“I don’t understand why you had me admit that I was once a member of the Crescent Crew,” Qwess said.
“Because it’s public record, son. You yourself have admitted it too many times to count in all those publications. It was also mentioned in Reece’s court proceedings. I mean, at this point, it’s public knowledge. If you had lied about that, that would’ve automatically impeached your credibility. Once that happens, you are doomed for sure.”
Qwess exhaled a stream of stress. “Shit, looks like I’m doomed now.”
“No we’re not, my king. We just have to figure a way out of this,” Lisa assured him, as she rubbed his hand.
“I mean, so what’s our defense, Brother Shabazz?” Qwess asked.
“Well, before we get to that, we need to discuss a few things first.”
Here it goes, Qwess thought.
“Like what?”
“Well, I hate to have to have this discussion while you’re in here but . . . well, the initial retainer fee has run out. You paid me half a million to represent you in the civil suit. And because I know you’re good for it, I went ahead and began taking care of things in the new case. However, in order to proceed, we have to square up the first case, then come up with an equitable number for the new case.”
“Okay, what are we talking?” Qwess asked.
“Let’s see . . .” Shabazz flipped open his file and dragged his finger down an itemized list. “So far . . . I’m owed an extra hundred and fifty thousand dollars on top of the retainer. And if this goes all the way to trial, then I’ll just even the balance out at four hundred thousand dollars.”
“So that’s just under a mil?” Qwess scoffed.
“Brother, these things get expensive. I have my staff to pay, my investigators, my law clerks, the palms I have to grease to gain favor, et cetera et cetera. You’ve done good for yourself, you’re a very popular man, and these people want to take a chunk out your ass. Defending that chunk costs money.”
“Damn, I know it takes money, but it seems like these ‘people’ not the only ones trying to take a chunk out my ass, ya know?”
Malik Shabazz caught the shot, but he didn’t respond. He was the best attorney in the country, and if you wanted the best, you had to pay for it.
Malik Shabazz shrugged as if his hands were tied. “Now, since you’re retaining me for the civil case, I can cut you some slack on the criminal charges—it won’t be that much, but it’ll be the best I can do.”
“Okay, what we talking?”
“Brother, these are some very serious charges here.”
“How much?”
“These type of cases can get tricky; you never know how they turn out.”
“Brother! How much?”
Shabazz looked toward the ceiling as if the number could magically appear in the dirty tiles. “Let’s start at a half for now, and we’ll go from there.”
Qwess sighed. “Okay, so right now, we owe you what? Six fifty?”
Malik Shabazz nodded. “Yep.”
Qwess mentally tallied up his growing expenses. Again, Sonic the Hedgehog came to mind. He saw the coins being knocked out of him, but he couldn’t let them see him sweat.
Qwess turned to his wife. “Make sure he gets that.”
“Sure, my king.”
Qwess clapped his hands together. “Okay, now what’s next?”
Shabazz opened up another folder and broke the really bad news to Qwess.
Qwess was officially being charged for the murders of Scar and Dee. He was also being charged with criminal conspiracy for the attempted murder of John Meyers. They also hit him with a CCE charge, alleging that he was operating a continuing criminal enterprise named the Crescent Crew. The money laundering charge was just the icing on a big cake. Because Qwess was alleged to be a founder of the Crescent Crew, his charge was enhanced to that of a “super kingpin.” This enhancement made him eligible for the death penalty if convicted.
What Qwess thought was just a ruse to make him cough up some funds for stealing away AMG’s artist was actually the result of a long-term investigation. Turned out, they had never stopped investigating him through the years, and when an opportunity arose, they took it.
Qwess washed his hands over his face, “Bro, you cannot be serious.”
Malik Shabazz frowned. “I wish this was a joke, brother, but unfortunately it’s not.”
“So you saying he’s facing the death penalty?!” Lisa shrieked.
Shabazz nodded solemnly. “Yes, he is.”
