“I got that money you sent me. Where did you get that much cash from?” Trina asks.
“It was just a little pocket change to take care of my boy,” I tell her.
“A little? Dame, it was a hundred thousand deposited in my account.”
“Let’s just say I inherited the business.”
“Oh . . . so what about me?” she asks as she walks to the bedroom. Trina is so damn sensuous and tempting, no straight man could ever turn her down. Trina sits on the bed and spreads her legs, revealing her pussy.
“You know I got you, ma.”
“Come here, baby,” Trina says as she starts playing with herself.
I’m gonna tear her ass up. Trina pulls off my clothes and I pull off her dress. I kiss her firm tits as she lies back on the bed. Ain’t nothing like some good round-the-way pussy. I rub my dick up and down her slit, coating my dick head with her cum. I stroke her clit back and forth, enjoying the sensation.
“Ah . . . put it in, baby . . . stop playing with me.”
I ram my dick between her legs and start to dig her out with some hard, short strokes.
“That’s it, Dame . . .” Trina says as she lifts her torso, throwing that pussy at me. That’s the one thing I love about Trina—she doesn’t just like to lie there and let me do all the work. She likes to work it back. Trina keeps her thick legs spread wide as my dick stabs her creamy pussy.
“You got me cumming so much,” Trina says. I ain’t trying to brag, but a nigga does have a big dick. I make sure it presses up against her clit with every thrust.
“I want it doggy style!” Trina demands.
I pull out of her and see my dick covered with her white, milky cum. Trina turns around and I stare at that little fat ass of hers, then I slide it back in her pussy. Her pussy is so tight. All I can hear while my dick pumps is the sound of her juice coating my dick. I grab her ass cheeks and give her long, hard strokes, tapping all the sides. I’m bangin’ her ass for a good 20 minutes nonstop.
“Shit, baby.” I feel my nut coming.
“Don’t stop!” Trina yells. It’s time to give Trina my version of The Fast and the Furious. I start to bang her pussy so rapidly I’m like a blur. The room is filled with the sound of her ass slapping against my six-pack and Trina moaning at the top of her lungs. I finally bust a huge nut up in her.
“Oh, shit! Ahhh . . . fuck!” I ain’t gonna front; I must’ve had a real ugly face on after that shit. I lean over on her ass and shudder from how good my dick feels inside of her warm pussy. Afterward, Trina and I lie in bed together, talking about my new position.
“So, what do you plan on doing now?” she asks me.
“What I always do. I’m gonna run this city.”
“Dame, you’re a fucking multi-millionaire now. You can’t be on the block like a hustler anymore,” she says.
“Why not?”
“Dame, how do you think the government got Al Capone? Tax evasion. You buying all this shit with no legit job to show for it is gonna be a big sign,” Trina says. She is smarter than most chicks I mess with. That’s why I like to talk to her about shit.
“King had those spas in Manhattan that he laundered money through.”
“Yeah, a business you can put the money through. Besides, you gotta think of Taye’s education.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m gonna take care of my seed.”
The more I think about it, the more Trina’s words make sense to me. That was the reason King had invested in those spas. At first, I thought that was some weird shit, but now I see why he did it. The game ain’t the same anymore between the NYPD, ATF, and IRS all cracking down on niggas. It’s not like a nigga really needs to hustle anymore. Trina’s right; I’m a fucking multi-millionaire now. The only reason we hustle is to get rich, and I ain’t a greedy nigga, but I do need something I can funnel this money through. After I let Harper’s ass get so close to me, I know this shit can be taken away just like that. I really did trust that nigga, too. For now, I’m gonna have to let all these little roaches and rats here in New York know that just because King’s dead doesn’t mean the streets are open again. I run this shit.
A month goes by and Rob, Horse, and I have the streets on lock. The same way we ran things when King was alive is how we run shit now. I’m still trying to think of a legit way to put this money through. Like I said before, Rob is a smart nigga and knows how to handle himself. He takes me to this Amar Studio in East New York to see his boy Rodney Reid, a.k.a. Kane.
“Yo, I’m telling you, son, Kane is nice,” Rob tells me.
