Neighborhood.
Neighborhood.
UCLA not bad.
Neighborhood.
Top150 rising prospect Keshawn Chase schedules UCLA official visit
Three-star forward Keshawn Chase discusses his recruitment.
By Gilbert Martin - January 12, 2024
Keshawn Chase made his debut in last week's update of the 247Sports 2024 Top150 Player Rankings. A 6-foot-7 athletic forward out of Los Angeles (Calif.) Hamilton, Chase says his spring projects to be hectic.
"I have a busy schedule ahead of me," Chase said. "With the playoffs coming up, it was really important for me to get a chance to visit UCLA and give myself enough time to make a decision.
In addition to the Bruins, Chase has already completed an official visit to Howard and is in constant communication with Texas Southern after taking an unofficial visit over the summer. He discussed his thoughts on the three programs with 247Sports:
Texas Southern: "We talk about how they are rebuilding the program and want to start the streak of tournament appearances again. They want me to play as a freshman and make a big impact, build the defense and offense around me."
UCLA: "I am excited to take my visit there. I am from Los Angeles and I feel it is a good school and sort of checks all of the boxes. Rod Palmer has been talking to me a lot lately and they've really turned up their interest since coming to see me play, offering me on the spot. I feel I fit into their program with how I play defense and I'm a Mick Cronin type of player from what they say."
Howard: "They were my first official visit and it was great. I have a great relationship with the coaches. They talked to me about how I would see the floor as a freshman and the things that fit with my game as well as my life after basketball. I love the city, I love the program, I love everything about them. "
Chase had previously posted on social media that he'd be deciding between Howard and Texas Southern but that was prior to receiving an offer from UCLA and scheduling an official visit. He says that Howard and Texas Southern are still his top schools but that he's keeping an open mind with UCLA's recent interest. He says he won't make a decision until after the playoffs.
Rated a three-star prospect, Chase is ranked No. 109 overall in the 247Sports Top150 Rankings for the national senior class.
Neighborhood.
Howard is an HBCU, Deion would be proud.
Neighborhood.
Big Fish Theory - Episode 11 (Season Finale)
The ten-mile journey across the I-10 was a portal in another world, another reality for Keshawn. The seemingly never ending campus that rested under the Santa Monica Mountain would be his playground and oasis to uncover, aided by a revolving door of coaches, support staff, players and academic advisors. There was never a lull, never a quiet moment alone since Keshawn, Loraine, Simone and Vic stepped foot on campus. The tour seemed endless. Academic advisors rattled off statistics about graduation rates and support programs. Current players shared what an average day was like, what it felt like to play at the Pavilion when it was rocking.
As they walked through the sprawling campus, Keshawn's eyes darted from one impressive building to another, each seeming grander than the last. The Royce Hall clock tower loomed above them, its intricate details a stark contrast to the plain walls of Hamilton High. As they were ushered from one state-of-the-art facility to another, Keshawn's mind raced. The basketball center alone was bigger than many of the athletic complexes he had visited, fitted with multiple indoor and outdoor courts along with a weight room that featured gleaming machines and racks of weights stretching as far as he could see. The dorm room they showed him was twice the size of his bedroom at home, the aesthetics similar to what you’d see in the Hills, where he once lived.
“I hope today wasn’t too hectic,” Coach Palmer told Keshawn as they walked out of the restaurant, putting the bow on the visit with a dinner with the coaching staff. Unlike the other visits, it was a rather intimate dinner with just Coach Cronin and Coach Palmer, allowing Loraine to get plenty of face time with the two men that would be in charge of her son’s future for the next few years.
“No, it was cool,” Keshawn responded, “I had a really good time, thank you.”
“We have an open-door policy here, especially for the local kids,” Coach Cronin told Keshawn, making sure to make eye contact with Loraine as well, “If you ever want to stop by, watch practice, talk to one of the advisors, anything, just let us know. We’ll set you up, you guys are of course welcomed at any time.”
…
Keshawn tossed his phone next to him on the hotel bed, grabbing the remote as he resumed his scroll through Netflix in search of something to watch when he heard a knock on the door. He checked his phone to see if Vic or Simone had texted him, needing something but nothing there. He sat up, throwing a shirt on as he walked to the door, checking the peephole first to find Stefan, his host from earlier today, engaged in conversation with Vic in the hotel hallway.
