Free the Big Time (2010) by Tim Green Page A

with puffy clouds and angels.
    â€œWow,” Troy heard himself say as they passed a suit of armor and entered another enormous room, filled with furniture upholstered in the skins of zoo animals: zebras, leopards, lions, and bears. They walked through some glass doors and into the back, where the wings on either side of the house flanked a pool. It was like nothing Troy had ever seen. Instead of an aqua blue bottom with stone or wood decking, this pool’s bottom was midnight blue with tiny glimmering stars. It looked as if you’d be jumping into space. The pool’s rounded triangular shape made it seem to Troy as if he were standing on the deck of a spaceship from some Star Wars movie.
    So fascinated was Troy by the pool that he bumped into the guard, who had stopped at the foot of a stone terrace. A handful of men sat around a circular table playing cards, drinking colorful drinks in tall, clear glasses. Most of them wore sparkling chains, rings, and sunglasses, even though it was dark. The night closed in around them, and the low lights surrounding the terrace and pool did little to battle it back. Strangely, the music that wafted up from hidden speakers was the furthest thing from G Money’s rap that Troy could imagine. This music was calm and soothing: wood flutes, synthesizers, and the sounds of trickling water.
    Troy’s father stood up from the table. He wore only abutton-down shirt, suit pants, and his diamond watch. He removed a cigar from his mouth, blowing a plume of blue smoke into the air before enthusiastically introducing Troy around the table. Men with more tattoos, scars, and gold than Troy had ever seen glanced up to briefly say hello. One of them was the enormous bald man with the cold blue eyes Troy had seen in the dome. G Money called them his homeys, and since the men were dressed in colorful silk, leather, and suede, Troy felt silly in his sweatshirt and jeans. He looked down and swatted at the smudge marks on his shirt before running a hand through his hair and shaking his father’s hand. His father pulled him close and hugged him tight, patting Troy’s back.
    â€œHey, Drew,” said a short, fat man with a crooked Celtics hat and a face as round as a basketball, “that’s your big-time ticket, right? The kid?”
    Drew scowled at the man and looked to G Money, but it was the man with the bald pink head, rimless rectangular glasses, and a jaguar’s head tattooed up the side of his neck who spoke.
    â€œBubbles, you’re always talking,” the big man said, his voice rumbling like a volcano ready to blow and flashes of gold teeth appearing from the midst of his furry black beard. “I need to put a rat trap on your chin and then maybe you’d keep that tongue inside your head.”
    The entire table went quiet, and Troy knew thateach one of the men was afraid of the big man, even G Money. Drew quietly excused himself to G Money and nodded at the big man. Then he led Troy down some side steps to a swinging bench seat. Heat lamps on the terrace warmed them against the cool fall night.
    â€œTicket?” Troy asked.
    Drew waved his hand dismissively and said, “Bubbles washes the cars. He’s a moron.”
    â€œWho’s that big scary-looking guy?” Troy asked.
    â€œJust a friend of G Money’s from Chicago,” Drew said. “He helped G Money get started in the business. His name is Luther Tolsky. He knows a lot of people.”
    Troy nodded, then quietly said, “Weird music.”
    â€œG Money is into Zen,” Drew said.
    â€œLike, the religion?”
    â€œHe says it helps his rap to be pure,” Drew said, scowling at his cigar and butting it out against the lip of a large clay pot containing a lemon tree. “Have a seat. Where’s your mom?”
    Troy folded his hands in his lap and studied them before he said, “Home.”
    â€œAt Seth Halloway’s?” Drew asked.
    â€œNo. We