King Reece

by Shaun Sinclair

  “Hold up,” Qwess interrupted.

  “Nah, ain’t no holdup. This brother need to know where he stand. Like I said, you work for us. We call shots! You follow ’em. You really don’t have anything to lose. We do. So, we gonna do everything necessary not to lose. I’m a winner. That’s what winners do! Now you keep talking shit, and I will make you give me the respect I deserve. You better recognize who the fuck you talking to.”

  Finished with his speech, Reece leaned back in his seat to read the mood of everyone else.

  Doe was still silent. Far as he was concerned, he was happy with the results. He had kept his promise to his wife. They were about to make more money than ever. And the industry had been sent a message that ABP was for real. Win-win situation.

  Qwess was so consumed with thoughts, no definitive words came out. His first thought was that Reece was wrong for talking to Amin like that. Amin had picked up where Doe left off in areas of business and done a damn good job. Amin was responsible for a lot of ABP’s success. He did an excellent job of product placement, communicating with television and radio stations, and other little tidbits that weren’t his area of responsibility. On the other hand, Reece did have a point. As the third partner/owner of ABP, he was owed a certain modicum of respect. From day one Amin exhibited a grudge against Reece, either for his theological beliefs or his street rep and demeanor. Amin was really arrogant toward Reece and needed the “humbling” that Reece gave him. Qwess’s final concern was the potential legal ramifications of Reece’s acts. No one could afford to take a fall right now. As long as it was guaranteed not to come back on them, Qwess was cool with it. However, was anything guaranteed when dealing with the law?

  Amin was seething! Who was this ruffian to put him in his place? While Reece was bidding, Amin had put his thing down for the industry, thus paving the way for Reece to be an employer. Amin felt all these things. Yet he said nothing. In fact, it was Hulk who spoke first.

  “Listen, ain’t no need for all the drama. It’s simple. We needed Niya. We got her. Maybe some things could have been done different, but they weren’t. So, we just be happy and deal with whatever, whenever,” he said in his gruff twang. Lately, he had become the voice of reason.

  Qwess sighed audibly. “Hulk is right. What’s done is done. It’s water under the bridge. Amin, draw the contract up for Niya so it’ll be official. I’ll call my dad to put him on standby on the legal end.” Qwess massaged his temples. He hated to break up his parents’ vacation. “So it won’t be any drama, we’ll hold off making an announcement that Niya is signed to ABP until Flame’s album release party in Atlanta. By then some of the heat should die down.”

  When Qwess spoke, it was law. Everyone agreed to his suggestion.

  Amin still had unresolved issues, but they could wait until a later point. For now, he was cool.

  For now.

  Chapter 14

  “Come on, more passion! More, more!!” Blow screamed. Blow was the premier director for music videos and was currently directing Flame in his follow-up video for his new album. His lead single “Cack Life” was already climbing the charts to number one, so Doe decided they’d follow up with another one. You know. Hit them in the head back-to-back. Doe, along with his wife, was present to supervise things.

  The video was being shot in Myrtle Beach. So a lot of it was shot in The Playhouse, ABP’s mini-mansion situated oceanfront inside of a gated community. Doe laughed to himself when he thought about how things had come a long way. Back when they were younger and he was starting out his corporate job as an accountant, he used to figure out ways for Qwess and Reece to hide money from the government. Fast-forward a few years. Now, he was coming up with different ways to claim money for the government to see. Like shooting the video in the mini-mansion allowed them to receive tax breaks at the end of the year since it was used in the line of “work.” Indeed things had changed.

  “Okay, take ten!” Blow screamed, muttering to himself.

  Blow’s contempt sprang from the fact that the featured model, Dana, refused to act engaged in the scene. The video shoot had moved to the beach, so now the models and extras wore their swimwear—including Flame, who wore black trunks and nothing else. His diamond-encrusted platinum ABP chain draped proudly around his neck, do rag plastered over his waves, Flame embodied the contemporary hip-hop artist. Earlier in the day he had dunked Dana in the saltwater, messing up her hair as she attempted to sunbathe. This, among other things, was what caused Dana’s reluctance during the shoot. Flame had been trying to get with Dana ever since she arrived the day before. He took her out to a fancy restaurant, insisted that she stay at the house with Doe, Niya, and the others while the remainder of the video girls were put up in hotels. He even tried to spend the night in the guest quarters with her, but that was where Dana drew the line. She was not interested. Besides, she had already set her sights on a lofty goal.

