“Okay, just be careful, man. Dude ain’t right. Word. He into some shit you don’t know nothing about. I’d hate to see you crossed up on a humbug.”
Flame scoffed. Who was he kidding? Flame felt that all Qwess cared about was leeching off his talents. Besides, he and Diamond were cut from the same cloth. When Flame joined ABP, Qwess was still an active member of the Crescent Crew, the infamous cocaine cartel that had the Southeast in a stranglehold when he was younger. Then, just like Diamond, Qwess got his money, squared up, then started writing positive rhymes. Then he quit rapping altogether, saying the industry was evil. Flame felt being broke was evil, and Diamond was about to help him get money.
“Well, I’ve already been in a situation like that before,” Flame said, alluding to his own past. “I think I can handle it.”
“All right, if you say so.” Qwess glanced up at his wife with a smug look on his face, then returned his attention to Flame. “Well, don’t you forget you’re obligated to Atlantic Beach Productions, first and foremost. Your little hobby comes second.”
Hobby?! Hobby? Flame was seething.
“Now let’s go over this itinerary for the award show,” Qwess said calmly, as if he didn’t just smack Flame in the face with an insult.
The whole while Qwess droned on about the schedule, Flame’s mind was on one thing. He was going to prove to Qwess he didn’t need him anymore. He had screwed him with a bad contract years ago to keep him dependent on him. Now, with his adversary’s help, he was going to prove to him his worth. Prove this was the real deal. Prove that the world didn’t revolve around Qwess.
* * *
The following morning Flame appeared on the Breakfast Club. Everyone was still shocked that he could actually blow. They compared him to Tyrese, although Flame felt the comparison was an insult. He was thinking he was more along the lines of Ginuwine as far as raw talent, but more than anything he was just pleased that they were accepting of him and his new mode of expression. Bringing something new to the table was always a gamble, especially with someone as popular as Flame. In this case, it appeared his gamble was paying off.
Halfway through the interview it dawned on Flame what all the hosts were wearing. No sooner the realization hit him, the hosts went in.
“So you see we wearing these dope-ass Flaming Diamond shirts,” the dark-skinned host said in his raspy voice. “Salute to my guy, Diamond, but what’s up with you guys? The skreets is going crazy about a partnership!”
“Yeah, Flame, what’s up with that? Isn’t Diamond and Qwess beefing?”
Flame was totally caught off guard. The way he felt Qwess had played him the previous day was still fresh in his head, so it gave him extra incentive to get some revenge in front of the world.
“Who is Qwess?” Flame asked.
“Ooooooh!!!! He said, who is Qwess? Damn, that’s harsh!”
The third of their trio piped in with his usual spiel, but this time it was necessary. “For those that don’t know, Flame is signed to ABP, which is owned by Qwess. Flame, you guys got a lot of money together; what’s up with that?”
“Yeah, Flame, I thought you guys were homeboys too?” the female host reminded him.
Flame offered an awkward smile, and rubbed his hand over his 360 waves. “Yeah, well, homeboys are those who have your best interest in mind,” he said, low-key throwing a direct shot at Qwess. Those were the exact words Qwess had uttered so many years ago when Flame’s homeboy, J.D., had exposed him to a case. “Homie hasn’t had that for me in a long time.”
“Daaaaaamn! I gotta call my peoples down in the Cack and see what is going on,” the other host said.
“Nah, everything is love, man. We just do business together, and that’s it. We just have to iron some business issues out, you know?”
“I can understand that,” the light-skinned member of the trio said.
“So, Flame, you don’t care about Diamond’s reputation out here in these skreets? They say Diamond into some other other shit,” the host said cryptically.
“You know, someone just asked me that recently,” Flame said. “As if they didn’t know how I came in this game. Yo, don’t let this singing shit fuck y’all head up; I’m still from Fayettenam. Ain’t shit sweet about me.”
“Knock it off, Flame. You been eating good for years, man. You don’t have that skreet shit in you no more. What you worth, ’bout ten mil?”
Flame smirked. “Not even close. Just know, I’m good over here, and me and Diamond about to shock the world.”
