The two men walked across the street, casually holding long objects in their hands, as if they were simply enjoying the weather. They walked up onto the porch, and Reece held the screen door open. Samson raised his big boot up and crashed it into the door.
The door burst open, nearly splintering off the hinges.
Samson rushed in with Reece close on his heels. A man was lying on the couch in the front room. When he saw the giant rush in, he hopped off the couch—right into Samson’s clutches. Samson hoisted the man high into the air and slammed him into the wall, nearly throwing him clean through the drywall. “Where you think you going? We need to talk to you.”
The man’s legs dangled in the air like a baby. “You got the wrong guy!” he pleaded, kicking and struggling to free himself from the grip around his neck. “I didn’t do nothing to . . .”
His words trailed off into deep space when he saw Reece step around Samson.
“What you say?” Reece taunted, touching the bandage on his face. “You didn’t do what?”
“Reece, man, they told me if I didn’t do it, they would kill me!” the man lied.
Reece smirked and shook his head. “And yet here you are about to meet the same fate.”
“Reece, man, please! Wait, I got information, man!”
Reece gestured for Samson to put him down. As soon as his feet touched the ground, his mouth opened. “I know where Black Vic lives, I know where his mama live, his baby mama, too.”
Clunk!
While the man was snitching, Reece swung the tire iron from the old Chevy and caught him right on the side of the head. A sickening thud echoed throughout the room, and the man crumpled to the floor gripping the knot that had instantly popped up on his head.
“We know where he live, too, snitch-ass nigga!” Reece barked. Samson checked the other bedrooms while Reece waited for his victim to recover. “You really thought you were going to get away with shooting at me? Do you know who the fuck I am? This my motherfucking city!”
Reece was so amped up, he raised the tire iron high into the air and brought it crashing down across the man’s back again and again. Samson returned from his search of the house just in time to see Reece deliver the final blow to the back with the tire iron.
“Is he dead?” Samson asked.
Reece paused a moment and stood tall over the beaten man, his chest heaving. He raised the tire iron high into the air and split his skull open with the steel.
“If he wasn’t, I’m sure he is now.”
Chapter 10
Shauntay dried Qwess off with the towel. He had just gotten out of the shower stark naked. Shauntay was wearing nothing but a thong and a smile. When she got down to his dick, she spent extra time drying it off. She caressed it with her hand before bending down to kiss it.
“You keep doing that and we won’t be going nowhere,” Qwess said.
“Promise?” Shauntay purred.
She finished drying him off and disappeared into the other room. When she came back, Qwess was half dressed standing in front of the mirror putting Sportin’ Waves pomade in his hair.
Shauntay took a moment to admire her man. She thought he looked so handsome with his cream slacks and cream colored ostrich-skin boots. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, which was perfect for Shauntay. She walked in front of him carrying a long, gift-wrapped rectangular box. She passed Qwess the box. “Happy birthday!” Shauntay said, clapping her hands in mock amusement.
Qwess thoughtfully caressed the box before tearing the paper off. He opened the box. Inside was a diamond-encrusted A.B.P. pendant about three inches long. Beside it was a square-cut diamond earring. Qwess was ecstatic! Baby girl had gone all out! He enjoyed it more because it showed Shauntay wasn’t selfish. He knew she knew he was in the position to buy himself anything he wanted for his birthday, so gifts weren’t a biggie to him. However, the fact that she went out and got this was a testament to her selflessness. He was impressed and told her so.
Shauntay coolly responded by helping him put the jewelry on. It complemented the birthday present he had gotten for himself: a one-and-a-half-inch-thick diamond-encrusted bracelet. Shauntay loved the way the light reflected off the diamonds, making Qwess’s neck glow. To her he looked like a king in regal splendor. Qwess pulled on his V-necked, ribbed, short-sleeved cream shirt and left the room.
When Qwess left the room, Shauntay quickly dressed. She was wearing a cream-colored strapless tube dress, with matching Xena sandals. The straps nearly came up to her knees. Simple yet elegant. She wanted to shine and show all the bitches what Qwess was working with. She posed in the mirror, very satisfied. Her curves were prominently on display. She knew that tonight every broad would want to be her, and every dude would want to be with her!
