Neighborhood.

[Soapy]

Makaveli - Episode 7
Keshawn was still working his way through the jerk chicken in between typing words on his phone when the next vendor walked in.

Keshawn set his fork down and wiped his mouth with the napkin. The guy coming through the kitchen door was older, maybe late forties, with a white apron tied around his waist and a metal tray balanced on one hand. Behind him, through the glass, Keshawn could see the food truck parked at the curb, the side panel painted with a palm tree and the words Island Vibes Cuisine in bright yellow letters.

“Mr. Chase,” the guy said, setting the tray on the table between them. “I’m Toussaint. This is thegriot plater. Haitian rice, spicy cabbage, fried plantain on the side.”

“Looks good," Keshawn nodded, "And just Keshawn is fine, Toussaint."

Toussaint stepped back and folded his hands in front of him.

“So the truck’s been running about four years now,” Toussaint started. “Started in my backyard, honestly. I grew up watching my mom and grandmother cook. I just loved how happy everyone was when we were eating, cooking, talking. No one ever wanted to leave the table."

Keshawn nodded. He picked up the fork and stabbed into one of the pork chunks.

“My wife handles the business side,” Toussaint continued. “I just cook. But we’ve done a few events like this, community stuff, church functions, a couple of weddings. We can scale up, no problem. Whatever you need for the day.”

Angela had her laptop open in front of her, the screen split between a spreadsheet and a browser tab with the city’s permit portal. She looked up from the keyboard.

“How many people can you serve an hour?” she asked.

“Depends on the setup. If it’s just the truck, we can push maybe sixty, seventy plates. If you want a second station, we can bring in another person, get that number up to a hundred, hundred-twenty.”

Angela typed something. “And you’re licensed for the city?”

“Full mobile food facility permit. Health department, fire department, all of it. I can email you the paperwork.”

“Please do.”

Keshawn took another bite.

“This is really good,” he said.

Toussaint smiled. “Appreciate that.”

They talked for another few minutes. Toussaint told them about the sourcing, the butcher he used in Inglewood, the produce market off Crenshaw where he got his Scotch bonnets and plantains.

When he left, the kitchen door swung shut behind him and the room got quiet.

Keshawn picked up his phone.

The screen lit up with three notifications.

“You know,” Angela said, not looking up from her laptop, “For someone who’s supposed to be tasting food, you spend a lot of time on that thing.”

Keshawn glanced up. She was still typing, her eyes on the screen, but the corner of her mouth was pulled up.

“I can multitask," he smirked, "It’s just a bit crazy right now with all of this shit."

“Free agency?”

“Yeah, just trying to squeeze in these visits with everything I got going on. We got going on."

Angela stopped typing. She looked at him over the top of the laptop.

“You’re the one who decided to launch a foundation and throw an event with like a month’s notice,” she said. “While you’re about to make the biggest decision of your life.”

Keshawn shrugged. The smile came easy.

“Touche.”

She went back to typing. He went back to his phone. The latest email from Warren was dense, paragraphs of contract language he’d have to read later. He closed it and opened his texts. Vic had already written back. He typed and sent a response.

His phone buzzed again. A notification from Instagram. He opened it without thinking.

“Yeah,” Angela said, “I hear they have a really good basketball team.”

Keshawn looked up. She was watching him over the laptop, one eyebrow raised.

He laughed as he looked back at his screen which was now covered with voluptuous women on a club flyer.

He laughed. “I really was texting about business."

“Looks like serious business to me."

"Just awkward timing," Keshawn laughed, "One of my boys sent me this club we’re supposed to be going to later."

“By ‘boys’,” Angela said, “you mean Vic, right?”

Keshawn laughed again. He held his hands up.

“It doesn’t need to be weird,” Angela said. She turned back to the laptop, her fingers moving across the keyboard. “We’re on good terms. Obviously we don’t really talk, but I’m happy for him. Jessica seems nice. His daughter is adorable.”

