Free Odd Jobs by Ben Lieberman Page A

bad shot that clanks hard against the front rim. Mouth, with his cordless microphone, jumps up on the scorer’s table and yells, “C’mon, Turbo, you got to give up the rock! Man, you got Loot filling the lane and you throw up that gunk. Damn, the only way to get a pass from Turbo is to put a damn net around your neck so he’ll think you’re the basket.”

    Howls erupt from the crowd. It’s pretty funny but encouraging. Loot threads a beautiful pass right into my hands on a fast break; when I lay this in, we’ll only be down eight. I cross the foul line and start my last step. Before my knee injury, I would slam this bitch, but I better just lay it in. As I roll it off my hand, The Building blasts in from nowhere and swats my shot 12 feet into the crowd. The Mouth must be drooling now.

    The crowd simultaneously lets out an “Ahhhhhh!” Mouth runs on the court and actually smacks me on the butt. “Get that shit out of my kitchen! Damn, The Building just fell on you. He blocked that garbage with his elbow.” There’s no end in sight; he’s on my case now. Mouth calls me The White Knight because there aren’t many white guys playing at this event, or even in the audience. Mouth says, “Damn, Knight, how you gonna get over that? The Building just took your manhood!”

    I hate to admit it, but Mouth might be right. I hit a few outside shots, but I can’t do any slashing. Any time I’m inside, the big ugly Building is there. We’re gonna lose this game. The Building is too dominating, and it’s going to kill Loot. He lives for this. For me, I’m just happy to be here. It’s a perfect summer night and I’m doing something I always wanted to do. There are some faces in the crowd that I recognize, people I haven’t seen in a while.

    Loot is pushing the ball up court. There’s a minute and a half left in the game, and we’re down nine points now. Loot pulls up at the arc and lets a three-pointer go. It’s a nice-looking shot, but it has a bit too much spin on it and bounces off the back part of the rim. The Building leaps over us mere mortals and pulls down yet another rebound. Loot is screaming for us to intentionally foul in an attempt to stop the clock. But it’s too late: the ball flies up court and the other team spreads out to run the clock down. Carey finally catches one of their guys and fouls him, but we are down nine with one minute and 10 seconds to go. Their player is on the foul line, but I’m not concentrating on him. Like a fucking idiot, I’m scanning the faces in the crowd again, hoping against hope that C.W., for old time’s sake, has shown up to watch me play.

    “C’mon, Kevin! Get your head out your ass! We can still pull this off,” Loot shouts. I wonder if they hit that foul shot; I was really spacing out. No, we’re still down nine points, but he makes the second shot. Loot inbounds to me, I push it up court and pass it to Carey, who lets go with another three pointer that splashes in, nothing but net, but we have only 45 seconds left and we’re down seven. Everything now is more or less for show. The final score is 98-91. The Building scored 40 points and blocked 11 shots.

    The spectators leave the bleachers and head onto the court. Both teams meet in the center and shake hands. A couple of hugs are exchanged. Everyone’s leaving now, but I barely notice; I’m still thinking of C.W. and wishing that, if it had to end, that I had left her. That seems more natural than her leaving me. And less painful.

 

     

     
    CHAPTER 7

     
    I pull into Kosher World and immediately start taking some heat. I’m in a jacket and tie and some of the guys find this quite amusing. Bino is not one of them. I’m sure he’s a bit jealous because Sev’s asking me to join in on the union meeting today. It surprises me that they’ll let someone like me into the meeting, but Sev told me if he wants someone there, no one’s gonna say anything. He says, “The meeting is a joke anyway, so