Since the trial, Malik Shabazz had amassed a formidable list of clients, wealth, and prestige. His name rang bells like those of Johnnie Cochran and F. Lee Bailey. When Malik Shabazz rolled into Fulton County heads turned. A star was in the house. The amount of time it took for the paperwork to be processed was how much longer Reece would remain in jail—not a second more.
Now, Reece and Shabazz proudly strolled to the parking lot to retrieve Shabazz’s Jaguar, Shabazz in a blue pinstripe suit, Reece in his wrinkled green suit from the party.
No sooner than they settled into the plush confines of the Jag did Reece put the press on him about Samson.
“Listen, brother, you can’t go back up yet until you get my man out,” Reece pleaded when they left the parking lot. “Seriously, brah. Time is of the essence. Ya feel me? Whatever the cost, I got you.”
“Relax, Brother Reece. They can’t link that body to him. Look, it’s a clean shoot. Your man, the security fella, is licensed to carry, as well as kill if necessary. Authorities found a gun on the dead guy, open-and-shut case,” Shabazz explained. Then he added, “They’re just giving him the runaround. If his lawyer representing him now can’t come correct, then I’ll step in, and believe me, brother, they do not want me to handle that.” Shabazz slapped the leather steering wheel for emphasis.
Reece let it sink in. He did not know that Samson was being investigated and possibly charged with what happened in North Carolina. Therefore everything sounded good to him.
“This is a nice li’l car here,” Reece commented, changing the subject.
“Thanks. It’s an XKB. I’m glad you like it. You bought it.”
“What?!”
“Ah, come on, brother, let’s face it. Over the years you have made me a wealthy man. Not for nothing.” Shabazz chuckled hungrily.
“A’ight. A’ight. I get it.”
“Good. Do you want me to swing by the hospital to see your friend? He’s being released today.”
Reece looked at Shabazz skeptically, “How you know that?”
Shabazz tsked. “It’s all over the radio. The main talk is about that singer, what’s her name? She’s a hot item in the press these days. I wouldn’t mind that myself if—”
Reece glared at him.
“Anyway, everyone is over there. News, radio, paparazzi. Your boy has made good for himself.”
Reece could imagine the scene: vultures everywhere taking advantage of his man to leech info about that broad. Nah, he didn’t want any part of that.
Furthermore, he had more pressing issues on his mind. In his brush with death, he had had an epiphany, so he decided to follow up on it.
“Nah, I don’t want to go over there. Let’s hit the highway. I’ll give him a call in a few hours.”
Reece leaned back into the plush leather guts of the Jag. He had a lot on his mind. Right now, he needed to rest. He closed his eyes and zoned out.
* * *
Hospital staff and well-wishers waited at the door to see Qwess off. A lot of celebrities came through these hospital doors, but few caused as much raucous attention as Qwess. People from all over sent their regards in the form of flowers or cards. Phone inquiries numbered into the thousands. Media people stayed camped outside. Through it all, Qwess remained a gentleman. For that the hospital staff adored him. Even his girlfriend (everyone assumed), Lisa Ivory, Slasher Extraordinaire, was a sweetheart. Though she never left his side the entire time he was there, she never got in the way of the staff doing their jobs. She didn’t throw any diva antics, either. For that, she had respect in their eyes.
It was checkout time for Qwess, and as Hulk pushed him toward the door in the wheelchair, he had a lot to be thankful for. He looked to his right at Lisa, who had rolled with him like a trooper throughout his whole ordeal. Qwess couldn’t help but think how he had exposed her. Fortunately, his test came back HIV negative, but oh, the possibilities. Qwess shuddered to think of the thought! He was speeding on thirty-five with no kids to boot. Previously, that was how he preferred it. He had seen too many brothers crash and burn hitching to a woman, only to be dividing his possessions later. He always vowed that wouldn’t be him. He wasn’t changing his mind, but he couldn’t help but wonder how long one could live dodging HIV.
When Hulk rolled Qwess through the revolving doors outside, he immediately spotted a hunter-green Rolls-Royce Phantom right in front of the door.
