Bone grabbed his loaded AK-47 from the passenger seat and sprung out the door all in one fluid motion. When Sergeant Attucks noticed the man in black fatigues walking to his car, it was too late. Bone was firing from the moment his feet hit the pavement. He unloaded the full fifty-round clip into the car. Then he pulled his Glock from his waist, walked to the open window, and shot Sergeant Attucks three times in the head. Point-blank range. Bone didn’t even flinch as the blood sprayed his fatigues.
After the job was done, he calmly strolled back to the stolen bucket and drove off slowly. The car hadn’t hit second gear good before Bone two-wayed his new boss.
* * *
When Reece received the page on his two-way, he stood up and walked to where Ali’s body lay in the ground partially covered with dirt. He reached down, scooped up two handfuls of dirt, and threw them on the body.
Ali was having a proper Muslim burial, so his body lay open in the ground for now. The dirt smacked him in the face, and Reece silently whispered, “All debts paid.” Then he returned to his seat. All other Crescent Crew members followed suit in the ritual, including Qwess. When they were done, Ali’s immediate family followed suit.
Reece and the crew left before the conclusion of the service, but before he did, he gave Jersey Ali’s mother a bag containing $100,000. He told her if that wasn’t enough, let him know. If she needed anything, let him know. From now till eternity. After all, Jersey Ali was family. And that’s just how family do.
Chapter 18
I’m from the block with the red beams
The cops and the narc teams
The block where the fed scheme
Get robbed if your neck gleam
I done seen hollows follow dudes to their doorsteps
Get shot by their mom’s foot
Robbed for their Gore-Tex.
At the bar they hate on me
So I’m forced to keep four pounds of extra weight on me
These niggas ain’t no good
They want to wet Flame up for his goods
And leave him somewhere slumped in a coffin for good.
The studio was packed as Flame laid down his verses in the booth. Qwess sat behind the boards manipulating the equipment to get the best sound out of it. Doe was sitting with Niya preparing her to go into the vocal booth to sing the hook. There were a few women present from Fatima’s hair salon next door as well.
It was the middle of May, and everyone was getting prepared to go to bike week in Myrtle Beach during the week of Memorial Day. Qwess and his artist Flame were already slated to perform at the House of Blues in North Myrtle Beach during that weekend. It was a huge event, since everyone came from all over the world to attend. That being the case, Qwess threw a favor Niya’s way and let her perform on Flame’s single, which he was going to debut at that show. Qwess was ecstatic, because he was going to be returning home to a hero’s welcome. The event might have been billed Myrtle Beach’s bike fest, but the action happened on Atlantic Beach, Qwess’s hood, and he looked forward to attending.
“All right, Flame, come on out. The vocals are laid,” spoke Qwess into the headphones.
Flame emerged from the booth feeling himself. “Hell, yeah! That shit is hot, right? Niggas can’t see me, dawg,” Flame said, dapping 8-Ball up. 8-Ball agreed with him, of course. Qwess gestured for Niya to go into the booth. When she stood and 8-Ball saw her stretch pants palming her tight ass, he couldn’t help himself.
“Damn! Now that’s what I call an ass!” He whistled.
Doe threw an empty soda bottle at him. “All right. Don’t get your thick ass tossed up,” he threatened.
8-Ball copped pleas. “Damn, nigga. I’m just playing.”
Doe was just joking, but he had been spending a lot of time with Niya since they returned from the tour. He was really feeling her, too. Normally, he wouldn’t go for the young chicks, but Niya was very mature and a lot of fun to be around. To Doe, it was refreshing to have someone to kick it with. He had recently moved into a bigger house, and he and Niya had made love in all thirteen rooms. She wasn’t real freaky, but she did have a bomb shot.
Niya stepped into the booth and laid her vocals.
If you don’t know ’bout my side of town
I’m gonna show you how thugs get down
We ’bout that paper and hold big heat
So come here stuntin’ you’ll get left in the street . . .
