This is cool, he thought, and began using the power.
With his thoughts, he created a stage set that was a homage to himself. Large photos of him with his shirt off danced as a live mural in the backdrop. Next, he telepathically set two huge speakers up in the corners of the stage. Flame went to work creating a beautiful masterpiece all with his mind. While he rearranged his environment, he watched the beautiful woman captivate him and the crowd with her seductive movements.
He quickly became enthralled with her performance, watching her naked ass jiggle as she twerked. He thought about what it would be like to penetrate those soft cheeks, and as soon as the thought registered, his huge penis appeared in his hands. He walked toward the performer, and when he was within a couple feet of her, she whirled around and showed him her face.
Flame jumped back in a mixture of fear and disgust. The woman’s face was grotesquely disfigured, and a mask of blood covered it. She bared her sharp teeth and wailed at Flame. Flame recoiled toward the back of the stage until he heard a noise.
Suddenly, a voice blared his name through the speakers.
“FLAME!”
Flame spun around and saw a huge holographic image of Diamond on the screen at the back of the stage. Flame froze and imagined Diamond disappearing. But this time it backfired. Instead of Diamond disappearing, he came to life and walked out of the screen, towering thirty feet into the air above Flame. As he advanced toward Flame, terror erupted from Flame’s lips, but no sound came out.
Flame turned and rushed toward the end of the stage. He ran to the edge of the stage and skidded to a stop when he saw a long drop down into an abyss. He paused and dashed away from the edge, but Diamond was still walking toward him slowly, shaking thunder from the ground with each step. Flame’s eyes flitted from Diamond to the edge of the stage. Fear caused him to forget about his superpower. Fear made him forget everything.
Fear made him forget about Sasha until she popped up in his face, wailing his name and reaching out for him with her bloody claws.
“Fllllllaaaaaaaammmmee!” Sasha screamed.
Flame turned around and ran toward the edge of the stage. Rather than stop this time, he swan-dived right off the edge of the stage into the abyss down below. He screamed at the top of his lungs until . . .
* * *
Flame’s eyes flashed open. The first thing he saw were the blinding overhead lights beaming in his face. He gasped for air, but the gadget covering his face made it hard for him to suck any in.
He panicked.
Flame tried to snatch the gadget from his face, but his arms felt restricted. He clenched his fist in an attempt to free his arm, but it didn’t work. The mask felt suffocating now. All he wanted to do was breathe, and have the bright light removed so he could see where the hell he was. He writhed in the bed and kicked his legs. Well, in his mind he kicked his legs, but he didn’t feel them move. He kicked them again, and again he felt no movement.
Flame really panicked then.
He blew into the mask with all the air in his lungs, trying to move it. When that didn’t work, he directed his energy to his left arm. Just like he did in his dream, he thought about his arm moving. Just like it happened in his dream, the arm moved this time, just a little. Flame repeated the actions, and this time the arm heaved high in the air and something clanged to the floor.
Flame tried to do the same thing to his legs, but still nothing happened. He tried it a few more times to no avail. His heart thundered in his chest as more fear set in.
My legs, I can’t feel my legs!
Flame realized that he had his voice, and he screamed at what he thought was the top of his lungs. In reality, the scream was no more than a glorified whimper. When nothing happened, he repeated the scream multiple times until he heard machines squealing all around him. Then, in the distant recesses of his ears, he heard footsteps galloping all around him and people talking excitedly. Finally, someone removed the plastic piece from over his mouth.
Flame gulped in a lungful of fresh air.
Flame . . . was out of his coma.
Chapter 19
It was as if Mr. Westside had survived his shooting in Vegas. Or if the Suburban had been bulletproofed. So many years after those tragedies, hip-hop finally received its favor when Flame beat death in New York City.
