"Now can I have my phone back so I can send this Kirbie Amor girl a Site message?" she said. "Or are you not finished acting like a sad, jealous boyfriend?"
Sundi Ashworth > Kirbie Amor: Hello, Kirbie, my name's Sundi Ashworth (A&R) and I'm sending you this message in regards to my interest in your musical talent. I'm a representative of a major record label, and I think you and your voice have the potential to become one of the biggest artists this industry has ever seen. This is not spam. This is for real. My profile page will confirm my authenticity. If you would like to further your career and become a household name, please reply as soon as possible. I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you.
Chapter 9
Kirbie Amor Capelton
Night time in LA. And I felt good.
I was a back seat passenger right now. And that was fine by me; I could Site surf in peace. Archie and Mark Beltrán were up front. Mark, who had been supplying us with Purple Gorilla ecstasy pills since forever, was now going to introduce us to his cocaine connection. He was driving his Porsche Panamera Turbo across Los Angeles like it was supposed to be the only car on the road. He'd occasionally stick his head out of the window and curse out a slow driver in Spanish as we zoomed around him (or her). Mark was hot-tempered to people he didn't know, but he was the best to me and Archie. Every now and then I would look up from my phone after hearing him curse someone and I would see a beautiful fan or feather-topped palm tree that caught my eye, but I had been back and forth to this city for so long that the landscape was becoming less and less appealing.
"I appreciate this," Archie said to Mark.
"No problema," Mark replied, as he shifted down to accommodate a red traffic light. The sound of the engine purring down was melodic. It reminded me of music, which I had sworn off.
But it was impossible to nix something overnight that you'd been passionate about your whole life. Right now I was scrolling through a trending feed on The Site where users were discussing the Sprint Center. I shouldn't have been on this newsfeed—why are you torturing yourself, Kirbie?—but I was. I was curious, yet still glad me and Archie left town when we did. If I had been in Kansas City when I told Coras I wasn't doing the Sprint Center, he would have probably showed up at me and Archie's house, and who knows what would've transpired between my fiancé and my labelmate—er, ex-labelmate. And Coras wouldn't have showed up because he loved me, but because I was simply his "investment." How lame was that?
Fuck Coras, I thought. I'm nobody's property.
As Mark and Archie talked up front, I continued reading the feed about the Sprint Center rap event:
Debra Mcree: I just saw Yayo Love backstage! #SprintCenter
Stylist Samara Mayes: Did the show start already? #SprintCenter
Cherri TooGrownForGames: No, they're still seating people. It's so unorganized right now. I've never seen this many people. #SprintCenter
Makea WorkingWoman Price: Yayo Love is my future baby daddy! #YayoLove #LoveChild #SprintCenter
Leonard Mathis: I have two tickets for sale! Front row seats! Inbox me. Serious inquiries only! #SprintCenter
Mitch tiredofballin Walker: All these bitches on here are screaming about Yayo Love. He ain't had a hot 16 in years! WTF??? Yall need to be supporting the Kansas City artist Coras Bane that's opening up for Yayo. That's the only reason I'm going #CorasBane #KC #SupportLocalArtists #FuckYayo
Mendi AplayasPlaya Robinson: Yayo Love look like a mufuckin uuuuuuhhhh
Natasha YoloLife Anderson: Lol! ^^^
Trillyoung Sav: I'm coming to see Coras too!
Danielle Bryant: Me too I know Coras from high school
SimplyTru Anjanette: I'm going to hear Kirbie Amor sing! I love that bitch. #MyFavoriteSinger #NextToCayleneHope
Peter Lewis: Kirbie and Coras are the shit!
Tabitha Alston: Yayo Love is cool. Can't hate on him. He's killing the Billboards right now.
Mitch tiredofballin Walker: Billboard ranking doesn't equal talent! All that ranking does is tell you who's popular. Coras Bane has talent. And I forgot about Kirbie. She's dope too. #SprintCenter
Shan Lovingmeandhim Joseph: Kirbie can sing in real life. I've been to one of her performances. I'm anxious to hear Convenient For Me performed live. #SprintCenter
"Kirbie!" Archie said to me, pulling my gaze away from my phone.
