12

We were on the bus over to Benton Park. The Rec Center had a gym where K and some of the Tokers boxed. It was a rundown brick building left over from another time. Somebody had spray painted a “W” in front of the sign so it read WRec Center. It was like out of some old movie—even had a salty old guy in there with a whistle—your typical hard-fought movie coach who’d seen a million boxing matches. His face was all knots and full of what my mom called “character.” He had a bunch a guys doing exercises with these big heavy leather balls, throwing them at each other and doing squats and stuff. All the while he was walking back and forth blowing his whistle and talking.

“Use your fists in the ring, not the street!”

“Yes, Teacher Man!” they all shouted back like they were in the army.

“Be disciplined in your work and you will be a champion in life and in the ring! Do you doubt me?”

“No, Teacher Man!”

“Do you believe you have the will to succeed?

“Yes, Teacher Man!”

And on and on he went. While he had them doing laps around the gym, he spotted us and wandered over.

“My Million Dollar Baby!” he said to Destiny. “Where you been hiding yourself? I’ve been waiting for you to get in the ring again and show these boys what it takes!”

She checked her nails. “Nah, I’m retired. Once you KO a cop, you can’t go nowhere but down. I just like to watch now.”

He nodded. “You and me both.” He noticed me and gave me the once-over. “Fresh meat?”

“Her? Nah, she ain’t the punching type. More like a wrestler.” She winked at me.

“You never know . . .” He checked my arm muscles. “You could use some work, but you got heft.” He slapped me on the thigh. “Solid. I like it.”

I gave him the evil eye. “Do that again and you’ll see how much heft I got.”

“That’s the spirit, ladies!” Teacher Man boomed. “Use that attitude in the ring! Join us anytime, darling!”

Destiny shook her head. “We ain’t here to box, old man.”

“No, she’s here to see the champ,” interrupted the Knockout King, who was standing there covered in sweat . . . and yeah, looking more than a little hot.

“Girls are not good for a boxer, Mr. Barnes,” said Teacher Man as he headed back to his guys.

Kalvin shook his head. “Don’t pay him no mind, Fish. Teacher Man is a funny guy. But he watches out for us. Keeps me out of trouble . . . at least as much as he can.”

“Watch out for that one, ladies!” Teacher Man shouted. “He’ll sucker punch you every time.”

Kalvin rolled his eyes. “So, you came to see the King do his thing.”

“You going to get in the ring?” I asked.

“Shoulda been here an hour ago. I flattened one of these clowns like Ali. Float like a butterfly . . .” he danced around, shadowboxing.

“Right,” said Destiny. “You said you had plans for us this afternoon?”

“Yeah, just give me twenty minutes. Wait over in the video room . . . and make sure them shorties ain’t playing no video games.”

The video room was some kind of training spot for screening fight videos. It was clear they didn’t know Kalvin’s instructions because the room had been taken over by six or seven Tokers all playing this game called Splatterhouse. It was the goriest video game I ever saw, filled with blood and ripping people in half and all kinds of unimaginable things. Seeing all these boys playing was a trip. Giggles filled the room whenever someone’s head exploded.

They made room for me to play. Kalvin wasn’t going to be there for awhile, so I sat down with them. I had to admit, it was kind of fun. If anyone tried something on me, that’s what I’d do to them—rip out their spine or cut them in two. But after a few rounds, it became too much. There’s only so much spine ripping I can take.

Instead, I just talked to them while they played, taking out my camera without them noticing (which wasn’t too hard since their eyes were glued to the screen). I felt it might be good material to sprinkle into the videos. “So how’s it feel to rip someone’s spine out?” I asked.

I got all kinds of answers. “Like a badass!” “Like I’m immortal.” “Like I can do no wrong!” Things like that.

I asked them if Knockout was like playing videos, but for real. Most of them liked that comparison. But really, they did it because they liked proving themselves to Kalvin.

“What’s playing Knockout mean to you?” I asked.

They didn’t really have an answer. “I dunno. It’s a game. We play it when we bored.”

I asked Tyreese if he wanted to be like Kalvin.

He stopped playing, his eyes darting back and forth. “Nobody can be like K. He the One, like the dude in The Matrix.”

So if they can’t be like Kalvin, then what? Did they have dreams of becoming something when they grew up? None of them said go to college, get a job, or anything like that. They all laughed like the thought was stupid that they might grow up and become something else.

C-Jay made a face. “What’chu wanna know my dream for? What’s yours?”

I couldn’t answer. It had been so long since I had one, I didn’t even want to think about it.

They went back to their games and I filmed Kalvin working out through the window instead. He was all muscle, lean and tough. The way he attacked that punching bag was pretty amazing. I could see he had some kind of demons he was working out—that bag was gonna come off its chain from how hard he was hitting it. I could see him becoming a boxer or one of those mixed martial arts guys.

“So when does he ever play Knockout?” I asked Destiny.

“K? He doesn’t play anymore. He’s more of a. . . coach, like Teacher Man, I guess. It just got old, having people trying to dethrone you all the time. I think he even got a ulcer or something ‘cause for a while, all he drank was milk.”

“I don’t see him getting worried about things.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, on the outside. But between you and me, he’s sensitive. Last KO he ever did, the target pulled a gun on him. K just snatched it from him and threatened to shoot him. But he couldn’t. He was no gangbanger. He just walked away and said, ‘That’s it.’”

“So what, he retired? Why have a club, then?”

She watched him pummel the punching bag. “Rival clubs started coming up, copycats. Even some group of white kids in the burbs slumming like they something. K got pride. So he had the idea of creating his own club where he’d train these Tokers and that’s when he got his mojo back. More satisfying, I guess.”

About thirty minutes later, Kalvin emerged, drenched in sweat. He smelled like some kind of wet cat, his eyes burning as he watched the Tokers playing their game. Pissed, he marched over and yanked the plug from the TV. They protested but shut up real quick when they saw he meant business. “Video games are for pussies. You need to be in the fight for real. Breathe it in. Feel your fist as it cracks somebody’s skull. Then you’ll know you’re alive. This”—he knocked the controls out of C-Jay’s hands—“is not what we do. Now let’s go out and have some real fun.”