Gang Tackle (5 page)

The referee threw both hands straight into the air and blew his whistle. Touchdown!

Darnell ran toward Jamal in the end zone. Their smiles were as wide as the field. They leaped at the same time and bumped shoulders. The rest of the Saints offense caught up and mobbed Jamal.

“We’re not done yet,” Jamal said.

“One point or two?” the referee asked.

Darnell held up a pair of fingers. “We’ll go for two.”

The Saints had scored on the final play. But they still trailed 7–6. They could just kick the ball through the goalposts for a single point and tie the game. But they had come this far. Why not go for the win?

“Huddle up,” Darnell said. “Buttonhook to Jamal.”

The ref placed the ball on the five-yard line. Jamal stood on the far left side, his leg muscles ready to explode when the ball was hiked. Darnell called for the snap and Jamal bolted. The Jets defender thought Jamal was going to keep running deep into the end zone just like he had done the
play before. But as soon as Jamal crossed the goal line, he hooked around so that he was facing the quarterback. Darnell had already thrown the pass before Jamal turned. The two friends had practiced the play over and over again. The defender had been fooled. He had no chance to knock the ball away. The pigskin zipped into Jamal’s waiting hands.

The referee’s hands shot high into the air again. Two points!

“Pump it up!” Rico shouted.

Carlos rushed over to his iPod and cranked the volume. LL Cool J thumped through the speakers and into the locker room. Jamal joined the team in a giant huddle in the middle of the floor. The players were still dressed in their blue- and-gold uniforms. They all jumped and punched the air with their fists in time with the beat.

“Saints!”
Thump, thump
. “Saints!”
Thump, thump
. “Saints!”

The victory party was on.

Jamal went back to his locker. Darnell cruised over with a huge grin plastered on his face. They pounded fists.

“Just like old times,” Darnell said.

“That was a sweet pass.”

“That’s the only kind I make.” Darnell pretended to throw a ball. “And awesome catch.”

“You make it easy, man. I just reached out and the ball was there. Even Malik could have caught that one.” Jamal laughed and turned around. His eyes grew wide. Standing right next to him was Malik, hanging his head.

“I was just kidding.” Jamal felt bad for Malik. “You’re a good receiver.”

“Nowhere near as good as you,” Malik said, shaking his head. “If I had your moves, maybe I could have got in the open and caught that pass. I deserved what Coach did to me.”

Jamal locked eyes with Malik. “No one deserves to be thrown around like Coach did to you. You were just doing your best.”

Darnell nodded. “Coach was way out of line. If he had tried that on me, I would have popped him one.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if Jamal was in the game like he should have been,” Malik said.

“And Darnell should have been at quarterback right from the opening kickoff,” Eli said. He had started taking off his equipment a couple of lockers over. “His arm is like a gun. Mine is nothing but a toy pistol. I don’t know what Coach sees in me.”

Jamal called Eli over. “Stand beside Darnell.” Eli took a few steps and stood next to the big quarterback. “Now do you see what?”

Eli looked at Darnell and then at himself. “Yeah, Darnell is a lot stronger than me.”

“Any other difference between us?” Darnell asked, grinning at Eli. “Anything at all?”

“Well, you’re black and I’m white.”

“Bingo,” Darnell said. “You noticed.”

“But I don’t think about that stuff.”

“I know
you
don’t, bro.” Darnell reached out to bump fists with Eli. “But the newest member of the team does.”

The locker-room door swung open. The
TV
cameraman and reporter pushed their way into the crowded room. Jamal knew who they were hunting for.

“Coach!” the reporter called, waving his microphone. “Got a minute to talk to us?”

“Anything for
TSC
,” Coach Fort said, smiling for the camera. He tried to button his suit over his gut to look good but couldn’t.

“Great game,” the reporter said. “Were you ever worried the Saints couldn’t come back and win?”

“There was never a doubt in my mind,” Coach Fort said. “It was all part of the game plan.”

The reporter wrinkled his brow. “So waiting until the last play of the game to win was your plan all along?”

“Yeah, I wanted to make it exciting for the fans. Build up the suspense.”