The car was sick, but Qwess wouldn’t have noticed it twice had it not been for the red ribbon tied prominently across the hood. Being that they were in Atlanta, it could’ve been anyone’s, but Hulk rolled Qwess right up to it. The moment Qwess was about to question Hulk, flashbulbs pulsed sporadically.
Lisa yelled, “Happy belated birthday!”
“What is this?” demanded Qwess.
“Your birthday present. You think I forgot you turned thirty-three two days ago? Nope, sure didn’t.”
“But this is a Rolls!” Qwess objected. He was thinking more like a $300,000 Rolls.
“And?” Lisa challenged.
“And, and. . . .”
“And nothing. You won’t be able to drive yourself for a while, so I figured you and big man here can ride in style.” Lisa took charge. “Don’t even try to object, because I know this is what you like. You told me already so here it is. Happy birthday. Watch your foot.”
Lisa helped Hulk place Qwess in the back seat while reporters looked on in envy and awe. Hulk popped the massive trunk, threw the wheelchair in, and then helped Lisa get in back with Qwess. Apparently, a throng of reporters had blocked the suicide door to ask questions. Hulk flexed bad one time, and the crowd parted like the red sea. Hulk tucked Lisa in, got in himself (with the ribbon still on the hood), and peeled out to I-85.
* * *
Doe was feeling re-energized as he luxuriated in new snatch. Dana turned around on him while he was up inside her and proceeded to ride him like a prize jockey while offering a splendid view at her beautiful ass. The shot was so good. Doe tried to think about boxing, baseball, vomit—anything—to keep from busting. Nothing helped. Just like the last time, he exploded again uncontrollably.
Doe had been with a lot of women before getting married, and none since. Before or since marriage, he had never, ever, had pussy so blazing! Dana’s shit was tight, shallow, warm, wet, and she knew how to use her muscles. Really knew how to use her muscles! She had told Doe that she could pick a flat quarter off the ground, and flip it twice, using just her coochie muscles. After the way she rode Doe, he believed it.
See, Dana had this thing she did. She would sit all the way down on the dick, then rise up slowly, applying different amounts of pressure as she ascended. When she got to the head, she would wrap her lips around it and squeeze like she was milking a cow. All the while she would wrap Doe into those green eyes of hers. Talk about sex! To top things off, Dana was a real freak. She was down for anything—and she locked his toes. In fairness, Doe hit her off. He definitely didn’t condone eating out, but after the things Dana did, it was the least he could do. She came again and again, too.
How did it get to this?
Upon returning to North Crack, Doe had to hook up with shorty. The black room episode had him open. He had to sample the goods, so he told his wife he was going to pick up Qwess from Atlanta, but instead he made a detour to Columbia, South Click. He had left Dana instructions at the Marriott desk on what to do when she arrived. She followed them perfectly. Doe drove a bucket and wore a low hat so as not to draw attention. The clerk still almost recognized him. He thought he had left a trail until she called him Ice-T. That was one time Doe didn’t mind being mistaken for the Cali rapper. Other than that everything had gone off without a hitch. He had the plastic on extra-tight, and he practiced fitrah, or shaving of the public hairs. So wasn’t any Kobe Bryant situation popping off. As long as Qwess hollered at him before he made it home.
Ah, shit! Qwess!!
Doe grabbed the phone from the bedside and dialed Qwess’s cell.<
br />
“Come on, brother. Pick up,” Doe begged. On the fourth ring Qwess answered.
“As-salaam alayka.”
“Was alayka Salaam. Hablame en español,” Doe suggested.
“Why? What’s up?”
“Listen, don’t call my crib until you see me.”
“Clown, what you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. Just don’t call my house.”
“Okay.”
Qwess ended the call.
“Who was that?” Lisa wondered.
“Doe.”
“Oh. Why didn’t he want you to call his house?” she asked, to Qwess’s surprise. He knew she was eavesdropping. He didn’t know she spoke Spanish fluently. “Why you looking like that? Didn’t know I spoke that, huh? Don’t worry. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, but I will give you the chance to find out.”
