God Don't Like Haters

by Jordan Belcher

  CHAPTER 2

  Andre "Coras Bane" McDougald

  "So where's Kirbie Amor? Ain't she supposed to be on the song with us?" Slim Eight asked me.

  "She'll be here in a minute," I said.

  "First time I heard her blow, I was riding with my nigga in Dallas. I had to ask him who that was. That's how I ended up getting in contact wit' you."

  I nodded. "Kirbie can sing her ass off."

  Slim Eight was smoking a blunt I rolled for him, a blunt I didn't charge him for, which was something I only did for people I networked with. He was giving us a verse for a song on my upcoming mixtape Swope Park Gritter Vol. 2 in exchange for a verse from me and Kirbie on his upcoming album, so I wasn't worried about a measly blunt.

  "I'd compare Kirbie to Jazzmine Short," said Slim Eight. "She got that street bitch flow."

  "Kirbie is harder than Jazzmine was," I said. "Kirbie's voice is smoother and her lyrics are killing everything."

  "I don't disagree. That's what caught my attention. Never heard a female sing about selling pills and smacking niggas wit' pistols. She sings it like she really does the shit too."

  She does, I wanted to say.

  "Do you write her lyrics for her?" he asked me.

  "Nah. She writes her own shit."

  "Wow. So did Jazzmine Short. And speaking of Jazzmine, did you hear about her husband La'Renz 'Buddy Rough' Taylor?"

  I shook my head no.

  "He's supposed to be getting out of prison this week, according to GabbyTV. I can't believe he threw that bitch off the balcony and only got seven years for it. That's what money will do for you."

  I had heard about the La'Renz/Jazzmine story when it happened, only because it was broadcast on every major network in the country. But I didn't keep up with celebrity updates and blogs and things of that nature. It didn't interest me. I was more concerned with song creation.

  Slim Eight puffed the weed and bobbed his head to a looped instrumental that had been produced by my nigga Gee Beats, who was here—in the physical sense, at least—sitting down at the helm of his audio workstation adjusting the levels. In Gee Beats's lap sat a Hennessy bottle. That's how he worked—drunk out of his mind.

  I was the only sober one in the room. For R&B-flavored songs, I liked to have a clear head.

  "This beat is hard!" Slim Eight said.

  Gee Beats was nodding with him. "That's the only beats I know how to make."

  I looked at my Rolex watch. It was half past the hour. Kirbie was supposed to be here by now. This late shit was starting to become a habit for her. She always had excuses related to why she was late or why her verses weren't ready, and her excuses always involved her boyfriend Archie. She needed to decide real quick if her boyfriend was more important than her music.

  And I needed to decide if she was worth keeping on the label, if her gift for singing was worth more than her absences. I wasn't in a good position to be booting anybody off of the team either. Especially Kirbie, because rappers always requested her for songs because she was dope and, let's face it, partly because she was beautiful and they wanted to fuck her. My label, Swope Records, was no Def Jam, and couldn't even compare to Mount Eliyah ENT. But Swope did have a respected name regionally for putting out quality music. On the underground rap scene, we had clout. And I didn't want the label's name to be smeared by a reputation for tardiness.

  It would probably be less of a hard decision to get rid of Kirbie if ... if I wasn't in love with her.

  Slim Eight gave me a bored look. "I'm ready to get in the booth."

  "Get on in there," I said. I tapped Gee Beats on the shoulder. He looked at me with red, glassy eyes. "Set Slim Eight up. He's ready to spit."

  "We're not waiting on Kirbie?" Gee asked.

  "Nah. Waited long enough. She can lay her verse last."

  Slim Eight was tall, 6'8" to be exact—hence his moniker—so he had to duck down a little to go inside the booth. We watched him put his headphones on and then tap the mic three times, testing it. Gee Beats gave him the thumbs-up to start rapping.

  This was Gee Beats's studio, located inside of his basement on 60th & Terrace. We had been recording out of his basement since middle school, and the set-up had come a long way. Gee had acquired just about everything he needed to make professional quality sound. He had an elaborate audio interface, top-of-the-line microphones and headphones, speakers, acoustic panels—you name it, Gee had it. The only difference between him and the majors was that Gee's studio was located in the ghetto and not in some Manhattan sky rise.

