Requiem for a Broken Dream.

[djp73]

Yassy took the sweat pants off?

[Soapy]

When it rains, it muh'fuckin pours

can you stand the rain, though?

Yassy took the sweat pants off?

good catch, not sure how i missed that

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 3

"Name?" barked a bored-looking corrections officer from behind a plexiglass window.

"Kam Seidu-Harris," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

The next hour passed in a blur of fingerprinting, mug shots, and invasive searches. Kam felt numb as he stripped off his clothes and showered under the watchful eye of a guard. The cheap, scratchy orange jumpsuit they gave him felt alien against his skin.

As he was led down a long corridor, the cacophony of shouts, clanking metal, and slamming doors echoed off the walls. Kam kept his eyes fixed on the ground, afraid to make eye contact with the other inmates who leered at him through the bars of their cells.

There wasn’t the the chorus of jeers and catcalls that he had seen in movies and documentaries but instead a low hum and the occasional chatter from cellmates. Kam's assigned cell was a cramped 8x10 box with cold concrete walls covered in crude graffiti. Two metal bunks were bolted to the wall, and a stainless steel toilet sat exposed in the corner. The upper bunk was already occupied by a lanky, older white man who eyed Kam warily.

Kam hesitated, unsure if he should respond. Darrell's eyes narrowed, but then he shrugged and continued, "Well, doesn't matter much in here anyway. We're all just numbers to them." He gestured vaguely at the cell door. "So, what'd they get you for?"

Kam opened his mouth to speak, but Darrell waved him off. "Nah, forget I asked. It's better not to know sometimes. You'll figure out quick enough who to trust and who to avoid." He rolled over on his bunk, facing the wall.

The silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the prison. Kam sat on the edge of his bunk, hands clasped tightly in his lap. He jumped when Darrell suddenly spoke again.

"You play cards? Spades is big around here. Or chess, if you're into that. Me, I prefer a good book. They got a decent library, believe it or not. Nothing too recent, mind you, but some classics. I'm working my way through Moby Dick right now. Heavy stuff, but it passes the time."

Darrell rambled on about books, sports, and the mundane details of prison life. Kam found himself relaxing slightly, lulled by the older man's stream-of-consciousness chatter. It almost felt normal, like talking to an eccentric uncle at a family gathering.

Eventually, a buzzer sounded, and their cell door slid open. "That's our cue," Darrell said, swinging his legs off the bunk. "Time for rec. Come on, I'll show you around."

Kam followed Darrell out into the common area, a large room filled with tables, chairs, and a few old televisions mounted on the walls. Some inmates clustered around card games, while others lounged in front of the TVs or pored over dog-eared paperbacks.

Darrell pointed out a few key areas – the phones, the commissary window, the guard station. Kam nodded mechanically, struggling to take it all in, not wanting to either. He didn’t want to get comfortable, he didn’t belong here. His cellmate gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You'll get the hang of it.”

With that, Darrell wandered off to join a card game. Kam found an empty corner and sank into a plastic chair, his back to the wall. From this vantage point, he could observe the entire room without drawing attention to himself. He watched as alliances formed and dissolved over hands of poker, as men argued over what channel to watch, as a group of muscular inmates were engaging in what looked like a pushup competition.



An older black man with salt-and-pepper hair and deep crow's feet around his eyes approached, his gait slow but purposeful. He pulled up a chair across from Kam, the plastic legs scraping against the concrete floor.

"Mind if I join you?" the man asked, though he was already settling into the seat. His voice was gravelly, like sandpaper on wood. "Name's Terry. This where they put you at?”

Kam nodded slightly, still avoiding eye contact. He could feel Terry's gaze on him, appraising and curious.

"Thought so," Terry continued, undeterred by Kam's silence. “You're that football player, right? That shit been on the news on repeat since this morning. They ain’t give you no bail?”

Kam's head snapped up, his eyes finally meeting Terry's. The older man's expression was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and something else Kam couldn't quite place.

"I haven’t seen the judge yet," Kam muttered, his voice barely audible over the din of the rec room.

Terry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "That’s a motherfucker, ain’t it? Stuck in here, with us."

Kam felt a flicker of panic in his chest. He wasn’t sure how to interpret Terry’s words or his demeanor. He would soon make them clear.

Terry's jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "You too good to talk to me, boy?”

Kam remained silent, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He could feel his nails digging into his palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin. The rec room seemed to grow quieter, the other inmates sensing the rising tension.

"I asked you a question," Terry growled, his voice low and dangerous. He leaned in closer, his face inches from Kam's. "You deaf or just stupid?"

Kam could smell the anger radiating off Terry, could see the veins pulsing in his neck. His heart raced, pounding against his ribcage like a trapped bird. He wanted to speak, to defuse the situation, but his throat felt tight, his tongue too big for his mouth.

"In here is where we find out if you're tough for real. All that field shit don't mean nothing behind these walls."

Almost simultaneously, both men stood up, closing the gap between them. Their faces were so close now that Kam could count the gray hairs in Terry's beard. He could see the years etched into the older man's face, the hard lines around his mouth, the glint of desperation in his eyes.

