With each word, Bone was sinking the dagger in them and him. He didn’t have ironclad proof of their larceny. He was going on another man’s word. It was as if he was about to kill all of mankind on account of another man’s word.
As Bone spoke, he pulled up the YouTube video on the burner phone again. He watched the video while he watched his watch. It was 11:55 p.m. Five more minutes to show time.
Maleek was incensed; he was ready to set it. Impatient, he kept clicking his firearm in his lap.
Bone put the parking lights on and made one more circuit around the cabin to make sure everyone was still inside. Once again, he did a head count as he slowly circled the cabin. Once again, he tallied fourteen men.
Bone pulled the Durango around to the front of the cabin, nearly all the way down the hill this time. He was about seventy-five yards away now. He opened the back door and popped open the long green case in the seat. A spanking brand-new AT-4 stared back at him. One of the benefits of running the city where the world’s biggest army base was located was that weapons of all types were just within arm’s reach. Even soldiers weren’t immune to the drug epidemic, and for drugs they would regularly raid their own armories. Bone had paid nearly a quarter brick of coke for this anti-tank weapon. He never guessed in a million years that it would be used in fratricide.
Bone pulled the weapon out and read the words on the top. Just as it promised on YouTube, the instructions were right there on the top.
THIS SIDE FACING BACK.
Bone flipped the cover up that hid the red button and peeked his head inside the truck. “Yo, y’all take cover,” he advised.
Bone peered through the sights at the front door in the distance and prepared to fire his shot. He swallowed the lump in his throat that was his conscience trying to come get him, and placed his index finger on the red button. He peeked behind himself and in his head, just as the man had coached on YouTube, he yelled, “Back-blast area clear!”
As Bone put pressure on the button, the front door of the cabin opened, and a man walked out onto the porch. Bone couldn’t see who it was, but he did recognize the red cherry at the end of a cigar. He hesitated—only for a second—then he pushed the button.
Whoosh!!!
The missile launched into the night leaving a bright red trail of flames streaking behind it. It crashed into the front window of the cabin, then the building erupted into a huge ball of flames.
Bone tossed the useless weapon in the backseat and fled the scene in the Durango with his new young guns. Fireworks burst high in the air all around him from revelers as they celebrated a happy New Year.
* * *
The moment Flame’s shelltoes crossed the threshold of NY Live, all eyes were on him. He felt it. He had an extra bounce in his step because the way he tore shit up when the ball dropped, he knew the industry would be talking about him. Ball was at his side as they steered through the crowd. Local muscle led the way, bullying Flame a path like he was the heavyweight champ coming to the ring.
NY Live had three VIP areas on three different levels. Each level told your level of celebrity. If you were fortunate to warrant entry to the third level VIP section, you literally looked down on the haters letting them know you were shitting on them.
As Flame’s light entourage breezed past the first two levels, he spotted some up-and-comers enjoying the celebration. Couple down-south underground titans. Flame saluted them, and Gem-star the Golden Child raised his glass back at him while Lil’ Rue looked at him in awe. Venom, the female radio personality, shot him the finger. They had history. Flame had pumped and dumped her.
He kept it moving.
The first person he spotted when he made it to the third level was his label mate, Saigon. She frowned at him like he had the cooties, but he ignored her too. He kept it moving and snagged a table in the corner. A gold bottle was waiting on his table just like all the others. Flame settled down and cracked the bottle open. He poured himself and 8-Ball a drink and observed the VIP more closely.
Flame felt a weird energy in the room. People who were famous in their own right were sneaking photos of him with their phones. People who had hit him up and begged him to get at them when the time was right were now acting distant, as if he was a phantom. The VIP was filled with ABP supporters, but strangely, no one was putting respect on his name. In fact, they were treating him like an outcast.
What the fuck?
The crowd began to shift, and Flame saw Qwess bolting up the stairs two at a time. His face was chopped and screwed, and he was looking right in Flame’s direction. They locked eyes as he took giant steps to Flame’s table. As soon as he arrived Flame offered him a bottle. It was a New Year. No need to drag the same hostility into it. Or so he thought.