  "Has Kirbie called?" Gee Beats asked me, as we watched Slim Eight sway side to side during his impressive southern flow.

  "Nope," I replied.

  "Are you gonna call her to see where she's at?"

  "That's not my job. I'm not her daddy."

  "You act like her daddy."

  I cut my eyes at my drunk producer. He smiled and took another sip of his Hennessey. He looked like Will Smith in the movie Hancock, but without the super powers.

  "If she was yo girl and not Archie's, she would be here," Gee said.

  "But she's not my girl."

  "She should be."

  "I have a girl," I said.

  "Monifa is not a girl. She's the devil reincarnated."

  Gee Beats knew my situation. He knew I wanted to be with Kirbie. But she had a man and I had a ... problem. Her name was Monifa Chavis. And I was only with Monifa for financial gain. Sounds harsh, call me what you want, but it's true. Monifa's brother, Milo Chavis, was my weed plug. He didn't just have any kind of weed either; he had that super strain OG Tahoe. That rare shit. If I ditched Monifa, then I ditched my plug and ultimately the resources that kept Swope Records functional.

  I was stuck.

  But the plan was to get Swope Records to sustain itself financially, then I could ditch Monifa and Milo and rape the music business legally. Then I'd be able to have Kirbie Amor at my side, as my one and only.

  I stood up out of my seat.

  "Where you going?" Gee asked.

  "Nowhere. I'm just about to take a selfie, post it to The Site."

  "I thought you didn't take selfies."

  "I'm stepping outside of my box like Kirbie wants me to."

  "Oh. Don't get me in the picture then. My hair ain't cut."

  I laughed. "Nigga, yo hair ain't never cut."

  I put my phone in the air after tapping the front-facing camera icon. I lined my face up with the left side of the screen, giving me room to fit Slim Eight in the frame behind me. He was going to be captured in the middle of rapping his verse. An action pic. Our rap fans love action pics, Kirbie had said once. In the lower right hand corner I managed to squeeze in the top/back of Gee Beats's head. His haircut was going to be in the photo whether he liked it or not.

  Ha!

  I tapped the screen. Click.

  After a couple more finger taps and swipes of my screen, the picture was uploaded to The Site. All I had to do now was wait for Kirbie to see the caption I wrote for her.

  Coras Bane added a photo

  Coras Bane: In the studio with the Texas legend Slim Eight. I know you see him in the booth behind me, tearing it up. You should've been here. #SwopeRecords #AreYouInOrAreYouFaking

  CHAPTER 3

  Kirbie Amor Capelton

  I didn't pull over and I hadn't planned to. But it wasn't officially a high-speed chase yet because I hadn't slammed my foot down on the gas. I had actually slowed down to the legal speed limit.

  Woop! Woop!

  The cop hit its warning sirens again. Archie was still looking at the .380 in my lap like it was on fire. He had really been acting like a bitch lately.

  "Don't do it," Archie pleaded. "Not this time, Kirbie. These ain't Kansas City cops. That's highway patrol."

  He knew me long enough to know that I never backed down.

  "Just pull over. He won't search the trunk as long as we don't give him a reason to."

  "You don't know that."

&nbs
p; "Just pull the fuck over! If you take off and we get caught, I'm blaming the pills on you!"

  I cut my eyes at him. "What?!"

  "You heard me."

  I knew Archie was lying. He loved me too much to do that to me. I'd been his partner in crime forever, and he treated me like a partner. He just wanted me to listen to him. And I would have listened if I wasn't in such a hurry.

  On my door, I tapped the automatic unlock button. All four door locks popped up.

  I said to my bae, "If you don't think I can lose this cop, then when I slow down just hop out."

  "You're crazy, Kirbie. All this just to rap with some nigga in the studio? Fuck, Kirbie, you don't have to be in the damn booth with him. You can add yo verse to the track later. Even I know that much."

  "I said I would be there so I have to be there. I promised I would step up. It's a business, Archie."