Jamal and Darnell moved closer to where the reporter was interviewing Coach Fort.

“And what about replacing your quarterback and receiver?” the reporter asked. “Was that your idea too?”

“Totally my idea. I thought putting in a new
QB
and receiver would confuse the other team. And my plan worked.”

Jamal shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
His plan?
Without their telling Coach to put them in the game, the Saints would have lost. Coach Fort was flat-out lying.

“What about that two-point conversion? That was a gutsy call.”

“You bet it was. That’s how I call ’em.” Coach Fort shrugged and gave a big smile for the camera. “Who wants a tie when you have a chance to win the game, right?”

“It was a great pass and catch by your new quarterback and receiver. Who are those guys?” the
TSC
reporter asked, scanning the room.

Jamal thought Coach would finally have to own up to who scored the touchdown.

“Names aren’t important,” Coach Fort said. “Besides, I called the play myself. I made it happen.”

Jamal and Darnell stepped back, clenching their fists.

A big crowd had surrounded the interview. At first the players were excited to be on
TV
. Rico, Carlos, Eli and Malik were all hamming it up. Every time the camera panned in their direction they’d wave or make a goofy face. But by the end, they were just rolling their eyes. They wondered what game Coach had been watching. He had made it sound like the Saints were a one-man team. And that man was Coach Fort.

The city bus stopped a couple of blocks from Jamal’s apartment building. He stepped off and started trudging home in the dark. He had just finished working his regular shift at Mickey D’s. The one that started an hour after his football practice stopped. He always showed up tired and hungry, but the job did have some tasty benefits. He got to eat all the food he wanted. Tonight he had wolfed down two Quarter Pounders and a large order of fries.

Jamal had taken the bus to work and back. His mom’s car still wasn’t fixed. It sat in the parking lot, unsafe to drive without new brakes. He was beat. And he still had math and socials homework to do. He wouldn’t be able to work on his computer game tonight.

He walked along the sidewalk, minding his own business, but something wasn’t right. He felt like he wasn’t alone. Like he was being followed. Suddenly he heard the growl of an engine behind him. He looked over his shoulder. A car with lime-green paint pulled up beside him. It slowed to the same speed he was walking. The man in the front passenger seat rolled down his window. Lil Wayne thumped out. Jamal recognized the music and the face from the parking lot. The bald guy with tattoos.

“What up, bro?”

“Just going home,” Jamal said. He didn’t want to talk, but he thought there could be trouble if he didn’t answer.

“You look tired, man.”

“Long day. Had to take the bus.”

“Want a job this week?”

“I got a job.”

The man laughed out the window. “I mean a real job, with real money.”

Jamal knew he should say no. But his mom’s car needed repairs, and it was taking forever to save up for them. His mom would sure like to drive to work instead of taking the bus. And so would he.

“How much?” Jamal asked, shooting a glance at the man.

“Still ten large, kid.”

Ten thousand dollars seemed like a million to Jamal. He didn’t think it would hurt to find out a bit more.

“What do I have to do?”

“Nothing much,” the tattooed man said. “Just load a truck.”

“When?”

“Friday night. Ten bells.”

“Where?”

“You’ll find out. We’ll pick you up in the alley behind your crib.”

Jamal nodded and kept walking. The green car bounced up and started to pull away. The bald man hung out the window
and said, “Make sure you’re there, bro.” Then he laughed again.

“I’m going out,” Jamal called to his mom from the kitchen. She was in the next room, watching
TV
.

“It’s almost ten o’clock, Jamal. Seems kind of late to be just leaving.”

“It’s Friday night, Mom. Things don’t get going until later.”

“Who are you meeting?”

“Some new guys. You don’t know them.”

“You should bring them over for a Coke sometime.”

“Yeah right.” Jamal rolled his eyes. There was no way his mom would ever let any gang members set foot in their apartment again. Not after what had happened to his dad.

“Have a good time,” his mom called.

“Don’t wait up for me. I might be late.”

