God Don't Like Haters 3

by Jordan Belcher

  Barely.

  Then came the click-clack of a handgun, one of the worst sounds you could hear with no eyesight.

  A new commanding voice entered the room, speaking in English: "Why are my guests on the floor?"

  Everyone seemed to be speaking at once. My heart was racing. Then I got a sudden start when the new man's voice spoke to me from right in front of my face.

  "Milo, correct?"

  He had to be squatting in front of me. "Yes, I’m Milo," I answered.

  "Why did you remove your blindfold?"

  "My phone, I was—a call came through—"

  "Why was your phone even on?"

  I didn't have an answer.

  "Let me tell you something, el amigo," he said to me in a condescending tone. "My name is Julian Beltrán. I am your god, therefore you do not break my rules, and if you do—which you have done—then you lose heaven. You've just lost heaven, vato. I was going to consider providing you with kilos of mota on consignment. That deal is now off the table."

  I couldn't get my words out fast enough. "Wait, Mr. Beltrán, I've been dealing with Mark for years—"

  "Shut the fuck up!" he barked so loud it made me flinch. "You broke the rules. Not me, you! So what you need to do is get the fuck out of my restaurant, go back to the fucking ghetto you came from and scrounge up the money to pay for the mota in full. That's what you do, okay?"

  I nodded. "Yes, sir."

  There was no sense in arguing. If Julian Beltrán was anything like I'd heard—callous, money-driven, a dominator in Hollywood's drug scene—then I'd take it as a blessing that he was still willing to work with little ol' me. I'd come up with a way to get every penny Julian required, with or without Coras.

  But preferably with.

  Suddenly, I felt two men on either side of me lifting me by my armpits. As I was being carried out still blindfolded, I was thinking about how I could get Coras back on my team ...

  Chapter 14

  Coras Bane

  outskirts of St. Louis, Missouri

  Me and Ashleigh were leaving St. Louis, Missouri. We were thirty miles into a hundred-twenty-mile drive west to Columbia, Missouri, where I had another show to do tonight. It had been months since the shooting at the Sprint Center but I still couldn't book a gig in Kansas City. Promoters still had me labeled high-risk, because word around town was that me and Milo had yet to settle our differences, that we were from two different 'hoods trying to kill each other. But I wasn't looking for him. And he wasn't looking for me … to my knowledge. He had my number, I had his.

  But since the streets thought we were at odds, traveling to fans in surrounding cities to get paid was the norm now.

  I thought about going further out—like Texas, Ohio, North Carolina, Colorado, a few locales where my fanbase was strong—but I just couldn't handle more than two or three hours in the same car as Ashleigh. Ever since I made her my girl officially, all she did was bitch about Kirbie. Kirbie ain't this, Kirbie thinks she's that. Ashleigh didn't complain this much as a side chick when I was with Monifa.

  Even now, as we sailed along a two-lane highway in this new Porsche Cayenne (a mid-size luxury crossover SUV that Ashleigh would never admit she bought impulsively from her insecurity about Kirbie), she was talking at me in frustration over me still being friends with Kirbie.

  I didn't want to hear it. I was letting it go in one ear and out the other, as I sat with an elbow out the window looking at my phone, enjoying a texting conversation with Gee Beats.

  Gee Beats: Where R U now?

  Coras Bane: Still a few miles out from Columbia.

  Gee Beats: Is Ashleigh getting on your nerves yet? Lol

  Coras Bane: I wish you and Kirbie was on the road with me. I could tolerate her then. When can you start traveling again?

  Gee Beats: All my physical therapy will be done next week. Doctor said I'll be good to go.

  Coras Bane: I'm not gonna let you drink on the road this time. I'm serious, bro.

  Gee Beats: Yes you will. Because pretty soon Ashleigh is gonna make you an alcoholic too.

  Coras Bane: LMAO!

  Gee Beats: Bottoms up

  Coras Bane: LMMAO!

