by Carl Weber
Outside of the community center, East stood alone, watching a group of teenagers playing basketball in the park across the street. Cars zoomed up and down the street, and people were going about their day like everything was normal. That’s because to them it was. Nothing had changed in their world. Death only affected those connected to the deceased. Life went on for the living. In that moment, East found peace in his thoughts. After all, nothing had really changed in his life either.
“Hey,” a voice called out to him from behind, grabbing his attention.
East turned around. He immediately recognized the man in the dark blue suit and white shirt with no tie. It was hard not to; Ricardo Wheeler was the man in Liberty City. A local legend, revered by the entire community. The former middleweight boxer was an alternate on the ’96 Olympic Team in Atlanta and was a middle-of-the-road contender as a pro. He had done well for himself after his career ended, owning a boxing gym and a grocery store in the neighborhood. He was known to rub shoulders with a lot of important people around the city of Miami.
Ricardo removed the dark shades from his face. “What’s your last name, li’l man?” he questioned.
East hesitated, unsure if he wanted to divulge that type of information.
“Is it Eastwood?” Ricardo asked, sensing the boy’s apprehension.
“Yeah. Why?” East asked reluctantly.
Ricardo began to nod in confirmation. “I knew it,” he said calmly as he flashed a perfect smile. It was a disarming grin, letting East know he didn’t have to worry. There was no danger in talking to him. “Derek Eastwood was yo’ daddy?”
“I guess you can say that,” East acknowledged. “Why, you knew him?”
“I wouldn’t be alive if I didn’t,” Ricardo recalled. He looked over his shoulder back at the street before finishing his story. “Me and yo’ daddy go way back. He helped me out of a bad situation, one time . . . back in the day,” he admitted, continuing to eye the young man in front of him. If Ricardo didn’t know any better, he would have sworn Derek had spit the little nigga out himself. “Damn, you look just like him,” Ricardo shook his head in astonishment. “Who’s yo’ momma?” he wondered aloud in a cool Southern drawl.
East hated for someone to say that he resembled his father. Even more so now that there were rumors swirling about Derek being a snitch. Word on the street was that’s what got him killed. Although he didn’t know if the gossip was true or not, East felt a great bit of shame about it. Nobody wants to be the son of a snitch. That was a lifetime scar he didn’t want to wear. Still, he was surprised to see Ricardo there to pay his respects. He had no idea the two men knew each other or even ran in the same circles. Truth was, he didn’t know much about what his father did or who he knew. “Tweet,” he answered, calling his mother by the name she was most known by.
“Tweet yo’ momma? Get the hell outta here.” Ricardo couldn’t believe it. His voice was unable to hide his surprise.
That nigga D. His ass was fuckin’ pretty li’l Tweet back in the day. He had to be the first nigga to crack the seal on that pussy. Ricardo shook his head. The thought caused a slight grin to crease his lips as he reminisced. East picked up on it.
“You know my mother?”
“Shit, I know yo’ whole family. They good people,” Ricardo said. He hadn’t lied. Tweet had always been a respectable female with a good reputation from a solid family. When she dropped out of high school and popped up pregnant, it was like it came out of nowhere. Nobody even knew she was having sex or with whom. For Ricardo, it had stayed that way until that very moment. “You should have yo’ momma bring you by my gym sometime,” he offered. “Maybe I can tell you some stories about me and yo’ daddy back in the day. Nothing like the shit being said about him now.” Ricardo rubbed his hand over his beard.
“I don’t care about what niggas saying.” East hid his lie well, pretending that the rumors didn’t bother him.
