Neighborhood.

[Soapy]

The Good, The Bad and The Dollar Menu - Episode 8
Keshawn pushed the pasta around his plate, watching the linguine twist and separate, anything to avoid looking at Candace across the table.

"You're not hungry?" Candace said.

Keshawn stabbed a piece of lobster, brought it to his mouth, chewed mechanically. It could've been rubber for all he tasted it. His mind was still back in San Francisco, where they had dropped a winnable game to the Warriors, unable to string together a few good performances in a row.

"I’m alright," he said.

"Right."

The word landed flat. Keshawn finally looked up to find her watching him, her champagne untouched, her expression carefully neutral in that way that meant she was anything but.

"What?"

"Nothing," she took a sip of water instead of the champagne. "Just trying to figure out if you're actually here or if your mind's still wherever the fuck it was when you ignored my calls."

"I told you I was sorry about that."

"Yeah, you did.

"Like I told you, it wasn’t my idea. I was just trying to be a good teammate. Bond with the guys, you know, leadership shit."

"And you couldn't take two seconds to answer my call or even shoot a text that you’re busy?" Candace set her fork down with more force than necessary. "I'm not asking for much here."

The couple at the next table glanced over. Keshawn lowered his voice. "Look, I get it. I would have loved to spend my birthday with you too but it’s just like, this is all part of it."

"Part of what?"

"The lifestyle," he said. "The NBA lifestyle. It’s different but it’s what I signed up for, it’s what you signed up for."

Candace's jaw tightened. "What I signed up for?"

"You know what I mean," Keshawn said, but even as the words left his mouth, he could feel them landing wrong.

"No, actually, I don't," she leaned forward slightly. "Explain it to me."

"The schedule is crazy. We're on the road half the time. Games back-to-back. Practice. Recovery. I can't always be on the phone. I’m not always going to have energy or the bandwidth to be as attentive as you want me to be."

"You had enough energy to be doing whatever the fuck it is what y’all were doing. I'm not asking you to be on the phone all day, Keshawn. I'm asking you to at least answer when I call on your fucking birthday."

"That was a confluence of events."

"You were ignoring me."

The truth of it sat between them.

"I don’t know what you want me to tell you," he said finally, hearing the defensive edge in his voice. "We’re gonna have to adjust to it."

"Adjust to it?" Candace's laugh came out sharp. "I know you’re fucking lying."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nigga, you was the same motherfucker bitching about me dancing on another nigga for a fucking show," she fired back, "Now, you’re trying to tell me about some lifestyle that I have to adjust to?"

Keshawn's jaw clenched. He remembered. Of course he remembered.

"That was different—"

"How? How was it different, Keshawn? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you want me to adjust to your lifestyle while you can't handle mine."

"You were all over some nigga—"

"I was working," she cut him off. "It was choreographed. It was fake. But you couldn't see past your own feelings to understand that it's part of what I do."

The waiter appeared at their table, his timing impeccable in the worst way. "How is everything tasting?"

"Fine," they said in unison, not looking at him.

The waiter retreated quickly, sensing the tension.

Keshawn stared at his plate, his appetite completely gone now. She wasn't wrong. He knew she wasn't wrong. But admitting it felt like losing ground he couldn't afford to give up.

"It's not the same," he said quietly.

"It's exactly the same," Candace picked up her champagne finally, took a long sip. "You want me to be understanding when you disappear. When you're too tired or too stressed or too whatever to pick up the phone. But when it comes to my career, my obligations, suddenly I'm supposed to what? Quit? Change who I am?"

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

…

The crying started low at first, a whimper that Jessica tried to ignore. But within seconds it escalated into that piercing wail that could cut through concrete.

"Fuck," Jessica breathed, stilling immediately.

Tyran's hands loosened on her hips. "You need to get that?"

"Yeah," Jessica was already climbing off him, reaching for the sweatshirt crumpled on the floor. "Give me a second."