Lisa cozied up to Qwess, putting her head on his strong chest. His casted left leg was stretched out over the spacious ivory-colored back seat, while Lisa matched his position oppositely. Up front, Hulk navigated the behemoth like he had been born driving. Everyone was beyond comfortable traveling on I-20.
Then the phones rang again, one after the other. First Hulk’s. Then Qwess’s.
They answered them simultaneously.
On Qwess’s phone was his father. Qwess yelled, “What?!” He couldn’t believe the news. He and his father exchanged a few words before hanging up.
Qwess went to tell Hulk, but Hulk was still on his line talking. After a moment, Hulk hung up as well. His expression had changed drastically. Qwess knew that he knew also.
“Samson?” Qwess queried.
Hulk nodded.
“That was my father. He just told me. He also said that Reece posted bond a few hours ago. Matter of fact, he should beat us back to town.”
“Uh-huh.” Hulk nodded. His mood was somber because his brother was in danger. Samson was being extradited back to North Carolina to stand charges for the vicious assault on John Meyers. Samson had told Hulk about the photographs of the scene and informed him that the only charge that had stuck in Georgia was the gun charge. Therefore, Hulk had acquired a body in the line of duty. No doubt, it would greet him on the entertainment news shows upon his return home. He was cool with it. He would take the blame for a hundred bodies if it meant keeping his other half free. From jump, Hulk was screaming that it was he who marked the would-be assassin. They didn’t want to believe him, but had no other choice. Apparently, it was a clean shoot. A bodyguard protecting his client. Of course, po-po felt something else was amiss, but without evidence, they had to release him.
Now, his brother faced another dilemma, and there was nothing Hulk could do about it until they set a bond—if they set a bond. Not to mention the very real possibility of them finding out who he really was.
Damn, shit was getting thick.
* * *
The minute Reece was dropped off at home, he jumped in his Lac and headed to Fayettenam. He had to holler at Bone. Bone had been with Samson that night in Atlanta, but when the smoke cleared, he was nowhere to be found. Reece knew Bone wasn’t soft. He had recruited him himself. However, things weren’t right. Crescent Crew was taught to never leave a comrade in battle. Never. Bone wasn’t just a member, he was a captain. Hell, he ran Fayettenam and the surrounding cities. Plus, he would be a heavy contender for boss of the Crew if something were to happen to Reece or Samson. And that’s what was tugging at Reece.
Reece pulled up on Murchison Road Car Wash and spotted Bone right away. Stunting in his tangerine-colored ’71 Impala, Bone drew all the attention. Of course, the top was dropped to show the white guts, and women surrounded the car. Bone was a millionaire a few times over. He had a big house out in the country, a small fleet of luxury cars, and numerous spots in different cities. Yet he could always be found on his block among the proletariat. The hood was his home, and no amount of paper was going to change that.
Reece crept up beside him in his Lac.
“Peace,” Reece saluted.
Bone was a little shocked to see Reece so soon, but he took things in stride. “Salaam.”
“What’s the bizness?” asked Reece. Bone had one of his young’uns riding shotgun, so Reece made sure to save his face. “I need to holler at you a minute.”
“No doubt.” Bone instructed his young’un to take a hike, then suggested Reece get in with him. Reece left the Lac where it was at, joined Bone in the street to talk. Reece wanted to know a few things about Bone and his allegiance. The best way was to talk to him.
Reece really wanted to leave the game alone. He was a wise man, so he knew if he played both sides of the fence, he would eventually fall. Yet he couldn’t shake the pure adrenaline rush of killing. The arousal of being known. The luxury of knocking off the baddest chicks on the strength of who he was. Take for example the way the females who were around Bone’s car when he pulled up now gravitated toward him. Sizing him up. Trying to glimpse their reflection on the diamonds in his teeth. Unfortunately for them, he wasn’t interested in them.
Reece owed it to his Crew to make sure they were put in the best position possible before he deserted them. In theory, anyway. Truth was, he would never really leave. Crescent Crew to the death was his motto.
