Street Rap

by Shaun Sinclair

  “Man, how many times I told you, you gotta watch the company you keep?” Qwess admonished.

  “Yo, I was. I ain’t even fuck them broads, yo!” Flame pleaded. “When we get J.D. and them out, you’ll see.”

  “Say what?” Qwess frowned.

  “I said when we get J.D. and them out, you’ll see,” Flame repeated.

  Qwess asked, “Who said we getting J.D. and them out? Them niggas don’t give a fuck about you, so why should you give a fuck about them?”

  Flame looked surprised. Everybody know you gotta stay real with your hood. “’Cause they my homies,” Flame answered, stating the obvious.

  “Your homies?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your homies get you locked up over a fuckin’ ounce of weed. Weed?! What the fuck is a li’l weed charge? Here you are about to be a fuckin’ superstar, and your homies get you locked up because they don’t want to take they own weed charge. What kind of fuckin’ homies are those?”

  Qwess shook his head. Flame got offended that Qwess was throwing salt on his homeboy until Qwess broke it down.

  “Hulk, turn the music down,” Qwess ordered. They were stuck in traffic on Highway 501. Qwess took the time to explain a few things to the young buck, Flame.

  “Let me tell you something, more times than not niggas want to see you do bad more than good. Even your homies, matter of fact, mostly your homies! You think niggas want to see you riding in big whips and shit while they stuck on the block grinding? All because you got a gift with your mouth. Hell naw! I know niggas that would kill—literally—to have the talent you got, and you ’bout to fuck it up over your so-called homies. You remember this: Your homies are the brothas who got your best interest at heart. Far as I can see, these niggas don’t.” Qwess stabbed at the air to make his point. “I got niggas that would murder shit just to see me do good in the game. That’s real homies! Like I told you before, you got to separate yourself from certain crowds, certain environments, to stay successful. It’s not a matter of staying real. It’s a matter of staying smart. Ya understand?”

  Flame nodded. He had never seen things that way before. All he cared about was keeping it real. But the lecture wasn’t over.

  “See, Flame, you got to study history, man! If you don’t study history, you’ll become a part of it. Like take MC Hammer for example. The brotha went broke by trying to take care of his homies, probably niggas he ain’t seen since the baby crib, but he still felt obligated to keep it real. Now he’s real broke and them niggas real gone. Ya think them niggas asking Hammer if he need anything? Hell, naw! Niggas will do you the same way if you let ’em. That’s why you gotta be smart.” Qwess leaned back in the seat to calm down. He had gotten worked up schooling the youngster. Qwess knew firsthand about disassociation. He only dealt with certain people while he was doing his thing, and the Crescent Crew was way more thorough than J.D. and them. He really liked Flame because he was smart and hungry.

  “Plus, you got to think about the money lost over stupidity,” piped Doe from the front seat. “You ’bout to be filthy rich. I’m telling you. If you just play your part, this time next year you’ll be a superstar.”

  Flame understood what they were saying, but damn, enough was enough.

  “So what we gon’ do about J.D. and them?” he asked.

  Qwess scoffed. Obviously, Flame didn’t get it. “Nothing,” Qwess stated plainly. Then added, “This is going to be your first lesson: how to worry about Flame. Them niggas said, ‘fuck you,’ so fuck them.”

  That was that with that. As far as Qwess was concerned, that conversation was over.

  For the rest of the night, Flame remained with Qwess. They returned to the pool party, which was really over considering everyone had broken up into couples for the remainder of the night. When they arrived back at the hotel, 8-Ball awaited them. He was standing on the balcony, smoking a blunt, looking at the ocean.

  “You fat muthafucka! Where you been?” yelled Flame.

  “Right here.”

  “Right here?”

  “Yeah. When po-po came, I dipped downstairs. I came back when I saw y’all leave. I tried to get wit’ Qwess, but the dude Reece said was already gone to get you. So I came back.”

  Qwess opened the door to leave. “Flame, I’m all in for the night. Don’t go nowhere. You wit’ me for the rest of the weekend,” he said icily then slammed the door.

  “Damn, what happened?” giggled 8-Ball.

