Later That Night

  The NBA Final was on, and Derrick’s beloved New York Knicks were down two with fifteen seconds left on the clock. Tyrese inbounded the ball, letting it roll along the floor to stop the clock — a neat little trick that was caught pretty fast. The Celtics forward, Houston, rushed down the court, forcing Tyrese to pick up the ball and start his dribble. Derrick sat at the edge of his seat, cigar in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other, the smell of smoke and pine filling the air.

  Fourteen seconds on the clock. Thirteen seconds.

  The Celtics’ crowd were on their feet — a stark contrast to the Knicks fans, half covering their eyes while the other half waited with bated breath, biting down on their nails. The Knicks were down three games to two; lose this game and it was all over. Nobody saw this coming — the Knicks in the Finals. Some saw it as a masterstroke, a genius coach implementing game plans no one had time to prepare for, while others deemed it a stroke of luck — injuries piling up on every opponent’s star players that stood opposite them on the road to the Finals. Some said they were touched by the Devil’s kiss — a series of unfortunate events that the Knicks had capitalised on. But whatever it was that got them here, it was about to be all over unless they could tie it up with a two or take the lead with a go-ahead three.

  The Celtics met them with a high press, hands behind their backs, making sure not to foul anyone. The players could feel the intensity; it felt as though they were in a pressure cooker. Make one mistake, and they were done for, and the only thing keeping them in it was the clock winding down.

  Eight seconds. Seven seconds.

  Sweat from Tyrese’s brow dripped into his eyes. The pressure was getting too hot for him to handle, but this was the moment where stars couldn’t shy away. Zter, the seven-foot-three Slovenian centre, set the screen, and Tyrese exploded through the gap toward the basket. Derrick’s eyes widened — as did every Knicks fan’s, both in the stadium and at home.

  Tyrese drove hard, but as the weak-side help made its way over, he pulled back and settled for a jump shot.

  The ball left his fingers, cleanly rolling off his fingertips and through the air. Every eye followed it slowly as time itself seemed to freeze. The ball hit the inside of the rim, spinning round and round and round. As the clock hit zero, the players’ hearts were in their mouths. They couldn’t watch — they held their hands together in silent prayer. But one player refused to close his eyes, the nerves biting down on him as he stood in his shooting position like a statue.

  As the ball began to ease in, Tyrese unfroze from his statue-like state and jumped up to celebrate — but as the saying goes, don’t celebrate until the job’s done. What looked like a guaranteed basket, the game-tying shot, popped right out. The horn sounded and the game was over, ending New York’s dream of their first NBA title in fifty-two years.

  The New York Knicks’ luck was over, and the Boston Celtics were your NBA champions.

  “Ahhh!” Derrick screamed as his glass of scotch cannoned into the wall. He was seething, his heart thundering up and down. All he could see was red. But his trance was quickly broken by the repeated vibration of his phone on the coffee table next to him.

  Malakie, he thought. Why’s he calling me? This better be good news for once.

  Derrick reached over, picking up the phone and sliding his finger to answer the call. He raised it to his ear.

  “Listen, this better be some good news. I’ve had a bad day, and you’d better not be calling me to make it worse,” he said.

  Malakie took a small gulp before a short silence ensued between them.

  “Erhh—ermm…”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “What do you mean, erhh—ermm? If you’re starting the call like that, it’s bad.”

  Derrick took a moment, pulling the phone from his ear. Tilting his head to the side, he muttered under his breath, “What am I running — a daycare? How we’re not all in a prison cell at this point is beyond me.”

  He put the phone back to his ear. “How bad is it?” he asked reluctantly.

  “You might want to turn on Channel Six and see for yourself,” Malakie replied nervously, looking toward the ceiling of his home, eyes full of fear and nerves.

  Derrick picked up the remote from the coffee table and switched to Channel Six.

  Santiago, Joseph, Dillion, and Mateo’s mugshots were plastered in the far right-hand corner of the screen for all to see. The caption flashing at the bottom read:

  Pershall Bank Robbers Caught — Santiago Mortez, Joseph Allen, Dillion Banks, and Mateo Rodriguez.

