A day after Qwess was arrested, bright and early, Doe addressed the media. He stood behind the podium in a burgundy pinstriped suit ready to speak to the world. Amin, to Doe’s left, wore a tailored suit. On his right was Lisa Ivory. This was her first public appearance in over a year, so all eyes were on her, which was their strategy. Deflect and conquer.
Their publicist spoke first and iterated what the press conference would be about. Doe watched the crowd and rehearsed his speech. He wasn’t one for public speaking so he had had the publicist prepare a basic speech for him at the last minute. He figured from there, he would just play it by ear. He didn’t know how ruthless the media could be.
Doe took the mic and began reading from the prepared speech. He was quickly overshadowed by a phalanx of media peppering him with questions.
“Did Qwess get arrested for killing Diamond?”
“Is Flame ever going to rap again?”
“Did Qwess kill Sasha Beaufont?”
“Did Flame relapse back into a coma?”
The questions came at him fast and furiously, quick but soft. Then when someone realized exactly who Doe was, things got intense.
“Did you have a secret love child with video vixen Dana?”
“Are you trying to overthrow Qwess and take the company?”
“Are you and Qwess leaders of the Crescent Crew?”
“Did you put a hit on Flame so you could profit from his death?”
The questions ranged from close to outlandish. Each time Doe attempted to speak he was bombarded with more questions. An amateur on the mic, he was being exposed and embarrassed. It was going so badly that Qwess’s wife, Lisa Ivory, nudged him aside and stepped before the microphone. In her vibrant, crystal clear voice she commandeered the press conference.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out to show your support for our family,” Lisa began. As she spoke, it was quiet enough to hear a roach crack its toes. “As you all know, we have been taking some hits lately. As our artist, younger brother, and family is lying up there valiantly fighting for his life, this government has launched an attack against my husband, trying to persecute him just because he is a rich, successful African American man. This isn’t the first time this has occurred, but just like the last time, we will emerge stronger than ever. Whenever you are the biggest independent record label in the music industry, certain . . . forces may take issue with that, and all of these people are connected. No one has ever done what we’ve done and no one will ever do it again. After us, there will be no more!”
The media, though they were supposed to be impartial, couldn’t contain themselves. Lisa Ivory was once one of the biggest artists in the world. At one point, she was leading the women’s liberation movement with her crisp soprano. She was the personification of “girl power,” and legions of women followed her lead. Then, she unceremoniously disappeared from the spotlight, leaving her Ivories without a leader. In her absence, a generation of young women had learned about her through her interviews on YouTube. Some of these young women had grown up and entered the media corps. Some of these women were in the crowd and couldn’t contain their excitement at seeing her speak in the flesh.
Lisa continued, “Now, we will continue with a few questions, but please be respectful.”
This time, they offered more condolences than questions. They wanted Lisa to speak more—and she did.
In the end, their plan had worked too well. Instead of the press conference being Doe’s coming out party, it was Lisa’s reintroduction to the world that once adored here. For now, she had been able to keep the dragons at bay, but how long could she continue to slay the beast? How long before her husband came home to her?
* * *
While Lisa Ivory entertained the peanut gallery, Qwess was learning more about his predicament. The door clanged shut behind him in the attorney conference room on the third floor of the Metropolitan Correctional Center in New York. He saw Malik Shabazz siting at the table and immediately perked up.
“As salaam alayka!” Shabazz greeted, trying to lighten the mood.
Qwess massaged his naked wrists where the cuffs had just been cutting into his skin before they removed them. “Wa alayka salaam,” he returned with a frown. “What’s going on?”
Shabazz motioned for Qwess to take a seat. “Sit down.”
Qwess leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Nah, I’ve been sitting all night, laying actually, so I prefer to stand. Now what the hell is going on with all these crazy charges?”
Malik Shabazz clasped his hands together and steepled them on the table. “You ever heard of a guy named Tony Hall?”
