Speaking of "spitting bars," Lil' Lowry, who's about to join us for a game of ball, is a newcomer in the rap scene. His first promotional single is already climbing the local radio charts, and several well-known Chicago DJs have been playing it, with positive reviews so far. According to Tony, the debut album isn't far off either.
Song Ya hadn't heard the single, and since his time travel, he'd only met Lil' Lowry once. But he, along with Aunt Su Qian and the family, generally supported Tony hanging out with Lowry. Though most rappers today are entangled with gangs, it's better to mingle with the real ones, not the fake.
As one rap track finished, the DJ smoothly transitioned, "That was 'Express Yourself' from N.W.A! Now, let's switch it up. Ladies and gentlemen, here's 'Man In The Mirror' from Michael Jackson!"
As the intro began, "Mute" immediately switched the station. They turned it back and forth, but couldn't find anything they liked, and the radio kept emitting that irritating noise.
"Why not just listen to MJ?" Song Ya asked.
Michael Jackson was at the peak of his career, and since Song Ya's time travel, he'd heard his music both voluntarily and involuntarily—and he loved it. The lyrics of "Man in the Mirror" were deep and left a strong impression on him.
Tony suddenly got heated, "He betrayed us!"
"We've supported him wholeheartedly for all these years, and what do we get in return? He's ashamed of us! Ashamed of being Black!" Tony pointed at the car window. "Look! Look at him now! He's as white as a ghost!"
Song Ya looked out, and sure enough, there was a giant Pepsi ad featuring MJ, and yep, his skin was remarkably pale.
"Traitor," muttered "Mute" as he finally settled on a station that played more rap.
"Are you crazy?" Song Ya thought it was absurd. A Black guy turning white to please white people? Wouldn't that just upset Black folks and make whites look down on him? Song Ya instinctively thought Tony's logic didn't make sense.
"Well, that's what everyone's saying," Tony continued. "Those white folks control the world, and this is their way of undermining our pride, keeping us as their slaves. Plastic surgery, do you get it? You can change your face, so bleaching your skin's nothing."
"Area 51," "Mute" added abruptly.
"Exactly! The whites already have aliens in their possession!" Tony was spiraling further. "But they hide the technology, never use it for the people. They only use it to fight the USSR in a world war! Once they settle that, they'll turn back on us and keep making us their slaves!"
"...Okay," Song Ya didn't want to argue anymore.
"And Michael's not a good guy either," Tony added, "I heard, I heard a lot of big shots from the South Side want him dead!"
"Jordan?" Song Ya was taken aback. Michael Jordan was the Bulls' star player, the pride of Chicago.
"No, not Michael Jordan, Mike Tyson!" Tony corrected.
"I know, I heard about that."
A few days ago, Tyson had been upset in a major underdog defeat with odds at 42 to 1, and Song Ya heard that many gang bigwigs lost a lot of money on that match.
The place they were supposed to meet was just around the corner, and within two songs' worth of driving, the three of them arrived at a public basketball court surrounded by barbed wire, next to a small park. The area was far nicer than near Song Ya's home—close to the commercial street, surrounded by high-rise apartments, with police cars occasionally passing by. The people on the court were dressed much more fashionably.
Lil' Lowry was already waiting. He was about the same age as Tony, a little shorter than Song Ya, very slim, and one of the rare handsome Black faces. His dreadlocks were tucked under a cap, and he was casually dribbling a basketball while listening to music through headphones. Two other Black guys, one looking around 25 or 26, and the other perhaps in his early thirties, were chatting near the hoop.
Tony parked the car, got out first, and waved loudly, "Hey! Bro~"
"Hey!" Lil' Lowry took off his headphones and smiled as he walked over, giving Tony and "Mute" an elaborate fist bump.
When it was Song Ya's turn, he mirrored the first gesture, but when it came to switching the positions for the fist bump, he mixed up the order. The two of them ended up swinging their fists empty for a while, not landing any proper hits.