“That’s good. That’s real good. Never worry about what niggas gotta say, especially if they ain’t putting no money in your pocket,” Ricardo schooled. East didn’t know what he admired more, the jewel from Ricardo or the gold Rolex on his left wrist. Ricardo reached into his pocket and pulled out a knot of money. He peeled off a few hundred-dollar bills and walked toward East. “Here, make sure yo’ momma get that and tell her I said sorry,” he said, placing the crisp bills into the young boy’s hand. “And make sure you stop by my gym one of these days. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
A white Bentley Continental Flying Spur bending the corner pulled East’s eyes away from Ricardo, capturing his attention. The luxury vehicle pulled to a stop at the curb. A medium-built man got out of the passenger side and opened the back door. He had butterscotch skin, a low cut with faint waves, and wore gold-framed glasses. He wore no gaudy jewelry, just a gold Rolex similar to the one Ricardo had on. As Ricardo passed, he whispered something to the man. East couldn’t hear what was said, but whatever it was made the two men look his way and stare for a moment. Ricardo got in the car; then the man closed the door behind him. It was the flyest shit East had ever seen in his eleven years on earth. He smiled, and the car pulled off, disappearing around the corner.
* * *
Later that night, East lay in his bed staring up at the ceiling thinking about Ricardo’s words. He could hear them clearly as if he had just spoken them. The words danced around in his head until they found a perfect resting spot in his brain. East’s astute mind allowed him to figure things out quicker than other kids his age. As time passed, his thoughts calmed, and he began to drift off to sleep. He was almost in Dreamville when Ebony knocked gently on his bedroom door and it slowly opened.
Making her way to the edge of his bed, she noticed that he was still awake. “Boy, why are you still up at this time of night?” she asked, taking a seat next to him.
East shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t go to sleep.”
“Why?” she reached out and ran her fingers through his curly hair.
“I was just thinking.” His voice was pure, and his eyes were filled with a child’s innocence.
“Thinking about what?” Ebony questioned.
“Stuff,” he replied hoping to avoid having to tell her actually what was on his mind.
“What kinda stuff?”
“Boy stuff . . . No, important man stuff. You wouldn’t understand it,” he chuckled.
“Oh yeah?” Ebony laughed with him.
“Yup,” he said, puffing out his chest and smiling from ear to ear.
“Boy, please. You ain’t no man yet,” she said, tickling him, causing East to scream in laughter. “Now . . . take . . . your . . . butt . . . to . . . sleep . . . before . . . I . . . whip . . . that . . . ass,” she teased, tickling him with every word.
“OK. OK. OK,” East couldn’t stop laughing as he pleaded for it to be over.
“Good night, baby.” Ebony kissed her son before getting up. She fixed his covers, tucking him comfortably back into bed. Then she walked toward the door but paused when East called out to her.
“Ma,” he blurted out, then leaped out of the bed. East raced over to his dresser and retrieved the money Ricardo had given him earlier that day. “I almost forgot. Here, this is for you.” He handed the money to his mother.
Ebony looked down at the large bills, then back up at her son with raised eyebrows. She turned her head to the side. Her motherly instincts kicked in, telling her something wasn’t right. “Boy, where’d you get this money from?” she demanded.
“From the boxer dude, Ricardo Wheeler. He said he knew my father,” East explained.
“Yeah, I know who he is,” Ebony said. “I didn’t know he knew your father, though.”
“He said, he wouldn’t be alive if he didn’t. Something about my father helping him back in the day,” East recalled.
“Oh . . . OK. That was nice of him,” Ebony smiled.
“He wants me to come by his boxing gym. Can I go?” East pleaded.
�
��No, I don’t like you fighting as it is,” she quickly dismissed.
“Please, Ma.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Pleeeease,” he begged some more.
Ebony saw the seriousness in his face. She couldn’t deny that face. “OK, boy, you can go,” she caved in to his request. “Now, go to bed.” Then she walked out of the room.
Chapter Two
It didn’t take East long to give in to his youthful curiosity. Only forty-eight hours passed before he found himself standing in front of Ricardo’s boxing gym. The allure was too much for him to ignore. Outside the gym, he noticed the white Bentley from the other day parked out front. Spotting the beautiful vehicle made his heart rate speed up a bit. Anxiety surged through his body, making him question the real reason why he was there.