"Huh?" I said.
"Are you paying attention?"
I hadn't been. My heart was beating fast because Site users were commenting about me and Coras in a better light than Yayo Love, who was supposed to be the main attraction. It was an incredible feeling, but also a terrible downer because I wouldn't be able to experience the event. I was over sixteen hundred miles away in "The Golden State" on a cocaine run.
Regret was started to gnaw at my conscience now. I felt like I wasn't supposed to be here.
"You need to be listening," Archie grumbled at me. "Stay off that damn phone. Mark just said we can't have our guns when we get to the meet."
"Okay," I said.
Mark, who was looking at me through the rearview, said to me, "Congratulations on the engagement. I knew you and Archie were soulmates."
"Thank you, Mark."
"When are yall gonna have babies?"
I laughed. "We don't even know if we want kids."
"We do," Archie added. "We just know that right now isn't the time."
Mark nodded. "I understand a hundred percent. A baby would get in the way of Kirbie's music career."
There was an awkward silence.
Archie broke it. "Kirbie's not doing music no more."
Mark jerked his head at Archie, then up at the rearview mirror where he could see me in the back seat. His eyes were full of ... disappointment. "Kirbie, say it ain't so."
"The music wasn't going anywhere," I said. "I was getting tired of it."
"But you have real talent. Way more talent than me, and I can't say that about a lot of people. If I could rap like you could sing, I'd be a billionaire by now."
"Thank you, Mark."
"Don't quit, mami. I felt like quitting rapping too at one point but I'm still pushing. You gotta keep pushing if you know you're good at something."
I sort of admired Mark. He was a terrible rapper but he had the confidence of a skilled lyricist. I used to have that spirit inside of me. I wanted to tell him that people like us weren't meant for the limelight, that we were born and bred for street hustling—but I couldn't form the words because there was still a tiny light inside of me that was clinging to the music illusion. I wanted it to die.
"If I was living here in LA, maybe I'd still be pursuing it," I told him. "But in Kansas City it's too hard to get noticed. The music scene is dim compared to everywhere else."
"That just means you have to work harder. Or move to another city."
Archie chimed in. "That's enough, homie," he said, nudging Mark with his elbow playfully. "It took me forever to convince Kirbie to leave that music alone. I don't need you to plant no more ideas in her head."
Mark ignored him, and instead of looking at me through the rearview, Mark actually turned around and looked at me directly with eyes of the deepest brown hue I'd ever seen on a Mexican man. "Chase your dreams, mami," he said earnestly. "Fuck what Archie is talking about. He's a hater. He don't understand music souls like us."
It was right now that I noticed how handsome and kind-hearted Mark was. I felt really bad for not liking his music in return.
Archie tapped him. "Green light, nigga. Go."
Mark turned back around, piloting the Porsche through the intersection and onward through the tight LA traffic. His eyes caught mine in the rearview again. "I'm serious. Chase your dreams."
But my dreams have changed, I thought as I leaned back into the leather seat. I adopted Archie's dreams. We were here in LA to cop some kilos of cocaine that would make us the biggest hustlers in the Midwest.
Then my phone chimed. I looked down and saw I had a notification from The Site. The
link indicated that it was an inbox from a woman named Sundi Ashworth. Sundi Ashworth? That name rang a bell, but I couldn't remember off the top of my head why it sounded familiar. I started to tap the link to read her message when I heard Mark mention something about the Beltrán cartel.
I looked up.
"They're family and they don't play," Mark said. "I told them I was bringing two people that I trusted with my life and they're still making me take all the necessary precautions."
"Did you say Beltrán cartel?" I asked.
"Yes. That's who we're meeting up with. They're family."
I had heard of the Beltrán cartel. They were rumored to have a monopoly on all the drugs flowing through Hollywood. Some of the biggest conspiracies surrounding suspicious celebrity deaths were tied to Beltrán.
"You're related to members of the Beltrán mafia family?" I asked in disbelief.
