“Trevor, you gotta help me out here.”
Trevor Ariza looked mildly at his harried-looking teammate, Tomas Satoransky. “Help you with what?”
“Getting this locker room under control like coach wants,” Tomas answered. “You’re a vet, don’t you have some kind of, I don’t know, some kind of veteran leadership skills that would stop everybody from fighting all the damn time?”
Trevor appeared to think about the question for a moment, tapping his chin in the universal gesture of “thought”. Eventually, he replied to Tomas’ query. “Nope. No veteran leadership here. I’m just collecting checks, man.”
“You don’t think this is a problem?” Tomas asked, nodding his head towards where Bradley Beal (wearing only boxer briefs) and John Wall (wearing a pristine, well-fitted suit) were having yet another belligerent argument with each other over who would get traded first and who was a bigger team cancer.
Trevor observed the two exchange obscenities with each other, then turned back to Tomas. “I don’t see any problem.” Just as he said this, Bradley threw a punch at John’s face; to this, John ducked and then returned with a punch of his own. Soon, they were scuffling on the floor, exchanging punches so meaty that it sounded like wet surfboards slapping each other.
“Now is it a problem?” Tomas asked.
“Not really,” Trevor answered. “When you’re not committed to the team, nothing’s a problem until your life is in danger.”
The door to the locker room slammed open. Tomas looked over with concern; such a dramatic entry could not be a good thing. His concern multiplied tenfold when he saw who had entered.
It was Gilbert Arenas. With a pistol in each hand. Both pointed at the locker room.
Most of the Wizards players fled at this point, including Trevor, who conceded, “Yeah, this is a problem,” as he darted to the shower area. Tomas wanted to flee as well, but remembered Coach Scott’s instructions to try to maintain order in the locker room. A minutes penalty was a very possible consequence for disobeying Coach.
“Put the guns away, man,” Tomas said, his hands out so that Gilbert couldn’t possibly think he was armed. But Gilbert didn’t seem to care about what Tomas had to say or even that he was standing there. He walked over to Bradley and John’s fight, which was proceeding as if a very angry and very weaponized ex-Wizard hadn’t just burst into the locker room unannounced.
“They’re gonna trade both y’all asses!” Gilbert announced. This proclamation got both Bradley and John’s attention; they stopped their wrestling and their biting to look up at Gilbert.
“How’s that comeback working for you, Gilbert?” John joked, reaching up to poke Gilbert’s slightly tubby belly. “You gonna replace me, huh? Huh? Not a chance, fatty.” Each “huh” was punctuated by another poke of the stomach.
Suddenly, Bradley, who had sneaked his naked body behind Gilbert while the latter was distracted, knocked the gun out of his hand. It fired a single shot as it hit the floor; the bullet ricocheted off the wall. Bradley quickly grabbed the gun and pointed it at Gilbert. “You might want to leave, man.”
Tomas decided that the threat of a reduction to his minutes was not worth staying around to see the conclusion of this confrontation. He sprinted towards the exit just as multiple shots were fired from both guns. As he ran down the hallway, he thought he could hear screams, but it didn’t occur to him to worry about his teammates’ safety; all he could think about was the morbid fact that if one of John or Bradley had been shot dead, that would solve most of the locker room’s problems, and Coach would stop bugging him about it.