After I crossed the jetway bridge, I almost instantly saw Sundi Ashworth across the way in dark sunglasses and the most ostensible blue pleated day dress. She told me to look out for the sunglasses and the blue dress but I didn't expect the dress's crochet insets to dip so low to create an almost see-through bosom. She looked incredible, star-studded, out of the ordinary—like the women you see on TV. She didn't belong in an airport.
I felt humble compared to her, in my comfy airplane clothes that consisted of blue jeans and a solid pink long sleeve shirt with ribbed cuffs. I was casual. But the blue jeans were stretch Gucci—perfect butt huggers—and my Rolex watch sparkled as I dragged my luggage. I wasn't bad looking.
I just wasn't Sundi-looking.
"Kirbie Amor!" she called out once she saw me coming. She waved, and actually bounced once in her stilettos as she did so. She was just as excited as I was. "Kirbie, over here!"
I smiled. And not until I got closer did I notice she was standing next to a tall light-skinned man in a peacoat and fedora. He was wearing sunglasses too. My first thought was he was her bodyguard, but then that didn't seem to fit because he looked too refined and handsome for that role (though with sunglasses on men, you could never be too sure how attractive they really were).
Mystery man, I thought.
Sundi Ashworth extended her hand and I shook it. She introduced herself, then gestured toward the man next to her whose hand I shook also.
"This is La'Renz Taylor," Sundi said.
"Kirbie, it's nice to finally meet you," he said.
I was stunned.
"Nice to meet you too," I managed.
Part of me didn't know what to think right now. I had shook both of the hands of one of the most infamous couples in the music industry. But why were they together? I wondered. According to the blogs, these two had been estranged once La'Renz went to prison. Sundi later went on to work for Eliyah Golomb, whom La'Renz claimed was the real killer behind his wife's death. Several hiphop media outlets had printed that La'Renz had an "unhealthy" hate for his mistress while incarcerated—as told from the mouth of a former cellmate—that he had planned to rectify after his release. They made it seem like he was going to kill Sundi.
Yet here they were, together, in harmony. Wow. That was proof that you couldn't believe what you read on blogs.
"Let me take your bag," La'Renz offered.
"Thank you," I said.
He also helped me pull the rest of my luggage off of the baggage carousel. Then we were headed outside, where a fairly clean Volvo SUV was waiting for us with the hazard lights blinking. I had thought we were going to be chauffeured in a limo. I was almost certain that was what Sundi told me. But I was notorious for getting details wrong so I eagerly climbed in the back seat, where La'Renz joined me, and Sundi drove.
I had actually rented a Volvo just like this once, on one of me and Archie's many pill trips to California.
"How was your flight?" La'Renz asked me, as he removed his glasses. His brown eyes were twinkling. I tried not to stare.
"It wasn't bad," I said.
"All commercial flights are bad to me," Sundi said from up front. "When you start flying private, you'll know what I'm talking about."
I smiled, and I hoped I wasn't smiling too much. "Where are we going?" I asked.
"Our first stop is the radio station," La'Renz said.
"Radio station?"
"Yes. I have a spot booked for you in the next hour at 104.1 Revolt. This is gonna be your first major interview."
I was at a loss for words. Nervousness set in fast. Revolt was the top radio station in New York City. They had an evening show where a panel of three—DJ Trap, Liam Bashor, and Skye Munro—interviewed the top artists in music. It was a nationally-syndicated live radio and TV broadcast. The trio had interviewed everyone from Caylene Hope to Jazzmine Short to Yayo Love. But those artists landed interviews after they were famous. I didn't even have a mixtape out.
"I had to pull some strings to make this interview happen," La'Renz told me. "So just relax and be yourself. Revolt only books stars, so when people hear and see this interview, you'll automatically be thrust into the limelight."
"I didn't know I'd be on radio this soon. I'm not dressed. I need to change."
"You look amazing," Sundi said. "You have taste. And I really like that Rolex. I wouldn't tell you this if I didn't mean it. And Revolt's glam squad will touch you up with make-up once we get there."