Let the party begin.
* * *
At 15,000 square feet, 919 Live was a large club by any standards. It boasted two levels, the second portion being mostly the VIP section. Half of the floor was encased in glass, allowing the occupants of the VIP section to look down on the rest of the club. There was a sunken dance floor on the first level, so one could look down in there and admire the dancers.
Tonight was a special night. It was evident by the kaleidoscope of guests in the crowd. You had ballers from as far away as Greensboro, North Carolina, all the way to Atlanta, Georgia. There were numerous Carolina Panthers football players in the house, too. The DJ from the local radio station was broadcasting live. News was out about Qwess signing with AMG, so this was more than a birthday party. This was a celebration. One of Carolina’s own had made it, and everyone came to pay homage to one of their own.
“Damn, this shit is thick!” 8-Ball said to Flame, as they pushed their way through the crowd. They had just arrived to the club along with some of Fayetteville’s finest, including J.D.
It was a little after eleven, and the club was packed already. However the guest of honor hadn’t arrived yet, though Reece was in the house early.
Reece wore a green two-piece suit with four buttons and a mock collar. Of course, it was made of silk. The Crescent Crew colors were cream and green, which represented cocaine and money. Since this party was a big event for one of their own, everyone agreed to fly the flag by wearing either green, white, or a combination of the two. There were members coming from all over the Carolinas. The crew was going to be thick! Reece tugged at the platinum chain around his neck. On the medallion was the Crescent Crew logo: a star and crescent with two C’s in the middle. There was going to be no mistaking who was in the house tonight.
“Yo, what the fuck is this, a St. Patrick’s Day celebration or something?” 8-Ball joked to Flame. “What’s up with all these niggas in green?”
He was referring to the Crescent Crew, who had hogged a spot by the bar. They were about forty deep at this point. Everyone from the top shot callers to their young squads were present. They were all surrounding Reece and Samson, who never left Reece’s side in public settings such as this.
“I don’t know. I think that’s the crepit crew or some shit like that,” Flame guessed, butchering the name. “I believe that’s ole boy them peoples. But I ain’t know they was that deep. Gotdamn.”
8-Ball sized the crew up before speaking again. “Hell, yeah. All them niggas in the game, and it look like they all winning, too.” He laughed.
The DJ was playing everything out of the Wu-Tang Clan’s arsenal. He knew this crowd liked that real hip-hop. He gave shout-outs to the whole Crescent Crew. He worked the crowd into a frenzy and back down. Then he noticed Qwess coming through the door accompanied by Hulk, Doe, and Shauntay.
“Big up to my man, Qwess. Happy birthday, nigga!” DJ Mike Technique screamed over the music. It was official. The party had started.
Qwess threw up a hand in salute. The crowd noticed him and instantly gravitated toward him, only to be met by 330 pounds of muscle. Qwess navigated his way through the crowd to the bar where his crew was posted, with Shauntay between him and Doe.
Qw
ess and Doe were met with a phalanx of pounds and hugs. Qwess took note of everyone who was there. He knew each and every one well. There were about four Universals, eight Alis, a few Borns, and too many Muhammads to count. Yet he knew them all. They all showed him love. It was this camaraderie that Qwess missed most about the streets. In no other way of life is the camaraderie so strong. Maybe it was because of the life-and-death chances taken every day, or the fact that they thought outside the box. Whatever the reason, they were all accepted for who they were. That’s what made the bonds so strong.
Qwess whispered into Shauntay’s ear over the pounding music for her to go in the VIP room upstairs. He told her he’d meet her there in a few. He sent her with a bottle of Cristal champagne.
Once she was out the way, he was able to get down and dirty with his brethren. They laughed, joked, caught up on events, and did what brothers-in-arms do. There were so many women in the place, it was unreal. They were in their finest splendor, too. Leather, silk, satin, rayon, or hardly nothing at all summed up their attire.