The hosts chopped it up for a few more minutes, trying to throw shots every now and then, but Flame was an expert. He handled it well.
Toward the end of the interview, the hard questions eased up. When Flame walked into the hallway, he saw why. Diamond was waiting on him.
“Flame! My nigga, what’s good, B!” Diamond greeted.
“What up, homie?” Flame returned with excitement.
“You know I had to come and check my li’l homie out. I got a few spots for us to hit,” Diamond said. “We going over to Wendy.”
“Word?”
“Word, nigga! You think it’s a game? I’ma make you a believer.”
Flame followed Diamond’s large frame out the building. Downstairs a red Lamborghini was parked illegally right in front of the building with the scissor-style doors wide open.
“Yo, Flame, ride with me!” Diamond ordered, gesturing to the Lamborghini.
“Damn, this you too?” Flame asked.
“What you think?” Diamond said, pointing to the license plate. The tag read “Diamante.”
“Yeeeeah, this shit nice.”
“Nothing but the best, baby.”
Flame climbed into the passenger seat, and Diamond ripped through the city in the Lambo like he owned the streets, zipping in and out of traffic. By the time they arrived at Wendy’s show, Flame’s knuckles were white.
Outside the building, a huge crowd was assembled as if they were awaiting their arrival. Flame hopped out the Lambo and waded through the crowd, stopping to sign a few autographs before stepping inside. As always, he stopped at the most attractive women in the crowd to leave his signature with, and this time was no different. A beautiful Latina asked him to sign her shirt right over her breast. It was then that he noticed it. She was wearing a Flaming Diamond shirt also. Flame inspected the crowd a bit closer and realized over half of the crowd were wearing the same shirt. Shocked, he looked at Diamond for an explanation. Diamond simply smiled.
Just before they went into the entrance, a red Ferrari California sped up to the curb in front of the crowd and screeched to a halt. The top was peeled back, allowing everyone to see the occupants. It was Sasha Beaufont and Kim Rawls.
The crowd went berserk.
They quickly rushed the car, screaming at the top of their lungs.
“Sasha!”
“Sasha!”
“Sasha!”
It was total pandemonium. Throngs of fans screaming Sasha’s name, snapping pictures with their smartphones, and flailing their arms like fish out of water. A few young girls even passed out. Seemingly out of nowhere, Sasha’s security rushed the car and created a barrier between Sasha and the fans.
While all the commotion was going on, Flame stood transfixed in place with his muscular arms crossed and an arrogant smirk on his face. He lived for moments like this. He had been popping for nearly a decade, but this type of hype was different. He was a part of hip-hop royalty now, and he loved every minute of it.
Before a full riot broke out, Sasha snapped the roof shut on the Ferrari, put the windows up, and drove off into traffic, burning rubber. She was a rock star and she took every opportunity to remind the world of who she was.
Flame and Diamond went inside and waited in Wendy’s pink room until it was time to come out. Flame took the time to ask Diamond about the shirts he saw in the crowd.
Diamond laughed it off. “Thought it was a game? I’m a businessmaaan.”
Wendy sen
t for them, and they took a seat opposite her on the leopard-print couch. After the ambush at the radio show, Flame was prepared for the worst. Of course, Wendy didn’t disappoint.
“Before we start,” Wendy said. She was wearing big heels and bigger hair. “I have a blind item. See if you can help me.”
She shuffled some papers and read: “This popular rapper just changed his destiny and has been rumored to be seeing a new starlet unlike any of his previous conquests. Hint: He is known for keeping the fire burning in the bedroom but hasn’t blazed this one yet. Is this you, Flame?”
Flame was speechless. Luckily, Diamond was a seasoned vet. He spoke up and steered the conversation right toward the clothing line. He pitched it perfectly, touting the durability of the t-shirts, the fine fabric of the denim, and the genius of their partnership.
Hearing Diamond gush about their partnership piqued Wendy’s interest. She dived in.
“Wait, so how does this work?” she asked. “Everyone knows you are signed to ABP, and Qwess doesn’t get along with Diamond. Hear the streets tell it and they’re enemies.” Her eyes bulged like they were going to burst. Her diamond necklace almost blinded them.