"Really, you do look beautiful," La'Renz said. He squeezed my thigh. "And once they hear your voice, it's gonna be all she wrote. Can we get a sample from you? Sundi, turn the radio down."
"You want me to sing?" I asked.
He laughed. "Yes."
"Right now?"
"Give us a taste. They're gonna ask you sing on air once we get there so you might as well warm up."
I racked my brain for a song, then I decided to sing my verse about Coras from "Convenient For Me," because it had been on my mind heavy during the flight here. I opened up my vocals quietly as I sang the first several lines, then I really opened up and let my voice falsetto as I reached the midway point. La'Renz grabbed me around the neck before I could finish and pulled me into an almost sibling-like hug. He kissed my temple.
"You fucking killed it! I don't even need you to finish!"
"She's amazing!" Sundi cheered.
"Thank you guys," I said. "And thank you for inviting me here and giving me this opportunity. Singing is my life."
"Well, let's make it official." La'Renz pulled out a contract from inside his jacket and handed it to me. "Look it over and flip to the last page and sign." He handed me a pen and a magazine to write against.
I set the contract on my lap, hunching over to give it a quick once-over. I was about to flip to the back when I saw that it was a legal agreement between me and ...
"Taylor Music Group?" I questioned.
"Yes, that's my label," La'Renz said. "You'll be my first artist so you'll have my complete attention. I won't stop until you're number one on the Billboard. I've done it before and I'ma gonna do it again with you."
Back in the day Taylor Music Group was the top label in R&B and rap. But now that title belonged to Mount Eliyah ENT, the label I thought I was signing to—the label I thought Sundi still worked for.
"Maybe she needs time to look it over with a lawyer," Sundi said sympathetically.
La'Renz sighed and leaned away from me. "Sundi, we can't do Revolt unless she signs."
"I'll sign it," I said quickly.
There was a small ounce of apprehension swirling inside of me, but I ignored it. On the back page, I scribbled down my signature.
Chapter 19
La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," DJ Trap began, as he adjusted the microphone close to his feminine-thin lips. "This is 104.1 Revolt, the number one name in radio for five years in a row. I'm your host, the incomparable money-savvy DJ Trap and I'm here with my co-hosts, the big scary black man named Liam Bashor and the lovely Asian-Black mix Skye Munro. Today, we also have two very very special guests."
The three hosts formed a semi-circle around me and Kirbie (Sundi was still outside in the car). Shoved in all of our faces were oversized microphones with gold-plated lightning bolts—the Revolt logo—attached to each swivel point. Bulky studio-quality headphones were on our heads, though DJ Trap had his set draped around his shoulders for now. Though I didn't know any of these hosts personally, I knew their on-air personalities to a tee from listening to their show over and over in my prison cell with a shoddy static-reception portable radio. This trio hadn't been around when I ran hip-hop years ago. It had been Frank "The Juice" Teeter on the ones and twos then. Now Frank was the owner here at 104.1 Revolt. He was the one I called to book this interview. He owed me. Nearly the whole industry owed me.
To my right, Liam Bashor said, "One of our special guests is none other than the infamous La'Renz 'Buddy Rough' Taylor. Some of
you might know him as the man who started Taylor Music Group and rose to the top of the music industry with all the cards stacked against him. Others might know him as the man who murdered his wife, Jazzmine Short, the R&B icon who—"
I cut him off. "Allegedly," I said into my microphone.
Liam twisted his face up. "No, not allegedly. You pled guilty so that means your guilt is incontestable."
"That's simply not true," I replied, trying to stay mild-mannered. "People plead guilty to crimes they haven't done every single day in this country."
"Why would they do that?"
"To avoid a lengthy prison sentence, or even the death penalty."
Liam laughed. It was that same, fake laugh of disbelief I'd heard in my earbuds for many nights in prison when he interviewed controversial guests. I hated his laugh.
"If you didn't kill him, who did?" he asked me with a sarcastic smirk. "Eliyah Golomb?"
"I never said that."
"But you claim he or someone he hired set you up, right?"