Doe surveyed the crowd looking for something to take home. He was definitely in King Solomon mode. He was young, rich, and unattached. While looking through the crowd, he spotted Flame. He tapped Qwess and pointed Flame out. They both chatted for a few more minutes and excused themselves, with Hulk following closely behind.
Flame was trying to spit at some older chick when he saw Qwess and Doe coming through the crowd.
“I’m telling you, baby. I’m about to be large. You better get in now. It may not be enough of me to go ’round later.” The lady walked off, not bothering to look back.
“What’s up, Flame. Everything all right?” Qwess inquired, walking up.
“Yeah, we cool.”
“Sup, J.D.” Doe spoke.
“As-salaam alayka,” J.D. greeted
“Hey, if y’all need anything, let me know. There’s plenty of food. No pork, of course,” Doe offered. “Where you sitting? We’ll send you a bottle of something.”
“Over in the corner.” J.D. answered.
“All right, cool. Check it. We need to holla at the li’l homie. We’ll get up, though. Enjoy yourselves.”
With that, Doe, Qwess, and Hulk left with Flame and 8-Ball in tow. They went straight to the DJ booth. The others waited outside while Qwess went in to talk to DJ Mike Technique. A few minutes later, Qwess emerged with a smile on his face, looking directly at Flame.
“Yo, you ready to earn this deal or what?” Qwess asked Flame.
“Damn right!”
“We about to see.”
Flame looked puzzled, but confident.
“What he talking ’bout?” 8-Ball asked, chewing a wing.
“I don’t know.” Flame shrugged.
Qwess tapped Flame and led him to the dance floor. When they got there, Qwess looked to the DJ booth, and the music stopped. DJ Mike Technique spoke:
“All right, muthafuckas! It’s midnight and it’s party time! Check this out. All you rappers in the house. It’s a rapper in here named Flame who says he’s the hottest in the Carolinas. My man Qwess want to see. So it’s a thousand dollars up for whoever can beat him in a freestyle battle!”
Flame was stunned, but ready to accept the challenge. Some of the club staff emptied a space on the dance floor and stood there waiting with a cordless mic. A line of hungry rappers formed in front of them, including some females. A circle formed around the dance floor as everyone waited to see this. On cue, DJ Mike Technique spoke:
“All right. Here’s the rules. You gotta freestyle. No written shit here. My man Dino will give you a topic and you spit about it in a battle form. The crowd decides the winner. Fair enough?”
The crowd roared.
“All right, show time,” Qwess told Flame. “Show me what you got.”
Flame stepped into the arena. The DJ put on the instrumental to Mobb Deep’s “Shook Ones Pt. II,” classic battle music. Flame had five people to knock off. Contestant number one started it off. Dino told him to rap about money.
Money is my bitch
I need money to live
I got a gang of money-hungry niggas that kill kids
And be in spots where you can’t go
all on a mission to get that Doe . . .
The crowd gave him a mediocre response. He passed the mic to Flame.
If money is your bitch, then I guess you broke
’Cause money is the reason I just jacked yo’ hoe
You don’t know
Nothing ’bout this kid named Flame
Who used his tongue as cash and bought your dame
And if money is the root of all evil
I gotta change my name ’cause I bring hell to
People . . .
The crowd met Flame with better response, though it was obvious he was still cold.
Round two went much the same. As did round three. When round four came, Flame was battling a female. Her name was Saigon. She was pretty and nice. So nice that in the end, it was Saigon and Flame engaging in a tense battle for a thousand dollars.
Flame, I’m glad to see you got skills wit yo’ tongue
’Cause after I beat you, you can lick me ’til I’m numb
When I cum, I put out all the Flames in a fire
I flip the script and have you calling me sire
Wit’ a mic, I’m too hot to handle
So I’ll burn you and smear your
Name just like a scandal . . .
The ladies in the house erupted! Here was a rapper’s rapper representing for the ladies.
8-Ball was all in Flame’s face barking, “Nigga, handle yo’ bidness. Handle yo’ bidness!”
