Knockout Games (31 page)

“Am I?” He listened to the sirens coming. He shrugged himself out of my arms. “You know, everything was good before you showed up.”

I saw the gun slowly swing my way. I could hear voices in the background.

“You don't . . . believe that.”

He stared at the gun. “Wouldn't it be a great ending to our movie? I shoot you, then blow my own brains out and nobody ever catches me.”

“That would . . . suck . . . as an ending. I thought . . . you only liked . . . beginnings?” I stared into the barrel of the gun.
Was that a bullet in the chamber?
“You have a chance . . . to begin again. Turn yourself in—”

Something caught his attention. He looked past me. “What're
you
doing here?”

“Trying to keep her from doing something stupid.” Destiny.

Kalvin was pissed. “What'd you do, invite the whole world? I been knocking people out for four years now, training my Tokers how to do it right. And now you want me to turn myself in? I wasn't gonna kill him.”

Joe suddenly collapsed against the house. There was so much blood on the snow.

“Did you . . . shoot him?”

He shrugged. “He tried to get away. I couldn't let him escape after all this.”

The sirens were getting closer. Destiny moved slowly toward us. “Put the gun down, K.”

He grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around so I was facing Destiny. He wrapped his arm around me, the gun resting against my neck. “Don't tell me what to do.”

Destiny froze. “It's gonna be OK, Fish. Trust me.”

“Why should she trust you?” he spat.

My face was on fire, but I had to keep him talking. “She was the one . . . who took me . . . to get tested,” I said.

He kind of fumbled. “Tested for what?”

“I thought I was . . . preg . . .” I couldn't say the word.

His face dropped. “You're pregnant?”

I could hear the sirens coming down the alley now. I didn't know what to say.

“I'm gonna be a daddy?”

I looked at Destiny, then shook my head. “No.”

He took a step back. He didn't know what to do.

“I wouldn't want . . . to have . . . your baby,” I said.

He was looking at the gun, cradled in his hands.

“You and me . . . we coulda been like Bonnie and Clyde. On the run with our own little Toker.”

“I watched the end . . . of that movie. Clyde . . . dies,” I said. He blinked. “So does Bonnie.” He cocked the gun. I could smell the residue of smoke.

“Mutherfucker,” said Destiny. “You put that gun down before I—”

He pointed the gun at Destiny.

“There're no more bullets,” I said.

His grip got tighter. “Fuck both of you,” he said and pulled the trigger.
Click
.

Destiny turned pale, piss slowly spreading down the legs of her pants. She stood there, frozen.

Kalvin looked at the gun again, not sure why it didn't fire.

“Fuck this.” I pushed away from him—he raised the gun to strike me. I steeled myself, but looked him straight in the eye. “You can't hurt me . . . more than you already . . . have.”

He hesitated. “There's always more pain. Just when you think you've had all you can handle, there's always more.”

The sirens were getting closer. I thought of my mom. “Pain . . . is a gift,” I said.

Kalvin looked confused. “You're crazy.”

The sirens were deafening now.

He took a few steps back. “I gotta go now. Maybe I'll drop by later for a visit.” He looked at the gun. “I'm sure your dad would appreciate it if I reloaded this before returning it. Next time, we'll have a blast.”

He put the gun in his pocket and glanced at me one last time. He looked nothing like the self-confident Kalvin I first met. “See ya when I see ya,” he mumbled, reaching for the fence gate behind him.

He opened the gate and that's when I saw Tuffy Jones. Before Kalvin could even think, Tuffy sent his fist crashing into Kalvin's face and Kalvin dropped like a ton of bricks, his head bouncing off the snow.

Tuffy stood there rubbing his fist. He shot Destiny a look. “Now we even, D.” He shook his head at the sight of my face. “I was the first Knockout King. Now I'm the last. It's done.” Then he just turned and walked away.

Destiny came running up and grabbed me. “I brought the cavalry.”

“How did you know . . .?” I slurred.

“You said the library was open and then it hit me—of course,
that's
where Kalvin would ask you to go.”

I looked back at Joe, who was leaning against the fence, holding his arm and looking as pale as the snow.

“Are you . . . OK?” I grunted.

He lifted his hand and winced at the bullet wound. “Seen worse in the war. You need to worry about yourself.”

I felt faint. Destiny grabbed me as I buckled to the snow.

Maybe I passed out for a bit. My mind drifted and for a few seconds I could see everything that was happening. I was floating high overhead. I saw myself in Destiny's arms; I saw Joe drag himself over and look into my eyes. Tuffy was walking away, his hands tucked in his pockets as a cop car rushed by. It pulled up in front of us and two cops jumped out. One radioed for an ambulance; the other, at Joe's urging, went over to check on the Knockout King, who was spread out, facedown in the snow. It all felt like a dream.

Then the pain woke me up.

It turns out life is not like a movie. It doesn't have a happy ending where the hero defeats the villain and rides off into the sunset. Life is more like a puzzle. With a few pieces missing.

When Kalvin came to, his wrists cuffed, his face bloodied, he looked shocked and confused. At that moment, I saw the real him for the first time—just some kid who pretended to be a tough guy with a heart of gold—a character in his own movie. For a few months, we all existed in that movie—a stream of hi-def moments that proved we could leave our mark in this world. The TKO Club was digitally immortalized—just like Alex, or Sundance, or Bonnie and Clyde.

