Dirty Music

by Shaun Sinclair

  Sources close to the case say the popular rapper was allegedly involved in a love triangle with R&B superstar Sasha Beaufont, after a tape surfaced allegedly showing the rapper and the R&B starlet engaging in explicit sex. Sasha Beaufont is engaged to music mogul Tyshawn “Diamond” Barker.

  Barker was allegedly a leader of the Bloods street gang in New York City, before he left the gang and began a music career. Rapper Flame, who has ties to the infamously violent drug cartel the Crescent Crew, is reportedly in a New York area hospital fighting for his life, while Barker’s whereabouts are unknown at this time.

  Authorities fear this may not only spark a hip-hop beef between the North and the South, like the tumultuous East-West beef of the 1990s that claimed the lives of two of music’s biggest stars, but with ties to two of the country’s most violent gangs, this may spill out into the streets of America. Please stay tuned for—”

  Maleek came into the office just as the reporter was wrapping up. He saw the images of Flame and Sasha on the screen.

  “Yo, isn’t that the homie, Flame?” Maleek asked.

  “Hell yeah,” Bone said, shaking his head. He scrolled through social media on his phone for more information. In this era, social media received news before the news.

  Sure enough, people on Twitter were showing video of Flame being wheeled out on a stretcher. His entire body was covered beneath a sheet except his face, and the paramedics went to great pains to cover that, but slivers of his bloody face could still be seen on the video.

  Bone scrolled down and saw more video of people holding a candlelight vigil in an alleyway. Even in the video, Bone could see bloodstains all over the pavement.

  “Fuuuck!!!” Bone screamed. All he kept hearing was the reporter mention the Crescent Crew. On national television, his family’s name was being called out. It didn’t get more high profile than this.

  Bone looked up from his phone at Maleek, who was watching the broadcast. “This is bad, homie. Real bad,” Bone said. “We got to see what the fuck is going on. We might have to shoot to NY to hold shit together.”

  Bone suddenly noticed that only Maleek was in the office. “Aye, where ole buddy at?”

  Maleek shrugged. “He outside in the trunk.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, he ain’t cut out for this life. All that fucking talking he was doing was going to get us all throwed,” Maleek explained. He pulled his pistol out and unscrewed the silencer from the tip of the barrel. “So I took care of it.”

  Bone nodded and smiled. Yep, li’l Maleek was going to be all right after all.

  * * *

  Damn, it was all good just a week ago.

  A week ago he was poised to be on top of the world with a billion dollars at his fingertips. His artist was on track to have the number one album in the country, and the label had garnered five Grammy nominations. Couldn’t tell him nothing!

  His little man had reinvented himself in grand fashion. Even the haters had to love it. Whether they hated it or loved it, the underdog was on top.

  It was all good just a week ago.

  Now Flame was sitting in a hospital fighting for his life with tubes and shit hanging out of his mouth like an astronaut. All because of a piece of pussy.

  Qwess shook his head.

  He’d told Flame not to mess with Diamond. He’d warned him the dude was dangerous with a capital D, but he wouldn’t listen. You just can’t fuck a man’s woman, especially a chick as fine and famous as Sasha Beaufont. Even Qwess didn’t fuck with Sasha Beaufont after she got with Diamond, and he definitely could have.

  But Flame just had to have her.

  Now his gravy train was threatening to be derailed. Everything he fought for was being threatened now because of a piece of pussy. ABP was in the process of reinventing itself on Flame’s back. Everything was going great, billions of dollars on the table poised to pile in, and now this. He had to find a way to put the pieces back together.

  On the screen above Flame’s bed was a constant reminder of what had transpired the previous night. If not for the media coverage, Qwess probably wouldn’t have believed it himself.

  Qwess’s driver had called him and told him that Flame was getting jumped by Diamond and his goons in the alleyway out back. When he rushed out the back door he saw Diamond slamming Flame into the trunk of the Phantom and Sasha lying on the ground. There was no time to act, so Qwess fired his gun right above Diamond’s head. Diamond froze. As soon as the shots rang out, Diamond’s goons produced their weapons and pointed them at Qwess.