  Derrick couldn’t believe his eyes, but he had little choice. He flipped through every news channel, and they were all covering the same story.

  He pressed the red power button at the top of his remote and placed it down gently. “Does Afra know about this?” Derrick asked, his heart in his mouth.

  “I haven’t heard anything, and the boys haven’t heard a peep from Afra either. It’s been radio silent. I figured I’d come to you first before I brought it to him,” Malakie said.

  “Good. Make sure everyone keeps their mouths shut. I’ll contact him first thing in the morning. And, Malakie — you did good coming to me with this first. I won’t forget this,” Derrick said before hanging up.

  Then, in a blinding rage, Derrick leapt up, grabbed the coffee table by one of its legs, and hurled it across the room. The heavy oak slammed into the glass cabinet with a loud bang. Pieces of glass exploded across the living room floor.

  The sound of breaking glass made Mavis jump out of her skin. She grabbed a knife off the chopping board and ran from the kitchen toward the noise, leaving the pot of potatoes to boil over on the stove.

  When she reached the archway of the living room doorway, she froze, one hand on her chest as she tried to steady her breathing. Her heart was pounding, her breaths coming in heavy and ragged — like she’d just sprinted from one side of the house to the other. She stepped into the wreckage and paused. Glass sprawled across the floor, the cabinet destroyed, their expensive oak coffee table embedded in it.

  “Derrick, what in God’s name happened in here? You scared the life out of me! I thought there was an intruder,” Mavis said.

  As Derrick looked at his wife, he knew he had to come up with something fast. He couldn’t tell her the truth — he’d promised her that life was behind him.

  “It was those damn Knicks, honey. I’m sorry if I startled you — my frustrations got the better of me this time,” he said.

  “If a game is making you destroy our expensive furniture like that, I think it’s about time you either support another team or watch another sport, don’t you?” replied Mavis.

  Derrick’s sour expression quickly softened. His head dropped slightly, and his small, puppy-dog eyes locked onto hers, casting their usual spell.

  “Baby, it was a one-off, I swear. When have you known the Knicks to make the Finals? Never, right? I was like every New York fan tonight — full of hope and adrenaline, and left with nothing but anger and disappointment. The game was on the line, and Tyrese choked when he’d been clutch all game. When he missed that shot, our dreams were over, and I lost it. I’m sorry,” he said.

  Those puppy-dog eyes melted through Mavis’s armour; she had no defences left. She placed the knife down on a small table, crossed her arms, and tilted her head to the side, struggling to hide her smile.

  “Well,” she said, “I’ve got the catalogue upstairs on my dresser. The living room was due a makeover anyway — you just expedited the process.”

  She walked over to where his wallet lay on the floor, picked it up, and took out his card, waving it in the air.

  Derrick closed his eyes and shook his head as a small snigger escaped his lips at her cheek.

  Mavis, victorious, turned on her heel and began to make her way out of the doorway. That’s when it hit him.

  “Mavis,” he said quickly, his voice stopping her in her tracks.

  “There’s been a business situation come up,” Derrick continued, lowering his tone to appease her. “Something that requires my immediate attention in Miami.”

  “Miami, Derrick? Really?”

  “I didn’t choose this. If I could have it my way, you know I wouldn’t be away from you and the kids. I’ll be gone for a few days, tops. I promise.”

  Mavis inhaled deeply, her shoulders rising. She’d heard this story too many times to care anymore. There are only so many bags you can buy to replace the time you can’t get back — and Mavis was at that point.

  The fire in her eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by something tired and familiar.

  “Okay, honey,” she said calmly. Her energy shifted, but as she continued to walk away, her voice dropped to a gentle whisper. “It’s nothing new to us — you up and leaving for days at a time.”

  “What did you say?” Derrick asked curiously.

  Mavis glanced back with a sarcastic half-smile. “Nothing, honey. Enjoy your time in Miami,” she said as she headed back to the kitchen to finish off cooking the dinner.