Archie gave me a warning: "You're asking too many questions, Kirbie. I told you about that."
But Mark was smiling at me through the rearview, happy to share. "It's not obvious, mami? My last name is Beltrán. What, you just thought it was a rap name?"
Yes, I did.
"Those are my people on my daddy's side. They're blood. They got connections to the music industry but even I can't get in through them. I tried to get my uncle Julian Beltrán to hand my demo to somebody, anybody, but he threw my disc on the ground and smashed it with the heel of his boot. Pinche culero, disrespectful as fuck. Their tight-lipped on that Hollywood shit. And that makes sense because they're probably making billions off of them rich famous people. That side of my family only fucks with me as a street dealer. But I guess I'm cool with that. I'll break into the music industry on my own."
A thought occurred to me. Maybe if I gave them my music and told them about the following I already had then they'd be more receptive. Then I quickly dismissed the idea. This was a cocaine meeting, and nothing else.
Mark said something to Archie about reaching into the center console, and I jumped back into my Site world on my phone. I was curious to know who Sundi Ashworh was. I tapped her name with my finger and the message popped up on my screen:
Sundi Ashworth: Hello, Kirbie, my name's Sundi Ashworth (A&R) and I'm sending you this message in regards to—
Archie snatched my phone before I could finish reading the message. "I told you to stay off the fucking phone and pay attention! See, now you're not getting your phone back until we're done." He handed me a black sleep mask. "Put this on like the man just said."
"What's this?" I asked, feeling the satin material with my thumbs. Then I looked up at the rearview where Mark was staring back at me.
"It's a blindfold," Mark said. "You have to wear it. Like I said, my family is making me go through all the necessary precautions."
I hesitated, but then I dutifully placed the mask over my head after I saw Archie adorn his. I couldn't see a thing.
And I suddenly started to feel homesick.
Chapter 10
Andre "Coras Bane" McDougald
"Are you seriously sitting there still thinking about Kirbie? She's not coming, Coras. Get over it. You have a show to do. And if you're gonna sit there and dwell on shit that's out of your control, then you're gonna fuck up enormously when you get on stage. We don't have room for mistakes. This show will make or break your career. If you really wanna be a rap superstar, then you'll get up and shake that shit off."
I heard Ashleigh, but I didn't hear her. I was sitting in a folding chair in our dressing room backstage at the Sprint Center still fuming over Kirbie going awol. Still angry as fuck that Archie won, still sulking, still bitter, still ... I didn't even really want to go on stage anymore.
Ashleigh pulled me by my arm and forced me to stand up. I was on my feet for all of five seconds before I plopped back down.
Ashleigh sighed. "Gee, please talk some sense into yo boy. He's scaring me."
Gee Beats was on the other side of the dressing room preparing his alcoholic drink of choice. He had several bottles on the counter—vodka, cognac, Sprite, an unlabeled fruit juice, a bottle of prescription cough syrup, an energy drink, and an empty wine bottle to mix it all in. The wine bottle had a yellow funnel stuck inside its mouth. He had a whole laboratory set up over there.
"Gee!" Ashleigh called again. "Help me with him!"
Gee burped.
I looked up and watched Gee walk over to me casually but I could tell he was drunk. He bent over and put a hand on his knee and pointed his finger in my face like he was about to scold me.
"You know what, nigga?" he said to me with a smart mouth. "You actin' like a little bitch right now. You actin' real paranoid n' shit. Now these muthafuckas smoked yo goddamn cousin in front of you, nigga. Blew his head off in front of yo face, and you ain't gon' do shit?"
I burst into laughter. I couldn't help it. Ashleigh laughed too and pushed him, told him to stop playing. He'd just recited a classic line from the movie Menace II Society. He had O-Dog's tone down pat.
As much as I didn't want to, I stood up and hugged Gee and thanked him for making me laugh. I was still bent out of shape over Kirbie ditching us, but he did make me feel better.
Ashleigh joined in on the hug, wrapping her arms around the both of us. "I guess it's just us three," she said. "That's all we need, right guys?"
