The short of it was that no one could afford to lose any more money.
“Shit, we can’t take any more losses at all,” Khalid said.
“I know,” Qwess said. “You know I’m always thinking ahead, so I got something planned to bring us out the red and take us all the way into the black.”
This bold statement garnered everyone’s attention. They were all ears.
Qwess slapped a small cube-shaped Bluetooth speaker in the middle of the table. “This is the future.”
Everyone’s eyes fell on the cube while Qwess toyed with his phone. A few seconds later, an unreleased track from Qwess bled from the tiny speaker. They all listened to the song in silence, nodding their heads as they thought the answer was evident.
Doe broke the silence first. “So, you’re coming out of retirement? It’s about damn time. That’ll get us out the red for sure.”
The others in the room agreed with Doe. They all piped in with their comments, issuing high-fives to each other, excited that the problem would be solved soon.
Then Qwess burst their bubble.
“I’m not coming out of retirement!” Qwess yelled above the cacophony of side conversations.
“What?”
“I’m not coming out of retirement,” Qwess repeated. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about this.”
Qwess pointed to Amin, and he cued up a video on the screen. On the video, a colorful graphic showed current streaming numbers. Another graphic showed where streaming numbers were projected to go in the next few years. The numbers were astronomical. And that was just the music. With new streaming movie companies emerging, the possibilities were limitless.
“And these are modest estimates,” Qwess added. “That’s the future for us.”
Lisa picked up the speaker and examined it. “I mean, what? You talking like this is the wheel, like it’s going to change the world or something.”
“Baby, we gonna come off like drug dealers in the crack era,” Qwess assured her.
Khalid picked up the speaker and examined it as well. “What I want to know is how did you figure this out, son.”
Qwess relayed the story of Liam to them. He briefly told them about how Liam approached him with a warning of what was to come and offered him a way out.
“Okay, so this Liam guy . . . how you know he’s legit? He could be working for those same people and really trying to clean you out,” Khalid reasoned. “How much of an investment would this cost us to start this up?”
“Hmm . . . about thirty to fifty million up front,” Qwess estimated. “But we could make that money back in under six months—or less.”
“But how can we trust these Jews, bro?” Doe asked. “They more slippery than an eel in oil. This nigga could be trying to use our money to start his shit.”
“True.”
“True.”
“True.”
Qwess raised a hand. “I thought about that. And to be honest, I don’t see how he could play us.”
“My thing is,” Khalid said, “why would this Jew boy go against his own people for you, us, a bunch of niggers? I been in the joint with them Jews, and they always put themselves first.”
“I asked him the same thing,” Qwess informed them. “But he said something that made sense to me. He said, ‘Sometimes the visionary is the last person to see his vision come to life.’ ”
“Okay . . . and what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Doe asked.
“It means his people not down with this streaming shit,” Khalid answered.
“You’re right. They actually trying to prevent it,” Qwess agreed.
“Because it would take the power from their hands,” Amin said. He rubbed his unkempt goatee. “I mean, think about it, everyone knows the Jews run the entertainment industry. They do so because they only allow their people, or people they’ve endorsed, to make it to the next level. They control radio, television, movies . . . they run it all. So, they can make or break an artist or company by moving a hand. They can refuse to distribute, play their music on radio, pull their videos. I mean, shit, look how they got us in a trick bag right now.”
“Yep, and streaming is the great equalizer because it puts power in the hands of the people,” Qwess explained. “Look at how YouTube is changing the game.”
“Okay, but how can we monetize this streaming thing?” Doe asked.
“The new rules are still being rewritten, but basically technology is the key. Either we can utilize the technology that is already there, or we can design our own and patent it so whoever comes after us will have to pay us for it.”
The more Qwess spoke, the more the others warmed up to the idea. Everyone except Khalid.
“I still can’t figure out why this Jew boy will side with you over his own people,” he said.
