My phone inbox contains over a dozen unread and read text messages, all sent by relatives and friends in Chicago.
The latest message reads, "Dwyane, my two brothers and I flew to Boston this afternoon and are staying at the motel next to New Garden. We've taken over that car detailing shop on 59th Street for only $150,000. I've already drafted the contract for you. We'll come to the arena to pick up the check tomorrow morning. Don't forget who lent your family money for rent when you were ten. If you dare refuse to see them, tomorrow the Boston tabloids will know about your mother's past in the South Side."
Garnett's expression instantly turned cold after reading the text message.
"Who is Marcus?" Garnett asked, looking up at Wade.
Wade sighed, his voice a little hoarse. "He's a neighborhood tough guy I knew from 59th Street when I was a kid. When I was eight, my mom was in the police station because of her drug addiction, and we were so poor we couldn't afford to eat. My sister took me around borrowing money, and Marcus lent us three hundred dollars back then."
"After I was selected by Boston this June, I immediately had my sister send him $5,000 to repay the favor from years ago. Last month, I gave my cousins over $20,000. But this month, as soon as my sneaker ad came out, Marcus suddenly called my mom, insisting that I invest $150,000 to open a car detailing center for him, and that I take a 70% stake. I refused him on the phone the day before yesterday, and tonight he flew to Boston with his men to confront me."
Wade rubbed his throbbing temples, his voice filled with helplessness. "My mom has just turned over a new leaf and found a stable job in a church community in Chicago. Marcus has inside information about my mom's past. If he really goes to the tabloids in Boston or New York and spreads nonsense about my mom's past, her hard-won new life will be completely ruined."
The back of the cabin fell silent, with only the steady hum of the aircraft engines.
Pierce finished reading the text message, slammed his phone shut, and threw it on the table. He snorted coldly, "Borrowed three hundred dollars, paid back five thousand, and still not satisfied? Now you're asking for one hundred and fifty thousand, and you even dare to threaten you with your family's privacy. Dwyane, this isn't some old friend; this is extortion targeting you."
" Chris Paul's right," Garnett sat up straight, looking at Wade, "You can't give a single penny to this bottomless pit. If you're afraid he'll call the reporters today and obediently write that $150,000 check, next month he'll ask you for $500,000 to open a nightclub. After your rookie contract expires, every penny you earn will be sucked dry by these parasites!"
"The day after I signed the second overall pick in Seattle in '90," Gary Payton leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly tapping the table, "more than thirty so-called relatives and childhood friends suddenly appeared on the lawn in front of my old home in Oakland. Some even brought car purchase contracts, ready to have me sign and pay. I was young and proud back then, and almost agreed. But then my dad grabbed an aluminum baseball bat, stormed out of the house, and chased all those bastards out of the yard. My dad said one thing to me then: 'Those who truly consider you friends will only be happy for you, never treat you like their ATM.'"
Wade gave a wry smile, " Gary, I understand the logic. But Marcus and his gang are coming to Auerbach Center tomorrow morning to block the entrance. They're tough bastards who don't care about anything on the streets. If I go out and fight them myself, or call the police, the police station's public radio will be on, and the Boston tabloids will be right there within ten minutes. We won't be able to hide it then."
"Who told you to go out and meet them by yourself? And who told you to call the police by yourself?"
Gary Payton glared at Wade and tapped the table. "Kid, use your brain. You're on a Converse contract, the Celtics ' starting point guard, and you represent tens of millions of dollars in brand image. If you go to the arena and argue with three Chicago thugs, even if you're in the right, the tabloids will publish a picture of it tomorrow, and you'll be the one who suffers. You're not suited for this kind of thing."
"If I don't step in, who can stop them tomorrow morning?" Wade paused for a moment.
"Let Lin Qi handle it," Garnett said confidently, propping his legs up on the empty chair cushion opposite him. "This is Boston, Lynch's territory. Nobody dares to cause trouble at the entrance of Auerbach Center."
Pierce picked up the glass of iced water on the table, took a sip, and smiled at Wade, " Dwyane, you still don't know how influential our boss is in this city. You think those security supervisors standing at the entrance of our training center and the New Garden are just ordinary security guards? The head security director, old Jim, used to be a deputy superintendent in the Organized Crime Investigations Unit of the Boston Police Department. After retiring, he was directly hired by the club by Lin at a high salary."
"And that's not all," Rasheed Wallace interjected, stroking his chin. "I only learned last month from Dikembe about the charitable foundation that Lin donates millions of dollars annually in political contributions and charitable checks to the Boston Police Patrol Association's pension fund, the Firefighters' Mutual Aid Association, and the Mayor's Office's community redevelopment projects. In Boston, from the state attorney general and police chief to the detectives at the North End Precinct, half of them hold season tickets or VIP box passes to our New Garden."
Garnett looked at Wade's surprised expression and continued, "Two years ago, Chris Paul was harassed by some local gangsters at a nightclub in the South. They wanted to extort $200,000 from Chris Paul. Chris Paul was so angry that he wanted to take some men to fight them, but Lin stopped him."
The next morning, Chris Paul was shooting hoops in the gym as usual, without even leaving the facility. Lin contacted the police station, and the Boston Police Department immediately dispatched two plainclothes police cars without flashing lights. Working with Jim's arena security team, they apprehended the thugs in a motel within half an hour. The entire process was kept completely secret from the media. Those guys later served three years in state prison for interstate extortion and illegal possession of firearms.
Wade was stunned. He grew up in Chicago South Side and was used to the ruthlessness of street thugs, but he had never truly witnessed the power of a big-name team owner in local political and business circles.
"Got it, rookie?" Gary Payton patted Wade on the shoulder. "If those idiots from Marcus were just hiding in the alleys of Chicago South Side gossiping, it'd take some effort to deal with them. But they actually dared to buy their own plane tickets to Boston and then come to the boss's training center to ambush him. They're practically sticking their heads through a crack in the door. When you get to the gym tomorrow morning, lift weights if you need to, practice your shooting if you need to, and leave the rest to the club."
After saying that, Gary Payton glanced at Tyronn Lue, raised his chin, and pointed to the front cabin. "Tyron, go to the front and wake Sam Presti up. Tell him to bring his laptop. Tell him Kevin and I need to discuss something with him."
Tyronn Lue quickly got up and ran to the front cabin.
Less than three minutes later, Sam Presti, the assistant general manager, wearing a sweater and carrying a briefcase, walked to the back of the cabin, rubbing his sleepy eyes, and asked, " Gary, Kevin, what's wrong?"
Garnett moved aside, pulled Presti to sit down, and handed Wade his flip phone. " Sam, take a look at this text message. A few thugs from Chicago have come to Boston to rip off Dwyane. They're going to block the arena tomorrow morning. You should use the satellite phone on the plane to let the boss and Jim know, and give these out-of-towners a good welcome tomorrow morning."