As Niya cooed the chorus to the song, Qwess had mixed feelings. He had to admit the song was somewhat formulaic. He personally believed that music just shouldn’t be about what would sell. He felt it was about artistic expression. However, he was a CEO of a record label and thus recognized the need for a marketable artist, equipped with said formulaic song. In business, if it doesn’t make dollars, it doesn’t make sense. And what was Qwess, if not a businessman?
On the bright side, at least Niya could sing, unlike so many other female vocalists. Additionally, Flame definitely had skills. In reality, Qwess could mold Flame to be whatever he wanted him to be. Qwess’s album Janus was selling like crack in the ghetto since it had been released worldwide. Therefore, the label wasn’t hurting for money, and thus it wouldn’t need to intentionally go mainstream.
Qwess’s two-way pager vibrated incessantly. He looked at the message, shocked by its sender. He had just known it was Hope. They had been corresponding a lot since he went overseas. This message wasn’t sent by Hope, though. It was Meka, Shauntay’s best friend. Qwess was surprised she paged him because of what had gone down last time they saw each other.
It had happened when Qwess was home during the tour intermission. Meka had called saying she needed to see him. Qwess knew she was taking things hard, so he went to see how he could help her. He was not prepared for what greeted him upon arrival at Meka’s house. First of all, she opened the door wearing a nightgown just a little too short and a little too sheer for a friendly visit. Yet Qwess gave her the benefit of the doubt and sat down anyway. It was only when Meka returned with a drink for Qwess, and bent over right in front of him to place it on the coffee table, that Qwess really knew what was up. Meka wasn’t wearing any panties, and when she bent over Qwess could see her hairy snatch busting out from under the gown. Upon closer inspection, he realized she must have been playing with herself, because pussy juice oozed out and was starting to trickle down her leg. Qwess’s joint got rock hard, but he wasn’t grimy enough to hit his dead girl’s best friend. That was a little too close for comfort. In the end, Meka apologized, blaming it on her loneliness.
She hadn’t contacted Qwess since, and now here she was hitting him up. It had to be important because her pride had been damaged after that ordeal. Qwess decided to holla at her when he finished in the studio.
Niya exited the booth excited as well. Qwess was pleased, but still not satisfied. He wanted more oomph. Something he could feel. Something not so much an ego trip.
“Yo, Flame, you finished that hook you was working on?” Qwess asked.
“No doubt,” replied Flame.
“Well, go in the booth so we can track it. You been worrying me about it since we got back,” Qwess said. Flame jumped up from his spot where he was rolling a blunt and fled into the vocal booth. When Qwess cued the beat, Flame went into a hook he had been contemplating since he came back from tour.
I’ve been all around the world and back to Cackalack
Philly got redbones, Atlanta got ’em stacked
Japan got ’em real thin, ’n’ Sweden they fat
big up to Cali ladies they got the best snatch.
Flame repeated the chorus over and then started freestyling about all the different chicks he smashed while on tour. Qwess had coached him on how to take life experiences and apply them to his songs. Until now, Qwess hadn’t thought he was listening. However, hearing what came through the speakers, it was evident that he was. Flame was exhibiting proper syntax, flow, inflection, and he was on beat the entire time. Before Flame even finished spitting,
Qwess knew he had a hit record on his hands. He could just see the video in his head. It was going to be crushing.
When Flame came out of the booth, the mood was surreal—the type of feeling when you know you’ve just been a part of something real big. It was unexplainable, but it was felt throughout the room. Even Flame didn’t emerge from the booth with his normal swagger. Instead he was introverted. 8-Ball went to pass Flame the newly rolled blunt, but Flame declined. He wanted to experience this moment with complete clarity and sobriety.
Qwess demanded everyone break for something to eat and then sent one of the broads from the hair salon to get the food. While she was gone, Qwess stepped outside to get some fresh air.