The industry breathed a collective sigh of relief when news spread about Flame recovering from his coma. People were still visiting the candlelight vigil that had been erected at Times Square when the news broke, so everyone thought it was a hoax. That is, until the earliest photos of Flame in the hospital bed broke the Internet. The images were gruesome . . . raw . . . real. The images were what happened when someone trifled with Tyshawn “Diamond” Barker.
It had been weeks since the incident, and no one had heard from Diamond nor Sasha since the incident. Sasha was officially being reported as a missing persons case, and authorities were exploring bringing charges against Diamond—if they could find him.
While the entertainment industry scrambled to reset itself, it was business as usual for Qwess as he floated high above the clouds in his Gulfstream to New York City along with his team. Before him, on one of the wooden tables, were the prospective expense reports from Liam for the streaming company, along with a partnership agreement. His father had gone over the contract with a fine-toothed comb and assured him that everything was equal. There were no creative loopholes or hidden clauses that allowed for Liam to one-up Qwess. It was an equal split between ABP and Liam’s new startup.
The name of their new streaming company was Wave, which was an homage to Qwess’s hometown of Atlantic Beach, and it symbolized Liam’s home near the Gaza Strip. A Muslim and a Jew teaming up on this level was unheard of, but Qwess and Liam were hoping to create a new wave with Wave.
Reading the actual figures excited Qwess beyond words. He was a visionary, and creating something that would take over the world made his blood pump. Knocking down hurdles was his drug, creating legacies was his mission. So amidst all the chaos surrounding Qwess, as he pored over the reports and sipped champagne, he was in a pocket of peace.
Qwess slid a piece of paper across the table to Amin and Doe. “See this shit, bro?” Qwess said. “We can make over a hundred mil in under twelve months.”
“If this shit pops off,” Amin advised.
“Bro, this is the wave of the future,” Qwess insisted.
Doe frowned and ran his fingers through his curly hair. “I don’t know, bro. All this shit is fairly new, this technology . . . the streaming . . . it’s a huge gamble.”
“Yeah, but the rewards go to the risk takers!” Qwess replied, shaking his fist. “Streaming is doing good in Europe. We just have to perfect the technology, and Liam has got that covered.”
“Yeah, but what’s the ticket for us to get started? The entry number.”
Qwess sighed and leaned back in the plush leather chair. “It’s gonna wipe us out.”
“Wipe us out? What does that mean?” Amin asked.
“It means that we will be all in.”
“What’s the number, though?” Doe asked.
“Around seventy.”
“Seventy, but what about—”
Qwess shot Doe a look that hushed him. He knew what Doe was inquiring about, but everything wasn’t for everybody.
“So, yeah, we will be all in, but if it pays off, we will be liquid again in a matter of months. I’m talking allllll the way up.”
Everyone silently ruminated on the papers before them. They were in a weird position. Everything they did to take their company to the next level came back to bite them in the ass. The acquisition of Niya was supposed to be their takeover, the feather in the cap of their independence. Instead, it was the acquisition of a beef that pushed them out of the graces of the industry. Setback upon setback tumbled upon their heads, and now their backs were against the wall. They were damned if they did and damned if they didn’t. If they didn’t go forward with the de
al, they would effectively be frozen back to the projects. If they went forward and lost, they would be back to the block. However, if they did the deal, they would be back on top like never before, waving to the haters in their rearview.
Amin broke the silence. “One thing in our favor is Flame,” he said. “I hate to sound heartless, but if we can get him back in that studio and get him to pull some music out of this incident. . . we can make hundreds of millions out the gate.”
Qwess shot his business manager a scowl, but he had to admit he was right. Flame was still their golden ticket.
“Yeah, well, we’ll see about Flame in a few hours. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right, bro. Everything is still riding on Flame . . .”
* * *
From the airport in Teterboro, New Jersey, the ABP squad headed to the hospital to embrace Flame on his return to the land of the living. The hospital was a madhouse! Media from all over the world had camped out outside, hoping to get that coveted sound byte from an A-lister.
