“I hope so. Are you taking care of my little girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, good. Because that’s still my heart. I would hate to see her unhappy,” Khalid said, boring his gaze into Raheem. The statement was made with clear underlying implications. The twinkle in his eye and the smirk on his dark cheek made it clear that Khalid Ali Wahid was still gangsta at heart.
“No, sir. You don’t have to worry about that,” Raheem assured him.
“Good. Now where’s my boy—Qwess, as he’s called nowadays?” Khalid asked, looking around the compound.
Everyone in front of him parted like the Red Sea until there was a clear line of sight between father and son. Both men froze as they took each other in, Khalid in his heavenly white and Qwess in his royal cream attire. As Khalid stared at his son, a lone tear slid down his cheek.
Khalid was so proud of his son. Not because he was responsible for bringing him home, but for all his accomplishments thus far. His son had become a legal millionaire, an international superstar, a Grammy Award–winning artist, a philanthropist, and a serial entrepreneur. The most important accomplishment to Khalid was that his son hadn’t forgotten the most important thing in life: He had taken care of his family. He had done the right thing by assuming the role of the head of his family. Now, Khalid could return to his rightful role and reassume his rightful place as head of the family.
“Come here, son!” Khalid beckoned. Qwess gently sauntered over. “¿Como está mijo?”
Qwess was surprised to hear his father speaking Spanish, but he returned the greeting.
“Yo soy bien.” I am well. “¿Tu hablas español, sí?’
“Sí. Muchas gracias a tu.” Yes. Thanks to you.
For a moment, it was just the two giants and no one else. A special moment shared between father and son. A rendering of mutual respect.
“Well, father, when you’re finished here, meet me at my house. I have something for you,” Qwess requested.
There were a lot of guests that had come a long way—some from as far as Cuba—to pay homage. Qwess didn’t want to prevent a happy homecoming in any way. So he excused himself to his mansion, while his father reacquainted himself with friends and family. They would have plenty of time to catch up. Plus, he had business to attend to. So, as he retreated to his mansion, he made sure Doe and Hulk were in tow.
Hulk was Qwess’s personal security. Qwess’s stature in the entertainment industry required that he roll with security now. He couldn’t go anywhere without being mobbed by fans. It was only fitting that Hulk be his security since he was a chiseled three hundred and twenty pounds of muscle and stood six foot six barefoot. He had also been with Qwess for almost ten years in one capacity or another. First in the streets, then in the music industry. Through it all, Hulk had been there. He had seen the good, the bad, and the ugly, and kept his mouth shut. He possessed secrets that could bury Qwess in a box forever. He had done things for Qwess that could give him the needle. The two men were bound by blood.
Doe was vice president at Atlantic Beach Productions and had completely bossed up. He and Qwess went back even further. Both were only fifteen years old when Qwess had moved to North Carolina after Qwess’s father was convicted and subsequently sent to prison. Qwess and Doe had clicked immediately. They bonded over their mutual love of music. Qwess rapped, and Doe’s cousin Reece rapped also. In fact, Doe’s cousin Reece had already secured a record deal when Qwess met Doe. Doe introduced Qwess to Reece inside of a rap cipher in which Reece was dominating. Qwess flowed and displayed his skills, and although Reece emerged the victor of the cipher, he was impressed by Qwess’s skills. From that day the men became inseparable. That is, until Reece had caught his bid almost four years ago.
“Yo, man, what that house nigga John Meyers say?” Qwess asked Doe, referring to his point-of-contact at AMG Records, ABP’s parent label.
“Same ole shit. ‘Come on, please stay. We can sweeten the pot,’” Doe mocked.
Qwess chuckled as he logged onto his computer in his home office. Hulk grabbed an energy drink from the miniature refrigerator while absently listening in on the conversation.
“Yeah, I bet that they do wish they could sweeten the pot. Fuckin’ vultures! We gonna give ’em this last album and that’s it. Ya dig?” Qwess promised.
“No doubt. When you scheduled to do the magazine interview?” Doe asked.
