Even at this very moment I felt uncomfortable standing next to Julian in public.
He sensed what was on my mind. "We'll talk later," he said. "Private setting, no?"
"Or maybe not," I said.
"Or maybe so," he insisted, then leaned in to give me a hug. He kissed me on the cheek and I felt him drop something into my inside jacket pocket. "It's good to see you alive and well, La'Renz."
"Likewise," I said.
I watched Julian and his men get swallowed up by the crowd. Then I took a peek inside my jacket's inner pocket and saw a perfect square of vacuum-sealed cocaine. It was tempting. The white substance looked at home in its couture cubby.
My first coming-home gift, I thought.
***
After another half hour I started to feel relaxed enough to really hone in on the music, which was the reason I was here. I paid attention to the artists and their vocals and the way the crowd responded. Some of the songs I had heard continuously on the radio from acts that had long since been signed, and other songs I had never heard in my life and didn't care to hear again. I would have liked to close my eyes to really become one with the ambiance, but I didn't feel safe here.
Then I heard it: the voice I had listened to in my hotel last week! I didn't recognize the song but the sensual voice caught me immediately. I wanted to be sure it was Kirbie’s voice so I made my way across the dance floor again and climbed the stairs to the DJ booth.
The DJ looked startled. He was an Asian man with several tattoos on his face. He took his headphones off and they plopped around his shoulders.
"You can't be up here," he said to me.
I extended my hand. "I'm La'Renz 'Buddy Rough' Taylor."
He stared at me until recognition sparked in his eyes, then he smiled and shook my hand fervently. I was thinking, He didn't try to punch me, he must not be a Jazzmine Short fan.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Rough. I know all about you and your struggle and I support you a hundred percent. I think it was foul how Eliyah Golomb stole Yayo Love from you. You built Yayo from the ground up."
He didn't mention the murder or my plea agreement. I liked this kid.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"DJ East."
"Who's singing on this—"
He cut me off. "Can I get a picture with you, my nigga?"
"Sure," I said impatiently, and I joined him in a quick selfie. "Who's singing on this song?" I asked after the snapshot.
"The singer is Kirbie Amor. The rapper is—"
"How'd you get this song?"
"It's an old song off of Coras Bane's first mixtape, Swope Park Gritter Vol. 1. I heard he just released Vol. 2 but I haven't got my hands on it yet. Coras is hot underground and Kirbie is dope! I try to give mainstream and underground artists a shot in my crowds, instead of ..."
My attention suddenly went to the other side of the club—and I realized my mistake. This DJ booth was upraised, allowing me to see everyone in every corner; and that meant everyone could see me too. On the other side of the club was the bouncer whose fingers I nearly broke pointing me out with his good hand to his security buddies. The black shirts started moving toward me.
So I started moving too.
I darted back down the steps, moving toward a rear exit I hoped was accessible. I had to push between a lesbian couple feeling each other up in the dark and one of them shoved me back—something about me and females today—and I stumbled into a set of rear doors, pushed one open and I was suddenly outside.
I started heading west on 24th Street. I should have felt better now that I had finally cooled down, breathing in the 30-degree night air of New York City. But I didn't feel better. I felt even more on edge.
Because someone was following me.
CHAPTER 18
Kirbie Amor Capelton
I couldn't remember the last time I'd been in a Kansas City club where I wasn't on stage performing or selling pills. I had never come to just have a good time. And tonight was no different. I was here to kill.
I had my .380 tucked in my waist. It was covered up by my light purple hoodie. The hood was scrunched over my head because I had the drawstrings pulled tight. I thought I was being inconspicuous. But a guy I bumped into on the dance floor caught my face in the flickering flashes of the strobe lights. I recognized him too. Evan Woodman. He had bought pills from me before. We were Site friends too.
"Kirbie?" He smiled. "Wussup? You look like a killer."
"Hey." I was looking everywhere but at him.
"I need to buy three pills."
"I don't have any on me. Sorry."
"What are you doing here? Are you performing?"
"No," I said curtly.
"Wanna dance?"
"Maybe next time."
"Who are you looking for?"
"Nobody. Excuse me."
I was starting to walk off when I saw the flash of light. I turned just in time for my face to be captured in Evan's camera pic.
He smiled at the horror in my expression. "It turned out good,” he said, “don't worry. Wanna see?"
"Delete it," I ordered.
"It's a good pic. Look at it."
"I said delete it! I don't want that shit going on the internet. I don't want everybody to know I was here."
"I won't post it then," he said.
Without even thinking, I pulled my .380 out and pointed it at his dick. "Give me the goddamn phone!" I snapped.
He froze, I snatched the cell and stuffed it in the front pouch of my hoodie and made my way through the crowd. I turned back to see if he was following but he was gone.
A phone started ringing. I didn't know if it was mine or Evan's because the music was so loud. I found a wall near the men's bathroom to rest against, as I searched to see which phone was ringing. It was mines going off.
