The cold Chicago wind cut through the streets like a knife as Michael Jordan stepped out of his car, adjusting his black coat and pulling his cap lower. He was tired, ready to head home after a long day. It was supposed to be just another normal night. But as he turned the corner near an old alleyway, something made his heart stop.
A homeless man sat curled up against a brick wall, his hands trembling from the biting cold. But it wasn’t the sight of the man that caught Michael’s attention—it was the jersey he wore. The faded number 23 on the man’s chest was barely visible through the grime and dirt. It was Michael’s rookie jersey, a limited edition that only a handful of people owned. His heart skipped a beat. How did this man, someone who appeared to have nothing, come to possess something so valuable?
Michael walked slowly toward the man, his breath visible in the cold air. The closer he got, the more details he noticed. The man’s frail frame, the bruises on his knuckles, and the hollow look in his eyes—this wasn’t just any homeless man. There was something different about him.
The man didn’t notice Michael at first. He was rubbing his hands together, whispering something under his breath, lost in his own world. Michael cleared his throat, trying to get his attention.
“Where did you get that jersey?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. The man flinched, his eyes snapping up in fear. For a moment, he looked ready to run. But then his gaze settled on Michael’s face, and something in his expression shifted—shock, recognition, and then something deeper.
“Mike…” the man’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Michael stiffened. How did this man know his name?
The man blinked rapidly, as though trying to convince himself that what he was seeing was real. His lips trembled before he let out a broken chuckle. “I should have known I’d run into you someday.”
Michael narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”
The man let out a small, sad laugh. He lifted a shaking hand, pointing at himself. “It’s me, Mike. It’s Kenny.”
Michael’s breath caught in his throat. The name hit him like a punch to the gut. Kenny. His childhood best friend. The kid he used to play basketball with every single day after school. The boy who had talked about making it big, just like him. And now, Kenny was homeless.
Michael crouched down, scanning his friend’s face. The years had not been kind to him. His once bright eyes were sunken, his skin rough, and his body reduced to nothing but bones wrapped in layers of tattered clothing.
“Kenny, what happened to you, man?” Michael whispered.
Kenny just smiled weakly, looking down at the jersey he ran his fingers over, the faded number 23. “Life happened, Mike. Some of us get to fly, and some of us crash.”
Michael clenched his jaw. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the Kenny he remembered. “Where are you staying?”
Kenny smirked and stretched his arms wide. “You’re looking at it. Home sweet home.”
Michael’s stomach twisted. Kenny was sleeping on the streets in the same city where Michael had built an empire. His best friend, the guy who had shared dreams of greatness with him, was now fighting to survive.
Before Michael could say another word, something shocking happened. Kenny’s face suddenly changed. His expression filled with panic. He tried to stand up too quickly, stumbling back, his hands gripping his head.
“Mike, you need to leave right now,” his voice shook.
Michael frowned. “What? Why?”
Kenny’s breathing grew rapid, his eyes darting around the dark alleyway like he was afraid of something—or someone. Then, in a whisper so soft Michael almost didn’t hear it, Kenny muttered, “They’re watching me.”
Michael’s blood ran cold. “Who’s watching you?”
Kenny swallowed hard, his body trembling. He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “They know I talked to you, and now they’ll come for you too.”
A chill crawled up Michael’s spine. This wasn’t just about homelessness. Something was terribly wrong, and Michael was about to find out exactly what.
His mind raced. Who was watching Kenny? Why would anyone care that they were talking? Michael glanced over his shoulder. The alley was dark, mostly empty, except for a few flickering streetlights and a stray cat rummaging through a trash can. Nothing seemed out of place. But the way Kenny was acting told him something was definitely off.
“Kenny, listen to me,” Michael said, keeping his voice calm. “What are you talking about? Who’s after you?”
Kenny squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his head like he was trying to force himself not to speak. Then, just as suddenly, he grabbed Michael’s wrist. His grip was shockingly strong for someone so frail.
“Mike, you got to go now. Forget you saw me,” Kenny’s voice cracked.
Michael yanked his arm free but didn’t move. “Not happening. If someone’s after you, I’m not leaving you out here alone.”
Kenny let out a bitter laugh. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do, Mike? Call the cops? You think they care about a guy like me?”
Michael clenched his jaw. He hated that Kenny was right. People like him—the rich, the powerful—had options. Kenny had nothing.
“Then tell me who I need to talk to. What the hell did you get yourself into?”
Kenny’s eyes darted around again, his body tense as though expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. “It’s not what I got into, Mike. It’s what I couldn’t get out of.”
Michael’s pulse quickened. “Kenny, what does that mean?”
Kenny opened his mouth to speak, but his whole body went rigid. His eyes locked onto something over Michael’s shoulder. Michael didn’t need to turn around to know they weren’t alone anymore. Footsteps—slow, heavy, purposeful. A deep voice sliced through the cold air.
“Kenny,” it said. “I told you not to talk to anyone.”
Michael turned, his instincts sharp. A man stood at the mouth of the alley, dressed in a long black coat. His hands were casually tucked into his pockets, but there was nothing casual about the way he stared at Kenny—cold, calculated, dangerous.
Kenny’s breathing turned shaky. He took a step back. “I didn’t say anything, I swear.”
The man took a step forward, his voice staying calm, almost amused. “No? Then why does your friend here look so interested?”
Michael didn’t flinch. He’d been around enough powerful men to know exactly what this was. This guy wasn’t just some random thug. He carried himself like a man who had control and enjoyed it.