“I believe it’s next week.”
“Word?”
“Yeah.”
“So, have you decided who you gonna take to be Mysterio yet?” Doe wondered, more than a little concerned.
Qwess sighed, “I haven’t decided yet. I’ll probably just take Flame and fudge it. Ya dig? We gotta get just the right person to play the part,” he explained. “What’s up wit’ ole girl? She ready to come on over to ABP yet?”
Doe scratched his head, buying time. He hated to be a disappointment, but it was what it was. “Yo, man, she definitely ready to leave AMG, but they ain’t trying to let her go.”
“What you mean, they ain’t trying to let her go?”
“She still under obligation for another album because of that extension she signed. And AMG not budging.”
“Oh, we can make ’em budge!” Hulk interjected. “It wouldn’t be the first time we had to give someone a little motivation.”
“Yeah, I know we can, but we not trying to go that route. Not yet anyway,” Qwess decided. He stood to answer the knock at the door. “We’ll see how she handles things. After all, that is your broad, Doe.”
Qwess opened the door and let his father in. Khalid oozed into the room. He’d always had a smooth yet powerful presence, but since his release he was practically floating.
“Salaam alaykum, brothers.” Khalid checked out the spacious office with marble floors. “This is a nice spot you got yourself here, son.”
“Thanks. Pop, this is Rolando and Hulk,” Qwess introduced.
Khalid waved his hand in dismissal. “Between what you told me and what I’ve read in those magazines, I feel like I already know them.” Khalid looked Hulk up and down. “Damn, son, I didn’t realize you were this big! What are you, six-five?”
“Six-six.”
“So, Rolando, Reece is your cousin, right?
“Yes, sir.”
“Um-hmm.” Khalid shook his head. “Damn shame what happened. I wish Salim would’ve come to me a week before. Just one week and it probably wouldn’t have happened like that.”
Khalid was referring to Reece’s bust. Qwess was visiting his father the very day Reece was busted. Turned out Khalid knew all about Reece’s girlfriend being a federal agent. He had been trying to speak to his son, but Qwess had been unable to pay his father a visit due to the demanding schedule the music business heaped on him. Ironically, the day Qwess did come was the day it was too late.
“Yeah, I know.”
Qwess’s mood changed from festive to somber. He always wondered what if... What if he had put his family first?
“You can’t blame yourself, son,” Khalid said as if reading Qwess’s mind. “None of you can. Besides, he came off good. What he got, like a few months left?”
“Nah. Like a few weeks,” Qwess corrected. He quickly changed the subject and suggested everyone return downstairs to enjoy the party.
As they wandered back out to the party, Qwess tugged at his father’s arm, and the two of them took a detour to Qwess’s garage. Inside was Qwess’s green Lamborghini Murciélago, platinum Bentley GT, and black Hummer H2. At the end of the fleet was a car with a cover over it. It was evident that it was a convertible as the cover seeped into the car’s interior. Qwess guided his father to the end of the fleet and removed the tarp to reveal a shiny maroon Cadillac XLR with the top reclined. It was complete with twenty-inch chrome factory rims. He passed the keys to his father.
“You bought me a Cadillac!” Khalid said, astonished. “You remembered?”
“Of course. I know you love your Cadillac
s.”
Khalid frowned. “But it’s a convertible. What’s up with that?”
“I know you don’t like convertibles, Dad. Check this out.” Qwess pushed a button on the keyless remote and the hardtop slowly ascended from the trunk. “I’m the same way about ’verts, but this ain’t that old El-dog you had. Technology has improved.”
Qwess and his father shared a laugh at the thought of Khalid’s old ’79 Eldorado. Khalid marveled at how far things had come since he had been gone. During sentencing, the judge told him cars would be flying before he came home. The judge was being sarcastic, but he wasn’t far off. Convertible hardtops and shit. Khalid hugged his son again.
“I’m proud of you, son. You’ve come a long way on your own. Now I’m ready to help you with all you got going on.”