Flame repeated the same spiel he gave at the radio station. “First of all, I’m my own man. And I have to do things to secure my future, just like everyone else.”
She leaned back. “Oooh, do tell. Is there trouble in paradise? Flame? Flame, is there trouble in paradise?” Wendy cooed.
“Nah, it’s nothing like that. I just gotta do me, ya know?”
“All right.”
Diamond interjected and directed the conversation back to Flaming Diamond. He was truly a pro. After Wendy saw there wasn’t much more info to pump out of Flame, she detoured and swung back around to put the focus back on Diamond. The two of them shared a tumultuous history, and she was glad to be able to assist him when he called on her.
They wrapped up the interview, took a few questions, then dipped out.
Outside, the day was still young, so Diamond removed the roof on the Lamborghini and they cruised the streets of Manhattan like the stars they were, soaking in the exhaust fumes and praise simultaneously, bumping Uncle Murda. They ended up at Diamond’s soul food restaurant and found a surprise waiting on them at a booth in the back.
Sasha and Kim.
The beautiful starlets greeted them with smiles, and the men took their seats. Flame sat beside Kim, and Diamond sat beneath Sasha.
“Baby, I ordered you some chicken and dumplings,” Sasha relayed to Diamond.
He kissed her on the lips. “Thanks.”
Kim rubbed Flame’s legs under the table and asked, “What do you want, Flame?”
Flame ordered fish and veggies while checking Kim out. She looked good in a green form-fitting flight suit and construction heels with a red bottom. The zipper was pulled down to her waist, showing off her smooth brown skin, six-pack, and nice breasts. Her black hair was pressed down to her neck and flipped up on the end.
But once again, Sasha was crushing her. Sasha’s long brown hair looked wet. She wore simple blue jeans and a low-cut V-neck sweater, but it looked extra special on her. Large gold earrings jangled every time she moved, competing with the diamond-encrusted bangles on her arm. Her skin appeared to be glowing.
Flame was relieved when Diamond started talking, because it stopped him from slyly admiring his chick.
“Me and my man gonna do big things together,” Diamond said to the ladies. “We got a lot in common. Remind me of myself. Came up scrapping and scraping to earn his bread. Caught a break and ain’t never trying to go back to broke, huh?”
Diamond looked at Flame for a co-sign, but the story he was weaving wasn’t exactly true. Truth was, Flame’s story was nothing like Diamond’s. Flame used to be a low-level jack-boy and compulsive gambler until Qwess gave him a shot at the music game. Hell, if it wasn’t for Qwess, he’d probably have been dead or in jail. Before rap, Flame feared people like who Diamond was before rap. But he wasn’t going to admit it. If Diamond wanted to big him up in front of the ladies, he wasn’t going to stop him.
“Pretty much,” Flame lied with a straight face.
“Word!” Diamond barked. “I ain’t neva going back to broke! Top of the world, baby!” He raised his glass in the air then downed it and belched. “Check it, Flame. You want to vacay with us next week?”
“Huh?”
Diamond cut his eyes at Kim sternly. “You ain’t ask him?”
“I didn’t have time to ask—”
“Yo, Flame, you want to go to France with us next week? It’ll be fun. Me, you, Sasha, Kim, and your man 8-Ball and Monica. They kicking it kind of strong from what I hear, been spending time together.”
This was news to Flame.
“Well, I have the BET awards in a couple weeks,” Flame told him.
“Sheeeit, we do too. We can fly out from the same place to the awards. Trust me, B.”
Flame thought quick and hard. He thought about chilling in the sun with Kim. Thought about seeing Sasha in a bikini again. Thought about his obligations in Cali prior to the actual awards show. A few radio stops and parties.
Then he thought about Qwess.
He thought about how Qwess would feel when he heard he was out of the country with Diamond. He thought about himself posting pics on Instagram for the world to see and how it would affect Qwess to see him living his best life without him.
Flame emitted a sinister chuckle. “Yeeeeah, I’m game,” he said.
“Yes!” Kim screamed and surprised Flame with a kiss on the lips. “It’ll be fun.”