I knew coming here today that this question would get brought up. But I didn't expect it to be within the first five minutes of air time. However, I should have known. Liam Bashor was the most disrespectful, brutally invasive host of this generation. Almost every one of his questions and comments crossed the line of professionalism. The old me would have punched him three minutes ago.
Skye Munro diffused our back-and-forth with a smile and soft wording. "Liam, we have to follow order here. Back off. We haven't even introduced La'Renz's artist yet. We can get into all of that later."
That's the smart thing to do, I agreed mutely. But I didn't know if Skye thought she was saving me from humiliation or Liam from getting his ass kicked. Or she could have just been trying to push the Jazzmine questions back so listeners would tune in till the end.
"Would you like to introduce your artist?" DJ Trap asked me.
"Sure," I said. I placed my arm around the back of Kirbie's seat and she smiled. "This is 19-year-old Kirbie Amor, the first artist signed to Taylor Music Group. From what I've been hearing while I was away, she sings better than any artist out there right now. She'll sing circles around anybody you pit her against."
"She can't sing better than Jazzmine Short," Liam remarked.
I started to speak but Kirbie jumped ahead of me.
She put her lips close to her microphone and said, "If you wanna compare me to anybody, compare me to Caylene Hope."
There was laughter all around the room. Even a few giggles from cameramen. They weren't believers.
Yet.
"Let her prove it," I said. "Let her sing."
"I wanna hear her," said Skye Munro excitedly.
"Are you ready to sing right now?" DJ Trap asked Kirbie.
"Sure," she said. "What do yall want me to sing?"
"I want you to sing one of Caylene Hope's songs," said Liam Bashor. "Since you think you can compare to her, let's see you try."
I knew Kirbie was capable of pulling this off. What I wasn't sure about was whether or not she'd let these cameras and these personalities get the best of her and make her choke.
DJ Trap scooched back in his chair to finger a control board on his right, then in all of our headphones Caylene Hope's "Give Love Another Try" started to spin. Kirbie cleared her throat, adjusted her headphones. My arm was still around her so I gave her an encouraging pat on the back. Then, as the melody gave way to verse in our ears, Kirbie closed her eyes and let the words flow from her lips effortlessly, in the softest most beautiful voice I'd ever heard. I looked around the room at DJ Trap, then Skye Munro, then Liam Basehor—Kirbie had the whole room captivated! This particular song came out after a public break-up between Caylene Hope and Hollywood director Stephen Duly. It was a powerful song with a lot of history and emotion behind it, and Kirbie was singing it perfectly.
"How was that?" Kirbie asked after she finished.
She received a round of applause from every one of our hosts. It looked like Liam actually wiped a tear from his eye, either jokingly or serious, I couldn't tell.
"Okay, you can sing," Liam said. "But what's your story? You won't get anywhere in this business unless you have a humble background. Have you been raped?"
"Liam, stop," Skye Munro chimed in with a laugh.
"No, I haven't been raped," Kirbie said. "My story is a simple one. I'm from Kansas City, Missouri, I grew up without a mother in a household ran by an abusive father—who has since found God, I must say. I love my father, but during his bad spell I ran away at the age of 14 and a local hustler took me in. He taught me how to hustle and—"
"Wait, wait, wait," Liam said, shaking his hands in the air. "What do you mean by 'taught' you how to hustle? Was he pimping you out? Did you turn a few tricks? The listeners wanna know."
"I never sold my body and I never will. The only thing I sold was drugs."
"What kind of drugs?" DJ Trap asked.
"Mostly pills. Ecstasy. Purple Gorillas. That's what a sing about the most. My life in the streets making fast money from a female’s point of view."
I smiled. Kirbie was doing well, answering questions confidently. I didn't know if the whole selling drugs thing was true but it sounded good to me.
Skye Munro sipped from her Styrofoam cup. "A teenage female singing about selling drugs. Hmmm ... that's a first. Interesting ...."
"How did you hook up with La'Renz?" DJ Trap asked.
Kirbie looked at me as she spoke, smiling. "Well, it started with a phone call. Sundi Ash—"
I quickly covered up her microphone with my hand. "I'd rather not get into that right now. Next question."