Qwess curled his lip up at Flame. “What are you, a fuckin’ idiot, Joey?!” he barked.
Flame was taken aback. “What’s wrong wit’chu, dawg! Nigga trying to offer you a peace treaty an’ shit and you being disrespectful.”
“Disrespectful? Are you stupid? Are you fuckin’ high and stupid?!” Qwess smacked his forehead in disbelief.
Flame raised up in his seat. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dawg? What is your problem?”
“You my fucking problem, stupid!”
“Yo, I ain’t gonna be too many more stupids and idiots.”
At Flame’s side, 8-Ball tensed up.
Qwess shook his head. “What have you done, Joey?”
“What?” Flame was confused. He had just set the stage on fire in front of the world and Qwess was trying to tear him down?
“Do you not know what is going on?” Qwess asked. “Everybody in the fuckin’ world talking about you!”
Flame was really confused now. “Isn’t that what we want? What are you talking about?!”
“What am I—tell ya what . . .” Qwess whipped out his phone, hit a few keys, and passed it to Flame. “Look at this shit, nigga.”
Flame’s breath caught in his throat. His breath got short and his heart started beating like sasquatch feet. Right there on Qwess’s phone was a video of him laying wood to Sasha from the back, both of them smiling and grimacing at the camera.
“W-where did you get this?” Flame stuttered.
Surely, Sasha didn’t send the tape to Qwess! What the fuck?!!
“Where did I get it? Nigga, everybody got it, fool! It’s all over the net.”
“The net?”
“The Internet. Twitter, Instagram, YouTube. Even Pornhub got it.”
Flame zoned out. Qwess was still talking, but all Flame saw was his lips moving. Shock had set in, and his mind was reeling a thousand miles an hour. It felt like the room was spinning.
Suddenly, someone pushed Qwess aside. Flame raised his head at the exact moment Kim splashed her glass of champagne in his face.
“You dirty bastard!” Kim squealed. “You gon’ get yours, nigga!” She threw her glass at him but he ducked. “You and Sasha both. Soon as I catch her I’ma fuck her up too!”
Kim grabbed the whole bottle off the table and tried to hurl it at him, but Ball finally stopped her assault and carried her out of VIP over his shoulder.
Qwess pointed at the door. “That big nigga out there trying to get in here and tear your ass from limb to limb right now.”
Flame shook his head in denial. “Nah, he not even in the country.”
“Nigga, that motherfucker is outside right now. You listen to that bitch if you want to. I’m telling you he is looking for you.” Qwess sighed. “It ain’t wise for you to be up in here right now. You need to roll ’til I can smooth this shit over.”
“Fuck him!” Flame spat. “I ain’t running from nobody. Fayettenam don’t breed cowards.”
Qwess Ric Flair–chopped Flame in his chest. “This ain’t no fucking pissing contest or a fucking album. That nigga is a killer! Now you fucked up by fucking his bitch.”
“That nigga need to check his broad; don’t check me.”
Qwess had had enough.
He turned to Hulk. “Yo, get this li’l nigga up out of here before he fuck up my money.”
Hulk moved to lift Flame up, but he surrendered. “Aiight, aiight, I’ll roll out, but you don’t have to be all up on me and shit.”
Qwess jabbed his finger at Flame and barked, “You fucked up, Joey! Now go so I can fix this shit.”
Flame shucked Hulk’s heavy arm from his shoulder and stood to leave.
“I got a car waiting for you in the back alley,” Qwess said, looking around for Diamond. It was only a matter of time before he made it inside.
Flame waited on 8-Ball to return so he could go with him, just in case Diamond was waiting for him somewhere in the city.
But Qwess stopped him. “Nah, don’t spoil this man fun ’cause you fucked up. Go your tough ass on outside. Chill out, Ball. Sit down. We partying tonight.”
