Street Rap

by Shaun Sinclair

  Yourself.

  * * *

  Doe felt someone kissing him on the cheek and awoke to find Niya showering kisses all over him. He readjusted himself in the plush, spacious seat in the first-class cabin of the jumbo jet to allow Niya room. She had totally invaded Doe’s space and now shared the seat with him. Doe heard snickering and looked over to see a very amused 8-Ball crowded between a sleeping Qwess and Flame and a very alert Hulk.

  The nubile twenty-one-year-old nestled herself underneath Doe and basked in the comfortable silence. This union hadn’t started off so sweet.

  When the tour first hit Europe, they landed in Frankfurt, Germany. The A.B.P. posse was all pumped up. Conversely, Niya and her entourage were unsure and hesitant.

  The first show was in Amsterdam, the Netherlands, and the first thing Doe noticed was how huge hip-hop was in Europe. The real hip-hop packed with similes and metaphors. Europeans loved it. All over town were posters of Wu-Tang Clan. They were like the Beatles over there.

  Qwess, Flame, and now 8-Ball—who had taken to removing his shirt and reveling in chunky glory—performed before a packed house. The audience knew every word that passed from Qwess’s lips and were just as smitten with Flame. After the show they went to a weed shop, which resembled a coffeehouse, to wind down. That was the first time everyone saw Qwess’s video playing on a television behind the counter. Inside the shop, they also ran into an established New Jersey rapper with an affinity for red. He congratulated Qwess, telling him he had been a fan for quite some time.

  At that same show, Niya was booed, and when she came backstage broken up, it was Doe who consoled her.

  From Amsterdam, they crossed back into Germany to do a show in a town called Würzburg. Initially, Doe thought they were on the wrong side of town, judging by the huge number of pale bald heads. However, this turned out to be one of the best shows. They were performing at an indoor pool party, so everyone dressed accordingly. When the fraulein saw Qwess’s chiseled body as he performed in nothing but swimming trunks and jewelry, they literally tried to rape him on stage. Doe had heard that German women adored black men, but this was damn near idolatry! Hulk had had to intervene and stop a busty blond from giving Qwess fellatio right on stage.

  Niya performed that night in her two-piece bikini and had every man lusting after her. That was the night she gained the much-needed confidence necessary to give a stunning performance. That was also the night Doe hit it for the first time on the balcony of the hotel in the falling snow.

  When they performed in Paris, France, they were met with a pleasant surprise. At the end of the show a smiling Reece was waiting on them with a blushing Destiny on his arm. They all retreated to the hotel, changed clothes, and brought the morning in gambling in Paris’s numerous casinos. That was the night Niya and Doe had their really bad first argument. Seems Niya was upset when she found out a pretty Parisienne was stroking Doe’s manhood at the blackjack table the entire time they were playing. However, the sun rose on Doe and Niya having fabulous make-up sex.

  In Italy, they visited the Ferrari plant and the Lamborghini manufacturers, where Qwess ordered a purple Diablo Roadster, with nineteen-inch gold OZ racing rims. It was to be delivered in the States by the time the tour was over.

  Ironically, it seemed that Qwess was biggest in the places he least expected. They tore the house down in Italy so hard that Qwess was invited by Giorgio Brutini himself to go shopping for alligator shoes the following day.

  In London, England, Qwess was mobbed. He was absolutely huge in London! Londoners had always had an anti-government stance, so they ate up Qwess’s politically charged rhymes and drank them with their famous tea. It was in London that Qwess truly realized how large he had become, and they all begrudgingly had to give props to John Meyers and AMG. If not for their injected capital and resources, it probably would have taken them five years to get to this point.

  Now, they were on their way home. It felt good to be successful and finally on that next level, but it felt better to be coming home. AMG had extended the tour, so they had been on the road in Europe for a total of four months. It was now early October, and the seasons were changing into Doe’s favorite time of year. Last year this time, he had been working a job for someone else for menial pay. This year he was calling shots as the VP of one of the fastest-rising record labels in the industry. He was knocking off the baddest up-and-coming R&B artist, and able to buy himself any muthafuckin’ thang he wanted.

  Boy, what a difference a year made!