  “Aww, man.” Flame flopped on the bed. “You won’t believe it. Check it . . .” He proceeded to retell the night’s events.

  * * *

  The following morning Reece awoke to the sounds of more booming bass and more loud pipes. During Bike Week, the beach was like New York in that it never slept. You were likely to find just as many people out and about at four a.m. as you would at four p.m.

  Reece looked at the night stand clock: 11:40. Reece stretched out over the bed. This was the first night in ages that he’d slept alone. It felt real unfamiliar. He walked onto the balcony nude and looked onto the already packed oceanfront.

  Pressing on his mind was what Qwess had relayed to him a week ago. Reece absolutely despised rats! After meeting privately with his top captains about the dilemma, he had come to a conclusion. Someone had to be eliminated. Even if it wasn’t the right person, it would stir the waters up, and eventually the rat would tell on himself. Reece hated to take out one of his own, but treason was unacceptable. After taking a consensus with his captains on who it would be, as always, the last hired would be the first fired.

  Reece thought about Bone, who just missed the cut by one last member. It would’ve been a shame to take out such a good soldier. Bone possessed what was necessary to succeed inside the Crescent Crew: ambition, discipline, and reckless disregard for police. And Reece liked it! Last hired was always first fired, so today would be the day. Bishop would be accidentally struck by a truck while riding his motorcycle. Reece didn’t like it, but it was essential.

  Reece picked up the phone and called home. Destiny answered on the third ring.

  “Hey, love,” Reece greeted. “What are you doing home on a Saturday?”

  Destiny sucked her teeth. “Don’t play games. You know I can’t leave. You turned on the alarms and locked the house down. I can’t open any of the doors or windows.”

  “What! Really?” Reece mocked, playing dumb.

  “Yes. Really, Reece! You know what you did. You know what? This is getting silly,” Destiny concluded. “So you don’t trust me now?”

  “Trust you? Yeah, I trust you. I just don’t trust me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Destiny, pissed.

  “It means I don’t know what I would do if I was to come home and you’re not there. You’re my boo, and I need you available for me at all times,” Reece said.

  Destiny was getting fed up. “Reece, this is juvenile! We’re supposed to be in a trusting relationship.”

  “Look, trust isn’t one of my strengths. So I learn as I go along, a’ight.”

  Destiny, sensing the conversation was going nowhere, asked, “So when do I post bail?”

  “What?”

  “When are you coming home?” Dripping with attitude.

  “In the morning. Qwess performing tonight. We leave in the morning.”

  “All right,” Destiny conceded. “And Reece?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Make sure you take your phone.”

  “Don’t I always have my phone when you’re not with me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A’ight then.”

  They said their last words, and Reece replaced the phone in its cradle. He felt a tinge of guilt for locking Destiny inside the house, but hey, he was new at the love thing. He didn’t know it couldn’t be controlled. He was used to acting to make things work in his favor. After all, that’s what shot callers did. They called shots. Reece had no idea that by its very nature, love couldn’t be contained. That wa
s a lesson he would learn the hard way.

  * * *

  Because of the performance scheduled that night, everyone was taking it easy. They were spending the day on the oceanfront, frolicking in the water. Doe had yet to see Niya until he spotted her preparing to get in the water in her hot-pink bikini. He snuck up behind her and whispered in her ear.

  “How ya doing, beautiful?” he said.

  “I’m doing fine, but flattery will get you nowhere.”

  “That’s good, because I’m right where I want to be.”

  “Oh, yeah. Where is that?” Niya teased.

  “Right here with you.” Doe kissed her, then scooped her in his arms and ran to the water. He dived right into a wave with her headfirst. That was the first of many to come as they spent the entire day together. When night fell, everyone prepared for the show.

  In one room Doe helped Niya into her knee-high stiletto boots. In another, Flame rehearsed his verses in the mirror. Next door to him, Qwess did the same.

  In yet another room, Reece talked on the phone, feigning surprise that Bishop had been hit by a truck on his motorcycle. Reece only relaxed when it was confirmed he was dead.