  "It's not a fuckin' business! It's bullshit! What we have in the trunk is business. Serious business!"

  I looked in the rearview mirror. The officer was being patient with us—his sirens hadn't went wild yet—so I had a good feeling this wasn't going to turn into a drug bust. And as bad as I hated to admit it, Archie was right about me being irrational. Slim Eight was just a rapper. It was just one song. And I probably wouldn't make it to the studio in time even if I did take this cop on a chase and get away.

  Sighing, I hit my blinker and pulled over.

  "Bruh," Archie said in relief.

  I didn't laugh.

  Archie put my gun up before the cop came to my window. Officer Slawson was the black cop's name. He made a joke about me not pulling over in a timely manner; he said he thought I was planning to keep going. I told him I was just trying to find a good place to pull over so he wouldn't get hit by highway traffic.

  "I can't believe you grabbed the .380," Archie said after the cop went back to his car with my paperwork. "Is that music shit that important to you?"

  "Yes."

  "That's not good, Kirbie. You know how many people it is that think they're gonna be rich and famous in the music industry?"

  "I have real talent though."

  "That's what everybody says."

  "Hater."

  "Realist," he replied.

  My phone made a twinkle sound. It was the sound I had set for Coras Bane's profile page on The Site. Whenever he made a post, I would get notified with a twinkle. Coras rarely ever made status updates so I knew it was something special or important.

  I picked my phone up out of the cupholder, swiping my thumb across the screen to unlock it.

  "Is this really a time to be on The Site?" Archie asked me.

  For some reason I wasn't even thinking about the cop behind us anymore. I wanted to see what Coras posted. And when I got to his page and saw the selfie he uploaded, I even stopped hearing Archie telling me why I shouldn't be on my phone right now.

  Up close, Coras's handsome brown face—did I just use the word handsome?—was looking into the camera as if he was trying to intimidate it. And by the caption he wrote about me not being there in the studio, I knew his intimidation was directed at me. He had Slim Eight in the background rapping in the booth, and in the lower right-hand corner was Gee Beats's unfailing non-brushed head. I smiled at that, wishing I was there, then I clicked on the comments.

  Jaron Cooks: Is that Slim Eight I see in the background?

  Coras Bane: Yep, that’s him. He’s gonna be on Swope Park Gritter Vol. 2 #comingsoon

  Toras InaExplorer: I need a song from you Coras. Inbox me yo info.

  Mista Thraxx: why isn't kirbie amor in the picture? I thought she was the queen of Swope Records

  Coras Bane: @MistaThraxx yo guess is as good as mine

  Marissa Divine: I love Slim Eight! One of the sexiest underground rappers out!

  Mitch tiredofballin Walker: I can’t wait to hear what yall working on. tag me when you post the song

  The comments only made me feel worse. I was missing the chemistry going on in the booth.

  Then Officer Slawson tapped on my window. I rolled it down again.

  "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to step out of the car for me, please," he said.

  CHAPTER 4

  Andre "Coras Bane" McDougald

  After Slim Eight finished with his verse, he bought a couple pounds of OG Tahoe from me. I walked him outside to his Maserati Ghibli to make sure he made it out of the neighborhood safely. It was a noticeable car—a rare luxury car not often seen in Kansas City—and this was a high-crime area. I'd be damned if I let some niggas rob somebody I had done business with.

  I had a 9mm in my pocket. Fully loaded, one in the head. That's how I rolled.

  Slim Eight started up his car with the push of a button, then shook my hand through the window. "I would've loved to meet Kirbie."

  "Next time I promise you she'll be here," I said. "Thanks for coming through and blessing us."

  "My pleasure. And I'ma need some more of this Tahoe next time too. You might see me again sooner than you think."

  After he drove off, I started walking back up to the house to make sure Gee Beats was still fine-tuning Slim Eight's sound and hadn't nodded off yet. Gee was known for falling asleep during a session. But before I got to the front door, a Volkswagen Passat stopped at the curb. It was a stop so sudden, the body of the car was still rocking back and forth when the driver's side door flung open.

  I put my hand on my gun handle.