Suddenly, a mysterious hand clamped down on Terry's shoulder. "That's enough, brother," a deep voice rumbled. "Let the boy be, we don’t need that right now. You’re trying to go back to lockdown, is you?”

Terry took a step back, and Kam did the same. The man was nothing more than a few inches above five-feet but his presence was felt. His skin was dark as mahogany, his head shaved smooth, and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard framed his face. Despite his unimposing size, there was a calmness about him, an air of quiet authority.

"That’s the problem with these young boys,” Terry sucked his teeth as he walked away, “Always some old nigga to clean up after them.”

The short man who had intervened turned to Kam, his dark eyes softening. "I'm Ali," he said, extending a hand. Kam hesitated for a moment before shaking it, surprised by the strength in Ali's grip.

"Come on," Ali said, nodding towards a quieter corner of the rec room. "Let's talk."

As they walked, Kam could feel the eyes of the other inmates on him, a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Ali seemed to command a certain respect; inmates nodded to him as they passed, and a few even moved out of their way.

They settled into a pair of chairs tucked away in a corner. Ali leaned back, studying Kam for a long moment before speaking. "You don’t even know what you just walked into, young blood. Terry there, he used to be cellmates with that brother you shot."

Kam's eyes widened, “I ain’t shot nobody.”

"That may be true but it don’t matter, not in here. The COs have been running their mouths about you before you got here."

Ali's voice was low, barely above a whisper, but Kam hung on every word. The older man's eyes scanned the room constantly, watching for eavesdroppers.

"They're trying to put pressure on you, see if they can get you to cooperate. Give up names, maybe. That's why they put you in gen pop instead of protective custody. They want you to feel the heat."

Kam's mouth felt dry. He licked his lips, trying to find his voice. "I don't... I don't know anything," he managed to croak out.

Ali's eyes locked onto Kam's, searching. After a moment, he nodded. "Again, maybe so. But that won't stop them from trying to squeeze you. And it won't stop guys like Terry from coming at you, thinking you might have something to do with his partner getting knocked off."

The reality of his situation was starting to sink in for Kam. He wasn't just in jail; he was in danger. Every interaction, every word spoken, could have consequences he couldn't even imagine.

Ali leaned in closer, his voice dropping even lower. "Listen, young blood. I've been in here a long time. I've seen good kids come in and get chewed up by this place. I don't want that to happen to you."

Kam felt a lump forming in his throat. He hadn't cried since he'd been arrested, but now he could feel tears threatening to spill over. He quickly put his guard back up, “What's it to you?"

“Truth of the matter,” he laughed, “I can’t believe I’m sitting here next to a real life superstar. I mean, me and my daddy been watching Kentucky football since I was knee high and boy, they was sorry as hell. I mean, y’all was sorry too this year but at least you beat Ville both years, put on a show too. Made me a lot of money yesterday.”

It hadn’t dawned on Kam that less than twenty-four hours ago, he was scoring a touchdown in front of tens of thousands. Now, he was here, locked away.

[Captain Canada]

Solid update, intrigued to see how this will continue to unfold. Boy in his Michael Vick era a little early

[Caesar]

Kam about to be under that blanket

[The JZA]

It hadn’t dawned on Kam that less than twenty-four hours ago, he was scoring a touchdown in front of tens of thousands. Now, he was here, locked away.

[Soapy]

Solid update, intrigued to see how this will continue to unfold. Boy in his Michael Vick era a little early

Kam about to be under that blanket

It hadn’t dawned on Kam that less than twenty-four hours ago, he was scoring a touchdown in front of tens of thousands. Now, he was here, locked away.

sir.

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 4
Mark's fingers tightened around his cell phone as he paced the worn carpet of his makeshift office. The faint buzz of voices from the conference call filled the stuffy air.

"He’ll be out by the time you’re having lunch," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I can assure you, Kam's involvement was purely circumstantial. He happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time."

A heavy silence hung on the line. Mark could almost feel the skepticism radiating through the phone. He glanced towards his suitcase, the dirty clothes piling as the quick trip had turned into a weekend of nightmares.

"Look," the gruff voice of one of the coaches cut through the quiet. "We want Kam here, you know that. It’s just…come on, you can’t possible expect us to sign off on this.”

Mark's heart sank. He knew what was coming next.

"We're going to have to put things on hold," said another voice – one of the boosters, Mark assumed. "Just until we can get all the facts straight. We clearly like the kid, we wouldn’t be offering him what we’re willing to offer if we didn’t.”

Mark closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "Of course," he replied, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "I'll keep you updated on any developments, he should be bonded out within the hour."

As the call ended, Mark slumped into his chair. The quiet of the room felt oppressive now. This deal has been his main focus for the past few months, carefully reaching out to form a package that would total near a million dollars, well above any rate he had established for any of his other clients. It would have set the market for future clients and all the publicity he needed to broaden his one-man agency into a full fledged, reputable one-stop shot for prominent college athletes.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself as he grabbed his coat, preparing himself for what promised to be another long day.