“Nope,” Qwess interrupted, shaking his head. “You’ve been gone for a while. You deserve a vacation that’s not government-sponsored. I remember how you used to say you regret not taking care of yourself and going to see other parts of the world when you was making all that money. Well, Mom expressed the same sentiment over the years. So, for the next six months, you both are officially on vacation at my expense. When you come back you can start as counsel for the label.”
Khalid was beyond word. “I don’t know what to say.”
“How about thanks? I know you; you gonna try to get out of it, but, Pop, I want to do this. You more than deserve it.”
Khalid knew his son was as strong-willed as he was and wasn’t taking no for an answer. Therefore, resistance was futile. He simply agreed.
The band could be heard playing Isaac Hayes outside the garage. Neither Qwess nor his father wanted to be rude, so they decided to return to the party.
As Qwess walked back to the party, he was truly happy. He had amassed a substantial fortune in the past four years doing what he loved. He had four artists—excluding himself—that sold well their first time out. (In fact, his female rapper, Saigon, had gone platinum.) His last album was completed, and it was expected to go at least triple-platinum. After the album, he was retiring to concentrate more on the business side of Atlantic Beach Productions. He planned to sign more artists and groom them to take over the industry. The good thing was he was severing his ties with AMG, so he would reap full benefits from however many albums he sold. Qwess also had an ace in the hole.
On his last album, Qwess had introduced the world to an artist named Mysterio. Mysterio had guest-appeared on a whole song on the album. The song was so true to the heart and precise, record labels had hounded Qwess for months, offering unprecedented deals just to get Mysterio to spit a verse on one of their artists’ records. Of course, Qwess declined. He knew Mysterio had the potential to change the game if he played his cards right. However, when it came to Mysterio, things were a little more complicated than people knew.
For now, he would just revel in his happiness. His father was home, business was good, and in a few weeks, he was going to shock the world, for the last piece in a long-awaited puzzle was about to be added.
Chapter 3
FCI Petersburg, Virginia
Reece,
I don’t know what to say anymore. It’s obvious you don’t wish to see me when you are released soon. Truthfully, I don’t know if I should want to see you after all you’ve put me through. At least you did call off the dogs. For that, I am thankful. Yet I really don’t care anymore. I’d rather die before I let my son not know who his father is. My son—no, our son—asks me about you daily. Where is his father, he asks. He’s getting so big now! He looks just like you!
I know you’re thinking about how bad you want me dead. Well, know that sometimes I wish the same thing for myself. I never realized how much I loved you until now. It seems I have a way of running off loved ones (my mom and dad). For this one time, I want to make things right.
So, I’ve quit the Bureau. I’m moving back to North Carolina, and I will bring you your son. One way or another you will deal with me. Our son, Prince, deserves it.
Love,
Destiny
Reece crumbled the letter in his hands. He could not believe the audacity of this broad. She’s talking tough like she run shit! Reece thought. He knew he should have killed her when he had her in his sights that day at the hangar. Hell, he had even saved her life from behind the wall.
Samson had had one of the Crew members track her down. He was sitting right outside her house waiting for her to return home when Reece placed the call to abort the mission. The woman just didn’t know how close she had come to expiring that day. She didn’t realize he was solely responsible for her continuing to breathe this fresh air. Now she was insisting on seeing him? Reece still didn’t know what made him abort the mission. It just didn’t seem right at the time, but if she insisted on “seeing” him, he would make sure she saw something all right.
Reece took the picture from the envelope and scrutinized it closely. The little boy definitely looked just like him. He was getting big, too. Destiny had been sending him pictures for the last four years he had been incarcerated. He suspected it was to receive his mercy and soften his heart into sparing her life. She had named the baby Prince Reece Kirkson. Her logic was that kings birthed princes. She even locked li’l man’s hair up so he sported long dreadlocks just like his father used to. It was refreshing to see a miniature version of himself. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride, even under the circumstances.
“Kirkson, you ready to go to your appointment?”