She pulled the shirt over her head as she hurried down the hallway, the crying getting louder with each step. Yesenia was standing in her crib, her face red and wet with tears, her arms reaching up desperately.

"Hey baby, hey," Jessica lifted her daughter out, feeling the heat radiating off her small body. "You’re alright, you’re alright, momma."

Yesenia's cries didn't stop, only intensified as she buried her face in Jessica's neck, her little fists clutching the fabric of the t-shirt. Jessica bounced her gently, swaying side to side, whispering soothing nonsense that never seemed to work as well as it did for Vic.

"Shh, shh, you're okay. You're okay, baby girl."

The crying continued, loud and unrelenting. Jessica could hear it echoing through the thin walls, knew her neighbors were probably cursing her name right now. She grabbed Yesenia's sippy cup from the nightstand, offered it, but Yesenia just swatted it away, her screams reaching a new pitch.

A few minutes passed. More came and went. Jessica's arms started to ache, her back protesting the constant movement. Finally, the crying began to taper off into hiccupping sobs, then into quiet whimpers. Yesenia's grip on her shirt loosened, her breathing evening out as exhaustion took over.

Jessica waited another few minutes, making sure she was really asleep before carefully lowering her back into the crib. Yesenia stirred but didn't wake. Jessica backed out of the room slowly, wincing as the floorboard creaked under her foot.

When she returned to her bedroom, Tyran was already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed with his phone in his hand. His shoes were on. His jacket was draped over his arm.

"Sorry about that," Jessica said, trying for casual even as her stomach sank. "She’s been struggling with sleeping through the night again."

"Yeah, it’s all good," Tyran stood up, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "I got to head out anyway."

"You sure? She's down now. You could—"

"Nah, it's cool," he was already moving toward the door. "I'll hit you later, alright?"

Jessica followed him to the living room, watching as he grabbed his keys from the coffee table. She knew that tone. She'd heard it before, from David, from Chris, from that guy whose name she couldn't even remember now. They all said they were cool with her having a kid. They all said it wasn't a big deal.

"Tyran—"

"You have a good night," he said, finally looking at her as he opened the front door. His smile was polite, distant, already checked out.

…

They'd made it through three rounds already, maybe four. Keshawn had lost count somewhere between the second bottle of Don Julio and when Candace had pulled him onto the small dance floor, her body pressed against his in a way that felt like apology and accusation all at once.

"Another one?" Candace shouted over the music, holding up her empty glass.

Keshawn nodded, following her to the bar. He could tell that the bartender was trying to place his face but probably didn’t think that an NBA player would be at this hole-in-the-wall after-hours spot with his rapper girlfriend . Just a nod, a quick pour, cash on the counter.

The tequila burned less this time. Or maybe Keshawn was just too numb to feel it properly. Candace was saying something, her lips moving close to his ear, but the music swallowed most of it. He caught fragments. Something about next weekend. He nodded along, his arm around her waist, both of them swaying slightly even though they weren't dancing anymore.

"I need to piss," Keshawn said, the words coming out slurred at the edges.

Candace waved him off, already turning back to the bar for water. Keshawn navigated through the crowd, his coordination not quite right, bumping shoulders and mumbling apologies that no one heard. The bathroom was a single stall, grimy and small, the kind of place that made him grateful he was just pissing and not doing anything else.

When he emerged, Candace was waiting by the door, her purse already on her shoulder.

"Let's go," she said.

"We just got here."

"We've been here for two hours, baby."

Had they? Time felt slippery, unreliable, a welcomed change to his usual strict routine. Keshawn followed her toward the exit, the cool night air hitting his face like a slap as they pushed through the door. The parking lot was half-empty, their car somewhere in the back where they'd left it.

"Yo!"

The voice cut through the fog in Keshawn's head. He turned, searching for the source, and found them clustered near a black Escalade. Five, maybe six guys. He didn’t recognize them until one of them peeled off the car.

"The fuck," Candace muttered, her grip tightening on Keshawn's arm.