…

Kam squinted his eyes against the harsh light, adjusting after hours in the dimly lit holding cell. Mark stood waiting, not wearing his customary suit and tie but instead a polo with a coat over it.

Beside him, Yassy fidgeted nervously, her fingers twisting the hem of her oversized sweatshirt. Jamal leaned against Mark's rental SUV, his usual easy smile replaced by a tight-lipped frown.

As Kam approached, Yassy broke away from the group, rushing towards him with arms outstretched. "On my god," she cried, wrapping him in a fierce embrace. Her shoulders shook as she pressed her face against his chest.

Kam stood stiffly, his arms hanging at his sides. After a moment, he awkwardly patted Yassy's back, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance. "It's alright," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I'm fine."

Yassy pulled back, searching his face. "You’re okay?"

Kam shook his head, taking a small step back. "Yeah, it wasn't that bad. Just boring, mostly."

Mark approached, clapping a hand on Kam's shoulder. "Got you out as soon as I could, son.”

As they walked to the car, Jamal fell into step beside Kam. "You good, man?" he asked quietly.

Kam nodded, his jaw clenched. "Yeah, just trying to shower for real.”

The drive back to town was tense, filled with uneasy silence punctuated by Yassy's occasional sniffles. Kam stared out the window, watching familiar landmarks blur past. The weight of the past twenty-four hours settled over him like a heavy blanket, muffling the world around him.

As they pulled up to Kam's apartment, Mark turned in his seat. "You’ll probably meet with Cole some time again later today," he began. "I’ll give you a day, let you take some time for yourself but it’s really important we get things going from a legal perspective."

"You spoke to Marlon?" Kam interrupted, his voice flat.

Mark shook his head, “No, and it needs to stay that way, okay? He has his own counsel and I’m sure at some point Cole and him are going to touch bases but this important, Kam. The only people I want you speaking to is me, Cole and if you have to, the other two people in here, you understand?”

…

Kam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as he recounted the events of that night for what felt like the hundredth time. The words tumbled out mechanically, rehearsed and hollow. "I fell down, heard the shots go off after that. I knew Marlon was next to me so I just grabbed him and pushed him out.”

Cole nodded, jotting notes in his precise handwriting. The scratch of pen on paper filled the silence between Kam's words.

"Alright, Kam," Cole said, setting down his pen. He removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Now, it’s important that you’re honest with me because if anything else pops up from our investigation and theirs, I can’t defend it well because I’m not prepared for it.”

Kam's stomach clenched as Cole continued. "Now, one of the gunshot victims that they’re not attributing to this Jerrell Patterson, Darius Cobb, he didn’t make it.”

Kam tried to replay the night in his mind. The raising of his gun, the squeezing of the trigger. Did he let off one shot or was it two? Maybe more?

"Patterson survived, he’s one of the shooters," Cole went on, his voice gentle but firm. "He's recovering, but he's already given a statement to the police. He's identified you as one of the shooters.”

Kam shook his head. "That’s bullshit. I told you, I didn’t even have a gun, I don’t even have a gun.”

Cole held up a hand, cutting him off. "I know what you've told me, Kam. And right now, Patterson, or Boog, is the only one pointing the finger at you. No other witnesses have come forward to corroborate his story."

Kam slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his dreads.

“What about Ky?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cole scrambled through his notes, “Kyrie Patterson?”

Kam nodded.

“Not really much there,” Cole shrugged, “He pretty much said what you and others have said. There was an argument, he got pushed, you fell down at some point, he heard the first shots ring out, he went to grab Darius and that’s when he noticed he was shot. He tried to get Darius out of there but he was scared to move him, a bunch of people were around him. I don’t think he even mentions you again in this entire statement and it’s damn near two pages long, mostly about him trying to get Darius out. He conveniently doesn’t mention his uncle, though. To me, he’s a good witness for us, even with the family tie in because with this initial statement, if they put him up there to say anything about you shooting a gun, it wasn’t in the initial statement so any jury is seeing straight through that.”

“How’d you get all of this stuff already?” Kam asked, looking at the mountain of notes in Cole’s folder.

“I’m a fucking expensive lawyer, that’s how,” Cole laughed.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it,” Cole continued, “But we’re actually in great shape. We have no eyewitness seeing you with a gun, let alone firing it. We have footage which show you being approached, attacked and retreating, just as you described in your statement. I don’t have any reason to believe that Marlon’s statements are any different than yours. The only person saying they saw you with a gun, and even then, he never said he saw you shoot Darius specifically with it, is Jerrell Patterson who has a criminal record and his fingerprints are all over a gun that we see him on video shooting. The only question is who was the other shooter, where is that gun but we don’t have to answer that, the police does. And the fact you’re sitting here with me and not behind a glass tells me they don’t know jack shit about that other shooter either so it’s not you.”

[Caesar]

That boy traumatized like they had him in the Cadillac behind them bars.

[Captain Canada]

Boy really a permanent victim. I know you going to conveniently find that strap at the worst possible moment too