He opened the door, “What’s good?”
“We stepping you tonight,” Stefan flashed a smile, “I wasn’t taking no for an answer so I showed up in person. I know you didn’t think the visit was over already, did you?”
“Don’t look at me,” Vic held his hands up, “When he asked for the room, I thought he was gonna hook it up with some room service or something.”
“And yet, here you are, dressed already,” Keshawn shook his head, “I got breakfast with Coach Cronin tomorrow, man.”
“And trust me, he expects you to be hungover,” Stefan laughed, “He’d probably be worried if you aren’t.”
…
“I just tapped his shoulder so I know that he is touchable.”
Keshawn took a sip of his beer, nodding his head along to the beat of the song as he enjoyed the reprieve from the booming bass of the various clubs and bars they had hopped around to, running into his various prospective teammates. They were now back in Stef’s girlfriend’s, Andrea, dorm room.
On his arm was Andrea’s roommate, Gloria, who had sicced herself onto Keshawn from the beginning of the night. Truth be told, she wouldn’t have been his first choice of the group but Andrea was obviously taken and the other roommate, Jessica, had taken a strong liking to Vic, who was more than willing to serve as the wingman of the operation, not that any was needed for such an occasion. Keshawn had been on enough visits to know that these girls were as much part of the amenities as the provided travel, meals and hotel rooms.
“You taking any more visits after this?” Stefan prodded, looking up from his phone after queuing up some more songs to be played next.
“I don’t know,” Keshawn admitted, letting Gloria sink further into his arms, “Cal wants me to visit and Gonzaga’s coaches have been blowing my phone up since that article came out about y’all offering me.”
“We’re talking all our visits,” Vic interjected, “I don’t know if they’ll be better than this, though. Ain’t no Jessica’s in Spokane, I know that.”
“Boy, stop,” she playfully slapped him on the arm.
“I’m with him,” Stefan agreed, drawing a strange look from Andrea to which he quickly corrected, “Not the Jessica part, respectfully. Shit, take all your visits, drive the price up on these motherfuckers, man. I know I wish I did. My dad was so scary about that shit, we committed to UCLA soon as they offered my sophomore year and didn’t even take no real visits or nothing. If I knew I’d be staying at the Four Seasons and shit, I’d have taken all of my visits.”
“You guys are staying at the Four Seasons?” Gloria perked up, pulling herself off from Keshawn’s shoulder, “By the Flats?”
“I guess,” Keshawn shrugged, “I can’t say I’ve been to this part of LA that much and I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“Y’all should check it out,” Stefan suggested to the girls, sharing a shit eating grin with Vic, “They got a fly ass balcony in their rooms.”
…
Keshawn carefully pulled his arm from underneath her head, meticulous with every moment so as to not wake Gloria. He shook his arm a few times in an attempt to bring it back to life as he sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing his phone with his other hand. The early morning had started to bleed into the night, accepting his fate that he’d be dragging ass at the breakfast with the coaches in a few hours. He grabbed his nearby boxer briefs, slipping them on as he headed to the balcony, the city still buzzing about.
He closed the door behind him, sitting on the same chair they had just put to multiple use just an hour ago. A smile crept to his face as he looked back into the room at Gloria’s sprawled out body on his bed. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d be nervous to even talk to a girl that looked like her, let alone take her back to his hotel room the same night he had met.
As he watched the goings-on of the city’s nightcrawlers, he was overcome by a feeling of…peace. So much had changed in the last year and so much would continue to change. He was on the precipice of making the biggest decision of his life, the type of decision that had catapulted plenty that come before him and doomed many more. But in the eye of the storm, the midst of the chaos, he came to the realization that he’d be fine. Life had thrown its best punch and he was still standing.
No, he was thriving.
The ten-mile journey across the I-10 was a portal in another world, another reality for Keshawn. The seemingly never ending campus that rested under the Santa Monica Mountain would be his playground and oasis to uncover, aided by a revolving door of coaches, support staff, players and academic advisors. There was never a lull, never a quiet moment alone since Keshawn, Loraine, Simone and Vic stepped foot on campus. The tour seemed endless. Academic advisors rattled off statistics about graduation rates and support programs. Current players shared what an average day was like, what it felt like to play at the Pavilion when it was rocking.
