Bone stood on the marble steps of the mausoleum and offered a two raka salaat toward the East. After he salaamed out, he sat in the final position and opened his palm toward the heavens to offer supplication and receive guidance. He inhaled deeply, and the cool air burned his lungs. He forced himself to zone out from the world to hear the distant voice inside his soul. He closed his eyes and the weirdest thing happened.
He heard King Reece talking to him!
“You repping this shit, my nigga! You giving them niggas hell, looking fly, and you staying true to the game. Don’t let nobody trick you off the streets, Bone. I groomed you for this shit. You the second coming of me, but don’t let them get you. Watch them niggas that’s close to you! Watch ’em! Keep making me proud.”
No one could tell Bone that what he was hearing wasn’t real. He felt King Reece’s words in his core. It was what he came for.
Bone continued to breathe deeply, and right there in broad daylight, the God gave him revelation.
* * *
Flame scrolled through Kim’s Instagram with hesitation. He had allowed her to bring him back to social media gently, and he had been catching up on her life via her page for about ten minutes. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. Fortunately, people had stopped associating her name with his since the tape with him and Sasha was released, so there was very little posted associated with them.
“Okay, you ready now?” Kim asked Flame.
“Ready for what?”
“To see your world now.”
Flame shook his head. “Nah, I don’t know about that.”
“Sure you are!” Kim tugged at Flame’s hand. “Joey, it’s just social media. Look, you have already survived the worst of things. You are healing more and more each day. Whatever you may see on social media is a testament to where you’ve been. It’s all up from here. Right?”
Flame wasn’t so sure he was ready. “Uhh . . . I don’t know.”
Kim grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s pray on it.” Flame allowed her to take his hand, and he tucked his chin to his chest while Kim bowed her head.
“Father God, we come to you today in humble submission, Lord God. We ask that you wrap your arms around us and protect us from any pain we may endure. We pray that you offer your wisdom, guidance, and strength as your son Joey bears witness to your mercy. In Jesus name, we pray. Amen.”
Flame was slow to repeat after her, but in a voice barely above a whisper he finally said, “Amen.”
Kim smiled and clapped. “Yaaay! See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
“I guess.”
“Okay, so we’re protected now. So whatever you see on here is just a testimony since you already passed the test. Okay?”
Flame nodded.
Kim grabbed the phone and hashtagged his name in the search bar on Instagram.
Immediately, a series of pictures flooded the screen. The most recent photos showed him being wheeled around the hospital by 8-Ball. The Gucci throw covered his legs, but his face was easy to see. In one still, someone had blown up his face to show the world just how mangled his jaws looked. It was an earlier picture that showed the bloody staples in his face on one side, and white gauze wrapped around his forehead like a turban.
“Yo, who the fuck took this picture?” Flame barked.
“Ooh, language, language.”
“I’m sorry, Kim, but someone in violation. Ball, you see this?”
8-Ball rushed over and saw the photo. It had been taken just a week ago. “Yeah, I know when this was taken. They in violation, and I’m going to handle it.”
8-Ball started toward the door, but Kim stopped him.
“Wait! What are you getting upset for? Joey is a star; they’re supposed to take pictures of him. People want to know what happened to him,” she reminded them. “We should be mad if they’re not checking for him.”
8-Ball caught what she was saying right away, and he knew what she was doing. Flame needed his confidence back. He needed to be reminded just who the hell he was.
8-Ball joined Kim in her plan. “Yeah, Kim, you right. They just paying homage to who Joey is. Let them take all the photos they want.”
Kim caught 8-Ball’s attention and winked at him.
“So, come on Joey, let’s go over to Twitter and see what they’re talking about.”
Flame tensed up. He wasn’t ready for Twitter. Twitter was a savage land where nothing was off limits. Armchair comedians hurled their best routines at the expense of others.
“I’m good.”
“No you’re not,” Kim said. “What are you worried for? We prayed up. Let me show you the power of my God.”