Khalid had played the streets at the highest level in his day. He had done business with Jamaicans, Dominicans, Colombians, Mexicans, Turks, and Russians. Every nationality he had dealt with was willing to go against their own, but not the Jews. They stuck together like Superglue.
“Pop, what’s one thing Jews love more than their people?” Qwess asked. “Money! And with this type of money, he could circle back around and build a whole new nation!”
Everyone laughed.
“Seriously, though, I really think Liam wants to be the Christopher Columbus of his circle and show them they were wrong to go against him,” Qwess assumed. “Either way, I think this could get us back on top. What you think?”
Everyone seemed to be on board. They took a vote, and Khalid reluctantly agreed.
For Qwess, he saw the streaming deal as a way to reset the balance. Just as Liam had a point to prove, so did Qwess. He wanted to get his wife and Doe’s wife back on top. The declines of their careers were directly related to their allegiance to ABP. They were still superstars in their own right. With Flame’s new R&B album highly anticipated and a back catalog of never-released tracks from Mysterio aka King Reece, Qwess had enough ammo to mount a hostile takeover of the music industry. If he could pull this deal off and execute the numbers he projected, he could make ABP the biggest independent label in the history of the music business.
The only obstacle in his way was the lawsuit hanging over his head that threatened to bankrupt him.
Chapter 13
Qwess couldn’t believe what Malik Shabazz was telling him. He looked at the papers again and shook his head. He passed the papers to his father, and Khalid took a look at them too.
“Yeah, this is bad,” Khalid agreed.
“You told me that everyone in your crew was solid,” Malik Shabazz said. “That’s not what this paper says.”
Qwess shook his head. Someone in his crew was telling something about the assault at AMG’s offices in Charlotte. AMG had filed for a summary judgment, which meant they felt as if they had substantial evidence that would guarantee a win at trial. A summary judgment would save everyone the time and the embarrassment of a trial.
“Mr. Shabazz, if they had all the evidence that they claim, why not just go for criminal charges then?” Qwess asked. “They trying to call my bluff, man. This ain’t nothing but a shakedown!”
“Not really,” Malik Shabazz said.
“How you figure?”
“The burden of proof in a civil suit is less than for criminal charges,” Malik Shabazz and Khalid said in unison.
Malik Shabazz raised his finger. “But if they can secure a victory on this, then criminal charges may follow.”
Qwess smacked Malik Shabazz’s marble conference table. “Fuck!” He stuffed his face into his hands. “This can’t be happening, man. This is bullshit.”
“Calm down, son. There’s gotta be something we can do.”
“Oh, it is. You can offer a settlement, but it must be sizeable, I’m sure,” Malik Shabazz predicted.
Qwess was disgusted. “Settlement offer? I’m not paying you a thousand dollars an hour to tell me to settle.”
&
nbsp; “No but you are paying me to win, and sometimes a win looks different than what we expect it to.” Malik Shabazz shrugged. “Hey, losing ten mil may be easier than losing seventy-five mil.”
“Look, I’m not losing shit! Now, you need to fix this, man.” Qwess leaned over the table, got in Shabazz’s face and snarled, “Fix this shit, fast too!”
Shabazz was unfazed by Qwess’s scare tactics. Shabazz had just successfully defended Justus Moore at trial on multiple bodies. Justus Moore was one of the most terrifying men Shabazz had ever encountered. He was a straight sociopath—cool and smooth as an ice cube, smarter than Einstein, but more deadly than Hitler. If Shabazz could deal with him, then surely some rapper wasn’t going to ruffle his feathers.
“My brother, I can understand your frustration, but we must direct it in the right direction. We’re on the same team here.”
“He’s right, son. Calm down.”
“Now, if we can figure out who this CI number one is that they’re referring to, then maybe we can make an offer to him or her and make this all go away,” Shabazz suggested. “Apparently, that’s the only thing they have that ties this to you. Everything else is pure speculation.”