“How you know this nigga?”
“When I was in Rikers, he was there doing a bid too.”
“So why do you want me to meet him?” I ask.
“Because you have been saying you wanna find something legit to invest your money in, and I think he may be it,” Rob replies.
“Well, he had better be fucking amazing.”
We go in the studio and see Kane in the booth. This nigga is spitting with a mad flow. Rob wasn’t exaggerating when he said that this nigga was nice. Now I see why Rob wanted me to meet this dude. This nigga has sick rhymes:
If I can’t make money with you/ then fuck you/ that was code that niggas would roll to/ I decided if I couldn’t get work/ figure I’ll take work/ do whatever for the dollar/ put hot slugs in ya/ make you holla/ got your girl poppin’ her pussy for a dollar-dollar/ a nigga so cool like the Fonz/ poppin’ my collar/ You niggas know how I do shit/ got rappers retiring because how I run shit/ hoes be thinking/ that they’ll have K trickin’/ No/ That nigga Kane be flippin’/ them model hoes he pimpin’/ I fuck ’em never love ’em/ they’ll never catch me slippin’.
After he comes out of the booth, I sit and talk to him.
“What’s up, Kane? This is my cousin Damien,” Rob says.
“What’s up, man?”
“What’s up, son? You sound real nice,” I tell him as I give him some dap.
“Thanks, I’m just doing what I do,” Kane says.
“So, how long have you been trying to get in the game?”
“Man, I’ve been grinding for five years now, trying to get on, but all these fake-ass niggas at these record labels just want you to sound like the next nigga. I gotta be me,” Kane says.
“I feel ya, nigga. You remind me of a thugged-out cross between DMX and Jay-Z. I like that shit.”
“That’s how we Harlem niggas get down. I heard you got Harlem on lock,” Kane says to me as he sparks a blunt up.
“Like you said, I do what I do,” I tell him.
“Word up, get that money, my nigga.”
We end up talking about street shit for most of the night. Kane breaks out, and I give him my number. Rob was right about Kane being hot. Now I just want to figure out how we can make my dirty money clean.
“Yo, Rob, what’s your plan? Ya boy’s got talent, but how does that help me?” I ask him as we drive back to Harlem.
“I got a homie I went to school with called Tone who’s A&R at Galaxy Records. I’ve been talking to him about Kane. Tone is making millions of dollars for them at Galaxy,” Rob reveals.
“Yeah, so? What he saying?”
“I played him Kane’s demo and homie was buggin’ out, so I was thinking if we got behind Kane’s project and promoted him on the streets, we could start our own record label with Tone. The record label is willing to cut him a check for $500,000 to do a joint venture with them.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man, we’ll be our own record label and we’ll distribute it through Galaxy Records.”
“So you and Tone will run the business side, while I’ll be a very silent partner.”
“Exactly, my nigga. We can launder the money through the company and spend it legitimately.”
So that’s what we do. The following week I front the money so that Kane can press up 50,000 copies of his new mixtape and put them on the streets. Within two weeks we make sure every club is bumping his music. We put a
copy of his mixtape in the hand of every major DJ from DJ Clue to Green Lantern and Kay Slay. Within a month, Kane is on everybody’s mixtape. We flood the streets of Harlem, Brooklyn, Bronx, Staten Island and Queens with flyers advertising Kane’s mixtapes. Every bodega and mom and pop record store has Kane’s mixtape in it.
Pretty soon, major labels are hollering at my boy, but we have our connection with Tone at Galaxy. We call our label what else but Flip Set Records.
I’m so focused on getting this label off the ground that I let Horse run the corners. I still check in on him, but this was a way to make shit legit. I have to admit, drug money’s nothing compared to this record industry money. The more I learn about it, the more I realize how much the record execs are ripping off these rappers. They some real corporate thugs, and pretty soon I’ll be right there with them. The only thing that can stop my climb is the past, the shit I’ve done coming back to haunt me.
Horse calls me on my cell one night at the crib. “Yo, Dame, we gotta talk,” Horse says urgently.
“What is it?”