  "Why are you smiling?" Ashleigh asked me. "Are you texting Kirbie?"

  "No, I'm not."

  "You are too. Let me see your phone."

  I frowned and stopped paying her any attention, as I typed in another comment to Gee.

  Coras Bane: Fuck it drinks on me when I get back to KC

  Gee Beats: Lol #mynigga #denzelvoice And next time you talk to Kirbie let her know I put together a dope instrumental for you and her to lace.

  Coras Beats: Okay. Last time I talked to her she said she could only get you one production credit on her mixtape. But she let La'Renz Taylor hear your sounds and he was so impressed that—

  Ashleigh tried to snatch my phone in the middle of my text but my reflexes were too quick.

  "What the fuck are you doing?!" I snapped.

  "Show me who you're texting."

  "No."

  "If you don't show me your phone, we're not going to Columbia. I'll call the promoter and cancel."

  Another threat. I felt ice running through my veins.

  "This is yo car," I said. "Go wherever you wanna go. I'm just riding."

  "So you're just gonna blow me off? I'm tired of you treating me like you treated Monifa."

  "Well stop acting like her then."

  This struck her hard. She froze, and I wasn't sure what was going through her head but I knew without a doubt that she was hurt—and she deserved to be hurt.

  My elbow was still resting on the window, as I turned my head into the blustering wind of the highway. I loved feeling the wind on my face during long drives. But then I felt the glass of the window under my arm and I pulled my elbow inside. Ashleigh was rolling all the power windows up at once. Then she engaged the safety locks.

  Petty ass bitch, I thought. She's trying to force me to argue with her.

  "So were you and Kirbie texting about me?" she asked.

  "I already told you I wasn't texting her."

  "Let me see then."

  I shook my head no. "You need to start trusting me more."

  "You haven't earned my trust."

  "Well why are you with me then?"

  I was challenging her to leave me, which would make my life easier in some respects. But truth was I needed her. She was a damn good business woman and knew how to talk to people in that polished professional manner. The challenge was a bluff to get her to shut the fuck up.

  It worked.

  She turned the wheel into the next rest stop, got out and went into the women's restroom. I reached over and tapped a button on the arm of her door, releasing the locks on the windows and rolled mines down again. Then I sat with my back against the leather, thinking about how much money I would have in my pocket right now if I was still selling OG Tahoe. I wouldn't be so dependent on Ashleigh. I had been tolerating shit from her that I wouldn't have tolerated under normal circumstances.

  Then my cellphone rang, and my first thought was that it was Ashleigh calling from the toilet. But it was Milo Chavis.

  I answered it. "Yeah, wussup?"

  "Hey, Coras, wussup."

  "You tell me."

  "Aw, nothing. Just got off the phone with my sister Monifa. All she ever does is ask for shit. One favor after another. I see why yall got into that altercation at the studio."

  He said it like it wasn't a big deal anymore. Why the sudden change?

  I said, "So wussup? Why are you calling me out the blue?"

  "Well, I just came from out west, LA and shit. I'm in the town now with a surplus. I figured I'd forgive you for the little incident with my sister if you can overlook what happened to yo boy and we can focus on getting money again. And for the record, the person who shot him ain't on my team no more. I'm looking for him just like you are."

  "I'm not apologizing."

  He got quiet. "Okay, w
ell I'll apologize. I never intended for anybody to get seriously injured."

  "You'll have to apologize to my nigga Gee, not me."

  "Is he around?"

  "Nah. But look ... I'm not in the area right now. I’m headed to Columbia. If you wanna talk about money we'll talk later."

  "I won't be able to work with you on this package that just came in. But if you give me your money now, then I'll show you love on my next trip."

  "We'll talk later," I said again.

  After I hung up with Milo, I looked over and saw Ashleigh headed back to the car. She climbed back in, sliding on her seatbelt.

  Then she looked at me with puffy red eyes. She had been crying. She said, "Show me your phone or we're going back to Kansas City right now and you're getting your shit out of my house and I'm never speaking to you again."