“She is,” Keshawn said. “And he’s happy for you too.”

Angela nodded. She typed something else, then looked up.

"We still need to lock in the entertainment. I’ve got a list of local acts, but if you want something bigger, we need to move on it.”

Keshawn set his phone face-down on the table. The screen went dark.

“Let me see the list,” he said.

…

Vic sat on the far end of the sectional, his glass half full, watching it all unfold in front of him.

Trey had pulled the first one in maybe twenty minutes after they’d sat down. Some girl in a silver top who’d been walking past the rope. He’d said something Vic couldn’t hear over the music and she’d laughed and stepped through the gap the bouncer had made for her. Then another one. Then two more. Now there were five of them scattered across the section, all of them leaning into whatever Trey was saying, their drinks in their hands.

Vic took a sip. The ice had melted down to nothing.

Trey was in the middle of a story, his hands moving, the girl next to him laughing loud enough to cut through the music. Another one had her hand on his arm.

Keshawn sat on the other end of the sectional, his phone in his hand, his thumb moving across the screen. He’d been on it since they’d sat down, pausing only to take a drink or nod at something Trey said. The bottle in front of him was still full. He hadn’t poured himself a glass yet.

One of the girls leaned over and said something to Keshawn. He looked up, smiled, said something back, and went back to his phone. The girl laughed and turned back to Trey.

Vic watched Keshawn type something, read the response, type again. The screen lit his face in the dark of the section. Then Keshawn stood up. He tucked the phone into his pocket and walked toward the edge of the section where a bouncer stood with his arms crossed. The bouncer nodded, turned, and started walking toward the back of the club. Keshawn followed.

They disappeared past the curtain at the far end of the VIP section.

Vic took another drink. The glass was warm now. He set it down.

Trey was still going. The girl in the silver top had her head on his shoulder now, her drink balanced on her knee. Trey’s hand was on her thigh, his fingers tapping along to whatever was playing through the speakers.

“Yo,” Trey said, turning toward Vic. “Where Ke at? I need to order another bottle. This one only drinks vodka.”

He jerked his thumb toward the girl next to him. She nodded, holding up her empty glass.

Vic nodded toward the back, past the curtain where the bouncer had taken Keshawn.

Trey looked. The row of private rooms sat along the far wall, past the VIP section, behind a second rope and another bouncer. The doors were closed, the windows tinted dark. The lights above them were lower than the rest of the club, a soft amber that made the hallway look like something separate from everything else.

“That’s like VIP VIP?” Trey said.

Vic nodded.

Trey laughed. “Shit, that sound like what a nigga need right now, Blood."

He stood up, pulling the girl in the silver top with him by the hand. She grabbed her purse off the table and let herself be pulled. Trey walked toward the back, cutting through the section, past the other girls, toward the curtain.

Trey reached the second rope and the bouncer stepped in front of him. The guy was big, shoulders filling out a black polo, his face blank. He didn’t say anything. Just stood there.

“I want what my cousin got,” Trey said. “Keshawn. He just went back there.”

The bouncer didn’t move. His eyes shifted past Trey, toward the section, toward Vic.

Vic gave a small nod.

The bouncer stepped aside.

Trey scoffed. “Ain’t that a bitch?”

He pulled the girl through the gap. Then he stopped, turned around, and came back. He grabbed the bottle of Hennessy off the table, tucked it under his arm, and headed back toward the private rooms.

The girl in the silver top was still standing by the rope, her purse dangling from her wrist.

“Yo,” she said. “I still ain’t got my vodka.”

[Caesar]

Vic a fucking flonkey. Hangaround ass nigga. He spend more of Keshawn money than Keshawn do.

[Soapy]

Vic a fucking flonkey. Hangaround ass nigga. He spend more of Keshawn money than Keshawn do.

that is harsh lmao

you can also argue that keshawn isnt in the nba without vic

[Soapy]

Makaveli - Episode 8
Vic’s car was still in the driveway.