“You got a problem with me talking to my friend?” Michael asked, his tone steady.
The man smiled, but his eyes stayed cold. “Depends. Are you just talking, or are you trying to save him?”
Michael didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Deep down, he already knew. This wasn’t just a random run-in. Kenny was in deep, and now so was Michael.
Before Michael could react, Kenny made a fatal mistake. He bolted, running down the alleyway as fast as he could. Michael shouted after him, but Kenny didn’t slow down. He darted through the streets, weaving between dumpsters and broken crates like a man running for his life.
But then, out of nowhere, Kenny tripped. His foot caught on a loose piece of pavement, and he crashed to the ground hard.
Michael reached him in seconds, kneeling beside him. “Kenny, stop!” he shouted.
Kenny groaned, gripping his knee. “Damn it, Mike,” he muttered. “You should’ve left. You should’ve walked away.”
Michael grabbed his arm, holding him steady. “Not happening. You think I’m just going to leave you out here?”
Kenny shook his head, his eyes dark with something deeper than fear—guilt. “This ain’t about me anymore.”
He looked over his shoulder as if expecting someone to step out of the shadows. “They know you’re involved now.”
Michael’s heart pounded. “Who are they?”
Kenny exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He was stalling.
Michael wasn’t having it. “Talk to me, man. You owe me that much.”
Kenny swallowed hard. “I wasn’t always on the streets. I had a good job. But I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see.”
Michael’s stomach tightened. “What did you see?”
Kenny hesitated. Then, just as footsteps echoed in the distance, he grabbed Michael’s jacket with desperate fingers. “If I tell you, you’re in it too. They don’t just ruin your life, Mike. They erase it.”
Michael stared at him, every instinct in his body screaming that Kenny wasn’t exaggerating.
Just then, a black SUV came screeching around the corner. The headlights flashed, and tires screeched as the car skidded to a stop. The doors flew open, and two men in black suits jumped out.
Kenny’s face drained of color. He shoved Michael toward a side street. “Go! Go!” Kenny shouted.
Before Michael could react, Kenny did something that made his blood run cold. He ran toward the men, throwing himself into their grasp as if he were sacrificing himself.
Michael turned, but it was too late. The SUV doors slammed shut, and the tires screeched as it sped off into the night.
Michael stood there in the cold street, clutching a crumpled envelope that Kenny had shoved into his hands. His friend was gone—vanished into the night. But Michael wasn’t leaving empty-handed. Inside the envelope was a name—David Cross. And it would change everything.
Michael stood still, the weight of the night’s events pressing down on him. He knew this was far from over. It was just the beginning.
What Charles Barkley Said That Destroyed His Friendship With BFF Michael Jordan!
Charles Barkley is getting real about the end of his friendship with Michael Jordan.
During an appearance on Tom Brady’s Let’s Go podcast on Monday, the 59-year-old basketball legend opened up about if he ever experienced any negative “ramifications” or regrets over being so outspoken over the years. And his answer? The biggest thing to happen to him was losing his longtime friend Michael. Charles said on the episode:
“I think probably, me and Michael [Jordan] were best friends, that’s probably the most prominent thing. Michael Jordan, losing his friendship was probably the most prominent thing that’s happened to me.”
He continued:
“But I was being honest about what I thought. I said, ‘Listen, the toughest thing about Michael, he’s got to put better people around him.’ Because the toughest thing, when you’re famous, they’re on your private jet, you’re buying all the drinks, you’re buying all the dinners. Very few people are gonna be honest with you. And I try to surround myself with people like, ‘Hey, if I’m screwing up, please tell me.’”
This seems to be referring to an interview with ESPN’s The Waddle & Silvy Show in 2012, where he accused Michael of surrounding himself with a bunch of “yes” people. The Olympic gold medalist said at the time:
“I think the biggest problem has been I don’t know if he has hired enough people around him who he will listen to. One thing about being famous is the people around you, you pay all their bills so they very rarely disagree with you because they want you to pick up the check. They want to fly around on your private jet so they never disagree with you. I don’t think Michael has hired enough people around him who will disagree.”
As for why they’ve ended their close friendship? Charles explained the former Chicago Bulls player was “offended” by his remarks – and as a result, they haven’t spoken to each other in nearly 10 years! He explained on the podcast:
“And Michael got offended about something I said about him. And we haven’t spoken in probably almost 10 years. And he was my best friend at the time. And I love the dude like a brother and we’re both stubborn and we haven’t talked.”
That is rough…
And that wasn’t the only time Charles experienced some troubles in a friendship for speaking his mind. Elsewhere in the podcast, the father of one recalled when Kobe Bryant got extremely angry at him for expressing his disappointment in the Los Angeles Lakers player’s gameplay in a post-game interview:
“One night Kobe Bryant texted me 40 times calling me every name in the book. He starts texting me right after the game. He texted me about 40 times. This is like 5:00 in the morning. I was like dude, pick up the phone and call me.”
However, the two ended up reconciling before Kobe’s death in 2020. Charles added:
“I’ve never taken a cheap shot at a guy because I didn’t like him. If you played bad, I can’t get on the TV and tell people you played good! I wish I could say positive thing about everybody all the time. But they just saw the game, I gotta tell the truth.”
Hopefully, Michael and Charles also will be able to sit down and clear the air one day! Perhaps, the NBA star speaking out about his regret over how things went down will be the first step towards them mending the fences. What do you think about Charles’ confession, Perezcious readers? Do you think he and Michael will ever repair their friendship? Drop your reactions in the comments below.