"Hello?"
"Where'd you go?" Archie asked me.
"To sell some pills," I lied.
"What pills? The ones that got stolen? Because the pills that we had left our sitting in front of me on the kitchen table."
I sighed and came clean. "I'm getting our stolen pills back, Archie."
"From where?! What are you up to, Kirbie?"
"Don't worry, I'm alright."
"I'm taking your gun, that's it!" he declared. "I'm hiding that muthafucka. You're gonna get yourself locked up again. You don't always have to be the bad girl. Learn how to take a loss!"
"I'm done taking losses. I've taken losses my whole life."
"Are you at a club? Why do I hear music?"
"You're not here. So why does it matter?"
"What's that mean? You calling me soft? No, Kirbie, I'm being smart. I know how to pick my battles."
While on the phone, I had been watching who came in and out of the men's restroom. And to my excitement, I saw the man I was looking for heading inside! It was the muthafucka with the gold teeth! I was positive! He staggered against the wall across from me, looked me directly in the face but didn't recognize me because he was so drunk. He made his way inside the bathroom sluggishly.
Archie was still whining in my ear. "Come home, Kirbie. We'll bounce back. We always do. Getting robbed is part of the game—"
I hung up on Archie and went in the bathroom after my victim.
CHAPTER 19
La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor
I crossed to the other side of 24th Street. Whoever was following me crossed too.
The adrenaline rush I was feeling now was of the same metabolic intensity as my near-death experience behind prison walls. When I first entered the state institution I was treated less than human by other inmates because I had pled guilty to "killing a queen." The whole first and second week I was taunted: "Money won't do shit for you in here, Mr. Taylor!" "Wait till I get my hands on you, I love redbone niggas!" "I'ma make you eat my Jazzmine poster and then throw you off the top tier like you did her!"
A “hit” was put on me. I was walking back from laundry by myself. I felt a pr
esence in the hallway with me, but I didn't turn around because I wanted to use the element of surprise. I turned the corner, then immediately flattened my back against the wall. As soon as the inmate turned the corner after me, I grabbed him and pulled him into me in a way that put his back against my chest. My hands came up, I gripped his head and I twisted it in a snapping motion. He fell to the ground. I realized I hadn't killed him when his eyes blinked up at me. I had failed, didn't yank his head hard enough.
But now, as I passed through a column of steam rising out of the storm drain on 24th Street, I felt the strength in my bones to separate a man's head from his shoulders in one extraordinary pull. I ducked inside the open gate of a fenced-in alleyway and flattened my back against the brick wall. I quickly took my watch off and stuffed it in my pocket.
I wanted no interferences.
I listened for footsteps and waited. Then the person who'd been following me came around the corner—directly into my lethal arms.
"No!" she screamed.
It didn't register that it was a woman's scream until I had her head in a deathlock, with one hand positioned perfectly at the rear of her skull and the other planted firmly under her jowls/chin. I wanted to snap her neck still—to complete what I had failed at in prison, to release all the pent up aggression surrounding my wife's death—but the smell of this wonderful female hair rustling in my face was too disarming.
I let the woman go and gave her a hard push. She fell into a passenger van clumsily.
"Why are you following—?" I paused. I was staring at Sundi Ashworth.
"Are you gonna help me up?" she asked.
I extended my hand. She grabbed it and I pulled her to her feet.
"Where'd you come from?" I said.
"I was in the club with you. I saw you talking to DJ East and I was coming over to speak but you left in a hurry."
"What were you doing in the club in the first place? You're a party girl now?"
"No, I told you I work for Mount Eliyah ENT as an A&R. I was looking for talent, seeing what's currently in rotation at the clubs. I would have been at home going through submissions but somebody stole all of them."
"You can have the submissions back."
"I don't want 'em. Something tells me you already went through them. And if you didn't find any worthwhile material then that means there's nothing to be found."
A compliment. That was a compliment she just gave me.
Despite the bitter cold, Sundi looked warm and vibrant in a winter white normcore overcoat and denim jeans that frayed over sky blue high heels. Her hair was big and springy, and one isolated spring of hair was dangling between her beautiful brown eyes.
I was enjoying looking at her.
"Why did you follow me all the way down 24th Street?" I asked.
"Because I realized I made a mistake."
"What kind of mistake?"
"Working for Eliyah Golomb. When I saw you in the club in action just now, being La'Renz Taylor, I started thinking about all we've been through. I was scared back then after you got arrested. I received death threats in my e-mails from people accusing me of breaking up you and Jazzmine's marriage. I thought I would never be able to work in New York City again. Any city at all. So I took the A&R job at Mount Eliyah as soon as it was offered to me." She brushed the spring of hair away, and I actually wanted to put it back. "I want to work for you again," she said. "I know you still have what it takes to be just as big as before and I wanna be a part of it."
"I'm staying in a hotel right now. I haven't even found office space to do business out of yet."
"You can come live with me. I stay in Brooklyn."