Against his judgment, Flame let Kim take him to the Twittersphere. The first thing he saw was a clip of Diamond trying to power bomb him through the pavement.
Flame tensed up. Closed his eyes. He had a flashback of being hoisted into the air. He heard the wind screaming in his ear as Diamond swung him in the air like a little child. He saw the bright city lights whirling around him before he felt his back crack.
“Ahhh!” Flame yelled and clamped his hands over his ears.
Kim hopped on the bed with Flame and wrapped him in a loving embrace. She cradled his head on her bosom and rocked back and forth with him.
“Shhh . . . it’s okay. It’s okay, Joey. I’m right here. God got you. His promise is true. Shh . . .”
She gently removed his hands from his ears and placed them in his lap. Then she leaned on his chest and positioned the phone so he could see the screen.
“You ready?” Kim asked. “You have to do this, Joey.”
Flame slowly opened his eyes. Kim scrolled down and allowed him to see some of the comments that accompanied the Sasha video:
“This nigga was killing that pussy!”
“That pussy almost got him killed for real.”
“Ain’t no pussy good enough to get burnt while I’m up in it.”
The accompanying memes were even crazier. There was one meme with the wrestler the Undertaker Tombstone pile-driving a man. Someone had superimposed Flame’s caricature on the man getting driven into the mat.
Another meme was a picture of Flame’s face battered and bruised with the caption, “When the husband meets the side nigga.”
Reading the consensus on social media made Flame feel horrible. He felt like an idiot for transgressing the bounds. To make it even worse, here was his betrayal laid out in the open, and he was seeing it with the woman he’d betrayed, while she was attempting to help him.
“It’s okay, Joey. I’ve seen it a million times already. I made peace with it,” Kim assured him.
“Yeah, but I don’t understand it. Why are you here?” Flame asked.
“I told you, God sent me.”
Flame shook his head and sighed. “So . . . I have to ask . . .”
“I’m listening, Joey. Go ahead.”
“Where is Sasha? Is she alive or did he . . .”
Kim was silent for a second. Then she answered, “She’s alive, but she will never be the same again.”
Chapter 23
Qwess looked at the calendar on the wall and ticked off day 26 on the countdown to his extradition. They had waived extradition back to North Carolina, so according to Shabazz, the government had just four more days to move him or he would go back before a judge in New York for a bond hearing. His alleged charges occurred in North Carolina, so even though he was in federal custody, the correct federal jurisdiction to hear his case was in the Fourth Circuit. As he waited, his thoughts were everywhere. He had already turned into bid mode, pumping out pushups each time something surfaced in his head. Exercising made his thoughts flow easier.
Qwess dropped to the floor and pounded out a set of diamond pushups while he processed his thoughts.
Every second of every day Qwess thought about Wave, their streaming company. Since being introduced to the idea, he had been consumed with streaming. The paradigm was shifting in business, and the music
business wasn’t exempt. The power of the Internet democratized business and changed everything. New rules were being written by the day, and just as it had been on the frontier of the Wild West, whoever struck gold first controlled the rules. Streaming was akin to gold for the music industry. With technology replicating itself every eighteen months, digital products would only become more prevalent, then ubiquitous, then pervasive. Whoever controlled the digital space controlled the new narrative.
Qwess sprang chills every time he thought about the possibilities. His photographic memory came in handy while he was inside as he was able to “see” the figures he had studied before being incarcerated. Based on those figures, he was able to envision a huge ROI, or return on investment. The $30–50 million in startup money would be chump change compared to the impact that Wave would have on the culture. He could easily see a billion. He could use Wave to reset the balance in the music industry, pay them back for what they did to the Cold Crush. With Wave, ABP could be the biggest fish in the biggest pond. But he had to be out of prison to make the moves.
Qwess rolled over and snapped off a series of flutter kicks while his mind segued to the next topic.
This time Qwess thought about his cases. They were both tied together by the tongue of the same informant. He was waiting any day for Shabazz to inform him that the witness was unavailable to testify. So far, that word had not come.