  * * *

  The House of Blues, located just between Atlantic Beach and Myrtle Beach, was packed. Because of its location, its patrons consisted of the best of both worlds. Hippie, yuppie whites, and thugged-out blacks. On this night, the thugs heavily outweighed everyone else. See, not only were Qwess and his protégé performing, but the hottest rapper worldwide was performing also. This rapper had gained the reputation for being a thug’s thug. He had even been shot multiple times which added credence to his image. So, as much as Qwess wanted to be the headliner, he knew that this rapper was the main draw. Ever the optimist, Qwess reasoned that if the crowd was this huge and diverse, he was going to make sure they remembered A.B.P.

  It was an hour before Qwess was scheduled to perform. Qwess stood at the railing over the dance floor looking into the crowd. It was still early, yet the House of Blues was packed like a prison. Flame stood on the left of Qwess, Doe on his right. Qwess was nervous, and Doe could sense it. He patted Qwess on the back in an attempt to ease his anxiety.

  Qwess was nervous about this performance because it was personal. He knew most of the locals and they knew him. It was nothing to perform. That was easy. Qwess desired to turn the joint out! He wanted to represent for his hood. It wouldn’t be right to let an outsider come to the beach and outshine its prodigal son, no matter the sales or the stature of the artist. Qwess had already spotted mad hustlers from his block, some new and some old. He knew they would expect him to represent to the fullest.

  A tap on his shoulder caused Qwess to turn around. He looked into the face of Mayor Waajid, the head man on Atlantic Beach. He and Qwess had grown up together. In fact, Mayor Waajid was only two months older than Qwess.

  “Is this the li’l problem child?” Mayor Waajid asked, pointing to Flame.

  “Yeah, this him,” Qwess answered. He had to scream to be heard over the music. He tapped Flame on the shoulder. “Say thank you to the man who got your ass snatched out the clink,” Qwess instructed. It was Mayor Waajid who had made the call to spring Flame from the slammer so quickly.

  “Thank you,” offered Flame.

  Before Mayor Waajid left, he pulled Qwess to the side and screamed in his ear. “I thought you might want to know, you don’t have to worry about seeing those other guys out here tonight. They’re still in jail. They’ve been transferred to J. Reuben Long Detention Center.”

  “What for?” a surprised Qwess asked.

  “Well, it turns out these young ladies were underage. The guys were charged with statutory rape. They won’t receive a hearing until Tuesday at the earliest.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yep. Thought you might want to know.” Before the mayor walked off, Qwess told him he owed him.

  “No, you don’t. Just seeing you do good is payment for me. Now turn this shit tonight!”

  An hour later, with the mayor’s blessing, Qwess did just that. The highlight of the show was when he dived into the crowd. They caught him and passed him around on his back, all the while chanting “A.B.P.! A.B.P.! A.B.P.!”

  Flame took the stage after Qwess. He performed his new song, “Worldwide Ladies,” and got the audience crunk. He took them to the brink and brought them back. Flame was a natural. Just when the crowd thought he was done, he brought Niya out. She looked stunning in her boots, football tights, and halter jersey. Her long hair was pulled into a ponytail. She wasn’t mentioned in the billing. She was a special guest. Thus when the people who knew her recognized her, they gave up props. Niya’s star was starting to rise in certain markets, so the love was genuine.

  Niya sang her chorus with the poise of a veteran. She hit the high notes on key, and even finessed things with a little vibrato. Hustlers in the crowd threw money on the stage in appreciation. Niya took that as disrespect; however, she took it in stride. She was just glad the crowd appreciated her. She performed her last song solo and left the stage.

  When Niya and Flame along with Qwess came back onstage to take a bow, the crowd demanded an encore.

  Later when the headline artist took the stage, he was met with mediocre responses from the crowd. It was definitely a prelude of things to come if he wasn’t careful, because everyone affiliated with Atlantic Beach Productions has all intentions of putting the game in a chokehold.

  * * *

  The following morning, Reece and the majority of the Crescent Crew returned to North Carolina. Qwess, Hulk, and the rest of the A.B.P. family stayed behind, as did Niya. There was a huge bash going on at the Myrtle Beach drag strip that included a bikini contest, car show, and of course motorcycle racing. Qwess was tapped to be one of the celebrity judges in the bikini contest, so he was excited.