  A tear dropped from her eye, which she quickly swiped away.

  I sighed. With the potential of having Milo back as a supplier, I needed all the money I could get so I could cop as much weed as possible, guaranteeing I wouldn't need shit from Ashleigh ever again as long as I kept my financial rotation in order. The proceeds from this show in Columbia were more important than ever. I needed every penny.

  And Ashleigh had the rock. For now.

  I handed her my phone and she looked at my latest texts. I'm sure she wasn't pleased that me and Gee were teasing about her, but she didn't mention it as she scrolled through our exchange. She handed me my phone back, then started up the Porsche.

  "That's all you had to do in the first place," she said. "Stop testing me, Coras."

  ***

  I was sitting in the parking lot by myself, in the driver's seat of Ashleigh's Porsche. I took her car keys after she fell asleep, and now I was sitting here in the dark, under the moon, trying to get my thoughts together. I was questioning the direction of my life.

  I thought my rap career would have taken off by now. Granted, I had a huge underground following and a couple features on Kirbie's upcoming mainstream mixtape, but there was still no guarantee that I would get famous off of my musical talent. I didn't want to be one of those people who called themselves a rapper but wasn't able to fully capitalize on the business end.

  And that was part of the reason I was here parked in front of Monifa's place.

  I could get by just fine copping dope from Milo without getting involved with Monifa again, but I sort of missed that loud-mouthed chick. She always promoted and shared my music on her Site page, and in bed she didn't mind being un-ladylike. She loved fucking. Her only hang-up was shooting cum on her, whereas Ashleigh had a list of things she wouldn't do.

  Mind made up, I took my keys—or Ashleigh’s keys—out of the ignition. Monifa didn't know I was here. This was going to be a surprise.

  I climbed out the Porsche, locked it with the keypad and crossed the parking lot. I had my hands in my pockets as I walked up her steps, feeling a little nervous as if this was a first date. What if she has company? I thought.

  I knocked on her door anyway.

  When it opened and she saw me for the first time in months—other than the Site pictures I uploaded, all of which she had affectionately Liked—her face lit up into an ever-widening smile.

  Then she screamed like she hit the lottery.

  Monifa Chavis: I knew he would come back to me! There's nothing like being in a relationship with the man you're meant to be with. I won't let him go this time. No way, no how.

  Chapter 15

  Kirbie Amor

  Atlanta, Georgia

  My very first day in Atlanta, Georgia, would never be forgotten. In the back of the limousine as me and La'Renz left the airport, he leaned forward from the opposite seat and handed me an envelope.

  "Open it," he instructed, smiling as I looked it over front and back for a name. There was no label anywhere. "Just open it. It's yours. Would you rather I write your name on the front next time?"

  I worked my fingernail underneath the seal, tearing it an inch at a time. Rip, rip, rip. I was nervous.

  He said, "I told you signing with me would be the best decision you ever made."

  Inside the envelope was a Taylor Music Group business check worth $25,000. Written on the memo line was Performance Royalties in La'Renz's handwriting. This was my biggest music check ever! It didn’t come close to the type of money I'd seen in the drug game, but it was a start.

  Legal money, I thought to myself, genuinely pleased. I couldn't wait to tell Coras.

  My excitement came through in my smile, and I was still looking at the lengthy spelling of the dollar amount when I told La’Renz thank you.

  Then he took the check back, placed it back inside the jagged rips of the envelope and put it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

  "I'll keep it safe for you until it's time to cash it," he said.

  "When can I cash it?" I asked.

  "After your obligations are met."

  I-85 took us to our next destination, which was a Falcon's game where I was scheduled to sing the National Anthem—yes, me, the freaking National Anthem on live television. As La'Renz helped me out of the limo, photographers blinded us with camera flashes and a barrage of questions. I felt La'Renz's hand go around my waist as he pulled me close and we smiled and posed together.