Qwess had issued the order to clean his whole line, soldiers who had put their lives at risk for what he founded. Good, strong men whose only fault was surviving a war that defined an era. Their major folly was that they knew too much and were walking around with too much information in their heads, so Qwess had to air it out. At the time he ordered the purge, he felt no qualms about it. It was well understood that in the Crescent Crew it was death before dishonor. This was their oath, their pledge, their ethos. If they were in the Crew, then they knew the Crew didn’t raise no rats. Every man knew the consequences of his acts. So if they were snitching, or knew one of their comrades was snitching, then they deserved the death penalty. That was how he rationalized it anyway. However, he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right decision now, despite what Agent Roberts alleged.
When Agent Roberts came to visit Qwess that day, he tried to flip him again. He informed Qwess that Diamond had discovered that Agent Roberts was a federal agent, and now he was on the run. Last they heard of Diamond he was in Africa being protected by warlords. Since the video surfaced of him attempting to murder Flame, and the subsequent videos of Sasha being gang-raped, the feds were really after him. The only thing Qwess couldn’t figure out was why they thought he knew information to help them in their investigation. Qwess didn’t fuck with Diamond at all! He recalled Agent Roberts’s smug look when he told him just like that.
“Well, you gonna wish you knew something, Qwess, because if not, you gonna get the needle,” he promised.
“Well, I’d rather get the needle before I turned rat,” Qwess spat. “A coward dies a thousand deaths; a soldier dies but once.”
Although Qwess felt that to his core, as he stared up at the dusty ceiling he had to admit he wasn’t up for going to war. Not now. But when was the time ever ripe for war?
Qwess rolled over and pumped out another set of pushups as his mind drifted to the next subject.
He heard that Flame was doing better, and that eased his heart somewhat. If he would’ve known Diamond was waiting on him, he would’ve never sent him to the wolves like that. He knew Flame needed to learn a lesson, but the lesson Diamond doled out was too harsh. Qwess felt Diamond was so overprotective of Sasha because he believed he was her first lover. In the media, it had been reported that Sasha gave her virginity to Diamond. However, Qwess knew firsthand that wasn’t true. He knew because he and Sasha had shared one steamy night of passion in Atlanta.
Back when Sasha was contemplating leaving the group, she reached out to Qwess about possibly signing to ABP. They took a meeting at a downtown hotel during lunch. The conversation flowed so well, they continued discussing business over drinks at happy hour at the hotel. Their bartender was very generous with the libations, and it didn’t take long for their lips to get loose. It took an even shorter time for Sasha to accost Qwess as he left the bathroom stall in the men’s room. She pushed him back into the stall onto the toilet seat and sat on his lap. She wrapped her toned arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, grinding on his erection. Qwess palmed her soft ass as she sat on his lap—’til this day, the softest ass he’d ever felt—and pulled her to him. Like a smooth criminal, he slid his finger inside her panties and traced an outline around her wet lips. Believing the hype he’d read about her in the media, he only planned to tease her with his experience because, surely, Bible-thumping Sasha wasn’t going to do the nasty with him. Sheeeeit, Sasha reached down, fumbled with his slacks, and whipped out his dick like it was hers. She pushed her panties to the side and sank her sweet suction cup right on him. She rode Qwess in the stall like a jockey, and when someone walked in the bathroom, she rode him even harder, moaning to the ceiling so there would be no mistaking she was marking her territory. Qwess hoisted her into his arms, pinned her back to the stall door, and gave her long, deep strokes until he climaxed inside of her. After they were done, they walked out of the bathroom and to their cars as if nothing had ever happened.
After that night, Sasha reached out to Qwess a few times, but he was still on his King Solomon shit and wasn’t trying to settle down. He was at the height of his power, and Sasha wasn’t a superstar yet so she didn’t maintain his interest. Qwess went on doing him—during that time, he was taking down two women a day at times—and he didn’t see or hear much of Sasha until the following year, when she emerged with a chart-topping song and a new booty and became a sex symbol. Qwess didn’t get caught up in all the hype; he wasn’t one of those men that needed validation. He was a silent assassin that didn’t broadcast his conquests. So, while the world salivated over Sasha, he had that night in Atlanta to reminisce on.