Song Ya awkwardly retracted his fist and smiled politely.
Lil' Lowry stifled a laugh. "Forget about it, don't worry about it," he said, giving Song Ya a pat on the shoulder. "Let me introduce you guys."
The two guys by the hoop walked over. The younger one introduced himself as Al, Lil' Lowry's bandmate.
"You're the one who..." Tony recognized Al and mimed holding a microphone to his mouth. "Boom ts-ts, boom boom..." He did an impromptu beatboxing, though it was more like incoherent noises.
"Yeah..." Al smiled, then gave a much cleaner performance.
He was way more professional. If Song Ya closed his eyes, he might have really thought someone was playing the drums nearby.
Tony gave him a thumbs up.
The older guy was from the record company and wasn't as easy-going as Al. "Everyone calls me AK," he said, giving the three of them a fist bump.
With everyone introduced, Lil' Lowry casually tossed his CD player and jacket to AK, and the others took off their coats and tossed them by the basketball hoop.
It was a typical 3-on-3 half-court game, but for Lil' Lowry's small frame, it didn't make sense to play against Tony and "Mute," who were built like football players. Song Ya knew this was why Tony had insisted on bringing him along, so he voluntarily stepped up to match Lowry.
To be honest, besides Lowry, the other five weren't here to really play basketball—they were here to hang out. And since they were here to hang out, the goal was to make the one who wanted to play happy, so everyone was in sync. Whenever Lowry had the ball, he'd pull everyone far out and let Song Ya go one-on-one with him.
Crossovers, behind-the-back dribbles, fakes, spins, Lowry clearly had a solid foundation. His ball-handling skills were smooth, and he was quick with both his turns and ball control. The last time they went head-to-head, Song Ya had been totally outclassed. This time, he'd improved a little, but that was all.
As time passed, the shouts and the sound of the bouncing ball filled the air.
Song Ya's body was in good shape, but he found himself constantly trailing behind Lowry, catching dust. It wasn't so much that he was tired, but mentally, it was exhausting.
"Maybe my sports credits can still be salvaged?"
A moment of distraction, and he got faked out. Losing his balance, he fell hard on his backside. When he looked back, Lowry had already made the basket, and he was celebrating like Jordan, sticking out his tongue.
"Timeout! Timeout!"
At that moment, AK, who was playing against "Mute," couldn't keep up. "Mute" was no soft player—his inside game was brutal, and his linebacker build overwhelmed AK. But Al, who was matching up with Tony, was still going strong.
"No! AK! I'm just warming up!" Lowry, with the ball, called out disappointedly. He really liked playing against Song Ya.
"I'm done, I'm done!" AK raised his hands and backed off the court.
"Mute" stayed planted, grinning.
"Want us to jump in?" three Black guys from the other court asked.
"Sure," Lowry agreed.
"Yo, Alex!" Tony gave Song Ya a look.
"You guys go ahead," Song Ya said, stepping off the court with Tony as Lowry, Al, and "Mute" stayed on.
The three of them had only been sitting and resting for a few minutes when an accident suddenly occurred on the court. It looked like Lowry had been repeatedly stolen from, and in his hurry to intercept the ball, he collided head-first with an opponent's elbow—whether on purpose or not—and hit the ground.
"F***!" he yelled, jumping up angrily and shoving the guy.
To his surprise, the opponent didn't back down. "Can't take a loss? What are you, a girl?" he shouted, pushing back.
The six of them quickly gathered, and the situation escalated. AK immediately rushed onto the court to help.
Song Ya turned to see Tony spring up like a frightened rabbit, but instead of running to the scene, he dashed toward "Mute"'s Toyota Eagle on the sideline. About half a minute later, he came rushing back, dove into the crowd, and stood protectively in front of Lowry.
"Hey!"
Tony lifted his shirt, revealing the black handle of a gun tucked into his waistband, his eyes fierce like Mike Tyson's. "You wanna play rough? NGer! Em? You wanna take this further?"