As they walked through the sprawling campus, Keshawn's eyes darted from one impressive building to another, each seeming grander than the last. The Royce Hall clock tower loomed above them, its intricate details a stark contrast to the plain walls of Hamilton High. As they were ushered from one state-of-the-art facility to another, Keshawn's mind raced. The basketball center alone was bigger than many of the athletic complexes he had visited, fitted with multiple indoor and outdoor courts along with a weight room that featured gleaming machines and racks of weights stretching as far as he could see. The dorm room they showed him was twice the size of his bedroom at home, the aesthetics similar to what you’d see in the Hills, where he once lived.
“I hope today wasn’t too hectic,” Coach Palmer told Keshawn as they walked out of the restaurant, putting the bow on the visit with a dinner with the coaching staff. Unlike the other visits, it was a rather intimate dinner with just Coach Cronin and Coach Palmer, allowing Loraine to get plenty of face time with the two men that would be in charge of her son’s future for the next few years.
“No, it was cool,” Keshawn responded, “I had a really good time, thank you.”
“We have an open-door policy here, especially for the local kids,” Coach Cronin told Keshawn, making sure to make eye contact with Loraine as well, “If you ever want to stop by, watch practice, talk to one of the advisors, anything, just let us know. We’ll set you up, you guys are of course welcomed at any time.”
…
Keshawn tossed his phone next to him on the hotel bed, grabbing the remote as he resumed his scroll through Netflix in search of something to watch when he heard a knock on the door. He checked his phone to see if Vic or Simone had texted him, needing something but nothing there. He sat up, throwing a shirt on as he walked to the door, checking the peephole first to find Stefan, his host from earlier today, engaged in conversation with Vic in the hotel hallway.
He opened the door, “What’s good?”
“We stepping you tonight,” Stefan flashed a smile, “I wasn’t taking no for an answer so I showed up in person. I know you didn’t think the visit was over already, did you?”
“Don’t look at me,” Vic held his hands up, “When he asked for the room, I thought he was gonna hook it up with some room service or something.”
“And yet, here you are, dressed already,” Keshawn shook his head, “I got breakfast with Coach Cronin tomorrow, man.”
“And trust me, he expects you to be hungover,” Stefan laughed, “He’d probably be worried if you aren’t.”
…
“I just tapped his shoulder so I know that he is touchable.”
Keshawn took a sip of his beer, nodding his head along to the beat of the song as he enjoyed the reprieve from the booming bass of the various clubs and bars they had hopped around to, running into his various prospective teammates. They were now back in Stef’s girlfriend’s, Andrea, dorm room.
On his arm was Andrea’s roommate, Gloria, who had sicced herself onto Keshawn from the beginning of the night. Truth be told, she wouldn’t have been his first choice of the group but Andrea was obviously taken and the other roommate, Jessica, had taken a strong liking to Vic, who was more than willing to serve as the wingman of the operation, not that any was needed for such an occasion. Keshawn had been on enough visits to know that these girls were as much part of the amenities as the provided travel, meals and hotel rooms.
“You taking any more visits after this?” Stefan prodded, looking up from his phone after queuing up some more songs to be played next.
“I don’t know,” Keshawn admitted, letting Gloria sink further into his arms, “Cal wants me to visit and Gonzaga’s coaches have been blowing my phone up since that article came out about y’all offering me.”
“We’re talking all our visits,” Vic interjected, “I don’t know if they’ll be better than this, though. Ain’t no Jessica’s in Spokane, I know that.”
“Boy, stop,” she playfully slapped him on the arm.
“I’m with him,” Stefan agreed, drawing a strange look from Andrea to which he quickly corrected, “Not the Jessica part, respectfully. Shit, take all your visits, drive the price up on these motherfuckers, man. I know I wish I did. My dad was so scary about that shit, we committed to UCLA soon as they offered my sophomore year and didn’t even take no real visits or nothing. If I knew I’d be staying at the Four Seasons and shit, I’d have taken all of my visits.”
“You guys are staying at the Four Seasons?” Gloria perked up, pulling herself off from Keshawn’s shoulder, “By the Flats?”
“I guess,” Keshawn shrugged, “I can’t say I’ve been to this part of LA that much and I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“Y’all should check it out,” Stefan suggested to the girls, sharing a shit eating grin with Vic, “They got a fly ass balcony in their rooms.”