Do I want to know more about my father? Or more about Ricardo Wheeler? Truthfully, it was a little of both that had led him there. Ricardo’s magnetic aura and East’s intrigue had created the perfect storm.
Once inside, East played the cut, fading into a corner and watching everything from afar. He felt nervous and excited at the same time. He leaned against a wall, taking in his surroundings and listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the gym. The grunts of the fighters, the thuds from the gloves hitting punching bags, and the hiss of the rope being skipped. It was all new to him. Even the scent of the gym was unlike anything he had smelled before. It was a distinct odor of sweat and leather, spit and blood.
As time passed, he felt more comfortable. East began to make his way around the gym until he found himself standing in front of a vacant heavy bag. He threw a couple of punches causing the bag to sway back and forth slightly. He threw a few more before grabbing the bag with both hands, stopping it again. Peeking around the bag, he saw a group of teenagers, around his age, standing near the ring. They were admiring the young fighter inside throwing combinations as his trainer called out numbers and doted over him. East recognized the trainer. He was the man that had opened the door of the Bentley for Ricardo the day of his father’s funeral. East studied the two in the ring, then soon found himself mirroring their routine, throwing the punches as they were called out. He was mesmerized not by the fighters but by the atmosphere. Unbeknownst to him, there had been a set of eyes watching him from the moment he entered the gym. Ricardo had been paying close attention from his normal seat in the corner of the gym. Suddenly, the trainer lowered his puncher’s mitts and turned toward the group of teenagers gathered around the ring.
“Any of y’all wanna get some rounds in today?” he asked. His hoarse voice overpowering every other sound in the gym without having to scream.
The teenagers became silent and filled with tension. East could feel their apprehension thicken the air.
Why ain’t nobody raising their hand? he asked himself, eagerly scanning the boys’ faces for a would-be challenger. Now the whole gym grew quiet. You could hear the tick of the clock on the wall, but still, no one answered the challenge. When no one volunteered to spar with the young fighter, East stepped forward and raised his hand. “I do,” he declared, walking toward the ring. Every eye in the gym fell on him.
A smile spread across the face of the man inside the ring. He looked over at Ricardo who was sitting in a corner of the gym, pretending to read the newspaper. He nodded his head, giving his approval. The boy in the ring was his son, Ricardo Jr., affectionately known as Dos. He was the best young prospect in the gym. There would be no better way to see what East was made of than to throw him right into the hottest of fires.
“Yo, Tez, that’s my li’l man Eastwood,” Ricardo declared. “Get ’em some gear. Let’s see what he got,” he said smoothly, rising to his feet. His words caused a complete frenzy. Kids began gathering around the ring clapping their hands and chanting, wanting to see a fight.
“Dawg, fight! Dawg, fight!” the boys cheered.
“Man, that kid is crazy . . .”
“No one can beat Dos . . .”
“Yeah, Dos ’bout to fuck li’l homie up,” a chorus of voices said throughout the gym.
Still, East never wavered. He climbed into the ring, and Tez began fitting him with the proper equipment as the chanting grew louder. East had never worn headgear, a mouthpiece, or gloves before. The equipment felt heavy on him.
How can you fight with all this on? his young mind contemplated.
He had never been inside a ring either, but he had more than his share of fistfights in the neighborhood. He wasn’t scared of anyone. There was no bitch in him or fear in his eyes as he looked across the ring, where Dos wore a look of overconfidence on his face. The buzz in the gym was like the Colosseum in Rome. Two young gladiators preparing for battle.
East walked to the middle of the ring, still adjusting the mouthpiece comfortably in his mouth. They touched gloves, signaling the start of the fight. Before he knew it, he was eating two quick jabs that bloodied his lip instantly. The overconfident smirk returned to Dos’s face before he threw another one. East slipped it and fired a punch of his own but missed badly. Dos chuckled. Showing his ring experience, he feinted with a jab, then landed a hard right hand that staggered East back into the ropes. With catlike quickness, Dos was right up on him again, smothering him with punches, sending East into a protective shell. Purely off of instinct, East sprang off the ropes with a hard right hook that connected to Dos’s head, causing the smirk to disappear from his face. He shot a quick left hook that Dos dipped and returned a left hook to East’s rib cage. He faked a right jab that made East throw up his guard to block his face, leaving himself open to a crushing kidney shot.