Reece looked out his cell door. Officer Robinson was waiting with his back to the door. This was a sign of respect.
In the beginning, Reece and Officer Robinson bumped heads daily. Officer Robinson felt that Reece, being an inmate, was subject to his whims. He also felt that Reece had to take any shit he spewed out. Officer Robinson soon found out the hard way that Reece wasn’t going to be anyone’s punk.
The tension had bubbled to a head one day in the mess hall. Officer Robinson told Reece the time was up for him to eat. Reece tried to inform him that he was barking up the wrong tree. Still Officer Robinson refused to back down. He proceeded to get in Reece’s face and called him a boy. Then he committed the ultimate violation: He spat in Reece’s food.
The whole mess hall waited with bated breath, waiting for the infamous King Reece to flex his muscle. Everyone on the yard knew all about King Reece. His street wars were legendary. Everyone knew how he dealt with adversaries, and Virginia was Crescent Crew turf, especially inside.
Yet in this case, nothing happened. Reece simply smiled at Officer Robinson and said, “Remember, you did this. Know it when it comes to you.”
Officer Robinson smiled in exaggerated arrogance. “No, shithead, you did this to yourself. You came here,” he snarled.
Reece smiled and nodded his head. No one in the mess hall could believe what they were witnessing. Prison had zapped the gangsta out of King Reece. Or so they thought.
A week later when Officer Robinson returned to work, he rushed into Reece’s solo cell (being a crime lord had its perks). Once the two were alone in the room, Officer Robinson literally got on his knees and begged Reece for his life.
“I’m sorry, sir! I’m so sorry!” Officer Robinson whined. “I didn’t mean any harm.” He dropped his head and offered Reece a cell phone. “Please call them off. Please?”
With a smirk, Reece placed a call to Bone, Samson’s right-hand man, whom Reece had personally promoted before he went away to prison. Reece turned his back and spoke briefly, then ended the call.
“You’re clear—for now,” Reece said. “There will be no more mercy, though. If you offend me again, you will be dead before you even know what the offense was. So, if I were you, I’d walk real light around here,” he advised. King Reece spat in his face, then kicked him in the ass. Then he kicked him out of his room and kept the phone.
Officer Robinson obtained a new sense of fear and respect for King Reece after leaving work early one day shortly after the i
ncident in the mess hall. Upon walking into his home, he discovered his wife’s chihuahua’s head in his bed. Inside the detached head’s mouth was a note with instructions on how to save their lives.
After that day, Officer Robinson became one of King Reece’s biggest “do-boys” behind the wall.
“Officer Rob, let me freshen up,” King Reece requested.
A moment later King Reece emerged in a pressed uniform and greeted Robinson. They walked in step along the tier en route to King Reece’s doctor’s appointment.
“So, man, you going to do the right thing this time or what?” Officer Robinson asked, attempting to make small talk.
King Reece could sense Robinson’s uneasiness around him so he obliged him with idle chatter, “Yeah, ya know it,” he said dryly.
“Hey, I’m serious, man. You have a lot of potential, man. You could do a lot of good for your community. A lot of people look up to you.”
King Reece just listened, not really committing to the conversation. As they passed other inmates along the way, several inmates greeted King Reece with, “Uhuru Sase!”
This was the customary salutation for the Black Guerilla Family set. King Reece now sported a shiny bald head with a goatee. This was the uniform for the BGF, so he was commonly mistaken as a member. The BGF was a notorious Black Nationalist gang that strived for peace but wreaked pure havoc when crossed. They were also very politically oriented with a primary focus on black liberation by any means necessary. Inside the federal penal system, one normally had to mob down with some type of organization or another to prevent being preyed upon. FCI Petersburg, Virginia was no different. There were Aryan Brotherhood, Nation of Islam and Orthodox Muslims, Latin Kings, Mexican Mafia, MS-13, Folk Nation, Crips, and Bloods. Just about every gang was represented inside, and they all played for keeps. Crossing any of the various gangs was an almost immediate death sentence—unless one of the other gangs took up the debt.
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