When Bone suggested Reece join him in the car, Reece initially hesitated. He despised drop-tops. They were so vulnerable. But when he saw they could get no real privacy any other way, with great reluctance, Reece joined Bone in the ’vert. Bone drove off in the direction of Fayetteville State.
“Yo, so what’s the deal? What happened to you the other night?” Reece demanded. He was never one to mince words.
“Shit, my nigga, everything happened so fast. One minute we chilling in the Range puffing, next minute this nigga pulling a John Wayne! By the time I got around the corner, the Rollers had mobbed up. So I dipped. I figured wasn’t no use in everybody going to jail. Ya feel me?”
Reece hesitated before answering. He was busy matching the events of that night with Bone’s narration. It matched so far. “I feel ya,” Reece finally said.
“So, what’s up with Samson?” wondered Bone. “They gave him a bond yet?”
“Not yet. They just giving him a hard time now. He’ll be home soon, though,” Reece assumed.
“Word. That’s what’s up!”
Bone pulled over in front of a house two blocks down from the college. “Be right back,” he told Reece as he jumped out, never bothering to open the door.
Reece watch Bone bowleg up to the house and still wondered if something wasn’t right. For all intents and purposes, Reece was out of the Crescent Crew—street side. So he tried to let it be. Unfortunately, he kept getting sucked back in. It was like things couldn’t run right unless he injected his will into situations. Not that the captains were incompetent, but they seemed to lack the big picture. The Crescent Crew wasn’t designed to be a run-of-the-mill street gang. It was designed to be an organization willing to do anything necessary to achieve greatness. The way Reece saw it, anybody could sell drugs or shoot somebody. It took something special to be a part of the Crew. Everyone always marveled at the Italian mob, but truth be told, they didn’t do anything that couldn’t be done by any other group, especially blacks. The same thing that made them such a force was the same things that other groups supposedly stood on: loyalty, respect, ruthless ambition, and knowledge of self. KOS was key because they understood who they were. More important than that, they understood that others knew who they were and hence weren’t going to give them shit! If they wanted something, they had to go out and get it. The only thing given in life is life itself. Everything else is taken. That was Reece and Qwess’s mind state when they founded the Crescent Crew. The early members understood this. Now, the ranks were flooded with a bunch of misfits, with the exception of a few notable standouts like Bone. The Crescent Crew was Reece’s baby, and he refused to see it go the way of the mob.
Bone peeled out of the house just as quickly as he had gone in. When he jumped back in the car he had some news for Reece.
“Yo, dawg, them Mexican cats getting to be a nuisance,” relayed Bone.
“Why, what’s up?” This was news to Reece.
“Nuttin really. Them mu’fuckas just keep calling my spot with dat bullshit.”
“What bullshit?’
“Looking for Samson. Talking ’bout they had something important to do, and us going to Atlanta fucked things up.”
“What?! And?”
Bone nodded vigorously as he pulled away from the curb. “I know. I know. That’s what I been telling ’em.”
Reece was seething. “Let me talk to them fuckin’ wetbacks,” he swore. “Everything we do is important. Fuck they think they are?”
Bone liked to see Reece upset about the Mexicans. Maybe Reece could talk some sense into Samson about them.
“Man, the whole crew has been warning the brother about that, but he insist that that they his new business partners,” Bone said. He turned onto Pamalee Drive heading toward the mall.
“Business partners?” Reece frowned. “Ain’t no business partners outside of the Crew. Now I let that shit ride because I believe in a man making his own bread, but the Crew come first. The Crescent Crew always come first!”
Reece paused to let his words sink in. Bone loved it. This did not sound like a man on the verge of losing his edge.
“What kind of business is it anyway?” Reece asked.
“Don’t know. From what I’m told it’s a ‘bag or tag’ operation in Mexico.”
“Bag or tag?” Reece wasn’t stupid. “Bag or tag” was a kidnap scheme where someone would kidnap someone dear to someone else for money or favor. Reece had pulled a bag or tag on one of the jurors when he went to trial. Bag or tag was profitable, but it was very risky. Too many uncontrollable variables, too many emotions. Too much attention.
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