As soon as he stepped outside, he spotted the detectives’ car parked across the street and waved. Qwess was used to them following him now. Ever since they returned from Jersey after Ali’s funeral, Qwess had acquired a second shadow. He didn’t know why they followed him, though, because he was clean. Qwess was aware that the police officer who had pulled Jersey Ali over had been gunned down in his car. However, Qwess was sure Reece wasn’t responsible, because Reece had been with him in Jersey at the time it happened. Plus, Reece never mentioned it. Qwess assumed the police were tailing him to get to Reece, since Reece had been holed up in his mansion with Destiny for the past few weeks. Nonetheless, it didn’t matter. He could lose them at will, just as he did when they tried to follow him on his motorcycle.
Qwess really felt for Reece because the heat was coming in all directions now. Feds were busting his dope spots left and right. The AG was back on TV daily promising results. His hardest plights were trying to get someone to roll on the Crescent Crew and capturing one of its members alive. Too many times to count, the rollerz had got behind one of the crew members in attempts to arrest him. Too many times the crew members held court in the streets, often ending up with a dead officer, or dead crew member. Qwess was starting to think Reece taught that at the meetings. Be your own judge and juror.
Qwess walked next door to his sister’s salon to see what was going on. He could hear the gossiping before he even opened the door. Walking in, Qwess noticed how much his sister’s clientele had changed since he put his studio next door. Fatima used to have classy, upscale clients, but ever since he put his studio next door, it seemed she attracted all the hood supastars.
Nicole, Fat Cat’s girl, was present.
Jasmine, Big Man’s mistress, was there.
Venus, Big Boss’s girl, was in the house as well.
Hell, thought Qwess. The rollerz might be scoping these broads out.
The females were wearing so much jewelry Nefertiti would envy them, and shorts so short they bordered on being lingerie. Qwess couldn’t help but look between their legs. Shit, Venus looked like her cat was alive, the way it was pulsed! When he caught her eye, he realized she was teasing him by making it jump. She smiled a sexy smile, insinuating he could get it if he wanted it. This scene wasn’t new to Qwess. Every time he came in his sister’s salon it was the same way. Even before he got his deal with AMG. At first, it was flattering. Then, it became annoying and disheartening. It tripped Qwess out how the women, who were involved with some of the most infamous dudes in town, still would fuck on a dime if he showed interest.
Fortunately for Qwess, he wasn’t hard-up anymore. He had been breaking Innocence’s back for the past six months now, either when she came to Carolina or when he was in Atlanta. It was purely sexual. No strings attached. Just the way he wanted things from the beginning. She was cool peoples, but Qwess wasn’t trying to get in anything serious. It was bad enough he had started back talking to Hope on a consistent basis.
Hope wanted more than he did. He just enjoyed her insightful opinions and felt he could talk to her because of their close friendship. Hope wanted a relationship, which Qwess wasn’t trying to feel.
“What’s up, li’l bro?” Fatima greeted.
“Heeey, Qwess!” the other ladies chimed.
“What’s up, ladies?” Qwess spoke. “’Tima, where my little mans an ’em?” he asked, alluding to his infant nephews.
“Mom got ’em. You know ever since she moved in the other house, she don’t like being alone. Oh, by the way, Dad said he need to talk to you about something important.”
Qwess inwardly kicked himself. He had completely forgot about going to see the old man. He had been so busy with preparing for Bike Week, he hadn’t had time. So he made a mental note to square things up later.
He walked to the phone. “Get off the phone, Monique. You ain’t talking ’bout jack,” Qwess joked. Monique shot him a contemptuous look and mumbled something. While Qwess was waiting for the phone, he could hear the women behind him talking shamelessly.
“Yes, girl. That nigga is fine! He can get it right now,” one of them said.
“Um-hmm, what you talking bout. I been coming to this spot for weeks now trying to see him. The nigga act like he don’t like pussy or something. I know my shit is the bomb!” another one said.
“Ladies, ladies, not so graphic. This is a place of business,” pleaded Fatima. She was really more concerned with the assault on her brother’s sexuality. Though she knew the assumption was preposterous, she was still overprotective of her brother.
Qwess paid it no mind. He wanted nothing to do with the uncouth chicks, so he couldn’t care less about their thoughts. As far as he was concerned, Monique passed him the phone in the nick of time. He couldn’t hold his peace much longer.