  Part 3

  The Start of the Ending

  Chapter 17

  The jumbo jet landed at Charlotte Douglas international airport at ten p.m. on a Sunday night. The air was thick and humid as the A.B.P. Crew deplaned. Once they grabbed their bags, they headed to the parking lot. Someone from the crew was supposed to be picking them up.

  Once they reached the curb of the airport and stood for a few seconds, they spotted a white stretch Escalade limo slowly creeping up. It stopped right in front of them. The window slowly descended, revealing a smiling Samson.

  “Someone called for a cab?” he joked. Hulk, ecstatic at seeing his brother, almost snatched the door off the hinges getting it open. Samson was snatched out the back of the car by the bigger Hulk, and the two hugged on the pavement as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. Passengers gawked at the sight of the two identical giants. One woman even stopped to take a picture. When the greetings were done, they all climbed into the limo.

  Once inside the limo, the surprises continued. There were bottles of Cristal on every seat.

  “What’s the occasion?” Qwess asked.

  “Yo, y’all are superstars now, so everything is first-class. No more second-rate,” Samson replied. “Reece has all types of surprises for you.” Qwess could tell by Samson’s speech, demeanor, and dress code that Samson was playing on the next level. He deferred credit to Reece because Samson understood Law Number One of the Forty-eight Laws of Power: Never outshine the master. It was obvious to see that Samson was that nigga! A part of Qwess swelled with pride, knowing he had turned the country boy into a boss.

  “What kind of shit y’all up to?” Doe inquired, realizing something was amok.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll see.” Samson was barely able to conceal his humor.

  The rest of the three-hour drive home, everyone got toasty with the champagne and smoked blunt after blunt of hydro weed. The tour had been a success. Record sales were up, and everyone was healthy. If there ever was a time for celebration, this was it.

  When they arrived at Reece’s mansion, mouths dropped. The mansion wasn’t completed yet, but the most vital parts were. From what they could see, it was huge! No one knew Reece was doing it like this.

  The limo let them out at the center of the circular driveway, and a butler collected their bags, taking them inside. The group went inside also.

  The first thing that they saw when entering the mansion were the huge pillars of granite on either side of the door. As they walked through into the foyer, they were met by circular staircases on each side that went up to form a balcony that framed the entrance. A huge Crescent Crew logo shined in the center of the green marble floor. As they walked under the balcony following Samson, Reece emerged out of a side room.

  “My niggas!” Reece’s voice echoed from the marble floor to the cathedral ceiling. He was wearing green trunks and was naked up top, save for a huge platinum chain with a crown the size of a saucer dangling from it. On a leash walking step by step beside him was his lion cub, Divine, who wasn’t so small anymore. “Welcome home! Follow me. Now we can get this party started!”

  They followed Reece through the rest of the house, noting a basketball court encased in glass to the left. As they got closer to the back, faint sounds of bass could be felt thumping underneath their feet. Soon they realized the source of the music when they got out back. There was a pool party in full swing. DJ Technique was spinning records, and all the men in the
house were Crescent Crew. All family. Providing the entertainment were some of the finest woman south of the Mason-Dixon line. Some were scantily clad, most were topless, if not completely naked. There were enough women that each man could have two or three to himself. All shades were represented, too: caramel, chocolate, vanilla, Chinese, Spanish; whatever your sweet tooth, it was sure to be filled.

  “Welcome to my castle!” Reece exclaimed, expanding his arms as if conjuring up a spell. When the women noticed Qwess had fell up in the place, all eyes were on him. It was known that he was single now, and every woman wanted her turn.

  With Reece’s blessing, the crowd dispersed. Flame bolted to the poolhouse with Doe and Hulk close on his heels. 8-Ball went to the grill, where Born was cooking up T-bone steaks.

  Before Qwess could disappear into the decadence, Reece grabbed him and whispered in his ear. “Don’t get too wild. Jersey Ali still got a surprise coming for you.”

  * * *

  Jersey Ali looked at his Movado again, confirming the time. He paddle-shifted his Maserati into another gear and floored it. He was already thirty minutes behind schedule and still had to drop Bone, who rode shotgun, off in the trap.

  “Yo, dawg, slow down. Last thing we need is the rollerz. You know I’m dirty.”