Trell pushed off the Escalade, his entourage moving with him like a choreographed unit. "You taking this lame ass nigga to our spot?"

"Fuck off, Trell," Candace's voice was sharp, cutting.

Keshawn stepped forward, positioning himself slightly in front of her. His head was spinning, the tequila making everything feel both too fast and too slow at once, but he knew enough to recognize what was unfolding.

"Chill out, bro," Keshawn said, his voice steadier than he felt.

Trell laughed, the sound ugly and mocking. "Chill out? Bro? Nigga, I ain’t your fucking brother, buster ass nigga!"

"I'm not even trying to—"

The movement was quick. One of Trell's boys, a stocky dude with face tattoos, stepped forward and pulled something from his waistband. The gun caught the parking lot light, small and black and very real.

"Run that shit," he commanded, his voice flat. "You already know what time it is, NBA."

Keshawn's jaw clenched. He was seventeen again, walking through Baldwin Village for the first time, trying not to show fear while everything in him screamed to run.

"You ain’t hear him?" Trell said, that smile still plastered on his face. "Everything off before we beat that shit off you on the dead homies, fuck nigga."

"Babe," Candace's voice was quiet now, urgent. "It's not worth it."

But his hands wouldn't move. Couldn't move.

"Baby, please," Candace's hand was on his arm now, pulling gently. "Just give it to them."

The gun was still pointed at him. The guy with the face tattoos hadn't moved, hadn't blinked. Keshawn could see the others watching, waiting, their hands hovering near their own waistbands.

His fingers found the clasp of the chain, fumbling with it. The alcohol made everything clumsy, his coordination shot. Finally, it came loose.

"The watch too."

Keshawn's other hand moved to the Rolexd. The clasp released and he held it out, watching as another one of Trell's boys took it, examining it with the casual interest of someone appraising merchandise.

"That's what I thought," Trell said, already turning back toward the Escalade. "Soft ass bitch."

[Captain Canada]

Candace is a fucking sucker. You letting your ex stick up your current boyfriend? Sounds like a fucking set up.

[Caesar]

Candace is a fucking sucker. You letting your ex stick up your current boyfriend? Sounds like a fucking set up.

The fuck she supposed to be? Superwoman? ain’t no let.

Keshawn lucky they ain’t have his ass out there in his draws. Twitter gonna be alight when they catch wind of this.

Damn, people cracking Jessica then dipping on her? Life comes at you fast

[Captain Canada]

Candace is a fucking sucker. You letting your ex stick up your current boyfriend? Sounds like a fucking set up.

The fuck she supposed to be? Superwoman? ain’t no let.

Keshawn lucky they ain’t have his ass out there in his draws. Twitter gonna be alight when they catch wind of this.

Damn, people cracking Jessica then dipping on her? Life comes at you fast

What's Trell and his people really gonna do in that situation? A double-murder of NBA Rookie of the Year and essentially Cardi B? Enjoy that trip to 24-hour lock-up good buddy - you going to jail.

[Soapy]

Candace is a fucking sucker. You letting your ex stick up your current boyfriend? Sounds like a fucking set up.

The fuck she supposed to be? Superwoman? ain’t no let.

Keshawn lucky they ain’t have his ass out there in his draws. Twitter gonna be alight when they catch wind of this.

Damn, people cracking Jessica then dipping on her? Life comes at you fast

What's Trell and his people really gonna do in that situation? A double-murder of NBA Rookie of the Year and essentially Cardi B? Enjoy that trip to 24-hour lock-up good buddy - you going to jail.

I'm with Caesar gang lmao Keion White just got shot the other day and the jets player got shot in New York last year

these are gang members ultimately and they threatened to pistol whip him not shoot

[Soapy]

The Good, The Bad and The Dollar Menu - Episode 9
"Ain’t nobody trying to hear that shit right now, Vic!”

Vic turned around, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. His face was calm, measured, the way it always got when he was about to say something Keshawn wouldn't want to hear. "I feel you but sometimes that’s how it goes."