“Oh, my God! Why? What he do? He’s no murderer! My husband is a good man!” Tears gathered in the corners of Lisa’s eyes. “Why are they doing this?”
Qwess patted Lisa’s hand. “Calm down, baby. They’re just fishing. I’m not worried, and you shouldn’t be either.”
Qwess said those words to calm his wife, but he was actually worried as hell. He had expected them to come but not like this. And why now? He asked Shabazz that very thing.
“Well, they never had anyone willing to corroborate anything until now.”
“Still?” Qwess asked.
Qwess thought about the orders he had issued to Bone. Bone had carried out the instructions and supposedly everyone in that cabin was deceased. Did someone live to tell the tale and now they were ready to tell the tale themselves? Or could it be Bone? Bone was the only person alive that could verify he was a founding member of the Crescent Crew. Would Bone turn on him?
“So, did anything change in the last month?” Qwess asked. “Did someone else come forward?”
Shabazz shrugged. “I don’t know, son. I won’t know until this thing unfolds a bit more. We’ll get to the bottom of it, though.”
Lisa lost it again. “My king, this can’t be happening. You can’t get the death penalty! Whatever you have to do, Salim. Whatever!”
On cue, the door opened, and in walked Agent Roberts. He rubbed his long beard and smiled. “My brother, Qwess, I heard that you may be ready to reconsider what we discussed before.”
Agent Roberts invited himself to the table. He pulled up a chair and spun it around so the back of the chair was touching the table. “So, let’s talk.”
Chapter 22
Flame overcame the initial shock of his altered face, but the devastation never removed itself from his spirit. He felt as if life as he knew it was over, and if it wasn’t for 8-Ball being by his side, he probably would’ve tried to end it himself. Then again, how could he? He was virtually helpless.
A couple weeks had passed since Flame saw his new face, and his condition had improved slightly. Gone were the neck and back brace, and he was healing enough for him to move around out of bed. 8-Ball decided to push him around the hospital in a wheelchair to give him an opportunity to get some fresh air.
8-Ball rolled the wheelchair close to the bed and carefully helped Flame get settled. He draped a blanket over his legs to keep his mind off the fact that they couldn’t move and rolled him out into the hallway.
“Let’s go, Joey. Let’s go see the world,” 8-Ball joked as he spun the wheelchair around like a racecar.
“Chill, man,” Flame objected.
8-Ball ignored his pleas and zoomed down the wide corridors. He passed a nurse’s station and chunked the deuces up to the staff.
“Hey, is there somewhere we can go outside?” 8-Ball asked a nurse.
“Actually, there is an observation deck right there.” She pointed toward the end of the hall. “Just push the button on the wall and it’ll open for you.”
8-Ball pushed Flame to the door and paused. “You ready to see the world?”
Flame nodded.
8-Ball pushed the button, and the doors opened. He pushed Flame out on the terrace and let him soak in the midday rays.
This was the first time Flame had seen the sun in two months, and the rays felt soothing on his skin. He could see the city all around him, and it felt as if he was looking down on the world. Below them, car horns honked, sirens blared, and tires squeal
ed as the world turned around them. Smells of gyros, Chinese food, and hot dogs wafted up to greet them. It was chilly out, but after being cooped up in the room for months, even the cool air was soothing on his skin. Flame inhaled the cool air and stared at the sun. Looking right into the bright orange orb gave him a sense of peace.
Flame thought about his vision when he was fighting for his life. Inside his vision, it felt like he was omnipotent. He recalled how whatever he thought about materialized. He squeezed his eyes together tighter and visualized himself lifting his legs high in the air. When he opened them, his legs were still stuck to the chair. Flame frowned and whimpered.
“What’s wrong, bro?” 8-Ball asked.
“Nothing, man, nothing,” Flame said softly. “I’m ready to go back inside now.”
8-Ball rolled Flame back inside. He cruised down the long corridor, entered the VIP hall, and pushed Flame down to his room. As soon as he turned the corner, he saw that Flame had a visitor.