  Jersey Ali grimaced. “I know, Ock, but if I don’t pick this broad up from the airport and get her to that party, Reece gonna shit!”

  Jersey Ali was already regretting his decision to handle business before he left to go to the party, but Bone had needed his work. Thus far he had been a loyal and prosperous worker, so Jersey Ali couldn’t deny the kilo he had requested. His dilemma was caused by waiting until the last minute to go to the stash spot.

  He turned onto Bragg Boulevard and gunned the Bimmer. At this time of night traffic was scarce so he breezed through lanes with no problem at all. He heard “Street Life” come across the radio, and he bumped the Bang & Olufson speakers up to ignorant levels.

  “You know this my nigga here, right?” Jersey Ali yelled over the music to Bone.

  “Word?”

  “Hell, yeah! He helped start the Crescent Crew. He’s a good nigga, too. I’ll let you meet him one day. That’s whose party I’m going to.”

  Bone wasn’t born and raised in Fayettenam and wasn’t a part of the Crescent Crew when Qwess was at the reins. He was from Columbia, South Carolina. Jersey Ali had reunited with Bone fresh out of prison. They met at Jumu’ah one Friday. Bone had expressed his dismay at the way the system had given him its ass to kiss because of his criminal record. Jersey Ali sympathized and, wanting for his brother what he wanted for himself, put him on. Since then, Bone had been a heavy earner, lining Jersey Ali’s pockets with tens of thousands of dollars.

  Jersey Ali finally made it to Murchison Road, also known as “The Murk,” which is what happened to those who slipped on this strip. He was just blocks away from the trap when he saw the bubble gum flashing in his rearview.

  “Ah shit! Not now. Not now!” Jersey Ali prayed aloud.

  “Oh, hell, the rollerz!” Bone exclaimed, petrified. “Shit, nigga, don’t stop. I already got two strikes! I ain’t going back to no cage.”

  Jersey Ali was in a bind. He wasn’t “dirty,” but he did have his pistol under the seat. He knew the rollerz weren’t trying to hear that shit. Two black men in a hundred-thousand-dollar car with guns and dope? Shit, they’d never see the sun as free men. Yet he did want a chance to live the lavish life. He was just starting to see real money. He knew that he could outrun them in the Masi, and he knew he was down for whatever, but he wasn’t sure about Bone.

  “Yo, what you wanna do, Ock?” Jersey Ali asked Bone.

  “Yo, I’ll hold court in the street if need be,” Bone replied, cuffing his pistol for emphasis. Jersey Ali liked that. A man after his own heart.

  “A’ight, check it. This what we’ll do. I’ma pull over up here by Fayetteville State. When I stop, you jump out. You got the work, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A’ight. You jump out with the work and get light. I’ma pull off. Make them chase me a li’l bit, then pull over. By then, you should be long gone. When I get to safety, I’ll hit you on the hip. A’ight?”

  “Yeah,” Bone answered, ready to make his move.

  Jersey Ali put on his signal to pull over and slowed a bit. Next, he pulled over into the parking lot of a gas station and stopped. However, to his surprise, the rollerz were rolling two deep. And when he pulled over, the cop on the passenger side of the police car was already positioned on his open door with his gun drawn.

  “Driver, step out of the car with your hands up!” the officer commanded.

  Bone opened his door slowly. He put both feet out of the vehicle onto the pavement and . . . came out dumping!

  The heavy Desert Eagle bucked in his hands as he squeezed round after round at the cruiser. The first shot sent the police officer heading for cover. Right back inside the vehicle. The other shots provided just enough cushion for Bone to get light—and boy, did he ever!

  At the same instant Bone fled, Jersey Ali sped off into the night with all cylinders of the Ferrari-derived engine pumping at maximum capacity. The rollerz gave chase just as Jersey Ali anticipated, and a high-speed chase ensued.

  The Chevy Caprices were no match for the powerful Italian engine. Jersey Ali quickly put distance between himself and his pursuers. He busted a left onto Pamalee Drive and continued to gun his whip. He ran into a little traffic on the road that caused him to slow down a bit. The rollerz got close on his bumper, and he stuck his arm out the window and let a few shots rip for sport.