  When Diamond saw that it was Qwess, he smirked and walked right in Qwess’s direction, but froze when Hulk and 8-Ball burst through the door and put a wall up in front of Qwess. Right there in the back alley, two of the biggest crews in the music business engaged in a grand ole Mexican standoff.

  Without uttering a word, Hulk walked right past Diamond and all of his goons with a calm demeanor. As big as Diamond was, Hulk still dwarfed him as he walked by. While Qwess held Diamond at gunpoint, and Diamond’s people held Qwess at gunpoint, Hulk carefully scooped Flame from the trunk of the Rolls-Royce and placed him on the ground. Flame was still unconscious and there was so much blood, his face couldn’t even be seen. The awkward position that his body was contorted in told everyone that serious damage had been done.

  Sirens wailed close by, and they all knew their time was getting short. All of the men weren’t exactly legal, and this was not the time or place to resort to mob-style tactics. All that mattered to Qwess at that moment was getting help for Flame.

  With fury bleeding from his voice, Qwess said, “Get your bitch and get the fuck out of my sight, nigga. We will deal with this shit later.”

  Diamond chuckled and replied, “She not my bitch no more; she belong to the game, my nigga. You’ll see.”

  One of Diamond’s people scooped Sasha and tossed her into the back seat of the Rolls like a rag doll while Diamond carefully retreated to the car as well.

  Diamond stuck his arm out the window and pointed to Flame. “If that li’l nigga not dead,” he said, “he gonna wish he was when I catch him again.”

  Police and paramedics poured into the alley just as Diamond eased the window up. The Rolls-Royce screeched out of the alleyway just before the authorities cordoned off the area.

  That was more than twelve hours ago.

  Qwess hadn’t left Flame’s side since the paramedics rushed him to Lenox Hill Hospital in the wee hours of the morning. They finally managed to stabilize him around noon and give an accurate diagnosis that wasn’t good.

  Flame’s brain had hemorrhaged from the head injuries he sustained in the beating and he had to be placed in a medically induced coma. Maybe that was a good thing considering he also sustained a severe back injury and was paralyzed from the waist down. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he knew he couldn’t walk. Even heavily sedated, every few minutes he would thrash violently, and the nurses would have to rush in the room and issue him another sedative.

  Qwess looked down at his li’l homie, friend, and number one meal ticket lying in the bed, and a wave of emotions washed over him. Remorse. Guilt. Doubt.

  “Damn, my nigga,” Qwess croaked, shaking his head. “I told you not to fuck with that nigga.”

  He removed his rose gold Cartier frames to wipe his eyes. So much was coming at him from so many angles. Since King Reece died, he felt all alone. He couldn’t grasp this music industry shit. It was so fake, yet the ramifications of it could be so real. The gangsta in him was dying to be released and right all the wrongs, but the businessman in him was keeping the gangsta at bay. He had a billion dollars on the table, and it felt like the universe was conspiring to keep him from touching it.

  Qwess felt the door open behind him. He thought it was the doctor, but when he turned around, there was a stranger standing there.

  Qwess flinched and reached for his piece that was no longer in his waist. “Yo, who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

>   The man was brown-skinned, about six foot two and weighed in around 220 with a portly belly. A long black beard touched his barrel chest, and the waves spinning in his Caesar nearly rocked Qwess to sleep.

  “Relax, Qwess, I mean you no harm,” the man said. He wore distressed denim, construction Timbs, and a brown leather bomber with fur accents on the collar and wrists. “I come in peace.”

  The man looked very familiar to Qwess. He had seen him somewhere before but with his mind clouded with so much, he couldn’t recall where he knew him from.

  “Yo, how the hell did you get past all the security?” Qwess asked, looking past the man to the closed door. Flame was being treated in a private wing, and Hulk was heading the security detail, which consisted of people from ABP as well as local muscle.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “Ahh, I don’t remember much at all right now. My li’l man is laying here in a coma.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” The man looked over both shoulders and whispered. “I need some help, yo.”