Flame cut his eyes across the table at Sasha, who was staring right back at him. I bet it will be fun, he thought.
The trip couldn’t come fast enough.
Chapter 7
Charlotte, North Carolina
Bone sat inside the blacked-out Dodge Charger in the parking lot of the tall office building in Center City. It was just after five p.m., and the streets were just beginning to crowd with traffic. Bone had been in the same spot since four p.m. waiting for the same person to exit the building. From where he sat, he had a clear view to the entrance of the building. When the man came out, Bone wouldn’t miss him.
“Yo, what time he supposed to get off?” Bone’s passenger asked. His name was Shaheed, and he was here to make his bones for their de facto leader.
At just nineteen years old, Shaheed had been a part of the Crescent Crew for about six months, and although he had proven to be a good earner, flipping kilos of raw cocaine and the popular Percocet pills all through the Carolinas, his ultimate loyalty was still in question. With the low prices the Crew let their work go for, anybody affiliated with them could easily make money. That was nothing. To be a card-carrying member of the Crescent Crew, they had to be willing to go above and beyond hustling. They maintained their power by being willing to do what others wouldn’t do in pursuit of power, so they were blood-in, blood-out. Every member of the Crescent Crew had a body under their belt. The more brazen the hit, the higher their standing within the Crew, so when Bone came to Shaheed with the proposition that he needed something personal handled, Shaheed jumped at the chance.
Bone looked at his plain-Jane Richard Mille. “He was supposed to come out since five thirty,” Bone answered.
“What if he left through another exit?” Shaheed suggested.
“Nah, that muthafucka in there,” Bone whispered, staring at the entrance. “He never leave out another way. That motherfucker is predictable as a grandfather clock. Trust me.”
Bone knew because he had been tracking the man since Qwess had asked him about the incident that day. Although Qwess asked about the members of the Crew, Bone devised a plan to kill two birds with one stone. Instead of looking inside his ranks, he decided to go straight to the top to eliminate the threat.
Bone tapped Shaheed on his arm. “Yo, you might have to go in there and flush him out,” Bone said.
This was another reason he had ch
osen Shaheed to accompany him on the mission, just in case he had to go in. Shaheed was still young and inexperienced compared to the other members of the Crew. His soul hadn’t been completely corrupted yet, so he could still blend in with the regular folk. Hardened criminals had this . . . thing about them, like the aura of the “streets” just leaped off them. Other members of the Crew would’ve stuck out like a hard dick in a monastery for this mission. Shaheed’s smooth baby face, charming good looks, and uppity dress code would serve him well this time. No one would ever expect him to be a ruthless killer.
“You want me to go in?” Shaheed asked.
“You might have to.”
“What about the cameras?”
“Fuck those cameras! We have to take care of this today,” Bone insisted. “Hold up, hold up . . . there he go right there.”
Sure enough, John Meyers, executive VP of AMG, was walking out the front entrance with a briefcase in his hand. He walked with a slight limp, courtesy of his beatdown at the hands of the Crescent Crew.
“What you want me to do?” Shaheed asked.
“Just like we talked about. I want you to walk up to him, put the gun under his chin, and blow his brains out. Then, I want you to hit his ass six more times in the chest—seven shots in all.”
Shaheed went silent.
“You good, brother?” Bone asked.
“Yeah, I’m good. Seven shots, right?”
“Seven shots.”
Shaheed eased out of the Charger holding his silenced pistol on his leg, his eyes locked on John Meyers’s back. He walked quickly until he fell in step just a few feet away from John Meyers.
Bone watched Shaheed in anticipation of what was next to come. He pulled out his phone, started a video, and placed the phone on the dash to record the hit.
John Meyers was just a few feet away from his Maserati, and Shaheed was right on his heels. A jolt of excitement slithered through Bone’s veins as he watched the action unfold. He saw John Meyers turn around, and he imagined Shaheed had called the music executive to get his attention. Bone smiled. Shaheed wanted to give it to him up close and personal. Bone watched Shaheed ease his pistol up from beside his leg and . . . tuck it in his back.
Dirty Music Page 6