  The shoot resumed after Blow spoke to Doe for a hot minute. Doe had helped come up with the video treatment himself, so he was adamant about making sure things went how they were supposed to go.

  Doe observed closely behind his designer shades. When Flame mouthed the words, “I’m lusting and I can’t change,” Dana was supposed to come around to the front of Flame, shoot him a sultry look, and walk off seductively. That’s what she was supposed to do, according to the treatment. What she did looked like a bad rendition of birds flirting, her walk more chicken than peacock, her look more bat than parrot. Doe was forced to call for a break.

  “Blow! Cut, Cut,” Doe snapped. “Shorty, come here a second.”

  When Dana reached him, Doe rebuked her diplomatically. “Shorty, wassup—”

  “Dana.”

  “O-kay. Dana, wassup? You not feeling my man or something?”

  “Um-umm. Not really.”

  “Ooh. Word? Why? Wassup?”

  Dana rolled her neck just a little. “Because he think I’m some groupie or sumthin’. Like I’m supposed to be all over him or sumthin’.”

  Doe chuckled a little. “But, damn, shorty—Dana—you are. At least for the video.” Doe removed his sunglasses so as not to feel impersonal. “Now, baby girl, you are costing me a gang of grip with all this stopping. Now I know you got it in you. Your profile said you want to be an actress, right?”

  “Yeah.” She returned his gaze aggressively.

  “Well then, you gotta act!” Doe allowed himself to smile to break the brunt of his command. When he looked at Dana again, there was an unmistakable hint of lust in her eyes.

  Doe leveled his eyes and spoke barely above a whisper, “Now you see that look you giving me right now?”

  “Um-hmmm.” It was more of a grunt than a word.

  “That’s the same one you gotta give him.”

  “Well, he’s not you.”

  Was she choosing?

  “Well, uh, give it to the camera.” Damn, this caught Doe off-guard.

  “Well, what about the walk?” She blew her words at Doe.

  “Now, I know you got a strut to go with those curves.” Ah, what the hell. If it gets the job done.

  “Oh, you wanna see it?” Still flirting.

  “Uh, yeah.” Doe looked around, embarrassed. “Show me when you walk back over there. I’ll let you know when it’s not right.”

  “Oh, it’s right.”

  “Well, show me then,” Doe challenged.

  “You ain’t saying nothing.”

  And he wasn’t. For when Dana sashayed back over to the shoot, she pulled out all the stops. She pulled her turquoise bikini out of her cheeks, knocked excess dirt off, and paraded her tight ass back over to Blow with such aplomb, any working girl would be put to shame. She tossed her silky Hawaiian hair over her shoulder to let the sun kiss her smooth, light bronze skin—and to make sure Doe was watching.

  He was. In fact, Doe was a little too enthralled with Dana’s strut, evidenced by the bulge that now occupied his linen shorts.

  Just mere feet away, tuck
ed under a canopy, sat Niya. She had observed the whole exchange from behind her tortoiseshell Chanel frames. To her, it seemed innocent enough. At first. Then she saw what appeared to be shameless flirting. When her husband turned to walk back toward her, she knew they were flirting. Her husband’s dick was harder than the Statue of Liberty.

  “Please do something about that. It’s disrespectful,” Niya requested once Doe reached her.

  “What?”

  “This.” She grabbed Doe’s pipe and held it.

  “Yo, come on, babe, chill.” Doe laughed, jumping hysterically.

  “All right then. Get right,” Niya snapped. She couldn’t believe this brother was playing her like that! She had convinced him to come to the beach to spend some quality time. Much needed quality time. He hadn’t been home much, just as predicted. Now that he was, she tried to keep him interested. Niya was now twenty-eight years old, but she knew she still looked very good in her peach thong bikini. Hell, even the video honeys were cutting envious eyes at her. Not to mention Blow himself.