Qwess calmed down a bit. “Yeah, but how can we find that out?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Malik Shabazz said.
“Yeah, and I will find an answer, believe that!” Qwess promised as he stood to leave.
All he could think about was the money he was losing by the day with all the blackballing. He felt like Sonic the Hedgehog running through the maze of life. Every time he gathered his coins, an obstacle came by and knocked the coins out of his pocket.
Outside in the parking lot, Khalid stopped his son before he hopped in his Aston Martin. “Son, that man isn’t lying to you. If that confidential informant testifies against you in that case, everything we built will go down. Don’t ever put your legacy in the hands of your trust for another man. Think about what they did to me at trial.”
Qwess recalled the parade of former comrades testifying against his father in his federal trial. Guys his father had fed, lived for, and killed for had stabbed him in the chest in court. They didn’t even have the decency to stab him in the back with a secret statement. They came to open court and pointed him out and handed him an elbow.
“I’m not telling you to get dirty, but I am telling you whatever you have to do to win, you have to do it. Understand what I’m saying?”
Qwess heard his father loud and clear. Billions were riding on the lips of one person, and he was going to find out who it was one way or another.
* * *
Bone stood on the second level of Club Flesh overseeing the strip club while it was in full swing. Tits and ass were on full display, hustlers were making it rain, and the DJ was spinning nasty jams.
Club Flesh had been one of the jewels in King Reece’s empire. He had built it up to not only be Fayetteville’s premiere strip club, but it was the hottest strip club in the Carolinas. Women came from all over to be featured and get some of that money. Upon King Reece’s demise, Bone had made sure to keep it going.
See, the strip club was essential to any drug crew. The strippers were the female version of a dope boy. They were in tune with the streets, for the streets regularly pulled up. Veteran strippers could observe the crowd on any given night and tell who were the get-money niggas. They could also tell who the up-and-coming hustlers were too. Because a lot of the strippers maintained coke habits, they could also tell when good coke came into the city. Most importantly to the Crescent Crew, the strippers could rein enterprising hustlers into the ranks of the Crew.
In fact, King Reece had pulled one of his main chicks from the stage and made her his second wife. To this day, the girls still talked about Vanilla, mostly about her mysterious disappearance just before King Reece’s death. Some said that she was buried underneath his mausoleum, his love for her so great that he wanted her to join him in the afterlife.
Bone didn’t plan on wifing any chick from the club, but he definitely had his way with a few of them from time to time. One of them was his main floor girl, a Latina named Tatiana.
Bone stared at Tatiana as she flitted across the floor on tall heels, her bronzed ass jiggling around her thong. Bone watched as she asked a Mexican man if he wanted a lap dance. Bone had instructed her to pull the man’s card because he had been sitting down all night without buying anything. He had been watching everything that moved all night. With an ongoing war against the Mexican cartel, everyone with tan skin was suspect to Bone.
Bone’s phone buzzed, and he saw a text from Qwess: Open the back door.
Bone smiled. He didn’t even know his OG was in town. He bopped downstairs and opened the back door. He saw Qwess’s car—a low-key black Dodge Challenger—idling in the alleyway. When Qwess saw Bone, he opened the door and got out with his hoodie pulled over his head and his hands in his pockets. Bone whipped his Desert Eagle out and covered the alleyway while Qwess came in the building.
Qwess kept his hoodie on because he didn’t want to be seen, but a sack chaser could sniff out a rich man, and Qwess reeked of money. By the time he made it upstairs to Bone’s office and closed the door, all eyes were on him.
“As salaam alaykum akh!” Bone greeted. “What brings you down to mingle among the common folk, OG?”
Qwess ripped his hoodie off his head. “Shit, same ole, same ole.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Qwess sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, that problem just won’t go away.”
Qwess walked around the office tapping the walls for hollow points. When King Reece was alive, this office was the headquarters for the Crescent Crew. He knew that Reece had this office reinforced with Dynamat to prevent eavesdropping and bugging. This office was probably the safest room in the city for a criminal.
