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Heavy snow and hard lashing winds occupy the city of Milwaukee on a mundane January evening. An UBER Black XL pulls up to Santino’s Little Italy, “Here is fine.” A man exits the car and continues across the street towards the restaurant. “MALIK, MALIK” the heckling of a young boy breaks his stride at the crosswalk. “MALIK,” he yells as he continues toward him. A husky, red faced and blonde haired boy bustles toward the man and meets him halfway at the divider. “Malik, you're my favorite player on the Bucks. Can I get a picture please?” The man scans the immediate coast around the new pair, and in one motion lunges toward the boy, both pulverizing his iPhone on the pavement and then hitting his signature on court shimmy. He throws $90 in tens and twenties next to the remains of broken glass and frayed wires “You didn’t see me here kid, sorry about the Phone.” “It’s business not personal.” As the boy is frozen in bewilderment, Malik crosses the street into the restaurant. Malik enters a pitch black environment. There’s an unlit man at the bar polishing a glass. A single table light illuminates the room in the back left of the restaurant. “THREASSLLLYYY, you came!” “Grazie!” a man emerges from the table to greet Malik. Behind him is the outline of at least 2 other men staturing above the man. They exchange handshakes and Malik tepidly takes a seat at the lone lit table. The man still standing, glares at Malik. “Did I say you could fuckin sit?” “Danillo, come on..” Several beats pass before either man speaks. “Ahh I’m busting your balls, sit down kid. We need to talk.” Danillo barks at the bartender “Joe Bananas get us some drinks huh” “You look a little nervous kid let’s sweat it out” Malik has known this moment has been coming for a long time. Things don’t always work out in the NBA. After a few years of being down on his luck, Malik thought meeting Danillo Gallinari in Milwaukee was his saving grace. Together they would create a harmless scheme that would net the two an extra few bucks. Little did he know he’d be joining one of the most powerful mafia gambling rings occupying the modern United States. He stayed the course and kept to himself, but things had gotten sloppy, and now the heat has turned up. “Me and the boys from Chicago came because we need a favor.” “Those suits in New York found out about our little FanDuel deal me, you, and Lucky Luciano cooked up with your rebounds up here in Milwaukee.” “Hundreds of our guys were in on that prop…” He finishes his whiskey straight and raises the titled glass “JOEY.” “You’re gonna be the fall guy alright pal?” “I said I was done,” Malik retorts. “I deleted FanDuel off my phone months ago” “I told you.” Danillo thanks the bartender for another drink and notices Malik hasn’t touched his. “Once you’re in the game, there’s no getting out. “Adam Silver is calling your number in a few minutes, drink up.” “I’m not doing this man” “Fuck you guys, I don’t need this.” Malik begins to exit from his seat Joey Bananas wraps Malik around the torso and forces him back down to the chair. Danillo’s men emerge from the darkness and hold down his limbs to the wooden table. Danillo grabs a fork from the table’s utensil holder and forces it through Malik’s left hand, piercing the table. “HOLY SHIT JESUS CHRIST” Malik belts in pain “WHAT THE FUCK MAN ARE YOU SERIOUS?” “It’s business, not personal” Danillo stands up and grabs Malik’s phone from his pocket. “You’re gonna put this on speaker and you’re gonna play nice alright?” “ALRIGHT?” Malik bleeds onto the table as Joey Bananas removes the utensil and gives him some napkins from the bar. He grasps for air as he comes to term with the situation he’s got himself into the last few years. Everything he has done leads to this. Instead of becoming a consistent defender, an improved passer, he chose the shortcut to an easy bag. And now, he faces the music As the phone lays flat on the table, it begins to vibrate and play Tupac’s hit “California Love.” CALLER ID: ADAM SILVER Danillo smirks at Malik, “What are the odds?”