The convoy of Maybachs pulled up outside and cameras flashed. As Hulk ushered Qwess out of the car, Qwess pulled the collar of his mink up and pulled the matching mink hat down over his ears. Media thrust mics and smartphones in his general vicinity, but Hulk pushed them out of the way. Still they cackled and fired questions at him, trying to force an interview on him.
“Qwess, what does this loss mean to your ABP roster?”
“Do you plan to seek revenge on Diamond?”
“Did you have Diamond killed? Is that why we can’t find him?”
“How do you plan to rebuild your roster now that Flame is gone?”
Qwess was able to ignore all of the questions except the last one. That one rubbed him the wrong way, and he had to respond.
Qwess pushed Hulk aside and gripped the reporter’s hand. “Don’t you ever disrespect my li’l homie like that ever again. There will be no rebuilding. ABP is here to stay, and Flame is going to bounce back better than ever.”
Qwess’s answer elicited more questions, but they fell on his back since he was already inside the building.
When 8-Ball led Qwess into the room, what he saw made him question his previous statement.
Flame was fucked up!
Bandages were wrapped around his head, still leaking blood. The left side of his face was still swollen to the size of a baseball and his left eyeball protruded from its socket. A brace was around his neck, preventing him from moving his head so his one good eye rolled around like a pinball. He had lost at least fifteen pounds over the past few weeks, and his torso appeared emaciated beneath the gown. A sheet covered his lower torso, but it was evident that his legs couldn’t move.
As tough as Qwess was, seeing Flame like this crushed him. He pushed past 8-Ball and went to the bedside.
“My nigga . . .” Qwess whispered.
Flame’s good eye rolled and settled on Qwess. “D-don’t . . . l-let them see me l-l-like this, OG,” Flame stuttered. “P-please?”
Qwess sighed and turned around. “Clear the room. Everybody out. Now!”
When the room cleared, Flame and Qwess spoke. “I’m f-fucked up . . .” Flame stammered. His lip and jaw were so swollen that it was hard for him to speak. “They s-s-s-say . . . s-s-s-say . . .” Flame could enunciate what was on his tongue; he just couldn’t fathom what had to be said.
Qwess patted Flame’s hand. “What up, li’l brother? What they saying? Come on with it.”
“They s-s-s-saying I won’t ever walk again.” As soon as the words passed his lips, he broke down.
Qwess shook his head and tried to calm him down. “Nah, fuck what they’re saying, Joey! You gonna walk up out this bitch. Fuck what they talking.”
Flame shook his head—as much as he could with his neck wrapped in the brace. “I c-can’t even f-feel my dick, man. W-what the fuck am I-I going to d-do now?”
Again, Flame’s body rocked with sobs.
A million thoughts ripped through Qwess’s head, but his mind settled on the billions slipping through his palms. Here was his meal ticket paralyzed and broken—literally.
The executive in him inwardly chastised his artist for being so reckless. The OG and big homie in him wept for his little brother. All of the disrespect he showed toward him last year was now a small thing in his mind. Here he was fighting for his life, sanity, and his mobility. The petty beef now paled in comparison to reality.
Qwess patted Flame’s hand. “We gonna get through this, li’l homie. You’ll see.”
Qwess was giving Flame encouragement, but he wasn’t so sure about this one. He had lofty ambitions for Flame reinvigorating ABP 2.0, but now he wasn’t so sure.
Qwess stood by Flame’s bedside in silence for a full ten minutes, listening to him sob and break down. Inwardly his heart wept too, for different reasons. At every turn it seemed as if life was trying to break him, but he refused to be denied.
Qwess reflected back to what an old general told him years ago about making decisions in tough times. The general said that when you think you have done everything you can do to solve a problem, and you have implemented every solution possible and still failed . . . think again and come up with a plan, because there is a solution to every problem. This philosophy coincided with Surah 94, Ayat 5 of the Holy Qu’ran. Allah advises the believers that for every difficulty there is relief. In fact, the verse was repeated twice, which meant that was a guarantee. So Qwess knew there was a solution to his dilemma; he just had to think things through.