"Have the death threats stopped?" I asked her.
"Yes. Once the media got word that I was working for Eliyah, that sort of washed my slate clean. People backed off."
"Well if you think the hate was strong then, you know it's gonna kick right back into high gear when they find out you work for me again. The hate will be worse."
"I'm not scared anymore," she said with unbendable pride. "I know you’re innocent of killing Jazzmine, and I'm gonna stand by you like I should have seven years ago."
"I have a question."
"What is it?" she said.
"May I kiss you, please?"
She smiled and shrugged one shoulder. "Sure, La'Renz. Why not?"
CHAPTER 20
Kirbie Amor Capelton
I was standing inside the men's bathroom with my gun at my side. It was just me and my gold teeth robber friend in here. He had closed himself inside a stall, but he hadn't locked the door. He thought he was alone. I could open it up and shoot him in the back of his head right now while he was pissing.
But I at least wanted him to tell me where my shit was first.
I took a step closer to his stall, but then I stopped abruptly when he starting singing to himself.
"Hustling just to make a way/ each and every day I pray, that I make it out this gaaaame!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, as he relieved himself. "I wanna start anew/ God, just show me what to do/ and I promise I'll chaaaange!"
His singing was crude, but that wasn't why I paused. I was startled that he was singing lyrics to one of my songs! It was a song called "Can't Hustle Forever" that was featured on Coras's recently released mixtape Swope Park Gritter Vol. 2. So I was amazed that this guy knew the lyrics to my songs already. The mixtape hadn't been out a month. Did I get robbed by a fan?
He kept singing, as his piss stream began to wane. He was almost finished, so I didn't have a lot of time to decide if I should go through with this. I felt like God was giving me a sign to turn around and get the hell out of this bathroom and go pursue my dreams. That's what "Can't Hustle Forever" was all about: leaving the bullshit behind. I could bounce back from losing those pills, just like Archie and Coras had said. It would take time and extra energy, but I could do it. I didn't have to kill this man.
Just like I didn't have to kill Mary Moét ...
About a year ago, I was faced with a situation that I handled completely wrong. I was just starting to become a hot artist in Kansas City when it was brought to my attention that another local singer, Mary Moét, was stealing production from me as well as my vocal style—and in some cases she re-sang whole verses of mine word-for-word. Coras tried to calm me down by saying, "Imitation is the best form of flattery," explaining to me that copycatting was part of the music industry. But I took it personal—especially when I saw that people on her Site page were accusing me of stealing from her. And although she didn't respond to those accusers, she didn't correct them either.
One night I followed Mary Moét home from a show she performed. She was walking up to her apartment building in a cheap bodysuit and Louboutin redbottom knock-offs, when I called her name. She turned around. When she recognized me she started to smile. It went away in a snap when I pointed my 9mm at her. I had a 30-round clip attached, but I only used five.
It wasn't very long before I got arrested—not because of evidence but because of haters and hearsay. Archie bonded me out, I paid for my own lawyer, and Coras found me a private investigator that worked independent of my lawyer to gather his own valuable background information on witnesses that claimed they knew I shot Mary Moét. The lack of evidence was the main thing that led to my acquittal.
To this day, I often wondered if Mary Moet's last smile was one of respect and admiration or if she'd just been taunting me.
"I wanna start anew/ God, just show me what to do!" my robber sang again, snapping me out of my thoughts. "And I promise I'll chaaaange!"
He flushed the toilet.
When he came out of the stall his head was down as he was buckling his jeans. I was sure he saw me standing here in a purple hoodie but he was so drunk that he assumed I was just another male sharing the bathroom. He had on the same boots he used to press my face into the ground.
He bumped into the sink in a way that looked accidental, then he started washing his hands. I was just st
anding here watching him; I was completely out of place.
Leave, Kirbie, leave, I told myself. Don't do this. Leave!
The robber's phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and tried to swipe his screen but realized his hands were wet so he wiped a hand on his denims—frontside, backside, then sort of scanned his palm and fingertips against his thigh in a deep drying motion—and answered the call.
"Hello?"
I heard the voice on the other end loud and clear because there was an echo in here: "Bro, I need you to get those pills back to me. Can you bring 'em through tonight? She's gone."
I heard the word pills! Discreetly, I went and washed my hands next to him. I kept my head down so he couldn't see my reflection in the mirror, and I kept the water low so I could continue to hear good.
"I don't know if I can make it tonight," gold teeth said into his phone. "I'm northbound and you're all the way out south."
"Bro, I need those pills back. I'll meet you halfway."
My heart stopped. I recognized the caller's voice. It was my boyfriend Archie Waters!
"Where are you?" I heard Archie ask.
"Why you wanna know?" said gold teeth. He was actually looking at his teeth in the mirror, licking them. "I'm where I'm at."
"Why do you sound like that? Are you drunk? Did you pop some Purple Gorillas?"
God Don't Like Haters Page 8