…
Keshawn carefully pulled his arm from underneath her head, meticulous with every moment so as to not wake Gloria. He shook his arm a few times in an attempt to bring it back to life as he sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing his phone with his other hand. The early morning had started to bleed into the night, accepting his fate that he’d be dragging ass at the breakfast with the coaches in a few hours. He grabbed his nearby boxer briefs, slipping them on as he headed to the balcony, the city still buzzing about.
He closed the door behind him, sitting on the same chair they had just put to multiple use just an hour ago. A smile crept to his face as he looked back into the room at Gloria’s sprawled out body on his bed. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d be nervous to even talk to a girl that looked like her, let alone take her back to his hotel room the same night he had met.
As he watched the goings-on of the city’s nightcrawlers, he was overcome by a feeling of…peace. So much had changed in the last year and so much would continue to change. He was on the precipice of making the biggest decision of his life, the type of decision that had catapulted plenty that come before him and doomed many more. But in the eye of the storm, the midst of the chaos, he came to the realization that he’d be fine. Life had thrown its best punch and he was still standing.
No, he was thriving.
Last edited by Soapy on 27 Jan 2025, 07:53, edited 1 time in total.
-
chosenone58
- Posts: 4532
- Joined: 28 Nov 2018, 19:06
Neighborhood.
My thoughts through episode 9 of Big Fish Theory....
Not Keshawn all on Gayle like that. She's a "bartender" son
Knew this shit was gonna turn into a Player's Club situation real quick.
Ronnie about to make his move on Angela. Vic is setting the table for this man.
Howard might not be a bad look for Keshawn...but that boy about to be in H-Tine out of spite.
Vic and Keshawn snapping on the homies behind bars. No respect for their elders.
UCLA huh? Nah, son.
Not Keshawn all on Gayle like that. She's a "bartender" son
Knew this shit was gonna turn into a Player's Club situation real quick. Ronnie about to make his move on Angela. Vic is setting the table for this man.
Howard might not be a bad look for Keshawn...but that boy about to be in H-Tine out of spite.
Vic and Keshawn snapping on the homies behind bars. No respect for their elders.
UCLA huh? Nah, son.
Creator of Derek Baldwin da Gawd
Neighborhood.
chosenone58 wrote: ↑26 Jan 2025, 22:08My thoughts through episode 9 of Big Fish Theory....
Not Keshawn all on Gayle like that. She's a "bartender" son
He can't love his first? lol
Ronnie about to make his move on Angela. Vic is setting the table for this man.
need to get his head into the game smh
Howard might not be a bad look for Keshawn...but that boy about to be in H-Tine out of spite.
that visit was legendary
Vic and Keshawn snapping on the homies behind bars. No respect for their elders.
Pops was tripping
UCLA huh? Nah, son.
ya not feeling the gold and blue?
Neighborhood.
Do What Thou Will - Episode 1
There was no rest for the wicked as Fat Stacks sat up on the edge of the bed, peeking over his shoulder to the sight of his daughter who had managed to sneak into their bed last night, wedging herself between him and her mother.
A small smile played on his face as he got to his feet, walking over to the closet. He pushed the clothes aside, revealing a safe where he inputted the code, retrieving a gun which he stuffed into his waist and a stack of money.
He counted it up, just as he had done just a few hours prior when he laid his head to rest. A couple of loose bills from yesterday’s corner boys, the money he had stashed away for the re-up and his collections. One-hundred and thirty five dollars, that’s how much he had collected from Loraine that Thursday. He separated that, stuffing it into his right back pocket as he closed the safe.
He got dressed and headed downstairs, exchanging head nods and daps to the group of guys waiting for him at the courtyard of the apartment complex. The once never ending stack of bills was now gone, spread out among his guys as they went their separate ways at the crack of dawn with a long drive ahead for many of them.
…
Keshawn rolled over on the bed, outstretching his arm to reach his phone as he brought is closer to his body, using the phone as a shield to block the rays of sunshine coming through the blinds.
’yo come outside, it’s stack’
The text sent a quick jolt through his body, waking him from his slumber as he was still recovering from the hangover of the UCLA visit, literally and figuratively. The escapades of Friday night left him bruised and battered throughout what would turn out to be a just as busy second half of the visit with an early morning breakfast with the coaching staff, followed by being invited to shootaround and watching their game against Washington. He was all set on rotting in bed that Sunday, until Fat Stacks had decided he had other plans for him.
