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“It’s a restaurant bar that’s located on the third-floor terrace level. It’s open to all club-seat holders such as yourself. I think you would like it.”
“Oh, okay.” Jasmine replied.
The usher walked away, and Jasmine and her cousin both took their seats under the bright lights. Corey looked at the NBA stars with amazement as they warmed up and got ready for the game.
Jasmine looked around trying to locate Homicide, but she didn’t see him or anyone that looked like him. She took out her phone and sent a text to Agent Gosling and asked him if he could send her a photo of Homicide.
Fifteen minutes later the photo arrived on Jasmine’s phone. She opened it up and studied it for about two minutes and then looked around some more to see if she could locate Homicide, but she still didn’t see him. She decided to chill and just relax and enjoy the game with her cousin and not stress out about him.
“You want anything to eat or drink?” Jasmine asked Corey.
He shook his head and told her that he was all right.
Jasmine went into her bag and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and gave it to Corey. “Here. You don’t have to be shy around me. I want you to have a good time.”
Corey thanked her and took the money and made his way to the concession stand and to the bathroom. Just as Corey walked out of the row, two guys began to make their way into the same row Jasmine was sitting in. Immediately she recognized Homicide from the photo. Homicide had on a black snap-back Yankees hat, so it was kind of hard to get a great look at him, but Jasmine was sure it was him.
Homicide was a lot shorter in person than Jasmine had imagined him to be. He also had a full beard, even though none of the pictures she’d seen of him depicted him with a beard.
“Pardon me, miss,” Homicide said to Jasmine as he carefully made his way past her.
“No problem.”
Homicide was wearing a pair of Stash House jeans, a black shirt, a gray biker’s leather vest, a pair of Adidas sneakers, and a big-linked platinum bracelet flooded with diamonds. Homicide’s homeboy was taller than him and much skinnier. He was wearing a pair of brand-new Levi’s, a pair of Nike GTX boots, and a black-and-purple Lakers hoodie.
As Homicide and his homeboy took their seats, Jasmine thought of exactly how she was going to approach them. She wasn’t sure about what move to make, but she was definitely happy that Homicide had come to the game with another dude and not a chick.
At the end of the second quarter and during halftime, mostly everyone got out of their seats and headed either to the bathroom or to get something to eat or drink. Jasmine and Corey stayed in their seats, while Homicide and his homie made their way out of the aisle.
“My man, that’s your girl?” Homicide asked Corey, referring to Jasmine.
Corey shook his head no.
Homicide gave Corey a pound, and then he looked at Jasmine, who didn’t say anything.
“You a CO on Rikers Island, right?”
“Who, me?” Jasmine asked.
Homicide nodded and continued to stare Jasmine down.
“Far from that.”
“I know you’re a cop or some shit like that. You look too fuckin’ familiar.”
Jasmine instantly got nervous, but she kept her cool, just slowly shaking her head.
“No?”
“I told you she wasn’t no CO,” Homicide’s homeboy said.
“You look familiar too,” Jasmine said to Homicide. “What’s your name?”
“Homicide.”
Jasmine smiled. “What did your momma name you?”
“Aziz,” Homicide replied, and then his cell phone starting ringing. He answered the call, and then he told Jasmine he would be right back, and he and his homeboy walked off.