Keshawn stood at the door with his keys in his hand and looked at it for a second before he unlocked the front door.

He heard Trey before he saw him. The voice carrying through from the kitchen. Keshawn came around the corner and Vic was at the stove with a pan going and Trey was at the counter with a mug in front of him, mid-sentence about something involving a girl in a silver top. Keshawn nodded at both of them.

"My bad, cuzzo," Vic said, not turning around, "We wasn’t trying to crash your spot. But try driving through the Palisades at three in the morning, looking like we do, seemed like asking for an ass whooping."

“You good,” Keshawn said. He pulled out the stool across from Trey and sat down.

“See,” Trey said, looking at Vic, “You getting better. He been practicing all morning, man."

“Practicing what?”

“His speech, Blood,” Trey picked up the mug. “For Jessica. When he get home.”

Keshawn laughed. Vic kept his back to both of them, stirring the pan, but his shoulders moved.

“She’s going to have my nigga head,” Trey said.

"Oh yeah, he’s cooked," Keshawn nodded, "He can’t even take a shower and wash the club off because that looks even more guilty."

Vic turned around. He pointed the spatula at Keshawn.

“Since we talking about last night,” Vic said, “How was your sleepover at the candy factory?”

Trey looked up from his mug. "What he talking about?"

“Nothing,” Keshawn said, already laughing, "And don’t—” he pointed back at Vic.

“I wasn’t going to say nothing," Vic held his hands up.

Vic turned back to the stove. Trey looked between the two of them and let it go with a shake of the head.

"Y’all two niggas always on some weird shit."

The pan kept going. Trey finished his coffee. Vic slid eggs onto two plates and set one in front of Keshawn without being asked.

After a while Vic untied the dish towel from his belt loop and dropped it on the counter.

“I’m about to head out,” he said. “You ready?"

Trey shook his head. “I’ll get an Uber. You don’t need to keep your master waiting any longer.”

Vic picked up his keys and flipped him off with the same hand, easy, no heat in it. He dapped Trey up over the counter and came around to Keshawn and dapped him up too.

“Stay safe,” Vic said.

Then he was gone. The front door opened and closed and a few seconds later the car backed out of the driveway.

The kitchen was quieter without him.

Keshawn worked through the rest of his eggs. Trey poured himself more coffee from the pot on the counter and sat back down. Outside the window the morning had gone white and still, the kind of Pacific Palisades quiet that reminded Keshawn of Portland’s mornings.

“I can drop you off,” Keshawn said. “I’m heading into LA anyway. Airport.”

Trey nodded. “Bet.”

He turned the mug in his hands once. "I meant to chop it up with you last night. About the bread."

Keshawn looked towards him.

"Now that I’m home, it can come through me.”

Keshawn looked at his plate. He picked up his fork, set it back down. Then he nodded.

Trey drank his coffee.

A minute passed, maybe two.

“So,” Trey said. “What the fuck is the candy factory?”

…

The restaurant was Italian, tucked into a block in Midtown that Keshawn wouldn’t have found on his own. The table was round, which felt intentional, and the bread had been sitting in the middle of it long enough that Keshawn had already gone through two pieces by the time the conversation found its footing.

“I’m not saying I don’t look forward to them games,” Cade said, leaning back in his chair. “I just know it’s going to be a long night."

“Likewise,” Keshawn nodded with a smile, "You gave us thirty-nine last year."

“That shit ain’t work in the second game,” Cade laughed.

"Everyone gets one," Keshawn held a finger out, "After that, I let the coaching staff know. It’s my cover."

"I wish it wasn’t," Cade shrugged, "Maybe I shouldn’t have went off in that first one."

"It was still a tough cover," Keshawn admitted, "And you don’t duck smoke. You guard up on the other side. Can’t say the same for everybody."

Cade nodded. He broke off a piece of bread. “I think I know who you’re really talking about.”