  That was his first mistake.

  The rollerz slowed a little, allowing the distance to increase, if only for a moment. They continued to pursue just enough to keep Jersey Ali in sight.

  Jersey Ali, caught up in the fun, pulled up the emergency brake and whipped the whole car around into a one-eighty, where it came to a complete stop.

  Everything inside him told him to stop there. The mission was accomplished. Bone was free with the work, and at best he was only facing a few charges that his lawyer could fight, nothing serious enough to box him in forever. That’s what his mind was telling him, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins had him disconnected from reason. He was having too much fun!

  Jersey Ali turned the stereo up to full blast and peeled off in the direction whence he came.

  That was his second mistake.

  Jersey Ali was on a high as the Maserati engine roared and the B & O system pumped “Street Life” through the car. He rapped along with the words as he barreled toward the rollerz.

  To the trigger-happy cops destiny has transpired

  Retaliation for unwarranted cop-fire

  ’Cause we aspire, to what destiny ordained

  Kings of the world and our thrones we came to claim . . .

  Jersey Ali was having the time of his life! He was higher than a mountain, so the experience was heightened. He flew past all twelve of the rollerz now in on the chase and cracked up when he saw their surprise. He was having so much fun until . . . he saw the ghetto-bird. A big, black helicopter flew right over his head with a rifleman hanging out the door. At the same time he saw the helicopter, he spotted the roadblock at the intersection of Pamalee Drive and Murchison Road.

  “Oh, shit!” he muttered, noticing for the first time how deep he was in it. Seeing the roadblock blew his high. Now sober, he came back to his senses. He had no intention of dying tonight. Bone was long gone, along with the threat of any major jail time.

  Then he remembered Reece. Damn! That nigga was gonna be livid, he thought. He figured the best way to get out of this jam with Reece was to get bailed out of jail. Then he’d have to understand his dilemma. That was his thinking as he stopped in front of the roadblock.

  That would be his third and final mistake.

  In no time his car was surrounded. When he lifted his hands to surrender, Fayettenam’s finest set his hundred-th
ousand-dollar car on fire like napalm with round after round of heavy gunfire. When the smoke cleared, there wasn’t a closed chamber on the whole scene.

  Luckily for Jersey Ali, he didn’t feel fifty-two of the fifty-three shots that hit him because the first shot from a twelve-gauge killed him on impact.

  * * *

  Back at the party, everything was in full swing. DJ Technique had taken the party down bottom, playing all the hits from the godfather of Miami bass. There wasn’t a sober party goer to be found, which was evident by their actions. The poolside resembled a nude beach, as the strippers from Reece’s club exhibited their best behavior.

  Reece sat in his lounge chair stroking his lion’s smooth coat, taking it all in, when Qwess approached him.

  “Yo, where is your girl, Destiny?” Qwess asked. Reece sat up, giving Qwess his full attention. Even after all these years, Reece still looked up to Qwess in his own way, for it was Qwess who had originally got the connect to get the Crescent Crew started.

  “She wit’ her punk-ass uncle Lou,” Reece replied disgustingly. “I swear, man, that’s the only nigga other than me she feels obligated to. I hate that shit. If I didn’t think it would kill her, I’d kill him.”

  It seemed like Reece was joking, but Qwess knew he was serious. A part of Qwess hated the way Reece used murder as a remedy for everything, but another part of him empathized. He used to be the same way.

  He noticed Reece kept looking at his watch, so he asked him, “Yo, you expecting someone?”

  “Yeah, man. Jersey Ali was supposed to be here an hour ago with your surprise. It’s not like him to be late. Hold up. Aye, Vee!” Reece yelled across the compound.

  Vanilla came teetering over on her stilettos. Reece had installed her as general manager of his strip club, Flesh, since it was she who tipped him about the club in financial trouble. That, coupled with the fact of her experience, made her an obvious choice. He kept the original staff on hand but made Vanilla GM so she could keep an eye on things. Vanilla was deathly scared of him, therefore fiercely loyal. To keep her happy, Reece gave her an apartment in King’s Court and employed her as his concubine from time to time, because though Destiny had a good shot on her, there was nothing like having your own personal freak!