“You remember that nigga Cornell you smoked a few months ago?”
“Yeah, what about him?”
“Looks like he was the little brother of that Jamaican nigga up in Brooklyn, Absolute,” Horse says.
“Yeah, so?”
“Looks like that nigga found out it was you that hit him and word is that nigga is looking to get at you.”
“Shit, a’ight, I’ll meet up with you tomorrow at the spot on 145th Street.”
“A’ight, one.” Horse hangs up.
Damn, that’s the last thing I need right now is some beef. Jamaican niggas are the wildest cats out here in New York. This nigga, Absolute, came from Kingston 15 years ago and has most of Brooklyn on lock. Cornell was his half-brother or some shit. If this nigga wants to go to war with me, then I can handle him like any other roach. Problem being, with all this stuff starting to pop off with Kane, we don’t need this kind of shit.
I just recently bought a house in upstate New York for Trina and Taye, a little four-bedroom place where I can rest my head. I don’t want to buy a mansion and draw too much attention to us. I made sure the house was in Trina’s name.
We continue to promote Kane’s record in the streets and rent an office space on Lexington Avenue for Flip Set Records. In the meantime, we are at the studio recording Kane’s debut LP.
A few weeks later we get the call from Tone at Galaxy saying that they want to do a joint venture with us. This is perfect. Everything is clicking just right, so you know drama has to show up sooner or later.
I’m with Rob, Kane, Tone, and Horse at the office, talking shit and feeling happy that we got the deal with Galaxy.
“Didn’t I tell you, nigga, this was going to pop off?” Rob says.
“You did, but if it wasn’t for my nigga Kane, all this shit wouldn’t be happening,” I say to Kane.
“Man, you da one that blew a nigga up,” Kane replies.
“Dog, when this album drops next month, we gonna really be killing these industry niggas,” Tone says as we drink some Hpnotiq.
“Yo, Dame, what you gonna do about the corner store?” Horse mentions to me, referring to the game.
“My nigga, to be honest with you, I’ve been thinking of giving it up.”
“What, you serious?” Horse says, surprised.
“Man, with all the money we gonna make off this music shit, there ain’t gonna be no need to fuck with the corners anymore.”
“I guess so.”
“You know, my nigga, you rode with me through some ill shit. You a real solider, my nigga,” I tell him.
“Yo, I’m a hood nigga. I’m down for anything at any time. These soft-ass niggas ain’t ready for war, son,” Horse says and knocks back his cup of Hpnotiq.
“It’s time for a new hustle, my nigga. Kane is our number one investment now, so we gotta protect our assets. There’s gonna be a few hating-ass niggas out there.”
“Don’t worry about it. You know what they say: When it rains, niggas get wet,” Horse says as he raises his shirt and shows me his .45 Magnum.
“That’s my nigga,” I say and give him a pound.
This shit makes sense to me. As much as I love the game, it’s time to switch the hustle. Sure, I could continue to run the streets of Harlem, but it’s only gonna be a matter of time before the feds come after me like they did King, or one of my workers flips on me like King flipped on my old man Bishop and I flipped on King. Besides, this music shit is ten times the amount of money we make on the streets. It’s the right time to get out.
As we walk outta the office building, I see out the corner of my eye a car down the street that doesn’t fit in. Here we are surround by Benzes, Lexuses, and Escalades, and there’s a ’94 Honda Civic parked down the street. I don’t want to pull out and start blasting, but my instinct tells me something isn’t right. As soon as we come through the lobby doors, I hear tires screeching and I know that this is a hit.
“Get down!” I yell as I duck down.
BUDDA, BUDDA, BUDDA, BUDDA!!!!
Shots ring out from a semi-automatic submachine gun. We all scatter on the sidewalk and duck behind a parked truck in front of us. I pull out my Glock nine and bust six shots off at the car, but they bend the corner and haul ass. That nigga Absolute tried to mark me in broad daylight.
“Yo, Horse, get the car! We gonna kill these ma’fuckas for this shit!” I yell, but he doesn’t answer me.
“Nigga, you deaf . . . ?” I turn around and see Horse shot the fuck up.