My heart was beating fast as I removed my hand from Kirbie’s mic. Everyone was looking at me strangely. But I couldn't let knowledge of Sundi Ashworth's commitment to me get out there. It would ruin everything. She was my inside girl to Mount Eliyah ENT.
I should have briefed Kirbie before we came in here.
Liam kept the questioning going. "Tell me, Kirbie, because I'm sure listeners wanna know: Why would you choose to link up with La'Renz Taylor and Taylor Music Group over all the other labels. No disrespect to you, La'Renz, but Taylor Music Group is dead. Kirbie, with a voice like yours, I personally would have chosen to go with the biggest name in the game, Mount Eliyah ENT."
"La'Renz was the first person to contact me," Kirbie said. "He believed in me so I believe in him. I'm a loyal person."
Good answer, I thought.
"Did you sign a contract?" DJ Trap asked.
"Yes."
"That was Jazzmine Short's mistake," said Liam, with a crude laugh. "What makes you think when you try to leave that La'Renz won't throw you off a balcony in Dubai like he did to her?"
I turned to the rude host with the calmest face I could muster. Liam reminded me of an inmate I once knew. Not in appearance but in character. Liam was all talk, no action.
"Can we please not speak as if I really committed that crime?" I said. "Listeners might start to believe you."
"They should."
"They shouldn't, sir."
"Look, I read the court documents last night in preparation for this show. You two were last seen in the hotel together. Yall had an argument. Then she mysteriously ends up pancake-flat on the ground."
Kirbie said, "I read the documents on my flight here too. One of the witnesses said they saw La'Renz leave the hotel room long before Jazzmine Short was seen falling. And several witnesses said she jumped."
I was still staring at Liam when I put my palm up toward Kirbie, letting her know to say no more. I didn't need her help.
"Like I told you at the beginning of this show, I had to plead guilty because I was being railroaded," I said to Liam. "I know when to fold to stay in the game. Because the game isn't over. And I plan to win."
Liam rolled his eyes. "I don't even know what that means, Mr. Taylor. You're 42 years old. Way too old to still be a liar. One minute you say you did it and plead guilty, the next minute you say you're not
guilty. Which one is it? You're like the hiphop Brian Williams. Why should we believe anything you say? You killed your wife. Admit it."
With all the anger-management classes and the coping skills certificates I received while in prison, I should have been able to shirk Liam's comments. But I couldn't. I internalized them, where they mixed with all the rest of my pent up aggression and caused a chemical imbalance.
I exploded.
I grabbed the first thing in reach—my microphone. I bashed Liam in the head with it, busted his skin open above the eye in that one swing. There was blood. Skye Munro screamed. I wanted Liam to fight back but he didn't; he fell out of his seat on the away-side of his chair, so I had to yank the chair out of the way to get to him.
"Security!" DJ Trap yelled.
Liam cowered as I swung the mic down at him again. But the cord caught and the mic just dangled over the edge of the table above his head. Lucky him. I kicked him in his ribs one good time before a group of big men grabbed me up.
I didn't resist.
"I loved my wife!" I shouted into a camera as I was hauled out of the booth. "I didn't kill Jazzmine Short!"
Chapter 20
Sammy "The Hitman" Russtrip
I was sitting in the passenger seat of a silver Yukon Denali, waiting for La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor to come out the exit doors of 104.1 Revolt. My driver was on his smartphone, and when I peeked over at his screen I saw he was on The Site. I couldn't believe that Eliyah Golomb really wanted me to work with this kid.
"We're following somebody, Jarvis," I reminded the 23-year-old. "Put the damn phone up."
"Sorry, Dad," he said, and quickly fumbled with the cell phone to put it in the pocket of his fleece jacket. He looked across the street at the celebrated radio station, wide-eyed. "Where is he?" he asked anxiously, his boyish brown eyes darting around everywhere.
"Calm down. He hasn't come out yet. But you're being paid to watch everything around you, not just La'Renz. And looking down at your phone while you're on a mission will get you killed. If it doesn't pertain to the task at hand, then NO PHONE."
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