* * *
Flame walked down the stairs leading to the back door by the bathrooms by himself. His heart was thumping like African drums. Currents of anxiety zipped through his veins, causing him to shake, and his head was on a swivel. Every time something moved he paused and threw his hands up in defense. He swallowed his fear and closed his eyes. As soon as he closed them, he saw the image of himself wailing on Sasha from behind on the Internet. And that was just a snippet. If Diamond had seen any of that, Flame knew he had to get the hell out of Dodge before Diamond saw him.
Flame cracked the back door open and saw the Town Car waiting for him about thirty yards away. He stepped out into the cool night air and walked briskly to the car.
He didn’t see it until it was too late. Tucked into the dark alley perpendicular to the Town Car, about three feet away, a two-toned Rolls-Royce Phantom. The New York license plate on the front of the car read Diamante.
It was Diamond.
Flame sped up and tried to make it to the Town Car before Diamond could spot him, but when he got closer to the Lincoln, Diamond’s large frame materialized.
Fayettenam don’t breed cowards.
Flame repeated the mantra to himself for courage and kept stepping until he was arm’s length from the Lincoln. As soon as he reached to open the door, he heard Diamond moan something.
“Flame, you break my heart.”
The next thing Flame felt was a sharp pain in his gut. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, and felt a warm liquid spill onto his hand, leaking, hot and heavy.
He was bleeding.
Before he could gather his senses, another blow crashed into the side of his head. He tried to stand tall and return a blow of his own. In his head the idea sounded good, but he never received a chance to carry it out because punishing licks rained on him from all sides. He felt the side of his face burst into flaming hot pain before another blow to his stomach buckled him to the ground on one knee.
As soon as Flame’s knee hit the ground, Diamond scooped him up and held him high over his head. He spun Flame around for all his niggas to see, then power slammed him on his back onto the cold hard concrete like he was a pro wrestler.
Flame blacked out instantly.
But Diamond refused to allow him not to experience this beating of the century.
Diamond pulled his foot back high in the air and punted Flame’s face like he was playing for the Giants. The kick woke Flame up, only for him to drift out of consciousness again.
Diamond’s goons kicked Flame awake again with their wingtips. As soon as Diamond saw Flame’s eye open, he smashed his beef-and-broccoli Timberland boot into it again and again
“Slick muthafucka!” Diamond spat. “You wanna fuck my bitch, nigga? I’ma beat your ass to death out here!”
So many kicks rained on Flame that he lost feeling. A few more kicks and he didn’t even care anymore. He didn’t even attempt to block the blows as they came at him now. He gave up his fetal position and allowed Diamond and his goon squad to have their way.
Diamond stooped down and gripped Flame’s disfigured face in his meaty hand. Blood poured onto Diamond’s pinky ring from the open gash on Flame’s cheek.
“Look at me, Flame. I did this to you, motherfucker! Me! Diamond!” Diamond smacked him. Blood flew into the air. “I fucking told you not to cross me, nigga. You gonna try to play me?”
Diamond was determined to teach Flame a hard lesson. He raised his boot high and brought it down right on Flame’s dick.
Diamond reached down and grabbed Flame by the collar. “Get yo’ ass up!”
He bent Flame over in front of him and stuffed his head between his legs. He flipped Flame up high and power bombed him into the pavement.
Flame heard something crack, and his legs went numb. Through trips in and out of consciousness, he saw the sky spinning, followed by the concrete, just before pain exploded behind his eyes.
“Pop the trunk!” Diamond ordered. He hoisted Flame over his shoulder.
Flame drifted in and out of consciousness as the earth continued to spin. Blood poured from his face and mouth, and he had long stopped fighting.
Suddenly, Flame heard Sasha scream, and he perked up. Through blurred vision he saw her exit the back of the Phantom in tattered clothing and run toward him. Through blurred vision, he saw Diamond smack blood from Sasha’s mouth. She crumpled to the ground and didn’t move an inch. Flame thought for sure he would see her in the afterlife from that blow.
“Sash,” Flame mumbled through the blood pooling in his mouth.
“This nigga,” Diamond mumbled. He held Flame over the open trunk and tried to slam him through the floor of the Phantom.