“Oh, shit.” Horse has three to the chest and two in the head. A pool of blood is all over the sidewalk underneath him.
“Oh, fuck, he’s dead!” Tone yells.
“Yo, Rob, I can’t be here! I can’t let the cops know I was here! Give me your keys!” I yell at him.
“Yo, get the fuck outta here.” Rob throws me the keys and I take off for his car. I put the gun under my seat and head for a spot up in Harlem. I can’t go home in case these ma’fuckas follow me.
This mutherfucka killed Horse and almost killed me! I can’t believe I let this nigga catch me slipping. I shoulda seen this shit coming. I shoulda went after this nigga first as soon as I got the word.
Horse may have been a fat and ugly nigga, but he was still my nigga. He was probably the most reliable soldier on my team. I don’t want to start any drama off that would fuck with this music business deal, but this nigga tried to take my whole crew out. I have to regroup, get my mind right, and figure out what my next move should be. This nigga Absolute wanna go to war, then fine. These ma’fuckas done turned me back into the old me.
16
The Omen
JANELLE
It’s been six long months of recovery for Jayson and Nikki, and I’ve been here for both of them, but I haven’t been doing it by myself. Quan has been right here with us. Jayson was able to keep Quan clear from being arrested ’cause he told them Quan quit dealing months ago. With King dead, Quan isn’t really that important to them. Neither, I guess, is that asshole Damien. I still can’t believe he’s gotten away completely free after what he did to Nikki.
Quan has been staying with Jayson and me out in Decatur. He’s buying a house down here for his mom and sister. He also filled out an application for Morehouse College and got a scholarship to go. His drive has motivated me so much that I got off my ass and got into the University of Georgia. As much as things have changed, I still feel like there’s a part of Jayson he keeps secret from me. I think his old commanding officer, John McNiven, feels the same way too. He came by to visit Jayson at the house today.
“So, how have you been feeling, Jayson?” McNiven asks him.
“Better than I did six months ago,” Jayson says as he stands on a ladder to paint the outside of the house. I’m holding the ladder for him.
“I see that. Jayson, I know that this was a very difficult assignment for you, but are you sure you don’t wanna reconsider quitting the
force?”
“I told you, John, I’ve had enough and I mean it,” Jayson replies.
“Hasn’t Jayson put his life on the line enough for you people?” I ask.
“Yes, he has, Janelle, and I’m happy that you two found each other. I understand your reasons, but I’m not talking about undercover work.”
“Then what are you offering me, John? A desk job filing reports? I don’t think so,” Jayson says as he puts down another coat of tan paint on the wall.
“No, not a desk job, but as a trainer for new officers going undercover,” McNiven says to him.
Jayson stops and looks at him. “Sounds interesting, but I’m not sure I’m the right man for the job. If you forgot, I got shot on my last assignment.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, but you also infiltrated one of the deadliest gangs in the country for seven months and took down Dwayne ‘King’ Smith, a man the FBI was trying to get for over ten years. You can give these new undercover officers the insight they may need to keep themselves alive when they’re in deep cover.” McNiven lays it on thick for Jayson, and I can see that Jayson is thinking about it.
“I don’t know, John. I need some more time,” Jayson says.
“I’m not trying to rush you, Jayson. Take all the time you need. I just want you to know that we can use a man like you still. More importantly, those young cops can use a man with your experience. Well, I’ll let you get back to work here. Take care, Janelle. Call me, Jayson.” McNiven walks to his car and then drives off.
Jayson and I continue to paint the house and I decide to add my two cents.
“You know, I hate to admit it, Jayson, but he does have a point. You are the best at what you do, baby.”
“No, I’m not. If I were I wouldn’t have . . . I wouldn’t have gotten shot,” Jayson says, but I can tell he wants to say more. Jayson climbs down from the ladder. “I’m happy now. I got you in my life and I’m starting over.”
“I’m glad you’re with me, too, but I also know you’re not that happy being here all day. I know you, Jayson. I know there are still some unresolved things you want answers to,” I say to him.
The Pink Palace Page 16