Jamal took the elevator down ten floors and slipped out the back door. The alley behind the apartment building was dark.
He heard a car start up. Two bright headlights flashed on and off. He walked over to the car, and someone swung open a door. He got in the backseat.

“Good timing,” the bald man said from the front. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Jamal.”

“I’m Pedro.” He reached into the backseat to bump fists. “And this is Martinez.” He pointed at the driver.

The light inside the car was dim, but Jamal could see Martinez also had dragons and knives tattooed on his arms. He looked even more muscular than Pedro. Jamal checked out the back of the driver’s head, only inches in front of him. He saw an
SS CREW
tattoo inked onto his neck.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out when we get there,” Pedro said.

The lime-green Chevy drove for about twenty minutes, Eminem thumping from the speakers. Jamal knew they were on the way to do something bad. Probably steal something. He didn’t even want to know.
Instead, he sat silently staring out the window. The roads looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember why at first. Then it hit him. This was the way to his mom’s job.

The car turned into a big parking lot in front of a shopping mall. It was the mall where his mom worked at Best Buy. Martinez cruised around the back to the alley that ran behind the stores. It was late now. Pitch black. He turned off the Chevy’s lights and kept driving. The car stopped next to a truck with its back door open.

“We’re here,” Pedro said. “Let’s move.”

“But this is Best Buy,” Jamal said. “There are tons of
TV
s and computers inside.”

“And soon they’re going to be inside our truck.” Pedro narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

Jamal knew he couldn’t tell them not to rob his mom’s store. That’s what gangs did. “No, man.”

“Good,” Pedro said.

“What if there are security cameras?” Jamal asked.

“We’ll take care of them,” Pedro said, getting testy. “Now get in there and carry out all the boxes we tell you to.”

Jamal followed Pedro and Martinez through the back door of the Best Buy. The door had been busted open and the alarm turned off. These guys know what they’re doing, Jamal thought.

Large overhead lamps flooded the storage room with light. Pedro pointed at big cardboard boxes. Jamal helped Martinez and the truck driver start to carry the heavy boxes back to the truck.
TV
s, computers, monitors, tablets, cameras, phones—it was going to be a huge haul.

Suddenly, Martinez dropped a box. He tilted his head and cocked his ears. “What’s that?”

Jamal stopped and listened. He heard two sirens in the distance. And they were getting closer.

“It’s the heat,” Pedro said. “Let’s split.”

Jamal watched Pedro and Martinez race into the back alley and jump into the Chevy. The engine roared.

“Let’s go, man!” Pedro shouted.

Jamal was paralyzed with fear. His legs wouldn’t move. He stood frozen in place.

“We can’t wait for you, man!”

Jamal watched the lime-green car peel out. Tires squealed. Rubber burned. The truck bolted from the crime scene seconds later. Jamal was left alone in the dark. Finally, his legs started to work. He began sprinting down the alley. Instead of running for a pass, he was running for his life. He didn’t want to get caught by the cops.

But it was too late. One police car sped toward him from the left end of the alley. Another drove toward him from the right. Red and blue flashes lit up the darkness. Sirens blared. He was trapped in the middle. Caught in the headlights. He threw up his hands. There was no way out.

A minute later he was sitting in the back of another car. This time it was black and white, with the word
Police
along its side. The squad car pulled away. He stared out the window, watching the Toronto skyline
blur past. His body hunched forward. His wrists behind him, handcuffs clamped tightly around them.

“You’re under arrest for suspected theft,” the police officer said. He was heavyset and dressed in a dark-blue uniform. A blue hat with a red band was pulled low on his forehead. He locked eyes with Jamal. “It’s a serious crime, son. You need a lawyer.”

“I don’t know any lawyer,” Jamal said, slowly shaking his head.

“What about your parents?”

“It’s just me and my mom at home.”

“Maybe you better call her.”

Another policeman unlocked his handcuffs. Jamal rubbed his hands together. His wrists were sore where the metal had dug in. He was led down a hall to a phone on the wall. He stood there wondering what he was going to say. Finally, he dialed. After only one ring his mom picked up.

“Hello.”

“Mom, it’s me.”

“Are you all right? I’ve been worried sick.”