Langdon, the Pistons team president, smiled into his water glass.

Bronstein set down his fork. “Luka is a great player.” He paused. “A great offensive player. But I can’t stand watching him play either.”

Cade put his head down. Keshawn laughed. Langdon’s shoulders shook. The table came down from it slowly, the way a good laugh does, pieces of it still surfacing.

Bronstein picked his fork back up like nothing had happened.

The waiter came and went. The food arrived in courses, no hurry to any of it. Keshawn worked through the branzino and thought about the day, touring the facilities, meeting with the analytics people, the coaching staff, pretty much the entire basketball operation.

"I definitely respect your game," Keshawn said, "You know what it’s like to lead a franchise, lead a team."

"I respect yours too," Cade said between bites, "Y’all boys made a run this year."

"I feel like, honestly," Keshawn paused, making sure it wasn’t the white wine talking, "It’s only so many of us true franchise players in the league. Put us on a team, any team and we’re going to figure it out. Eventually."

"Now imagine two of those guys on the same team," Langdon chuckled. "Some real Batman and Batman shit."

"No doubt," Keshawn smiled.

"I don’t really care about all that," Cade shrugged, "I just want to win and I feel like you’ll help me do that and I’ll for sure help you do that."

"That’s a true point guard right there," Bronstein laughed as he pointed towards Cade.

“The front office understands what this needs to look like,” Cade said. “We’re not trying to build around one guy. Those days are over for us. We need two guys that make each other harder to guard. That’s the whole thing.”

Langdon nodded. “We’ve had those conversations internally. What we want this team to look like. The framework is there.”

Keshawn didn’t say anything. He chewed.

The plates cleared. Someone refilled the water glasses. The restaurant had thinned out around them, the tables near the window empty now, the noise from the kitchen lower.

Cade turned his glass in his hand. “You’re from LA, right?"

Keshawn nodded, "You?"

“Fort Worth. People say Dallas but nah, Fort Worth."

"I can respect that," Keshawn took another sip of his wine, "Home is home."

"Detroit is home now," Cade held a glass up towards Langdon who returned it.

"Yeah, I can see that," Keshawn laughed.

…

"Hell nah, that shit hit the crack!"

Eight guys were around a corner on Hooper, money on the concrete between them. Trey had a hundred down. DJ stood a few feet back from the circle.

"I don’t know what the fuck you talking about," Trey waved him off, grabbing the two dice.

"That’s a fucking dead role!" one of the guys, who everyone called Caliber, was adamant.

"That shit fucking counted, nigga," Trey was already getting to roll again, "Ain’t nobody else calling that shit."

"I don’t give a fuck if nobody else calling it," Caliber sucked his teeth, "I’m calling it."

One of the other guys looked at the ground. Another one took a small step back without appearing to move at all.

"Call it what you want nigga," Trey grabbed the money between them, "Now what, nigga?"

Caliber stepped towards Trey. His fists were clenched. His upper lip stiff.

"Cal."

DJ said it once. Caliber looked over at him.

His fists unfurled. He took a step back and then another and then he was out of the circle, and the space he’d been standing in closed up behind him like water.

Nobody said anything.

Trey reached down, set his weight back on his heels, and threw.

The dice skipped off the curb and settled clean. The circle read the number. Somebody groaned. Money moved.

The game kept going.

[Captain Canada]

Man, I can't imagine Ke going to the Pistons, but on paper, it does make a lot of sense to team up with someone like Cade.

[Caesar]

Vic extorting him. Trey extorting him. No wonder he got his chain snatched.

[Soapy]

Man, I can't imagine Ke going to the Pistons, but on paper, it does make a lot of sense to team up with someone like Cade.

Cade and Keshawn PNR would feed families

Vic extorting him. Trey extorting him. No wonder he got his chain snatched.

[Soapy]

onto the next one

[Soapy]

[Soapy]