  "Coras, you better not shoot me," Kirbie said, as she got out of the Volkswagen and slammed the door and stormed up to me.

  Actually, she stormed past me—she just gave me a little one-arm hug on her way up to the house.

  I went and grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Where you think you going?"

  "I know I'm late, Coras. But it wasn't my fault."

  "It's never yo fault."

  "I got pulled over with pills in the trunk. But I got lucky. The cop knew who I was. He listens to our music. He wanted an autograph from me. Can you let me go, please?"

  "Slim Eight is gone," I told her.

  "What?!"

  "That's what happens when you don't show up on time. You miss opportunities." I finally let her go. She tried to walk in the house again and I had to snatch her up once more. "You're not allowed in the studio tonight. Go home."

  "Let me sing my verse and I’ll leave."

  "You can do it tomorrow."

  "Why?!"

  "Because I said so!"

  Every now and then I had to get loud with Kirbie. She always thought she was entitled to get her way, and even though I thought that was sexy, sometimes she needed to hear my He-Man voice to keep her humble and focused.

  She was beautiful tonight, like always. Her hair was flipped up to one side in a style that was meant to look adventurous. It was working for her too, brought out her slender face. She had a complexion that was a few shades lighter than mine. I was dark coffee, and she had a couple more tablespoons of milk than me. Together, we would make one hellavuh expresso.

  Then the passenger side door of the Volkswagen popped open and Archie stepped out.

  "Get'cho hands off of my girl, bro," Archie said, and he had his hand under his shirt like he was holding a weapon.

  I let her go, put my hand on my own gun handle. Unlike him, he actually saw what I was holding.

  "Archie, get back in the car," Kirbie said to him.

  "Why'd you bring that nigga over here?" I asked her angrily.

  "I told you we got pulled over. If I would've dropped him off first I would've been here even later. He was supposed to stay in the car."

  "You know I don't fuck wit' that fool, Kirbie. Get that nigga outta here."

  Archie was shorter than me but he outweighed me by at least twenty pounds. That didn't mean shit, though. I'd still knock him out and dust him off when I was done. As far as his background, he was a solid nigga. He had been hustling longer than me because he was older than me and Kirbie both by four years plus. I was 22, Kirbie
was 18, and he was 26. I never liked Archie because he'd been dating Kirbie since she was 14. But he did teach her how to hustle, how to get money against the odds out here in these crazy Kansas City streets. That's more than I could say for a lot of older niggas who only wanted to fuck and mislead these younger bitches.

  Even still, I was prepared to shoot Archie dead right now. He wouldn't be the first.

  "Can I at least get a copy of the song so I can hear it overnight?" Kirbie asked me. "I have a flash drive on my key ring."

  "C'mon, Kirbie!" Archie yelled.

  "Yo boyfriend is calling you," I said to her. "You better go before he gets shot."

  She gave me a look as if I was dead wrong for taking my stance. Then she stalked off, and she and Archie got back in the Passat. I didn't take my hand off of my gun handle until they drove off.

  Kirbie Amor > Slim TexasBorn Eight: Sorry I didn't get to meet up with you. You know how it is in these streets. Nothing goes as planned. But as soon as you hear my verse you're gonna be pleased! —with Coras Bane and Gee Beats

  CHAPTER 5

  Kirbie Amor Capelton

  The next morning I didn't even bother with Coras. I didn't want to hear his mouth. So I called Gee Beats and told him to e-mail me the track so I'd be prepared when Coras finally let me back in the studio.

  I was laying in bed with Archie when I got the e-mail on my laptop. I liked my music blaring loud and Archie was sleep so I got up and took the laptop downstairs.

  Eagerly, I pushed play.

  The R&B track came on and sounded incredible! Even though I'd heard this instrumental a thousand times, it still gave me an adrenaline rush, that tingling feeling every artist gets when inspiration hits. I listened, bobbing my head, as Slim Eight came in with his flow:

  I don't love her but she made me come close/ I got more than one but she gets the dick the most/ sucked me so good I thought I seen a ghost/ sucked me so good I stayed for eggs and toast