“Tony Hall?” Qwess chortled. “Man, I know so many people.”
“They called him Scar.”
Qwess froze.
“Yeah, they called him Scar because he’s dead, and apparently you ordered the hit,” Shabazz said.
Qwess waved at the air. “I didn’t order no hit on no damn Scar!”
“That’s what they’re saying, son. Scar and Dee, two gentlemen who ordered the hit on your fiancée, Shauntay.”
Qwess remembered the two old heads who had sent a hit at Reece years ago when he had just signed his record deal. The shooters they sent at Reece mistakenly killed Shauntay in a botched hit because Shauntay was driving Reece’s Porsche. Qwess was told that Reece had tortured them both in retaliation, but he was on tour when it occurred.
“Look, I don’t know anything about that, but if they are dead, then I’m glad.”
“Well, someone is saying different.”
“Obviously.”
Both men fell silent, contemplating this new info.
“Qwess, the feds wouldn’t arrest you unless they had probable cause. For them to bring these type of charges on you, they have to have some serious evidence. They know I represent you and I take pride in gutting them . . . for them to come at you like this . . . someone very close to you is talking about you, son.”
Qwess figured that much. He just didn’t know who could be dropping these bombs or how recently these statements against him had been made. Hip-hop cop had already warned him that a defector from his camp had been murdered in Bone’s attack. Qwess needed to know what was said.
“So, where are they getting the info from?” Qwess asked.
“We won’t know until they serve discovery on us. I had to call in some favors to get the info I just told you, but my guess is they’re about to put clamps on this case.”
“Really? How you figure?”
Malik Shabazz dropped his head and raised his hound dog eyes. “Well, because they’re not giving you a bond hearing until they get you extradited back to North Carolina.”
“Extradited? What the fuck?”
“Yeah, they want you to face trial back in N.C.”
Qwess was livid. He waved his hands erratically. “Man, I got to get out of here! My biggest artist is laid up in the hospital paralyzed, I got the deal of a lifetime on the table, and I’m already being sued for seventy million dollars!”
Shabazz frowned. “Yeah, and about that, we need to hurry and get these interrogatories returned because if we don’t get them back in time, they can file for a summary judgment.”
“Well, get me out of here then!”
“Calm down,” Shabazz advised. “Now, we can waive extradition and trigger a thirty-day time limit for them to have you back in North Carolina—”
“Thirty days?! Are you fucking serious?”
“Brother, calm down. That may not be a bad thing to have to wait. The longer they take to get you down, the more information we will have to fight with at your bond hearing.”
Qwess wasn’t trying to hear any of that. He needed to be freed as soon as possible. He was thinking about securing the deal; he never thought for a second about the charges sticking.
He would soon learn just how serious of a predicament he was in.
* * *
Bone sat in his Porsche 911 in the Creekwood h
ousing section in Wilmington, North Carolina. Maleek was riding shotgun with a Heckler & Koch MP5K sitting in his lap. Behind the deep tint, they surveyed the block as people scrambled about conducting their daily activities. As people ran to and fro they openly gawked at the shiny, emerald green machine that had captivated their block.
Bone had been parked there for the better part of an hour, and word had already spread that he was in town. Well, everyone didn’t know it was him, but they knew that a big-timer was in their neighborhood lounging in a $150,000 sports car.
Bone had driven the hour and a half journey down Highway 87 to surprise his newest lieutenant and see how he was working out in his new position. Thus far, his lieutenant was a no-show.
“Yo, look at these niggas,” Maleek said. “’Bout to break they damn neck trying to see who in this pretty motherfucker.”
Bone snickered, “Hell yeah, look at ’em.”
“Should hop out this pretty motherfucker like, hello!”
