A Cold Piece of Work by Curtis Bunn Page A

club section of the arena, where there were several restaurants to choose from for a pregame meal. There was still an hour before tipoff, so they ate turkey sandwiches, fries and milkshakes.
    â€œWhat are your grades like in school?” Solomon said.
    â€œAll A’s,” Gerald said eagerly, “and one B.”
    Solomon extended a clenched fist and Gerald put up his tiny fist and tapped Solomon’s.
    â€œI got the same grades when I was your age, too,” he said. “And you know what? Once you get all A’s, you can’t get anything else.”
    â€œI’m not getting anything but A’s,” Gerald said.
    â€œOkay, if you do, I’ll make sure to get you a present. You get all A’s, I’ll take care of you. Cool?”
    Gerald smiled. “Cool.”
    They got up from the table and headed for their seats, which were seven rows up from the floor, across from the Los Angeles Lakers’ bench. There were still 45 minutes before tip off, and Solomon took Gerald as far down as they could get, which was right to the floor.
    Just as they got there, Kobe Bryant emerged from the tunnel across the court. “Check this out,” Solomon said to Gerald, pointing toward Kobe.
    Gerald froze. He stared at the NBA superstar, uncertain of what to do or say. “You all right?” Solomon asked.
    He didn’t answer. Suddenly, a pass to Kobe went over his head, toward where Solomon or Gerald stood. Kobe turned to retrieve the ball, which had rolled under a chair right in front of Gerald.
    â€œGet it,” Solomon told him. Without looking up, Gerald squatted and squirmed underneath the chairs and picked up the ball. When he stood up, Kobe Bryant was standing over him, looking down, smiling.
    â€œHey, young fella,” Kobe said.
    Solomon pulled out his camera from his pocket. “Let’s get a quick photo?” he said to Kobe.
    â€œLet’s do it,” the player said. He turned around the stunned kid, put his arm around him and Solomon snapped the photo.
    Kobe shook Gerald’s hand and then he was gone.
    â€œOh my God,” Gerald finally said. “I met Kobe Bryant. I can’t believe it. I have to call my mom.”
    â€œLet’s go to our seats and you can call her,” Solomon said. He was happy for the kid and relieved; meeting and taking a photo with Kobe Bryant was bigger and better than watching any game.
    â€œMommy, guess what?” he said into the phone. “Guess…I met Kobe Bryant.”
    Solomon watched the kid’s smile light up the arena. He was happy and proud that Gerald was happy, and it had to mean something for him in Michele’s eyes, too. Still, in that moment, it was more important for Gerald to have a great experience than anything else. If Michele eased up on him, fine. But it was no longer about getting to her through Gerald.
    He looked down at the boy as they departed the arena. “How was that?”
    Gerald looked up at him with those bright, innocent eyes for a few seconds. “Awesome, Coach Money,” he said, finally.
    Solomon gave the kid the responsibility of finding the car in the crowded parking lot. “You sure it’s this way?”
    â€œIt’s over here. I remember,” Gerald said.
    And he was right. “You’re good,” Solomon said. “That’s why I call you ‘Money.’”
    In the car, Solomon called Michele to tell her they were en route to her house. “I saw that the Lakers won.” Her voice was pleasant; there was not a trace of discord. “How is he?”
    â€œGreat,” Solomon said. “Happy. He’s a great kid. I know you’re proud. We had a great time.”
    When they arrived at Michele’s house, she opened the door before Gerald could ring the doorbell. They hugged. “You had fun, huh?” she said.
    Her son nodded his head. His grin said it all.
    â€œThanks for letting me take him,” Solomon