NBA Dramatique, Prelude 18

It was a lazy afternoon in the early fall, and the Boys were relaxing on 7^th Avenue. Summer was just on its way out and the weather was still pleasantly warm enough to enjoy the hour just before sunset. Malik was telling a story to the younger guys.

“Well, a lot of those years I was a cog. That’s right. One small part of the great big Machine. It took something from me, Boys. You go into the Machine and you aren’t what you used to be, but you come out of the Machine and a part of you just wishes you could go back in. It's crazy.”

“You ever get sick of it?” asked David. “I don’t mean the Machine. I mean do you ever get tired of fighting in the wars, over and over again?

“That only happens two times” said Malik. “You get tired when you’re too old to do it anymore, and you get tired when you’re too young to know that there’s nothing else you can do as well. You’re still at the beginning, David. It’s hard to keep coming back when you gotta work for a guy like the Clown, and you know you’re probably gonna get clobbered every damn time. He made it hard for all of us.”

“Word on the street is that the Clown is packing his bags” said Jamal. “I hate to see him go, if it’s true, but he sure did make a hot mess out of things.”

Nate looked around to make sure unwanted ears weren't listening. "If he's goin', I don't hate to see him go. Whatever happens to him is okay by me. And he can take a couple of his friends with him, for all I care."

Mardy laughed. "Things sure are crazy around here. I won't know how to act if it's anything different. We go into a fight and I don't know if we're gonna use guns or gum. One day we've got grenades, the next we've got rotten eggs."

As the Boys continued bad-mouthing their old boss, a large van with tinted windows was slowly pulling alongside the curb in front of them. At the back of the van was attached a very long trailer, shaped like a bullet and fully chromed. Words were painted on the side of the van in stylish script that read “Dazzlin’ D’Antoni’s Serums and Scientifia: potions, powders, and projectiles providing plentiful power at prudent prices!” The van came to a full stop and the driver hopped out and slammed the door closed. He walked around the front side of the vehicle with a mischievous smile dancing below his mustache. “Well look what we have here,” he thought to himself.

“Well, well! What do we have here?” He said quite loudly. “Seems I recognize you Boys. You’re fighters, right? I know fighters when I see ‘em! What’s the topic of conversation, gents? I’m in the mood for some good chat and I think I’ll interject myself into your discussion. If you’re not opposed, that is. I certainly wouldn’t want a group of fighters to have a bad disposition towards me!”

Quentin gave the man a curious look. “I’ve seen you before. Where do I know you from?”

“Well, son, if I had to guess, I would wager that you’ve spent some time out west. My name is D’Antoni. I’m a salesman, you see? I used to do business in the Far-lands, but I’ve spent my summer working my way towards this coast. I have to say, business has been pretty good!”

“What’s your business?” asked Duhon.

“My business? An excellent question! We live in dangerous times, and the threat of war is always upon us. I sell things that make war a little easier for those who need help. Got every gadget, device, potion, curse, weapon, or widget you could think of right here in my van. Now, I would never think of trying to sell my wares to you gentlemen because I know you have no need! I sell to only those who aren’t clear winners such as yourselves. Got to keep the contest fair, don’t we?”

“So, you are saying that you won’t let us buy anything?” asked Danilo.

“Wha..? Pff! Don’t tease a man trying to make a living! You Boys are quite deadly killers! I can tell just by looking at you! You have no need for what I provide!”

“Listen” said Wilson. “Let’s just say we were interested. What do you have?”

D’Antoni looked at each man as if they were joking. He put his hands on his hips and stared in apparent disbelief at each one of them in turn. “Wait a second. Wait a second, now. Something’s not right.” His expression grew very serious and he made specific eye contact for a second with each of them. “You guys are in some kind of trouble. Something hasn’t worked out the way you thought it would.”

D’Antoni let silence hang in the air for a moment, just to ensure he had their full attention. “It’s your boss, isn’t it? You don’t have to say anything. I’ve heard some things in my travels. You don't think you can win, no matter what you've got in your hand.”

The Boys looked to him like they were unhappy to admit their boss’s incompetence, yet eager for someone to give them new hope.

“Do you have money?” They nodded enthusiastically. Perfect customers. “I’ll tell you what, Boys. I think I can help you.”

They each seemed to grow slightly, or their body language changed. It was like a plant turning its leaves toward the sunlight. “You all have to make me a promise though. Understand? You have to promise to trust me, and to follow my lead. How about it Boys? Do you trust me?” They said they did in unison. “Well, forget the stuff in the van. That’s kid stuff. Let me show you the trailer!”

The men crowded excitedly around D’Antoni as he walked to the back of the chrome trailer and searched his key ring for the one that fit the large lock on its hatch. “Boys, if you’re ready, I can show you how to win a war.” He unlocked the hatch and opened the trailer. Inside were fifteen machines straight from the future, gleaming with chrome parts. D’Antoni looked at the men with a pleased expression. The Boys stood in awe.

“That’s right.” He gleamed. “Jet Packs!”