As soon as Flame’s back hit the inside of the trunk, a burst of adrenaline washed over him. He knew if he allowed Diamond to close that trunk he would never see daylight again. He raised his head to climb out, but Diamond kicked him in the face. Flame tumbled back inside, but not before he saw Qwess bust through the back door with a big pistol in his hand, calling for him.
Diamond slammed the trunk. Darkness surrounded Flame.
Then he heard shots . . .
Chapter 16
Bright and early on New Year’s Day, Bone called a special meeting at the strip club to discuss plans moving forward. He had just returned from the mountains and came straight to the club with his young guns in tow.
Maleek had driven them back from the mountains, and as he piloted his mentor, he just didn’t know how much danger he was in. While he was preoccupied with smoking and listening to Jeezy, Bone was wrestling with the decision of whether to leave all the loose ends in Tennessee. He wasn’t proud of what he had done, and his conscience was shredding him up. It wasn’t that he was feeling bad about the act of murder—Bone had enough bodies under his belt to be classified as a serial killer. These bodies were different. These were more than just his comrades; these were his brothers.
Even in the streets, there was honor among thieves. Although these brothers did everything against Islam in pursuit of their wealth—supplying drugs, killing adversaries, and ruling with an iron fist—and enjoying the spoils of their labor, they considered their lives more sacred. Something about accepting that kalima shahada made them feel as if they were more purified than the other savages in the streets. With their declaration certain obligatory rights were extended to each other. Primary among those rights was the right of a brother to feel safe when in another brother’s presence or company. Bone had violated that sacred right fourteen times, and regardless of the circumstances, it was still tearing him apart. Maleek was new to the Crescent Crew and thus the only link that could refute the story Bone planned to weave. He figured if he killed Maleek and the other new member, he could rebuild his whole family with a clean slate.
However, Maleek had also proven himself worthy of being down to put in work. With the right tutelage he could possibly be as deadly and beneficial to the new crew as Bone had been when he came up in the ranks.
Bone was confused as he waited for everyone to arrive from their respective locations.
“Aye, that shit was wild, like some TV shit, homie!�
� Lito said to Maleek, reenacting how the building had exploded. He hadn’t stopped talking about the incident since it occurred. “That motherfucker said, ‘Whoosh’ and the whole shit blew.”
As Lito kept reliving the mission, Bone stared at him in disgust, but he was so busy being an actor he missed the looks.
But Maleek didn’t. He was gangsta to the core and knew that loose lips sank ships.
Finally, Bone had had enough. “Yo, my nigga, do you ever shut the fuck up! Gotdamn! You talking ’bout murders like it’s a fucking soap opera.”
Lito shrugged and looked around. “I mean, only people in here right now is who were there. It ain’t like no one else in here.”
He had a point, but he didn’t get the point. Bad boys moved in silence . . . and violence.
“Yo, homie, I feel you,” Maleek said. “That shit was lit, though.” He laughed. “But check it, walk with me out here and help me bring this shit out the car before these other niggas get here.”
“Huh? What shit?”
“Nigga, bring your ass on and see.”
Maleek walked out toward the back door to where his Tahoe was parked. Lito reluctantly followed behind him.
While they were gone, Bone skipped upstairs to the office to get things right for the meeting. He flipped on the television on the wall and couldn’t believe his eyes. Video of Flame performing in Times Square was on the screen. Below the video was a caption that read, Rapper Beaten; Fighting for His Life!
Additional breaking news ticked across the bottom of the screen:
Rap Mogul Shot at New Year’s Party in NYC!
Megastar Sasha Beaufont Missing; Feared Dead!
Rapper Beaten; Fighting for His Life!
Bone turned the television on full blast and listened to the report while simultaneously calling Qwess. Of course, he didn’t get an answer, so he was forced to listen to the news:
“Music superstar Flame was brutally beaten last night after performing in Times Square, and music mogul Tyshawn “Diamond” Barker was shot.
Dirty Music Page 14