time to see the shortie's fist coming his way.

BAM.

When the guy ducked, Tyreese hit the man's headset anyway. They both cried out at the same time.

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

The man went down to one knee. Tyreese was rubbing his hand. Prince yelled, “Finish him!” He held the other Tokers back. In the middle of all this, I spotted K recording the whole thing with his phone, trying not to shake too much from laughing.
Fucker
, I thought.

The guy suddenly grabbed his metal detector and rose up to smash Tyreese in the face. In that fraction of a second, everything went white—my head felt like it was on fire and a roar came out of me that shocked me.

I saw red. It was coming out of someone's face. My fist was wailing on the guy's face, smashing his nose. The blood shocked me and at the same time, the heat from it set something off in me that I didn't expect.

I felt like lightning hit me—everything went quiet and it was like I was seeing myself through the camera. I don't know how many times I hit him. When the guy fell over, the boys broke free and ran up to me yelling “KNOCKOUT!”

They jumped all over me and suddenly we all tumbled over in a big ball of sweaty boys and excitement. I was buried beneath them, smothered by their laughter and bodies. I had no idea what was going on, but someone started throwing them off me and then Kalvin pulled me out, grinning ear to ear.

I kind of stumbled away from the pile and fell to the ground and jumped up again dazed, but happy. The Tokers were laughing their asses off, doing victory bumps. I saw the man lying on the ground, groaning. Some of the Tokers were still doing a number on him.

I saw the blood on my fist and was gonna be sick. An arm reached out and grabbed me, pulling me in tight.

“I got you, girl,” said Kalvin, holding me close to his chest.

“Did you see it?” I said.

He hustled me away as the boys scattered. “See what?”

“The lightning.”

He smiled in recognition. “Yeah, I saw it. Crazy, right?”

14

It wasn't like I fainted or anything. Or even passed out. It's more that I went into a hyper state so pumped with adrenaline that my head short-circuited. I could hear the Tokers hooting and hollering in the background. And I could feel the Knockout King's arm holding me tight. But other than that, I was somewhere else.

We were walking and walking, and it was starting to get dark outside; then we were inside and suddenly, I felt a jolt and there I was again, sitting on someone's bed, and that someone was in the shower.

Something was going on outside and I walked over to the window and saw I was in a small apartment building. The window overlooked the rooftop of a lower story and there was Prince in the middle of a bunch of Tokers on the roof deck as the sun was setting. Tyreese was standing next to him, looking small. C-Jay and Doughboy were wearing boxing gloves.

I thought maybe they were training or something, but as soon as Prince left the ring, C-Jay and Doughboy went at Tyreese. They circled around him like wolves. I thought he was gonna piss his pants. Suddenly C-Jay lurched and got him good on the side of the face. Doughboy quickly landed a punch to his stomach. Tyreese's knees buckled.

I guess that's what you get when you fail your mission. Harsh.

The shower stopped. I heard Kalvin's voice in the bathroom—singing. I couldn't make out the song. I was in his room, his apartment. I remembered him pulling me along, totally out of it.

His room was just like any young guy's. Posters of LeBron, rappers and MMA fighters, and of course, swimsuit models. The guys on his wall were all black, the girls all white. Underneath those, there were some framed pictures on his shelf—him and Teacher Man outside a boxing ring. K had a medal around his neck. There was a middle-school graduation picture of him next to it, where he was all dressed up and beaming—the kid next door. And then there was one ripped in half and pinned to the wall. He looked about twelve. He was standing on that roof, with a white man's arm around his neck, the man's face torn out.

I heard a commotion outside and I peeked out the window again. Tyreese was lying on the ground, the other two hovering over him. C-Jay kneeled and propped him up. He was woozy, bleeding from the nose. The guys were cheering him on and slowly, he got up onto his knees. Finally, he stood and shook it off. The crew rushed in, patting him on the back and head—he'd survived.

“He has work to do, but he's got spirit,” said Kalvin.

He was standing right behind me. I could feel the heat from the shower coming off his body. “You alright?” he asked.