"Nigga, what?" Keshawn could hear his voice rising but couldn't stop it. "This motherfucker pulled a gun on me and you telling me that’s just how it goes?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

"Nah, fuck that," Keshawn shook his head. "These niggas fucking violated me."

"You didn't get violated. You got robbed. There's a difference."

The words hit wrong, felt dismissive in a way that made the heat in Keshawn's chest spread to his face. "That's the same fucking thing."

"It's not," Vic poured water into the coffee maker, his movements deliberate and slow. "You got caught slipping, drunk as fuck, probably in the wrong place at the wrong time. They saw an opportunity and took it. That's it."

"That's it?" Keshawn laughed. "That's it? Nigga, you sound crazy as fuck. This nigga took me for my shit in front of my fucking girl bro!"

"What I sound like is someone who understands how this shit works," Vic turned back to face him fully now, his expression hardening. "You want me to make a call? Cool. Let's say I make that call. Let's say Trey makes that call. Let's say we get your chain back. Then what?"

"Then I got my shit back."

"Then you got beef," Vic corrected. "Real beef. The kind that don't go away because you want it to. The kind that follows you, that escalates, that puts not just you but everyone around you in the line of fire."

Keshawn shook his head, the rage making it hard to think straight. "If I still had my relationship with Stacks, this wouldn't even be an issue. He would've handled it already."

Vic's jaw tightened, the first real crack in his calm exterior. "Don't do that."

"Do what? Tell the truth? I cut Stacks off because of Trey, out of respect for you, and now look where that got me."

"You think Stacks would've prevented this?" Vic sucked his teeth. "All that would've done is make this situation ten times worse because and gotten your Black ass smoked."

"I'm not trying to get killed. I'm trying to get what's mine."

"Then buy another one," Vic said again, his tone final. "You got the bread for it, clearly."

Keshawn stared at his cousin.

"You sound scared," Keshawn said quietly, "Acting like a real bitch right now."

Vic's expression didn't change. "I sound smart."

"Yeah, whatever nigga. I guess you cool with niggas taking your shit. Clearly."

…

"When you touch?" Byron asked, looking him up and down. "You got swole as fuck, cuz."

"A couple weeks ago," DJ replied. "Been laying low with my cousin over in Crenshaw."

"Crenshaw?" Pat laughed. "The fuck you doing all the way out there?"

"That's where she stay," DJ shrugged. "Beats the county, that's for damn sure."

They moved to the side of the building where there was shade, the concrete wall still tagged with the same graffiti DJ remembered from before he went in. Byron pulled out a Black & Mild, offering it around before lighting it himself.

"You got jumped in?" Mike laughed, nodding at the tattoos visible under DJ's short sleeves.

DJ laughed, flexing his arm to show off the ink. "Man, it was either that or turn Muslim. And I ain't trying to pray five times a day and all that."

"Facts," Pat said. "Them Muslim niggas be on some other shit. No disrespect to them, but that ain't for me."

"You working?" Byron asked, passing the cigar.

DJ took a pull, the tobacco harsh but familiar. "Yeah, I got something lined up at this warehouse in Gardena. Loading trucks and shit. My PO set it up."

"That's what's up," Byron nodded. "Staying legit."

"Trying to," DJ said, and it wasn't entirely a lie. The warehouse job was real. The package in his cousin's apartment was real too. "Just staying out the way right now, you know? Getting adjusted to being out."

"I feel you," Pat said. "My cousin came home last year and said the same shit. Everything different when you been gone that long."

"Everything the same too," DJ looked around the block, at the familiar faces, the familiar corners. "That's the weird part."

Mike's phone buzzed and he pulled it out, scrolling through something that made him laugh. "Yo, y'all remember Ciera? She went to Centennial?"

"With the fat ass?" Byron asked.

"That's the one," Mike turned his phone around to show them an Instagram profile. "Look at her now. She was at my job the other day."

DJ leaned in to look. The woman in the photos was barely recognizable.