Flame was unfazed. “I got it. I got it.”
Flame grabbed the mic, and the crowd got quiet. Everyone wanted to see what he’d come back with.
Yo, I rep Fayetteville, better known as Fayettenam
’Cause niggas pull guerilla tactics on Saigon
I freeze minds like o-pium
Niggas call me Flame cause I stay roastin’ ’em
Like rotisserie
Only way a bitch’ll do me
Is if her and her girlfriend is down with the three
It’s history, right here in the making
’Cause I’m for real about this shit, and this bitch is
Faking . . .
Flame dropped the mic in Saigon’s face. It was over. He was clearly the victor by the crowd’s reaction. There wasn’t a closed mouth in the house. Even Qwess and Doe were going bananas!
“That’s what I’m talking ’bout! That’s what the fuck I’m talking ’bout!” Qwess roared. He pumped his hands in the air and began a chant of “A.B.P.” Before long, the whole Crescent Crew was shouting “A.B.P.” Then the whole club was shouting, “A.B.P.!” This went on for a good seven minutes before the applause died down.
Saigon, for her part, held her head up high in the face of defeat. Doe pulled her to the side and slid her a thousand dollars anyway. She deserved it. She had held her own against a formidable opponent. He also slid her a business card and told her to get at him.
When Qwess sifted through the crowd, he found Flame and 8-Ball in the middle. Flame was on 8-Ball’s big shoulders while 8-Ball carried him around as if he had won the championship. 8-Ball was yelling and screaming, “This my nigga! This my nigga!”
Qwess signaled for Flame to get down and meet with him in the VIP.
They walked up the stairs to the VIP section: Qwess, Doe, Flame, 8-Ball, and of course Hulk. They settled into a table by the window so they could see the floor below. Apparently, there was a prettiest ass contest ensuing.
The server brought a chilled bottle of Cristal over to the table. Qwess briefly spotted Shauntay sitting with her best friend, Meka, in a corner. Meka had joined her in VIP earlier. He motioned for her to bring the papers she had inside her Hermès Birkin handbag over. She did so, and left them alone.
Qwess poured everyone drinks, except Hulk, who was standing p
ost in front of the table, and got to business.
“Yo, you look good out there. You had me worried for a minute. Ole girl was holding it on your ass,” Qwess joked.
“Psst. I got that!” Flame responded confidently.
“That’s what’s up. I knew you had it in you. Now you ’bout to get paid,” said Qwess, pulling out some papers, giving them to Flame. As Flame perused them, Qwess kept talking.
“We want to sign you to a five-album contract. We are an independent label, so you’ll be getting better points than average. We gon’ start you off giving you ten points. Depending on how you sell, we’ll raise them with each album.”
Flame was oblivious to what Qwess was saying. The only thing that registered to him is that he was getting out the hood. He had realized his dream with a bona fide record deal. He didn’t care if Qwess was telling him he had to cut fifty albums. For the amount of money he was looking to gain at the end of the contract, it was done.
“S-so when do I get this advance?” Flame asked, shuddering. The magnitude of the moment was taking effect. Anxiety was ripping through his gut.
“Immediately,” Qwess answered pulling a $375,000 check out of his pocket.
“It’s actually double that, but I gotta wait ’til you get some insight into managing it. You know a fool and money will soon part company.”
Flame was in another world. “Where do I sign?” he asked. Qwess passed him a pen and pointed to signature lines. Flame rushed to sign the contract before he awoke from this dream. Although he was living in the moment, he still felt as if he was dreaming.
Qwess perused the contract then folded it in thirds. “Do you have a bank?” Qwess asked.
“No.”
Qwess just shook his head. “Check it. I want you to spend a couple days with us, so we can get you set up. We need to help you get your business in order real quick. You gonna be going on this promo tour with us starting next month. We gonna introduce you to the world. Things are going to move really fast out there. All we need you focusing on is rapping and performing. You can do that better if you know your business is in order.”
Street Rap Page 9