Bone leaned on his desk and crossed his arms. “Yeah, but you told me not to take care of it.”
“Nah, I told you not to do that. If you would’ve done that it would’ve brought the wrath down on us.” Qwess shook his head vehemently. “Nah, they’re too big.”
Bone didn’t see the problem. To the Crescent Crew, no one was off limits. They killed police, judges, attorneys . . . the only people that were off limits were kids.
“Off limits?” Bone questioned.
“Not like that,” Qwess clarified. “Anybody can get it, but it’s chess, not checkers. Always remember that.” Qwess tapped his forehead.
“I had to take the li’l homie out back in Charlotte,” Bone informed him. “He didn’t follow through with the move, and he knew too much. I feel kinda bad for ’em now since that move wasn’t the right one.”
“Yeah, well, you might want to save those tears for later because shit is about to get worse.”
Bone cocked his skeletal head to the side. “What you talking about, OG?”
Qwess had mulled over his decision the entire ride over to the club. His heart was heavy with grief, but he had no choice. He thought about what Reece would do in this situation, what Reece would say if he knew what he was contemplating. Qwess had thought of a million scenarios to not make the decision, but it kept coming back one way only. Too much was at stake. Too many lives depended on it. He was on the brink of making history.
Qwess leveled with Bone. “You ever thought about leaving the game? You ever thought about doing something else?”
“Sheeeit, and do what? Be a regular mofo? I can’t rap. Box. Shoot ball. None of that shit. But I can sell the hell out some motherfucking dope. I feel like this what Allah put me here to do.”
Qwess shook his head. He knew where Bone’s head was at. He had been there before himself, trapped by the allure of the game. At one point, he couldn’t see past the game himself. Then, his career took off, and he couldn’t see the game the same again.
“Okay, let me ask you this: if you could do anything in the world or be anything in the world, what would it be?” Qwess queried.
Bone stroked the thin hairs on his chin for a moment, really giving some though to the question. In the end he was still lost for words. “I don’t know, OG. The game’s been too good to me for me to even dream about anything else. I mean, I just turned thirty-three, and I’ve been playing with millions since I was in my late twenties.” He shrugged. “I never gave it much thought.”
“Do you think you could’ve done it all if you weren’t a part of the Crescent Crew?”
Bone palmed his chest with pride. “I am the Crescent Crew, OG. I know you and the King built this shit and I will always give you your proper respect, because without your sacrifices, I couldn’t have become the man I am.” Bone dropped his head, then raised it with pride. “But I rebuilt this brand with blood, sweat, and tears. Them Mexican motherfuckers would have taken over this city if I didn’t run them out of town. It’s a few more left, but they won’t be around long.”
Qwess listened to Bone proclaim his allegiance and wondered just how deep his loyalty ran.
“I see you, Young OG, you doing your thing, man. I can’t front, every time I call on you, you answer.”
“As I always will.”
“Yeah, about that . . .”
Bone smiled, showing all of his gold and diamond teeth. “Spit it out, OG. You ain’t come all the way down here in this dirty den to bullshit me. Speak your mind.”
“Yo, about how many brothers would you say still with us from that time the stunt got pulled in Charlotte?” Qwess asked.
Bone thought for a second. He mumbled names to himself as he ticked off numbers on his hand. When he started counting on his second hand, Qwess shook his head. Allah said to kill one Muslim unjustly is equivalent to murdering all of mankind. Qwess hadn’t exactly been on his deen since adopting a Hollywood lifestyle, but he felt Islam still lived in his heart. What he was contemplating now made him question not only his Islam but his humanity. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and he refused to be denied.
“About fifteen now,” Bone finally answered. “Why, what’s up?”
Qwess stared at Bone and confessed his conclusion. “Yo, one of them niggas is sour, Akhi. I don’t know who, so you know what you have to do, right?”
Dirty Music Page 12