  In that instant, Qwess recognized where he knew the man from. “Ohh, shit! You’re that rapper that was signed to Diamond! Motherfucker!”

  Qwess lunged at the man, but he parried away smoother than Money Mayweather. When he ducked away from Qwess his coat fell open. That’s when Qwess saw the badge.

  “Yo, what the fuck is going on?” Qwess hissed. “You better tell me something fast.”

  “Qwess, brother, relax and I’ll tell you everything. We have to talk in here where no one can see me because I can’t blow my cover.”

  By now, it was apparent that the man was a cop, and that blew Qwess’s mind more than anything he had witnessed the previous night. Qwess recalled seeing the man with Diamond’s entourage for the past year. They were hyping him as the next big thing in the music industry, an underground rapper with a notoriously mysterious persona. Now Qwess knew why the mystery.

  “You’re Mystikal or some shit like that, right?” Qwess asked.

  “Yeah, that’s my rap name, but my real name is Agent Roberts. I’m an undercover agent with the FBI.”

  Qwess was flabbergasted. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  Agent Roberts nodded. “Yep. I’ve been undercover with DMP for the past year.” DMP was Diamond’s record and production company, Diamond Mine Productions. “I’ve been investigating the music industry with a bird’s-eye view for the past year.”

  Qwess whistled, “A real live fucking hip-hop cop,” he said.

  Agent Roberts shrugged. “Hey, when the government wants to investigate drug cartels, they assign undercover agents as drug dealers or drug buyers. When they want to investigate the hip-hop industry, they assign agents as rappers.”

  Qwess was speechless. He’d heard about the hip-hop cops, but he’d never seen one up close and personal. Just hearing him speak about how close he’d been inside hip-hop circles made Qwess shudder. What did he hear about Qwess while with Diamond? What had he heard about the Crescent Crew?

  “Makes sense,” Qwess admitted. “But what brings you here? At this time, no less?”

  “First, let me say I’m sorry for what happened last night, and I’m sorry to have to have this conversation over Flame’s body.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “I’m sorry, I mean while he’s in this condition. But you understand my need to be discreet.”

  “Let’s get to it, man. Because I got people from all over the country on the way here. This place is about to get messy.”

  “Fair enough. Bottom line, I’m here for two reasons. I want info about last night. I’ve been on to Diamond and I know what he’s been up to, but I could never catch him. However, what you saw last night can put him on ice until I can make what I have on him stick.”

  “And the second thing?”

  “I want to stop this war. I know who you really are and I know how this can go. I want to warn you, Qwess, or should I say, Salim . . . the whole bureau is watching you. We’ve been watching you for a while. I can tell you there are criminal charges coming down on you from the AMG situation. I can tell you we had someone planted in your Crescent Crew organization—that is until late last night. Qwess, I wish I could tell you that things are going to get easier, but it’s not. However, it can be. It’s your choice.”

  Qwess listened intently. He wanted to hear exactly what he was up against. “What are you saying, Agent Roberts?”

  “You know how this thing goes, Qwess.” Agent Roberts spread his hands expansively. “You help us, we help you.”

  “What exactly are you asking me?”

  “Help us get Diamond, and we will grant you immunity on everything.”

  Qwess looked at Agent Roberts, clad in his hip-hop attire and big beard. For at least a year, he had been masquerading in hip-hop circles, perpetrating a fraud as a rapper, gleaning information. He had done a spook that sat by the door reversal on the hip-hop industry. Now, he was before one of the biggest names in the game revealing himself as an agent trying to flip him.

  “So, what’s it gonna be, yo?”

  Before Qwess could answer Hulk peeked his head in the door and interrupted him from answering that fateful question.

  “Bro, you okay in here? His five minutes is up,” Hulk asked.

  “Actually, this guy was just leaving,” Qwess said.

  “Well?” Agent Roberts asked as he walked toward the open door.