Bone chuckled as his skeletal looking head swiveled from side to side taking things in. He didn’t miss a beat either. He saw the old head disappear, only to return in the back of a rimmed-up Dodge Charger pointing them out. He saw the old lady yapping on the phone, only to have her son or whoever walk up on the porch from the alleyway a few minutes later. He saw the thick-ass hoodrat walk inside the house with a housecoat draped over her shoulder and emerge a few minutes later wearing yellow yoga pants and a tank top with no bra, even though it was forty degrees outside. Even from thirty yards away Bone could see her pussy print bulging from between her thick thighs.
“Gotdamn! Look at that thick motherfucker right there!” Maleek’s mouth fell open as he pointed at the thick ghetto diamond in the yellow yoga pants. “You see that?”
Oh, he saw them all right, just like he knew they saw him. That was all part of his plan.
Bone had been doing pop-ups all over the Southeast in the cities where he had installed a new administration. The pop-ups served multiple purposes. For one, he wanted his lieutenants to feel that he was accessible, that he was still a man of the people. Secondly, he wanted them to know that they were accessible too, that he was not too big to come down and pay them a visit, for better or worse. Third, he wanted to remind them of their “why.” Why were they putting their life and freedom on the line? So they could ball like him one day. When Bone popped up, he was always riding in something fly, something well above the usual hood fare. Most of the time he never even stepped foot out of the vehicles. He just parlayed on the block making his presence felt.
“Yeah, that li’l mu’fucka thick,” Bone admitted. “She look young too. Bet that li’l pussy still got that fire to it.”
“Hellllll yeah!” Maleek agreed with excitement. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You want me to holla at her for you, Big Homie?”
Even though Maleek was imagining fucking sparks from her, he knew rank had its privileges. If his big homie wanted her, he would have to stand down.
“Nah, I ain’t fucking with no bitches out here. Them hoes be the one to get your cap twisted back,” Bone warned. “But the right bitch can keep you in the game too, though.”
Bone thought about the benefit of having a chick dug in inside the city. She would know everything and could feed Maleek all the info without their man on the ground knowing it.
“Aye, go holla at her, though,” Bone instructed Maleek.
“Sure?”
“Hell yeah. Nigga, that hood pussy be the best! You better go bag that,” Bone prodded, thinking about a master plan.
Maleek smiled at his mentor. That’s what he loved about him. He was paid out the ass but still humble enough to encourage him to fuck with a hood bitch.
Maleek looped the strap of the MP5 around his neck and tucked the weapon under his armpit beneath his three-quarter-length suede coat with the fur collar. He peered around the area and closed the coat over the weapon then ruffled his unkempt afro. He stepped out of the Porsche and stood to his full six-foot-three height. His Timberland boot hit the pavement just as the young hottie was walking past the car.
Maleek reached out and tugged the lady’s arm. “Whoa, whoa, where you going?”
The young woman looked at Maleek’s hand on her arm. “Excuse you?”
Maleek flashed the million-dollar smile on her. “Yeah, excuse me indeed, but I was wondering where you’re going?”
“Where am I going?”
“Yeah, you’re too cute to be out here walking by yourself. I thought I might offer you some protection.”
The young tender recoiled her neck and scoffed at Maleek. “Protection? From who, you?”
“Nah, from these lames out here. I came to let you get swooped up by a boss-ass nigga before these lame niggas bleed all that bullshit on you.”
The lady laughed and covered her mouth. “That’s a good one.”
“Yeah, it’s even better because it’s true.”
“Hmm mmm, I bet.” She looked at the Porsche. “That your car?”
“Yeah, that’s one of’em. That’s my Saturday car.”
“Oh, yeah, what kind of car is that?”
Maleek smiled inside. She was really green. “Oh, that? That’s just a Porsche 911.”
“That’s nice.”
“Thank you. What’s your name anyway?”
“Keisha.”
“Okay, Keisha, I’m Maleek.”
Maleek and Keisha kicked it for a few minutes, throwing compliments at each other. They were totally engaged when, suddenly, a Black Mercedes S550 rolled around the corner with music blaring out of the cracked window.
