Season 8, Episode 14
Yassy fidgeted with her napkin as she sat across from Kam at the trendy brunch spot down Main Street. Kam looked tired but content, opting for comfort in a sweatsuit, a stark contrast to Yassy’s stylish fall outfit. A few bruises littered on his arms, a testament to the previous day's grueling game. Yet there was a quiet satisfaction in his posture, one that only an incredible game could bring about.
As they perused the menu, a waiter approached their table, carefully balancing a silver ice bucket. Inside, a bottle of Dom Pérignon nestled in a bed of ice cubes.
"Compliments of the gentleman at the bar," the waiter said with a slight bow, nodding towards a middle-aged man in a crisp suit who raised his glass in acknowledgment.
Kam's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Appreciate it," he murmured, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
Yassy leaned in, her voice low. "They really do love you here.”
As the waiter began to open the bottle with practiced ease, Yassy couldn't help but notice the way other patrons' eyes kept darting towards their table. Hushed whispers and not-so-subtle pointing made it clear that Kam's presence hadn't gone unnoticed.
The cork popped with a satisfying sound, and the waiter poured two flutes of the golden, effervescent liquid. Yassy lifted her glass, the bubbles tickling her nose. "I can get used to this," she said, her eyes twinkling.
Kam clinked his glass against hers, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Whatever makes my baby happy," he added softly, his gaze lingering on Yassy for a moment longer than necessary.
As they sipped their champagne, Yassy leaned back in her chair, studying Kam's face. "I guess I don’t have to ask you if you’re liking it here.”
Kam shook his head. "I don’t know about that," he chuckled, running a hand through his dreads. "But this team, I don’t know, it’s like an actual team. You don’t got the usual cliqued up bullshit, niggas not putting in work or shit like that.”
Yassy nodded, her fingers tracing the stem of her glass. She could see the excitement in Kam's eyes, the way his whole body seemed to come alive when he talked about football. There was a general melancholy around him most of the time which made his blips of outwardly apparent joy that much more treasurable in her eyes.
"And the classes?" she prodded gently, trying to keep the conversation going.
Kam tilted his head. "They’re online so you know how that goes."
As Kam continued to talk about his new life in Michigan, Yassy found her mind wandering. She thought about the recording that had been played for her by the detectives, the one from Ashley. The one that had confirmed her worst fears. She'd never confronted Kam about it, never let on that she knew. And now, sitting across from him in this trendy restaurant, surrounded by people who saw him as a local hero, she wondered if she was ready to truly let it go.
Her eyes drifted to a group of girls at a nearby table, all of them sneaking glances at Kam. A familiar knot formed in her stomach. Were there Ashleys in Michigan too? Girls who were eager to enjoy their fifteen minutes with him? Take a piece of him away from her?
Yassy took another sip of champagne, letting the bubbles dance on her tongue. She wanted to trust Kam, wanted to believe that what had happened with Ashley was a one-time mistake. But the doubt lingered, a persistent whisper in the back of her mind.
"You good?" Kam's voice broke through her thoughts. "Looked like you were gone for a minute"
Yassy plastered on a smile, pushing her worries aside. "Sorry, just thinking back to when we first met in Muncie. Seems like forever ago.”
“Shit, it was,” Kam shook his head, “I do think sometimes about if I never let Ball State, how things would have played out.”
“Don’t,” Yassy quickly stopped him as she could see the melancholy starting to take over, “You’re exactly where you need to be.”
…
Detective Alderman and Officer Turk made their way through a strip mall, their shoes crunching on the gravel of the parking lot. The midday sun beat down on them, causing sweat to bead on their foreheads as they moved from business to business.
"How many more?" Turk asked, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He had been less than optimistic of the endeavor.
Alderman consulted his notepad. "Three more on this side. Then we've got the other strip across the street."
They approached a nail salon, its neon "OPEN" sign flickering in the window. A bell chimed as they entered, the smell of acetone and nail polish remover hitting them immediately.
"Police," Alderman announced, flashing his badge at the startled receptionist. "We need to speak with the manager about your security cameras."
As they waited, Turk's mind wandered to the case that had brought them here. They had been granted permission to interview the teenage shooter who revealed where he’d found the gun - behind a dumpster in this very strip mall, months ago. Now, they were on a hunt for any footage that might show who had stashed the gun there in the first place. They knew who it was but still needed evidence, no matter how circumstantial, to back their claim.
The manager, a petite woman with elaborately decorated nails, emerged from the back. "How can I help you, officers?"
"We're investigating a case and need to review your security footage from about nine months ago," Alderman explained. "Specifically, we're interested in the area behind your dumpster."
The manager's brow furrowed. "Nine months? I'm not sure we keep recordings that long. Let me check."
As she disappeared into a back room, Turk sighed, having heard the same answer time and time again. "This feels like a wild goose chase, Al. What are the odds we actually find anything useful?"
Alderman shrugged. "We still have to check, it’s called being a detective. We just need something, anything, that ties that motherfucker to this strip mall."
The manager returned, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, officers. Our system only keeps recordings for 30 days."
Thanking her, they headed back out into the heat. As they crossed to the next business, a discount furniture store, Turk couldn't help but feel a sense of futility. They'd been at this for hours, with nothing to show for it.