He grabbed a nearby hoodie, throwing it on as he slipped into some joggers and opened the door to his room. He was surprised to see Simone in the kitchen, finishing the last of her breakfast.
“I guess when you don’t got no bills you can sleep it until noon,” she teased, dusting off her fingertips.
“You work at the campus mail office,” Keshawn shook his head, “I’d hardly call that backbreaking labor.”
“Have you ever had a job?” she continued to tease as Keshawn walked over to kiss his mother on the forehead.
“My job is basketball,” Keshawn responded, “Haven’t you heard?”
“Where are you going?” Loraine held him up as he made his way through the door.
“Just heading out for a bit,” he stammered, taking a quick peak at his phone to ensure that Fat Stacks’ patience wasn’t already running low, “Need me to get something?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she shooed him away, “Just…let’s have a family day today, okay? I have a feeling it’s going to be a good one.”
Keshawn forced a smile before saying his goodbyes and heading out the door, hurrying himself to the complex parking lot as he looked for Fat Stacks’ car. It was impossible to miss with the blaring music and smoke emitting from the window, Fat Stacks’ arm hanging out of the driver, each finger adorned with a gold ring.
“What’s good?” Keshawn dapped him up.
“Get in, little nigga.”
…
They had only been on the road for ten minutes but it felt like an eternity as they drove down MLK Blvd. Fat Stacks didn’t say much and neither did Keshawn despite his mind racing with a thousand questions. How did he know where he lived? Where were they going? Why were they seemingly tailing the van in front of them?
The van took a right on Van Ness and then another on Vernon Ave, crossing an imaginary line that Keshawn had been schooled on by Vic. They were in the heart of the Rollin 40s Crips area, somewhere Fat Stacks had no business rolling through. Keshawn ran through all of the possible reasons why Fat Stacks would have to be here, let alone with him. While their relationship had grown, it was still confined to the occasional head nod when they crossed paths and congratulations after an Hamilton win on the court.
They drove through Vernon Ave, following the van as he took a right down Arlington Ave, coming to a stop near a park. It was rather busy for an early Sunday morning with a few older kids playing basketball and a couple of teenagers posted up on the nearby park bench, appearing to pass around a joint.
Fat Stacks made eye contact with Keshawn for the first time since he had gotten in the car, motioning his head towards those same group of teenagers. Keshawn tried to make their face, not recognizing any of them until he finally saw it: the unmistakable blue dreads. It was the pivotal piece of the puzzle as the other faces became more and more familiar, flashbacks of a night that Keshawn didn’t remember all that well due to the nature of the consecutive blows he took to the head.
“As much as I’d love to have you put your own work in,” Fat Stacks scoffed, “A eight foot nigga gonna stand out, you feel me?”
The door of the van in front of them slid open and three guys hopped out, a noticeable bulge in each of their waistbands while two of them sported what appeared to be an aluminum bat in their hand. They hurried their way to the group of teenagers, with one of them spotting the approaching guys and attempted to take off but one of the three pulled out their Glock 31, freezing them on the spot.
Keshawn couldn’t hear what was being said but it was clear as they all stood there, hands in the air. While one kept the gun aimed at them, the other two began taking turns going through the group, swinging the ball as hard as they could at their legs, arms and body, considerate enough to leave their heads alone.
“Motherfuckers probably thought we forgot all about that shit,” Fat Stacks looked towards Keshawn, who was frozen in fear as if he was the one on the wrong end of the barrel, "But I don’t never forget shit, you understand? I certainly don’t forget the people close to me, the people I fuck with.”
A long silence lingered between them as Keshawn tried his best to avoid turning his head, the beatings still ongoing from his peripheral vision.
Fat Stacks’ sudden movement caused Keshawn to flinch, amusing Fat Stacks as a smile was displayed in his face as he dug into his right back pocket.
“Here you go,” Fat Stacks handed him the money, “Take your little girlfriend Gayle to the movies or something.”
Keshawn looked at the dollar bills, scared to take it but even more terrified to not to, “She’s not my girlfriend,” he meekly said, as if such a trivial detail mattered in an instance like this.
“Then take some other bitch,” Fat Stacks laughed, “You represent the neighborhood, the set when you step out, you feel me? Can’t have you out here looking all bummy and shit.”