* * *
Bone was weighed down with the pressure of being a boss. He had never played the game on this level before. He was barely five years removed from prison, where he had caught a bid for petty peddling compared to the level he currently occupied. Before prison, Bone belonged to a small crew of maybe ten hustlers at best, and he wasn’t even the head of that outfit. Now, as acting boss of the Crescent Crew, he held sway (by proxy) over at least ten states, and with the weight they were moving at such low prices, they were expanding territories by the day. But as the old saying goes, mo’ money, mo’ problems, and Bone was living in the cliché.
Ironically, money was not a problem for Bone at all. The last time he had counted his personal wealth, he was up over $10 million. His biggest money problem was—like so many other kingpins before him—finding somewhere to stash the cash. He had already invested in a few businesses. He owned a few car dealerships in town, a few barbershops, a restaurant, and he had funded a few weave businesses for a few different females. His latest venture was a luxury concierge service that was still in the beginning stages but looked to be promising. Still, no matter how many businesses he dumped money into, the cash from the cocaine and heroin came in quicker.
Bone had long graduated from stashing money at females’ homes. In fact, he rarely dealt with females after he blew up. For one, King Reece’s debacle with Destiny had him gun-shy about trusting any woman. Two, he hadn’t found a woman that could relate to the level he was on, so they wouldn’t have much in common. Such were the woes of waking up knowing he was the richest nigga in his city.
The main problem Bone was facing with being at the top of the food chain was the paranoia that came with being “the man.” His survival depended upon him winning every day. He had to outwit the authorities, the jack boys, the women, the fiends, and enemies he didn’t even know existed. Unfortunately, these were usually members of his own crew. Bone was well versed in the infamous crime legends that came before him and how they met their demise. It was John who had orchestrated the hit on Big Paul. Alpo had set up Rich. Butch sanctioned the execution of Wonderful Wayne. Bone had read about them all during his bid. Never in a million years had he dreamed he would be the man with a target on his back. But it appeared that the trap god was in the blessing business. Or was he?
Since the phone call with his big homie, Samson, Bone’s nerves had been frayed. He kept thinking about Qwess being in jail and wondering if he’d turned on him already. Bone couldn’t even sleep at night, wondering if the feds were going to kick in his door. He alternated between his five homes in the city each night and still didn’t feel secure. He eventually began making the forty-five-minute drive to Raleigh each night and hotel hopping. Each night he fell asleep, he saw visions of the multiple murders he had committed throughout his life of crime. Paranoia will do that; unearth demons that were long buried, and even Bone—the leader of the dangerously ambitious Crescent Crew—wasn’t exempt.
Bone was spiraling out of control and knew he had to pull it all together, and there was only one way to do it. He had to go see the trap god.
* * *
“Hi, Flame.”
Flame thought the drugs had him hallucinating, for surely his eyes deceived him, but when she spoke, he had to admit she was real.
Flame quickly turned his face to hide his scars, but it was too late. She had already seen them.
“Boy, knock it off! I didn’t come to see your face; I came to help your soul.”
Kim Rawls reached for Flame, and he flinched, waiting for the blow. The last time he had seen her, she had thrown a drink in his face.
Kim laughed, pushed his hand away, and gave him a tight hug. “I should smack you upside the head, but you’ve suffered enough. Come on and let’s go in here. We got a lot to talk about.”
Ten minutes later, Flame was settled in his bed and Kim sat beside him in a chair. 8-Ball stood by the door just in case Kim had come with bad intentions.
“How are you holding up, Flame?” Kim asked. She could feel the negative energy leaping off of him, and his head was turned away from her.
“I’m all right,” he lied.
“You don’t sound like you’re all right, but guess what? You will be.”
Flame scoffed, “Oh, yeah, how you figure?”
“I want you to look at me when I tell you.” Kim reached for his face and wrestled with him until she forced him to look directly at her.