I said, "We're gonna have to make it work."
"How long is this hug gonna last?" Gee asked.
"However long it takes for Coras to shake off his bad mood," Ashleigh said.
"I'm good," I said. "I really am. I'm ready."
"I'm not," said Gee.
Unexpectedly he tried to push away from us, and with me thinking he was joking again, I sort of held on to him. Big mistake. Mustard-colored vomit exploded out of his mouth, splattering all over my designer tee shirt and Ashleigh's zip-front silk dress.
Ashleigh screamed in horror. "Gee!"
All I could do was hold my arms out and look down at the gulash oozing down my shirt. I didn't want to touch it. Gee had dropped to his knees to finish puking his guts out. He looked bad.
And his vomit was mixed with blood.
***
I took Gee to the bathroom. I had changed shirts and so had he. I was rinsing my gold chain in the sink as he kneeled at the toilet bowl behind me. We didn't have much longer before we were scheduled to be on stage and I was trying to hurry.
"You okay now, Gee?" I asked, as I stared at the reflection of his stall in the mirror.
"Yeah, I'm okay," I heard him say.
"You sure? Do you need to go to the hospital and see a doctor?"
"No. This happens all the time."
"You throw up blood all the time?"
"Uh ... no. That was some new shit."
I dried my chain off with paper towels, then put it on and went and helped Gee to his feet. His legs were unsteady at first, but after a couple steps toward the sink he seemed okay. I wondered if Ashleigh was going to make it back here in time to see us perform. She left to find a clothing store nearby so she could change outfits.
My phone rang. I answered it because I thought it was Ashleigh.
"Hello?"
"You been ducking me, nigga?" It was Milo.
"Of course not," I lied. "Wussup?"
"Why haven't you been answering my calls?"
Milo never called me. I only called him, or just showed up in person whenever I needed to re-cop on pounds of OG. I knew what this call was about, and what all of his other calls I "missed" were about.
Monifa's spoiled-brat ass. Running her mouth.
"I know why you haven't been answering, nigga. My sister told me what happened. You got me fucked up. What makes you think yo boy can put his hands on my sister?"
"What? My boy? He didn't touch her."
"She said Gee threw her on the ground."
"He didn't throw shit. We both placed her on the ground. Gently. She was trying to attack one of my artists."
"You think I'm stupid
, nigga? It ain't no way in hell you can place my hype sister gently on the ground. Yall slammed her!"
"She was—"
"I don't give a fuck what she did or what she was about to do! She told me she caught you cheating and was about to fuck the girl up she caught you with. You should've let her handle her business, or learn not to cheat on my sister at all. But you—and especially yo homeboy—better not ever put your hands on her again!"
"Okay, I'ma let her ass get shot next time," I said. As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back.
"What?!" he hollered. "What slick shit did you just let come out of yo mouth?! Never bite the hand that feeds you! First rule of the streets! See, I was gon' spare you and only fuck up yo homeboy. But now yall both got something coming."
"Milo, I—"
"Shut the fuck up and take yo lick. My niggas will be seeing yall real soon. And don't think I don't know where yall at right now. Social media is a bitch."
He hung up.
"Hello?" I said, not sure if he’d really hung up. Yep, he really dunked on me. I put my phone in my pocket.
"Milo?" Gee asked.
"Yeah."
"He trippin'?"
"When is he not?"
I hated bowing down to Milo. But he was the plug, and I was eating real good off of his strain of weed so I had to bite my tongue sometimes. He didn't deserve to be the plug, in my opinion. He treated niggas that copped weight from him like peons instead of respectable business partners. I told myself once my rap career took off I was going to rob him and kill him, or just kill him. It wouldn't be a murder-for-hire job either. I was going to pop him myself.
On our way out of the bathroom, the door burst inward at us, startling me and Gee. Five brothas—no, six—were filing in and I instinctively reached for a pistol on my waist that wasn't there (Ashleigh made us leave our weapons in the car per the promoter's request). I stepped to the side as Milo's goons—
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