Thankfully, the beating was over just as Keshawn reached out and grabbed the money, muttering a barely audible thank you to Keshawn before placing it in the front pouch of his hoodies. The guys retreated back to the van with no rush, even stopping and looking back to admire their work as the group of kids playing basketball had scattered away, leaving the teenagers alone, writhing in pain on the ground.
“You hungry?” Fat Stacks asked as he put the car in drive, “I’d fuck up a breakfast burrito right now.”
…
Keshawn took a whiff of himself as he began the walk towards the apartment complex, seeing if he could smell any marijuana on him. His mom had called him throughout that day, asking where he was, giving her the runaround at every turn as breakfast with Fat Stacks had turned into much more than that, making various stops throughout the city, showing face and even an impromptu pick-up game at the park.
He had hoped that the sweat would mask the smoke that he was around all day but he knew his face would tell the story of a very long day. The best he could wish for at this point was that she was asleep or had retreated to her room, watching some television in preparation for another long week of double-shifts and shitty pay.
As he turned his key, he heard the unmistakable voice of a man in the house. Even if Simone had stayed over once more, she wasn’t the kind to bring a boyfriend or male friend over, especially not to some shithole extended stay in Village Green.
There he was, sitting on the couch, a plate of food in front of him on the coffee table and Loraine’s legs laying on his lap.
“Hey son,” Elijah smiled, “Welcome home.”
There was no rest for the wicked as Fat Stacks sat up on the edge of the bed, peeking over his shoulder to the sight of his daughter who had managed to sneak into their bed last night, wedging herself between him and her mother.
A small smile played on his face as he got to his feet, walking over to the closet. He pushed the clothes aside, revealing a safe where he inputted the code, retrieving a gun which he stuffed into his waist and a stack of money.
He counted it up, just as he had done just a few hours prior when he laid his head to rest. A couple of loose bills from yesterday’s corner boys, the money he had stashed away for the re-up and his collections. One-hundred and thirty five dollars, that’s how much he had collected from Loraine that Thursday. He separated that, stuffing it into his right back pocket as he closed the safe.
He got dressed and headed downstairs, exchanging head nods and daps to the group of guys waiting for him at the courtyard of the apartment complex. The once never ending stack of bills was now gone, spread out among his guys as they went their separate ways at the crack of dawn with a long drive ahead for many of them.
…
Keshawn rolled over on the bed, outstretching his arm to reach his phone as he brought is closer to his body, using the phone as a shield to block the rays of sunshine coming through the blinds.
’yo come outside, it’s stack’
The text sent a quick jolt through his body, waking him from his slumber as he was still recovering from the hangover of the UCLA visit, literally and figuratively. The escapades of Friday night left him bruised and battered throughout what would turn out to be a just as busy second half of the visit with an early morning breakfast with the coaching staff, followed by being invited to shootaround and watching their game against Washington. He was all set on rotting in bed that Sunday, until Fat Stacks had decided he had other plans for him.
He grabbed a nearby hoodie, throwing it on as he slipped into some joggers and opened the door to his room. He was surprised to see Simone in the kitchen, finishing the last of her breakfast.
“I guess when you don’t got no bills you can sleep it until noon,” she teased, dusting off her fingertips.
“You work at the campus mail office,” Keshawn shook his head, “I’d hardly call that backbreaking labor.”
“Have you ever had a job?” she continued to tease as Keshawn walked over to kiss his mother on the forehead.
“My job is basketball,” Keshawn responded, “Haven’t you heard?”
“Where are you going?” Loraine held him up as he made his way through the door.
“Just heading out for a bit,” he stammered, taking a quick peak at his phone to ensure that Fat Stacks’ patience wasn’t already running low, “Need me to get something?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she shooed him away, “Just…let’s have a family day today, okay? I have a feeling it’s going to be a good one.”
Keshawn forced a smile before saying his goodbyes and heading out the door, hurrying himself to the complex parking lot as he looked for Fat Stacks’ car. It was impossible to miss with the blaring music and smoke emitting from the window, Fat Stacks’ arm hanging out of the driver, each finger adorned with a gold ring.
“What’s good?” Keshawn dapped him up.
“Get in, little nigga.”