  As we turned to be led inside by security, a woman photographer's question stood out to me among the noise of the rest.

  "Hey, La'Renz!" she yelled. "Jazzmine Short's first performance was at a Falcon's game. Are you trying to lead Kirbie in Jazzmine's footsteps?"

  I looked back to see the woman's face but all I got was more bright lights that made me quickly turn away. But even when I was standing on the green turf of the fifty yard line holding the microphone and singing passionately in front of the nation, that question still lingered: Are you trying to lead Kirbie in Jazzmine's footsteps?

  The applause for my performance was mesmerizing. I waved at everyone as I left the field, and as soon as I made it to the hallway where La'Renz was supposed to be waiting for me, I froze in shock when I saw who he was talking to.

  My idol, Caylene Hope.

  She had a Falcons jersey on, the strap of her tote bag slanting across the front of her, and my first fanatic thought was, She carries her own bag? There was only one photographer taking pictures of La'Renz and Caylene as they spoke amicably, probably a personal photographer hired by Caylene. Slowly, I approached them, and finally Caylene glanced my way and smiled.

  "Hi, Kirbie," she beamed, and opened her arms for a hug. I was shaking when we embraced. She was treating me like an old friend and I didn't know why. Then I remembered the friend request she sent me on The Site, which I had accepted. Did that mean we were real friends?

  "Hi," I said back nervously.

  "You rocked that anthem. Didn't she, La'Renz?"

  "Best I ever seen," he replied like a proud father.

  I thanked them both, then asked Caylene the first question that came to mind. "What are you doing here?"

  She laughed, so did La'Renz and a few others standing nearby.

  "I'm a Falcons fan," she said.

  I felt like an idiot. That was basic information in her biography.

  A man standing behind her whispered in her ear and she told me and La'Renz that she had to go to her seat while the route was still clear. I wanted to ask her so many more questions—Are you mad at me for singing one of your songs on my first Revolt interview? Did you know that my dad is one of your biggest fans? Did you know I'm one of your biggest fans?—but I opted to remain silent as she gave La'Renz a light goodbye hug and a quick pat on his back.

  She turned to me. "You got a phone?"

  I nodded eagerly. "Yes."

  "Let's take a selfie together. You can upload it to The Site and tag me in it. Okay?"

  I did just that, uploading the pic under the caption: Me standing next to the best who ever did it.

  Just as I was about to say goodbye to her, she put her arm around my shoulder and
pulled me close, whispering, "Be careful of the company you keep. Don't trust him. Don't end up like Jazzmine."

  Then she was off, and I was stuck there for a moment watching Caylene and her entourage march away, trying to process what she just told me.

  Back in the limo I was sitting in silence and so was La'Renz, but he was texting somebody and I was just staring at him purposefully, as the driver got us back on the road. I wanted to ask La'Renz the same question that the lady in the crowd of paparazzi had asked—Are you trying to lead me in Jazzmine's footsteps?—but La'Renz suddenly got a phone call that turned out to be an interview for me from an Atlanta radio personality. I was on speakerphone answering questions for an hour. And when the limo turned into the semi-circle of the main entrance of a high-end Atlanta hotel, I looked at La'Renz in confusion.

  "We're staying in another hotel?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said, fastening the two buttons on his suit jacket. Then he sat back against the seat and waited for the driver to open our door. "It's a five-star hotel, more prestigious than the one we had in Manhattan. You'll like this one better."

  "I thought you bought a mansion down here."

  "I did. But it's not ready for us yet. Renovations, you know?"

  No, I didn't know.

  Our room had two beds, same as in New York. But this one was bigger, the AC was cooler, and then there was the most important thing—there was no Mount Eliyah ENT across the street. La'Renz removed his shirt and headed for the shower, not offering to let me shower first.

  I had a lot on my mind—and I was going to share it with him as soon as he was done.

  In the meantime, I sat down on my bed and pulled out my phone, logging into The Site. I couldn't wait to read the comments from my selfie with Caylene Hope.