Maleek lightly pushed Keisha aside, threw his back against the Porsche, and tucked his hand in his pocket where he could grip the trigger on the MP-5 through the hole in the coat. The Mercedes pulled closer to the Porsche, and Maleek eased around to the driver’s door, creating a shield between Bone and the Benz. The scowl on his face let anybody know he was ready for action.
The Benz door eased open, and Twin hopped out laughing with his hands raised. “Calm down, killa. I come in peace.”
Maleek didn’t crack a smile. He continued to mean mug Twin as he walked up to him and offered him a pound. Rather than pound him up, Maleek gave him a nod.
Bone eased the window down and tapped Maleek on the back of his leg. “Let him by.”
Maleek stepped aside and allowed Twin access to Bone’s open window, but he kept his eye on everything around them.
“As salaam alayka, brother,” Twin greeted. “You coming down here causing a scene in my city.”
“Correction—this is our city,” Bone reminded him.
“No doubt. You showing out, though,” Twin said, pointing to the Porsche.
“Yeah, you know how I do. What’s good with you, though? Everything good?”
“No doubt.”
“You got that situation for me?” Bone asked.
Twin reached in his pocket and instead of pulling out a wad of money, he extracted a burner phone. He passed the phone to Bone.
“Cool,” Bone said. “Sit tight for a minute.”
Bone put the window up on the Porsche and watched Twin walk back to his Benz. A few seconds later the phone came to life inside his hand.
“As salaam alayka, Big Homie!” Bone nearly screamed his excitement into the phone. “Long time no hear from.”
“Wa salaam, little brother. Long time indeed.”
It was Samson. He was calling from a cell phone inside prison.
Bone’s main reason for coming down to Wilmington was to retrieve this call. Twin was more than the li’l homie. His sister had a child from Samson, and she and Samson spoke often, but nothing serious over the jailhouse line. Turned out, Samson had been on lockup all this time as a security threat to the institution. Even though they were unable to link him to the Crescent Crew, Samson was a formidable man in his own right. For starters, he was a giant, standing at over six and a half feet and weighing over 300 pounds. As if that wasn’t
enough, his ties to Mexico made him a man of stature inside. He was fluent in Spanish, and during his exile in Mexico he had put in a lot of work in just a short time. People in the old country could never forget Monstruoso (as he was called in Mexico). He had taken savagery to a new level in a savage country, and his reputation spoke volumes. Inside, on every yard he was transferred to, the Latino inmates quickly bowed down to him, even though he was laying low. Administration quickly got wind of his power, and quickly STG’d him. Since then, he had been doing most of his bid in Supermax, impeding his movements until recently. He had finally managed to bribe a guard to score him a jack. The first thing he did was arrange a call to Bone to address his concerns with what he’d been hearing.
“Man, what’s good with you?”
“Shit, another day closer to the world, you know?”
“Fuck, yeah! It’s a hell of a world out here waiting for you to claim. I’m holding shit down for you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not the word I’m getting,” Samson said snidely.
Bone was confused. “Huh?”
“Yeah, I’m hearing shit is fucked up out there. How you let over a dozen brothers get murdered? How you start a war with my family? And what’s up with Qwess?”
“Big Homie, I had to avenge the King. I had—”
“I told you he was off limits!”
“Big Homie, even Qwess said he was food.”
“Qwess? Qwess? You let a rapping nigga force you to make a move on the streets? A nigga that ain’t call no shots in years? Are you serious right now?”
“Big Homie, w-with King Reece gone and you MIA, I didn’t know not to listen to him. I was always taught to pay homage to the founders.”
“Yeah, and now that nigga ’bout to reward you for your homage.”
Again, Bone was confused. “What you mean, Big Homie?”
“You know what they got him charged with up there in New York?”
Bone shook his head even though Samson couldn’t see it. “Nah.”
“That nigga facing an elbow at least, probably the needle.”
“Huh? Qwess?”
“Yes, nigga!”
“I thought they hit him with the AMG assault shit, the same thing he being sued for?”
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