“Uhhh,” East let out a grunt. He was barely able to take the painful blow, staggering against the ropes. Dos moved in for the kill, throwing a quick combo to the body and head, dropping East to one knee, gasping for breath.
Tez stepped between them, but Ricardo intervened. “Nah, don’t stop it. Let them dawgs fight. You know the rules. Only the strong survive. The weak gonna fold first.” He knew pressure busted pipes. If East had any quit in him, it was bound to show itself inside the ring.
East caught his breath. He looked over at Ricardo, then up at Tez before rising to his feet.
“You good?” Tez asked.
East nodded his head, dying for the chance to get back in the action. As soon as Tez moved out of the way, East shot a lazy jab that Dos slipped easily, then caught him with another combo. Two to the head and one to the body. This time, East took it like a champ and came back with a vicious hook to the body and an uppercut that snapped Dos’s head back, sitting him on his ass. The punch drew oohs and aahs from the other kids around the ring.
Dos banged his gloves on the canvas in frustration, then got back up. Now, East was the one with the smirk on his face. The two of them circled and feinted at each other, this time with more respect and more fatigue. Dos was the quicker of the two, but East clearly hit harder. They stood in the middle of the ring going toe to toe, trading blows even after Tez called time. Finally, when neither could throw another blow, they stopped, both bending over with their hands on their knees, breathing heavily through their mouths.
“Y’all finished?” Tez asked.
“Yeah . . . They’re done,” Ricardo declared, stepping inside the ring. Both boys were exhausted and battered. “That was a good fight. Give it up for them,” he told the group around the ring. They all clapped. Ricardo was impressed by what he saw from the new kid. He already knew what his son was made out of, but East had gained his respect. What the young kid lacked in skill, he more than made up for it with toughness and heart, a trait Ricardo was very fond of.
“Li’l man got crazy heart,” Tez spoke in his low, raspy tone to Ricardo as they stood side by side.
“Yeah. I want you to keep him close. Take him under your wing, show him the ropes. I want to be able to keep my eye on him,” Ricardo instructed.
“Say no more,” Tez replied. He was Ricardo’s right-hand man. They had been running together sin
ce they were teenagers. Ricardo felt confident with Tez by his side.
For his part, Dos would never admit it, but that had been the toughest fight of his young life. East had gained his respect also. After catching his breath, he walked over with a smile and extended his hand to East. “Good work,” he said with childlike enthusiasm.
East hadn’t decided how he felt about Dos yet, so he remained guarded. He wasn’t used to fighting someone, then talking to them immediately after. It felt weird that Dos was standing in his face smiling, wanting to talk. “Yeah,” he replied dryly.
“What’s your name?” Dos questioned, curious to know more about the new face.
“East.”
“East? That’s not a name. That’s a direction,” Dos laughed. “What kinda name is that?”
“It’s my name,” East challenged, glaring at him.
Dos could see the new kid wasn’t much for jokes. “Anyway, I’m Dos—”
“Dos?” East interrupted, shaking his head. “And you think my name is funny?”
“It’s because I’m the second,” Dos explained.
“I ain’t the second nobody. I’m the first me,” East said proudly and smirked.
Dos sucked his teeth; he had just been one-upped in the verbal game of chess. “Your dad and my dad were friends,” he said, switching the subject.
“How’d you know that?” East’s brow wrinkled a bit.
“My dad told me. He said you would be coming by the gym.”
East looked over at Ricardo who was talking with Tez, then back at Dos and nodded his head.
“How come I ain’t never seen you around before?” Dos asked.
East shrugged his shoulders. “I ain’t never seen you before either.”
“True,” he agreed. “Well, if your dad and my dad were friends, we should be too.”
“A’ight,” East replied.