  “Aw, come on, bae. You know these chicks can’t hold a candle to my baby,” Doe submitted. However, he couldn’t shake the wanting look in Dana’s eyes.

  * * *

  Destiny had been in her makeshift prison for the better part of two weeks. During that time, she had become nauseated, then completely sick. In the beginning, she had refused to eat anything or drink water. She had become content with the thought of exiting into eternal peace. She had become tired of life with the man called Reece. Unfortunately, he had a twisted concept of love. Sort of a yin and yang. See, he would take her to incredible highs (trips around the world) to incredible lows (threats on her life). He would make her feel like a flower in full bloom (when she climaxed repeatedly); then she would be made to feel like the bride of Hades (being a prisoner).

  Unfortunately for Destiny, she and Reece were inextricably entwined. Her five-year-old son, Prince, made that a fact.

  Her son. Her dear son. According to Reece, Prince was the only thing that kept her breathing. He didn’t know how right he was: If it wasn’t for Prince, Destiny would have given up long ago, letting herself wilt away in her prison. The endless diet of candy bars followed by diarrhea and shitting on a makeshift wooden toilet that kept her droppings in a barrel just underneath the rim were becoming unbearable. This can’t be life, she thought. She would rather die than live like this.

  To his credit, Reece had personally come to check on her every day. After removing the shit bucket to get it cleaned out, he would come back to keep her company. They mostly talked about the books he would bring her to read. Books like The Blackwoman’s Guide to Understanding the Blackman by Shahrazad Ali and The Art of War. Reece would always put an interesting spin on things, always stressing having knowledge of self, knowing your role in the black family, microcosms and macrocosms, basically things that he studied when he was away. It was refreshing for him to hear a female’s perspective. Conversing about these books made them grow closer. It was really like she was in prison and Reece was visiting.

  After they talked, Reece would pull the sink bucket close to Destiny’s bed and wash her tenderly. At first, Destiny recoiled when he told her what he was about to do, but as he explained to her, it was either she let him or she linger in stank-a-dank-dank. The decision was a no-brainer, and ever since the first time, Reece washed her daily.

  The bathing was starting to become a ritual Destiny enjoyed. It was then she was allowed to see the tender side of Reece, the part she had fallen in love with so many years ago. As Reece washed her he would open up and discuss things with her, exorcising his demons through their conversations. He would share with her things going on in his new life and how he struggled with being three people: who he had been, who he was now, and who he was striving to become. At times the battle felt as if it would tear him apart, but he always managed to get through the tough times.

  Reece reiterated to her why he was doing what he was doing. It seemed to Destiny that Reece was doing this to her to gain face among his comrades more than to actually punish her. She had seen Reece at his worst, and this was not it. She knew that Reece could be an animal when prodded. What he was doing to her was just the rigmarole. Tough but not difficult. Maybe deep down inside Reece realized he had gotten off easy with five years. That if it wasn’t for her cracking up on the stand and refusing to testify he could’ve really gotten hit hard, maybe even faced the death penalty for killing a federal agent. Five years was a drop in the bucket compared to what he could have gotten.

  A part of Destiny felt sorry for Reece. During those moments of vulnerability when he broke down and bared his soul to her, Destiny wanted to hold him to console him. Even in her predicament, she still wanted to protect him. The irony. If this wasn’t love, then why did she feel that way? Love is insanity.

  Keys jingled. Locks turned, taking Destiny off guard. She had been expecting Reece hours ago. He always visited her around the same time each day. When the door opened, Destiny was shocked. It wasn’t Reece at all. Instead, it was a very tall, very broad, bald-headed man. He petted the now-docile pit bull and Destiny noticed something eerily familiar about him, but she couldn’t place him.

  The giant walked over to her and passed her some papers. “King Reece said read this,” he commanded.

  When he spoke, his voice hit Destiny like a blow from a heavyweight boxer.