But then the real world came crashing down on us, and now, his movie would be replaced by a new one.

My camera had recorded everything that day. There was now enough evidence and eyewitness testimony to get convictions. Tyreese broke down and confessed to his actions. The judge tried him as a minor, but he was found guilty on second-degree manslaughter. He will be in juvie until he's eighteen. Some of the other Tokers ended up doing two to four months, then transferred out to Grant Remedial.

Unfortunately for Prince, after doing only eight weeks for aiding and abetting, he tried to knock out a Watcher who happened to be an off-duty cop. The cop was packing. Prince died before he reached the hospital.

Destiny and Boner were the only two who got away unscathed, but I knew they both bore their own scars. They were the only good things to come out of this whole mess.

As for me, after a period of house arrest, I got probation and enough community service to fill up the next couple of years. I knew why. I was not innocent. I would never be innocent again. I had to skip the rest of my sophomore year, and was forced to repeat it again the next year. That was alright by me because the do-over kind of allowed me to pretend that it never happened. And after I turn eighteen and have my record wiped clean, maybe it never did.

Kalvin, the Knockout King, was found guilty in adult court for attempted murder, assault and battery, possession of a stolen firearm, and conspiracy. Since it was his first conviction, he only got twenty years—still, longer than he'd been alive. But Tillman warned me that with all the efforts to relieve prison overcrowding, Kalvin could be out in ten with good behavior.

I would be twenty-six by then.

I hoped I would be far away from here when he got out. I didn't want to think what he might do if he showed up on my doorstep. I still didn't know why he'd chosen me. Was it just because I had a camera? Or did he really have feelings for me? Maybe he thought I could save him from himself.

When the doctor finally removed the wires from my broken jaw and checked my busted nose, he told me, “You're gonna look like a fighter for a while.”

I was a fighter. And I was determined to remain standing until the last bell.

EPILOGUE

I finally made it to the top of the Arch. It was September and I no longer had to wear an ankle bracelet, so as a way to celebrate my sixteenth birthday, Dad thought we should do something fun for a change. We were still struggling as a family but, despite everything, my parents were there for me. We were never gonna be one big happy unit—we were too flawed and broken in our own ways for that. But I think it brought us closer together. Maybe pain really was a gift in that way.

The top of the Arch was a narrow curved room with windows on both sides and slopes to lie on as you gazed out. I'd invited Destiny, who smuggled Boner inside her jacket. We lay down together by the middle window and when I saw how high we were, it took my breath away.

It was impossibly beautiful up there. The river was beaming under the late summer sun. Ships made their way up and down the Big Muddy like little toys in a rain puddle.

Boner licked my hand. Sometimes, Destiny brought him over to keep me company at night. She knew I had a hard time sleeping. Every night when the lights went out, I thought of Mrs. Lee and felt the hollow in the pit of my stomach. Some nights, I cried myself to sleep. Other nights, I'd lie there in the dark, thinking of Joe, all alone.

I don't think that kind of regret ever goes away—you don't forget things like that.

At least I can't.

“Look how tiny those people are down there,” Dad said, lying next to Mom in front of a window.

“They look like tiny toy figures,” said Mom.

“They look like ants,” I said, winking at Destiny. I was no longer angry at the ants. They all had worries and pains. I was no different in that way.

“Dang,” said Destiny as she switched windows. “You can see everything up here. That's the stadium. And there's the freeway we came on. Hey, isn't that our school way over there?”

Our school. That sounded good to me. I was back, starting over as a sophomore again. But this time, I played it differently. I grew my hair long, stopped hiding behind a hoodie, showed off more of my curves. I didn't care what anybody thought of me. I was doing my own thing.

Sitting up there in the Arch, high above the world, I tried to imagine all the incoming middle schoolers out there, roaming the neighborhoods, looking to impress the older kids. I knew that the TKO Club was disbanded. But every once in a while, I'd hear about some idiot playing Knockout. It seemed amazing to me, after everything that had happened, that anyone would be stupid enough to copycat. But I guess nobody remembers anything for long.

Some kids end up in gangs, some become bullies, some hit random strangers.

But if I ever hear of another Knockout King in my neighborhood, they'll have me to deal with. And that's a promise I intend to keep.

The King is dead.

Long live the Queen.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

In spring of 2012, I visited St. Louis to do some school visits organized by the St. Louis Public Library. The librarian in charge wanted me to visit a specific school and a specific branch of the library system. She kept saying there was a reason and finally, as we drove there, she asked me: “Have you ever heard of the knockout game?”

I had not. I had worked with gangs, been to all kinds of urban inner cities throughout America, but I had not heard of the phenomena she was about to tell me about. The middle school we were visiting had been recently raided and several arrests associated with this game were made. And right outside the library where we were going that night, a knockout game ended in the death of an elderly man.

The rules of the game were simple. A group of kids, mostly middle school–age, gathered in some random spot and picked a random passerby. One of the teens was given the task of approaching the stranger and trying to knock him out with one punch. The kids did not steal their victim's money. It was simply something they found to be funny—perhaps a way to escape their boring lives and prove their manhood.