…
They had only been on the road for ten minutes but it felt like an eternity as they drove down MLK Blvd. Fat Stacks didn’t say much and neither did Keshawn despite his mind racing with a thousand questions. How did he know where he lived? Where were they going? Why were they seemingly tailing the van in front of them?
The van took a right on Van Ness and then another on Vernon Ave, crossing an imaginary line that Keshawn had been schooled on by Vic. They were in the heart of the Rollin 40s Crips area, somewhere Fat Stacks had no business rolling through. Keshawn ran through all of the possible reasons why Fat Stacks would have to be here, let alone with him. While their relationship had grown, it was still confined to the occasional head nod when they crossed paths and congratulations after an Hamilton win on the court.
They drove through Vernon Ave, following the van as he took a right down Arlington Ave, coming to a stop near a park. It was rather busy for an early Sunday morning with a few older kids playing basketball and a couple of teenagers posted up on the nearby park bench, appearing to pass around a joint.
Fat Stacks made eye contact with Keshawn for the first time since he had gotten in the car, motioning his head towards those same group of teenagers. Keshawn tried to make their face, not recognizing any of them until he finally saw it: the unmistakable blue dreads. It was the pivotal piece of the puzzle as the other faces became more and more familiar, flashbacks of a night that Keshawn didn’t remember all that well due to the nature of the consecutive blows he took to the head.
“As much as I’d love to have you put your own work in,” Fat Stacks scoffed, “A eight foot nigga gonna stand out, you feel me?”
The door of the van in front of them slid open and three guys hopped out, a noticeable bulge in each of their waistbands while two of them sported what appeared to be an aluminum bat in their hand. They hurried their way to the group of teenagers, with one of them spotting the approaching guys and attempted to take off but one of the three pulled out their Glock 31, freezing them on the spot.
Keshawn couldn’t hear what was being said but it was clear as they all stood there, hands in the air. While one kept the gun aimed at them, the other two began taking turns going through the group, swinging the ball as hard as they could at their legs, arms and body, considerate enough to leave their heads alone.
“Motherfuckers probably thought we forgot all about that shit,” Fat Stacks looked towards Keshawn, who was frozen in fear as if he was the one on the wrong end of the barrel, "But I don’t never forget shit, you understand? I certainly don’t forget the people close to me, the people I fuck with.”
A long silence lingered between them as Keshawn tried his best to avoid turning his head, the beatings still ongoing from his peripheral vision.
Fat Stacks’ sudden movement caused Keshawn to flinch, amusing Fat Stacks as a smile was displayed in his face as he dug into his right back pocket.
“Here you go,” Fat Stacks handed him the money, “Take your little girlfriend Gayle to the movies or something.”
Keshawn looked at the dollar bills, scared to take it but even more terrified to not to, “She’s not my girlfriend,” he meekly said, as if such a trivial detail mattered in an instance like this.
“Then take some other bitch,” Fat Stacks laughed, “You represent the neighborhood, the set when you step out, you feel me? Can’t have you out here looking all bummy and shit.”
Thankfully, the beating was over just as Keshawn reached out and grabbed the money, muttering a barely audible thank you to Keshawn before placing it in the front pouch of his hoodies. The guys retreated back to the van with no rush, even stopping and looking back to admire their work as the group of kids playing basketball had scattered away, leaving the teenagers alone, writhing in pain on the ground.
“You hungry?” Fat Stacks asked as he put the car in drive, “I’d fuck up a breakfast burrito right now.”
…
Keshawn took a whiff of himself as he began the walk towards the apartment complex, seeing if he could smell any marijuana on him. His mom had called him throughout that day, asking where he was, giving her the runaround at every turn as breakfast with Fat Stacks had turned into much more than that, making various stops throughout the city, showing face and even an impromptu pick-up game at the park.
He had hoped that the sweat would mask the smoke that he was around all day but he knew his face would tell the story of a very long day. The best he could wish for at this point was that she was asleep or had retreated to her room, watching some television in preparation for another long week of double-shifts and shitty pay.
As he turned his key, he heard the unmistakable voice of a man in the house. Even if Simone had stayed over once more, she wasn’t the kind to bring a boyfriend or male friend over, especially not to some shithole extended stay in Village Green.
There he was, sitting on the couch, a plate of food in front of him on the coffee table and Loraine’s legs laying on his lap.
“Hey son,” Elijah smiled, “Welcome home.”