  Samson!

  The last time she had seen Samson was on the tarmac. Reece had blown one of her colleagues’ head off so that he could escape.

  It was at the airport hangar more than five years ago when Reece was apprehended. Reece and Samson had caught wind of the federal investigation and were fleeing to Mexico for a much-needed hiatus. Reece’s supplier was furnishing a private jet for them to depart in. Realizing it was now or never, Destiny had alerted her handler, “Uncle Lou,” aka Lieutenant Harris, and issued him the details. The feds put agents in place at the hangar to impede their departure until backup arrived. Reece, Destiny, and Samson arrived at the hangar early, and when the agents in place attempted to thwart their departure, Reece reacted, killing one instantly to save Samson’s life. During Reece’s trial, the FBI interviewed Destiny intensely. They thought she had colluded with Reece and Samson in their enterprise. According to the FBI, Samson was on the lam in Mexico terrorizing shit, becoming more powerful than ever. He was number three on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.

  Now he was here.

  Of course, he looked different. Had put on some pounds of musculature. Face looked altered. But when you’re as big as Samson, there wasn’t much one could do to change his appearance. One thing Destiny did notice was that he walked with a lot more authority now. It was like his nuts wore a ton.

  “Uh, hi, Samson,” Destiny managed. At one point, the giant had been like a little brother to her. He had accompanied her and Reece everywhere, so naturally they became close.

  Samson cut her off. “Look, save the nice attitude, you deceitful bitch. I don’t like you, and I never will. If my man didn’t want you alive to suffer, you’d be dead already. Prob’ly would’ve snapped yo’ neck ma’self,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  Destiny nodded and gulped a ball of fear. “I understand, Samson. I don’t blame you. If I were you, I would hate me, too.”

  “You could never hate me as much as I hate you. The king loved you! He gave you the world. He even sacrificed his own life to save your lying ass,” Samson reminded her. “If he would’ve just killed you, then he wouldn’t have done a day in prison.”

  “I was just doing my job, Samson. Don’t you get it? Now sometimes in our line of work we have to do things that we don’t like to do, but when we swear our allegiance to something we have to carry it out.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes! Just like when you swore your allegiance to the Crescent Crew—whatever your bosses ask you to do, you had to carry it out.”

  Samson snarled, “First of all, I don’t have a fucking b
oss. And don’t ever compare your job to what we have. You work for the government; we built our own government.”

  “Worked for the government,” Destiny clarified.

  Samson smirked. “I forgot, they fired your ass. Anyway, King Reece said to tell you he won’t be able to make it today.”

  Samson looked like he was about to leave but thought better of it. There was something on his mind. “Why, Destiny?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why not just kill yourself and save us all the sin? We treated you like family! He really loved you, and Reece never loved nobody. And you betrayed that trust.”

  The giant freak walked closer to Destiny where she sat meekly on the bed. Samson bent down to look her square in the face. With veins bulging out his neck, he said, “I swear I don’t doubt the god, Reece, but if it’s one mistake he made, it’s keeping you around. Ahhhh!” He screamed, unable to contain himself in the bunker. “But it’s cool. By the time you finish five years in here, you’ll be crazier than a junebug.”

  Samson stood to his full height and bumped his head on the ceiling. He recovered and looked upon Destiny with pure hatred. His eyes blazed.

  “Samson, I’m sorry,” Destiny said weakly. “I was only doing my job, but I’m not with them anymore.”

  Samson scoffed. “Whatever. Look, like I said, Reece said study that packet. Don’t know why he wasting time trying to teach you that anyway,” mumbled Samson. As he turned to walk out, he stopped to pat the big dog on the head.

  “Hey, boy. Hey, boy,” Samson taunted while playing with the dog. Then he suddenly shouted, “Watch her!” The dog jumped to attention immediately, in the direction of Destiny, clipped ears perked, tail standing straight up, low growl emitting from his throat.

  “Atta boy,” Samson commended. He eyed Destiny one last time, then eyed the paperwork she held and grunted before walking out.

  Keys jingled. Locks popped.