  Qwess frowned and motioned at Flame. “Have some respect.”

  “Does this conversation stay here until we can be in touch again?”

  Qwess stared at Agent Roberts. “Again, have some respect.”

  Agent Roberts left the room.

  Chapter 17

  Flame remained in a coma for a week, and the whole music industry was in a coma right along with him. He was a star that shined bright in a universe of wannabe stars. He had that “it” factor that birthed stars. As Qwess had told him when he first started in the game: he had to make all the men want to be like him and all the women want to be with him. Flame had surpassed that edict. He had the whole world reciting his freaky rhymes, and had the whole world digging his lothario persona.

  Flame’s problem was that fame could blur the lines of consequence. He had soared to unreachable heights on the wings of stardom, heights where his hype made him believe he was untouchable. He had reveled in his status as a ladies’ man, fashioned it, courted it, and promoted it. Unfortunately, Flame’s persona was his lifeline and possibly his death knell.

  In the days that Flame remained in the hospital, more video of him and Sasha emerged online, snippets of their whole affair. On the seventh day that he was in the hospital, the entire thirty-minute video surfaced online. A leading porn company finagled the rights to the video, cleaned up the grainy images, and sold them.

  The video made Flame a bigger star than music ever made him. Women salivated over his monster ten-inch dick, and men admired him for giving it all to Sasha in championship fashion like so many of them fantasized of doing. Flame’s new single flew off the shelves, and the world was anticipating his new album like dope fiends lusted for their next hit.

  Sasha’s good-girl image took a huge hit when the whole tape surfaced. Her carefully crafted image the record label had methodically produced over time evaporated quicker than water on the sun. However, the public was divided on what to do with her. Her good Christian followers abandoned her, of course, but the hood really embraced her now. She was the new bad girl, lauded for her ability to remain down to earth among so much stardom. Everyone thought she was too straitlaced to be whining like she did on stage. Seeing her in action changed their perception of her. While the tape alienated her core fans, she gained a whole new fan base. Too bad she couldn’t enjoy it.

  A week after New Year’s still no one had heard from Sasha since she’d been tossed in the backseat of Diamond’s Rolls-Royce.

  Diamond had resurfaced a couple days after the attack wit
h a new supermodel on his arm. He paraded her around town, taking photos with his heavy arm draped around her, kissing her every time a camera clicked. He was sending the message loud and clear that he was done with Sasha, but the question on everyone’s mind was, where was Sasha?

  * * *

  Qwess flew into Fayetteville for a day to handle some business that had to be handled in person. Malik Shabazz had summoned him, and that was the one piece of business he was happy to handle.

  Immediately after the news of Flame’s misfortune, the other leading story was the assassination of fourteen high-ranking members of the Crescent Crew. Because of the brazen nature of the attack, it was being reported that the Mexican cartel was responsible. News outlets were attributing the murders to a drug turf war between the Mexican drug cartels expanding into new territory and the incumbent empire trying to hold on to their power. The use of a rocket launcher in the murders brought the attention of the federal government, and authorities were threatening to activate the National Guard if things grew out of hand. For all the attention the murders drew, Qwess was still optimistic, because the murders confirmed that anyone who could have possibly known about the attack at AMG years ago had been eliminated.

  Qwess stepped off the elevator into Malik Shabazz’s office with his poker face. He could hardly contain his excitement about getting this much closer to the deal of his life.

  “Salim, as-salaam alayka, brother,” Shabazz greeted Qwess with a smile, but Qwess could see it was forced.

  “Wa alayka salaam, Brother Shabazz. What you got for me?”

  Malik Shabazz sat at his desk and shuffled a stack of papers. He motioned for Qwess to sit down. “Take a seat. We have a lot to discuss.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Qwess already knew as much. He couldn’t wait to hear Shabazz confirm things.

  “Oh, yeah.” Shabazz slid the stack of papers across the desk to Qwess. “They filed these interrogatories and admissions. We have thirty days to respond.”