Qwess stood to allow 8-Ball back in the room. As 8-Ball walked past him, an idea hit Qwess heavier than an anvil. He had an answer all along! He had been sitting on it because he was harvesting all of his eggs in one basket. With his options limited, the other idea shined bright in his head like a star. He began to formulate a Plan B in his mind.
Qwess had a rusty unreleased catalog of music from an artist that had the potential to shake up the game. In the era of trap music where authenticity was king, Qwess had something that could reinvent the genre. He had teased the industry with a snippet on one of his albums in the past, and they ate it up. Maybe if he packaged it properly, with the right promo, it could do the trick. In fact, what better way to rewrite the rules of the game than with a new method of deploying a new type of artist? The stakes were high, but the reward was worth it.
Excited, Qwess walked out of the room to get more info on Flame’s condition from the doctors. As soon as he left Flame’s hallway, he saw them: a cavalry of federal agents coming right toward him full speed. Their jackets were blue and the letters emblazoned on the chest were bright yellow. Hulk saw them too, and he quickly jumped in front of Qwess to shield him, but Qwess waved him off.
“It’s cool, big guy. Let them do their thing. Get Doe and Amin and tell them to get Shabazz ASAP. I was already prepared for this.”
The agents beelined toward Qwess with their badges and guns showing. “Mr. Wahid, we have a warrant for your arrest.”
Qwess raised his hands and extended them to the agents in surrender. “What for?” he asked. He was already anticipating the arrest from the warning the hip-hop cop gave him, but he wanted to know the exact charges they were trumping on him.
“Pick a charge, fuckhead!” one of the agents barked and pushed Qwess against the wall. He spun him around and put the cuffs on him. “Criminal conspiracy, drug trafficking, money laundering, murder . . . choose one, because they’re all yours.”
“Murder? I didn’t murder no fucking body!” Qwess was so surprised by the mention of a murder charge that he didn’t bother to deny the other charges.
“Sure you didn’t. Let’s go, rich guy.”
The agent snatched Qwess from the wall and escorted him out of the building.
Outside, the reporters waiting received a real scoop when they saw Qwess being escorted out in handcuffs. They rushed him, demanding to know what was going on.
Just an hour prior, Qwess had walked in the hospital looking like the million-dollar m
ogul he was. Now, the music superstar had been reduced to doing the perp walk like a common criminal.
Only in America.
Chapter 20
Doe had been taking the backseat, playing the background. He never had the desire to dance in the spotlight. He was cool with the money; they could keep the fame. He had seen what fame did to Qwess and the ABP roster, and he wanted no part of it. Unable to go to the grocery store without being mobbed. Unable to even attend a movie in public. Unable to do the simple things like walk down a street on a romantic stroll. For all the freedom fame granted, it also came with an invisible cell as well. Not to mention, everyone hurling adoration at you like either confetti or debris. Women throwing themselves at you like softballs. Doe had had a small taste of the limelight and failed miserably when he engaged in a tryst with a video vixen named Dana. For the past few years, he had been mending his indiscretion with his wife, and every day was not a holiday. Doe was content to handle business and spend his days with his wife, Niya, their three-year-old daughter, Princess, and Reece’s son, Prince.
But when the feds arrested Qwess, Doe had no choice but to assume the position of the de facto leader of ABP.
Doe quickly arranged for Malik Shabazz to be flown up to New York City from the Carolinas to spring Qwess from the clink. Then, with everything surrounding the label, he felt it was necessary to hold a press conference to project a strong image to the world. He knew the importance of controlling the narrative he wanted presented to the world. His message would be simple. ABP is bruised, not broken. Doe knew that the international community was looking on, and with all eyes on them, he had to set the record straight. He immediately called on his connections in the media and decided to host a press conference right outside the hospital.
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