  The Myrtle Beach drag strip used to be an air force base, but due to military budget cuts, it was forced to close its gates for good. Looking to capitalize on the huge event Bike Week grew to be, the city of Myrtle Beach opened up its gates to cater to special events.

  From the time the drag strip opened up, it was crammed with people. If you looked at the array of cars entering the gates, you’d think the entire crowd was coming to compete in the car show. There was more candy than in a bag of Jolly Ranchers, with chrome so bright it was like stars had fallen from the sky.

  Qwess pulled his Lamborghini on the strip, with Doe riding shotgun, at a little after noon. Hulk was behind him in Samson’s Viper. A nervous Flame sat beside him. As Qwess made his way through the crowd, people pushed pieces of paper in his face requesting his autograph. It seemed like the deeper he drove into the crowd, the more people knew him. Where the crowd got thick, the women were pulling their breasts out flashing him, or trying to jump in the car with him. It was a nice eighty-five-degree day, so the top was out, to take advantage of the uncharacteristic low humidity. By the time Qwess parked and took his seat at the judge’s table, he was exhausted. He felt like he was on the verge of being a prisoner to his newfound fame.

  There were three judges in all. Qwess and an R & B singer were already seated, but the middle chair remained unoccupied awaiting the third and final judge. After a brief wait, the final judge appeared. It was the infamous New York rapper who had been the headliner for the previous night’s show, Maserati.

  “Yo, what’s up, beautiful,” he greeted the R & B singer. He didn’t even acknowledge Qwess, which didn’t faze Qwess. He knew Maserati had a penchant for starting beefs on wax in order to sell records. After he was shown up by Qwess at the show, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before he tried to redeem himself.

  “Hey, sexy.” She smiled back.

  The emcee grabbed the mic and got the show on the road. There were nine girls competing in all. They had to walk out on the platform, model their bikini, then come back and stand with the group. There would be three rounds, with three eliminations per round. Contestant number one walked out first.


  She was petite and tall with four-inch heels on her feet, which made her appear taller. Her hair was cut short and blond, which blended well with her caramel skin. She wore a bikini that was “this” big. Triangle patches just covered her nipples, and her thong seeped in her cheeks as she sashayed down the platform. At the end of the platform, she turned with her face facing the judges and her shapely behind to the crowd. Then she touched her toes, mooning the crowd, who went berserk.

  When the smoke cleared, only contestant number one stood with a buxom beauty dipped in the smoothest chocolate Mother Nature could muster. Her name was Innocence.

  Innocence had been trying to get with Qwess all weekend, but he was always one step ahead of her. When she found out he was judging the bikini contest, she made earnest in joining it. She wanted to show Qwess firsthand just what he was missing. He hadn’t hit her in weeks.

  The emcee told the contestants they had to do something extra special to win the contest. The prize was a date with one of the celebrity judges and a handsome cash purse. He instructed the judges to bring their chairs from behind the desk, front and center, to get a good look for judging purposes.

  The DJ started the music and contestant number one started rump-shaking. The contest had long gone from a bikini showing to an amateur strip-off. Contestant number one, not knowing what her competitor had planned, decided to set the bar high from the jump-off. She lay on her back and rolled her legs over her head. At first, it seemed she was just lying in that position. Then, upon further observation, one could see her bikini being sucked in and out of her hole deeply. It almost looked like something—or someone—was inside of her pulling the fabric in by a string. Umm, talk about Kegel exercises! The bar was set.

  Innocence was up next. She knew she couldn’t lose in front of Qwess to another bitch, which is why she had a trick up her sleeve the entire time. Before Innocence started dancing, she pulled Qwess’s chair up by itself. Then she started dancing in front of him. She went through the regular routines, making each butt cheek jump together, then separately, getting low and all. For the finale, she walked toward Qwess facing him. She got right in his face and did a handstand, throwing her legs across his shoulders. Qwess’s head dipped briefly; when it came back up, he was sucking on a lollipop. The crowd erupted!