He dialed Meka’s number. She answered on the first ring. “What’s up, yo?” Qwess asked, straight to the point.
Meka was somewhat hesitant. “I need to see you about something, Qwess.
“Meka, I hope you ain’t playing them games.”
“No, Qwess! This is on the up-and-up,” she interrupted. “You may thank me later.”
“Well, look, I’m in the studio now. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get over there,” Qwess stated.
“We’ll see, just come when you can, all right?”
“A’ight.”
“Cool. I’ll see you then.”
* * *
Reece slowly crept down the hall of his mansion toward his master bedroom. He could hear the sounds emanating from the other side of the door. Sounds of passion and pain. Loud moaning. He couldn’t believe it was still going on. He had already gone downstairs and retrieved his gun, and they were still going at it. Oh, yeah! He was definitely about to fuck something up! As he got closer to the door, the sounds got louder, in constant competition with his drumming heartbeat. He was just outside the door now, and the moans were so loud it was like he was in the room. Moans so familiar. Moans that cried out his name repeatedly, several times a day. Moans that were now calling out another man’s name. In his house! Reece gently touched the doorknob. The door was already slightly ajar. No wonder the sounds were so loud! Reece quietly chambered a round in his pistol. Then . . . he slowly pushed the door open.
He could see Destiny riding someone, gone in the throes of passion. She arched her back, threw her head to the sky. Reece could see her biting her lip in that way she did when she was about to climax. She moaned loudly. Each moan was like a dagger to the heart. Reece could see the sweat glistening on her body. He thought he saw hands palming her splendid ass. Reece had the gun raised, but he couldn’t pull the trigger. Nor could he move. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. Destiny’s wet hair swung back and forth as she bucked violently. Then, suddenly, Reece could see her body tense up and begin its rhythmic shake as Destiny climaxed. Her ear-shattering screams echoed throughout the spacious room. Reece couldn’t take it anymore. He went to move, but for some reason he couldn’t. He attempted to cry out, but the words never escaped his lips. He raised the pistol again, but couldn’t pull the trigger. This isn’t happening, he thought. She’s gotta die. I gotta kill this bitch!
On the bed, Destiny unstraddled the stranger and dove between his legs headfirst. She started giving him fellatio. It was dark, so
Reece couldn’t make out the details clearly, but he knew from the way her head bobbed up and down, she was giving him the royal treatment. The more Destiny got into it, the more her ass rose up in the air, until it was on full display. It was almost like she knew someone was watching. Reece was mesmerized. From the moonlight cascading through the glass door leading to the balcony, the room was slightly illuminated. Reece could see Destiny’s moist pussy as the moonlight shone on it. As she got deeper into her fellatio, juice just oozed out. Reece had had enough.
He slowly became able to walk. He started his descent to the elevated bed. Destiny and her soon-to-be-dead companion were none the wiser to his presence. He walked right up the two steps leading to the bed unnoticed. He was going to shoot her first, but decided he wanted to see her expression when she saw her nigga’s brains get blown out. Destiny was so busy between dude’s legs that she didn’t even raise her head when Reece stood by the bed. The man had a pillow over his face muffling his screams. Perfect. Reece didn’t act. He wanted to see the surprise on Destiny’s face when she realized he’d caught her trick ass! However, he couldn’t take it anymore. He snatched the pillow off the man’s face. Then . . . all hell broke loose!
Armed men burst from the closet pointing red beams at his head. They threw him on the bed, roughing him up. Funny thing was, Destiny never stopped sucking. Reece had to see who the man was. He just had to! Reece flung two of the men off of him, and looked to identify the man on the bed. Reece saw, but couldn’t believe what his eyes told him. He was looking at the headless torso of Hardtime, Black Vic’s right hand man. A headless torso was the recipient of Destiny’s wonderful blow job. What the fuck is going on, Reece thought . . . albeit briefly, because the armed men were right back on him. In the fracas, Reece had dropped his pistol, so now he fought with his bare hands.
Street Rap Page 19