"Damn," Byron breathed. "What happened to her?"

"What you think happened?" Mike said. "Life, nigga. She been smoking hard. She came by the office on some tweaker shit, you know how it go."

"That's fucked up," DJ shook his head, mostly out of disappointment that he never got to hit in high school. She mainly messed with older dudes.

"You remember Jasmine?" Byron asked. "The light-skinned one that that ball player was fucking on?"

"Hell yeah," Pat said. "She was fine as hell too. Whatever happened to her?"

"She good actually," Peanut said. "Got her nursing degree, working at Cedars. I saw her the other day when I went in with my momma and them."

"See, that's what I'm talking about," DJ said. "That's the kind of story I wanna hear. Give a nigga a bitch to knock off his hit list."

"Nigga, you ain’t hitting shit but the back of your fist," Little Mike laughed. "You know who else fell off though? Remember Crystal?"

They spent the next twenty minutes going through names, pulling up social media profiles, comparing who made it out and who didn't. The conversation was easy, familiar, the kind of shit that made DJ feel like maybe he could slip back into this life without too much trouble.

…

"You good?" Trey asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, I'm straight," Keshawn said, but his fingers drummed against the table, betraying him.

Trey leaned back slightly, his expression unchanged. "That's crazy because you look like a nigga with something on his mind."

Keshawn glanced around the visiting room. Other inmates sat at their own tables, families clustered around them. A CO stood by the door, arms crossed, face bored.

"It's nothing," Keshawn started, but Trey cut him off with a look.

"Man, don't waste my time or yours. You ain’t exactly a frequent visitors, let alone during the season. If you here, like this, you need something so you might as well spit it out."

Keshawn sat there quietly for a moment. He'd gone back and forth on whether to even come, whether to bring Trey into this but the more he was ignoring Candace’s messages, the more it kept stoking that fire in his chest that wouldn't die down.

"I got booked," Keshawn said finally. "Took my chain, my watch. I was with my girl after this club."

Trey's expression didn't change as he waited, letting Keshawn continue.

"It was her ex and his boys."

"Vic know?"

"Yeah," he sucked his teeth. "Told me let it go."

"What your girl say? She was with you, right?"

"To let it go."

Trey nodded his head. "That's probably smart advice."

"Yeah?" Keshawn raised an eyebrow.

"But I understand why you can't do that," Trey leaned forward now, his elbows on the table. "What's the nigga's name?"

"Trell. Big Trell, I think. He's a rapper or some shit."

Trey nodded slowly, like he was filing the information away.

"Normally, this is the kind of thing Stacks would handle," Keshawn reminded him, "Not exactly an option for me anymore."

"You’re right, it isn’t," Trey’s eyes hardened for a moment, "Alright. I'll handle it."

"How?" The question came out before Keshawn could stop it, too eager, too desperate.

"Nigga, if I tell you I’m handling something, that’s all you need to know," Trey glanced toward the CO, then back to Keshawn. "Somebody named DJ gonna reach out to you. When he does, you tell him everything. Where it happened, what they looked like, what they took. All of it."

"DJ," Keshawn repeated.

"Yeah. He’ll take care of it," Trey pushed himself off the table, "And Blood? Next time someone tries to book you for your shit, I’m going to need at least a busted lip or something."

[Captain Canada]

Keshawn a whole fucking idiot. Boy was a certified pussy like three years ago, now he about to get somebody hit over a chain

[Caesar]

Keshawn a whole fucking idiot. Boy was a certified pussy like three years ago, now he about to get somebody hit over a chain

Three years ago? Three weeks ago lol

Keshawn gonna end up getting killed behind a chain. Crazy work.

[Soapy]

Keshawn a whole fucking idiot. Boy was a certified pussy like three years ago, now he about to get somebody hit over a chain

Three years ago? Three weeks ago lol

Keshawn gonna end up getting killed behind a chain. Crazy work.

getting hoed out in front of ya girl will do that to you

[Soapy]