Even with a busted eye Flame could still see her beauty. Her chocolate skin seemed to be radiating, and her luscious scent titillated his senses. Her pretty face made him feel even more self-conscious of his scars.
“What do you want, Kim?” Flame asked with agitation. He tried to wrest her hands away from him.
“Stop it, Flame—”
“My name is Joey.”
Kim smiled. “O-kay . . . Joey.” She nodded as she tried the name on. “I like that. That’s even better. Joey. Yes, we’re doing away with the pretenses.”
Kim lightly clasped Flame’s face inside her manicured fingers. “Joey, I came to tell you that despite what you may be feeling, God loves you, and God’s love is pure and true.”
She said this with so much conviction that Flame felt the words in his soul. He’d never been religious; he had born witness to the streets and been baptized in the music industry. Yet, when Kim told him those words, he couldn’t deny what he felt.
Kim released his face, and Flame lay back in the bed staring at the ceiling.
“Joey, I didn’t want to come here. Lord knows I didn’t, but some things are bigger than me and you,” Kim said. “God spoke to me in my dreams and He said that I must come to you, that you are my assignment.” Kim reached out and touched Flame’s hand. “Yes, you have wronged me and a lot of other people, but I know your soul is pure. He showed me that your soul is pure, and I believe in Him with everything in me so it must be true.”
Standing against the wall by the door, 8-Ball nodded his head to Kim’s sermon.
Kim continued to speak while Flame continued to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t know what your condition is except what I saw on social media, but I am going to be here until you walk out of here.”
Flame chuckled. “Your God must be planning to have you here for a long time, because just in case you ain’t heard, I’ll never walk again.”
A knowing smile spread across Kim’s face. She pointed to the ceiling. “But God . . .” Her implications were clear.
Something she said caught Flame’s attention. “You said you saw something about my condition on social media?”
“Yes.”
“What they saying?”
Kim quickly whipped out her phone and swiped away. When she found what she was searching for, she held the phone out for Flame to see, but he quickly turned away.
“What’s wrong with you?” Kim asked.
Flame snapped his eyes shut and shook his head vigorously as if he was trying to hide from seeing the boogeyman. “Nothing,” he lied.
&nb
sp; “Flame—I mean Joey—look at it.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Look at it!”
Flame covered his eyes with his arm. “I said, I’m good.”
“Joey, you have to face your fears to get through this. It’s the only way. So much has happened since you came in here. You have to see! There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.”
Flame reluctantly moved his arm away from his eyes. He saw Kim’s phone waiting for him. Slowly, he took the phone and closed his eyes. His hand was shaking like a jackhammer was pumping under his skin.
“Go on, look at it,” Kim coached.
Flame slowly opened his eyes halfway . . . then he opened them completely and entered the world again.
* * *
Bone opened the gate and walked up the long gravel driveway to the marble building. The cool wind blew the fur on his long mink in the wind and pulled the thick cover up over his neck. As he got closer to the building, he saw flowers, CDs, and trinkets strewn around the entrance of the building from those who had come to pay respects and offer a tribute.
When Bone caught word of people coming to the mausoleum to pray, he thought it was comical. An orthodox Muslim, Bone would have never associated partners with his Lord, Allah (S.W.T.). In the Qu’ran, it was this type of thing that had destroyed nations before. People brought calves, camels, and even children to the holy site in Mecca for sacrifice to their Lord. Islam swept through the region and did away with those practices. Yet, here in the modern era, people were reverting back to the practice of worshipping idols. When Bone read about people resorting to such acts in the scriptures, it was foreign to him. Now, in a state of despair, he understood the need for people to believe in something higher than themselves, something that they could relate to.
Bone could never take his concerns to the masjid for guidance. His mind was preoccupied with money, murder, and malice, and he needed clarity from someone who understood. He needed to pray to receive guidance from the boss of all bosses, King Reece.
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