Qwess smiled at the memory. He chuckled at the fact he was reliving the memory. He had subconsciously relapsed into bid mode. In prison, all inmates had were their memories or their imagination to get them through. Qwess shook off his bid-mode mentality since he had no plans of going to prison.
As soon as he got back down South, he was looking forward to getting the hell out of jail and clearing his name.
* * *
After nearly three months in the hospital, Flame had finally recovered enough to be released to his own care team back in Atlanta. This was a joyous day for Flame. He had overcome insurmountable odds. With the type of injuries he had sustained, it was a miracle he was alive. He had beat the odds, but it wasn’t easy. If it wasn’t for her, he’s not so sure he would’ve been able to pull through it all.
Kim had been pivotal in Flame’s recovery. She swooped in and prayed him back to his sanity, confidence, and health. Flame had never believed in God before, but Kim had him reading the Bible and putting his life in the proper perspective. She helped feed him food. She worked his legs out to keep the stiffness from settling in, raising them for him and massaging his muscles. She even bathed him in bed and moisturized his skin to prevent bedsores from settling in.
Unknown to Flame, when Kim received word that Flame was being released, she arranged his transportation back down South and even added to his care team. She had done what God told her to do, and now Flame was on the way to becoming a new man.
* * *
Kim rode beside Flame in the back of the Maybach as they traveled to the airport. His feet were propped up on the bottom of the outstretched chair as they rode in silence. Flame watched the city whiz by, and he reminisced about all the things he used to do in New York City. Funny thing was his recollections repulsed him now. He couldn’t believe that he had openly engaged in so much hedonism in such a short life span. Flame was about to be thirty years old, and he had lived the life of someone twice his age. Recalling all the
times he had exposed himself made him tremble with fear. If not for God, he thought.
The Maybach pulled into the hangar in Teterboro, New Jersey, and rolled to a stop just at the wheels of the G550 jet Kim had chartered. 8-Ball retrieved Flame from the car and pushed him from the Maybach to the G550 jet. It was a cool day, and Flame was bundled up tight with a wool Gucci scarf pulled over the lower half of his face, matching the gray Gucci tracksuit he wore. Right at the base of the steps, Flame stopped 8-Ball.
“Hold up, bro,” Flame said.
“What’s up? You good, bro?”
“Yeah, I want to take a picture to post on my social media.”
Kim and 8-Ball looked at each other skeptically. “You sure?”
Flame beamed his smile at them. “Yeah.”
Flame whipped out his phone, put the selfie cam on, and angled it high in the air. 8-ball saw him struggling and grabbed the phone.
“I got you.”
8-Ball pointed the phone at Flame, and Flame chunked up the deuces with a huge, bright smile. 8-Ball made sure the Maybach and the G550 were in the background, and he snapped away.
To the left of Flame, Kim beamed like a proud parent. She raised her head to the heavens and mouthed, “Thank you, God.”
Flame saw her smiling and beckoned him to her. Kim walked over to him, and he snatched her down into his lap. “Make sure you get this pic too, bro,” Flame said and kissed Kim square on the lips.
It was the first time he had touched her intimately since the after-party in Los Angeles.
* * *
Bone rode shotgun in Maleek’s new Range Rover on Highway 87. Bone had given it to him as a reward for his loyalty. Bone had copped the truck at the auction for less than fifteen bands, but the truck retailed for $70,000. To the streets Maleek was rolling like a boss. Maleek hadn’t had the truck for a day before he had the vehicle wrapped in the green of the Crescent Crew. The interior seats were cream in color and soft as baby shit. Maleek couldn’t stop cheesing as he drove his big homie around.
“Aye, I appreciate you, brother. I really do,” Maleek said.
Dirty Music Page 21
