Section 8

by K'wan

  Don B. gave a throaty laugh. “You hear this modest-ass dude? Yo, word to mine, I’d put my money on Animal against any nigga on some battle shit.”

  Fully frowned. “Anybody?”

  Don B. draped his arm around Animal so that his message was received with clarity. “Anybody.” Don B. saw the hurt flash across Fully’s face and stored the info for later. “But we’ll discuss pink slips later. Come on over and meet the rest of the crew.” He led Animal to their table, not bothering to see if Fully was coming. “You already know Remo and Devil.” He nodded to his guards. Remo just grumbled something under his breath, but Devil actually stuck out his hand.

  “You’re Justice’s little brother, right?” Devil gave him dap. Animal nodded. “How’s he doing?”

  “As well as can be expected for a man doing life, I gather.”

  “Right, right. Well, tell him Devil from One Fifty-third said what up.”

  “I’ll pass the word, thanks.”

  “And this is the new group,” Don B. cut in, directing Animal’s attention to two dudes wedged between two attractive ladies. “The white boy is No Doze and the muthafucka nodding in the corner is Chip; Fully you’ve already met.”

  The dude who’d been introduced as No Doze gave Animal a light handshake and slunk back into the folds of the couch. It was as if he was trying to become the invisible sheep among the pack of wolves. Animal knew by his stiff demeanor and darting eyes that the spot made him uncomfortable. The Middle Eastern cat, Chip, didn’t appear uneasy or interested in what was going on around him. He pawed lazily at the thigh of the girl closest to him, while his hooded eyes stared off into space as if he was seeing something beyond the small lounge. Animal knew that look all too well.

  “Yo, where ya man Tech at? I know y’all niggaz move like two peas in a pod,” Don B. inquired.

  “He around somewhere; you know I don’t keep tabs on that man, he’s grown,” Animal said.

  “I hope you extended my invite to him, too?”

  “Yeah; he had something to do, so he had to pass.”

  “I’ll bet.” Don B. snickered disbelievingly. “Yo, every time I extend my hand to that kid he spits in it. Man, if it wasn’t on the strength of Jah . . .”

  Animal raised his hands to stop Don B. “Don, let me be clear on something before you go any further. Me and you,” he motioned to himself, then to Don, “we cool as fuck, but Tech is my brother. Y’all got issues that go back way before me, so I don’t put my mouth in that; but at the same time I ain’t gonna have nobody kicking his back in, I don’t give a fuck who it is.”

  “I ain’t mean it like that, fam,” Don B. told him.

  “I ain’t saying you mean it one way or the other; I’m just letting you know where I stand with the situation.”

  Don B. studied him for what seemed a lifetime. Animal was well aware of the fact that he was outnumbered, but he didn’t give a fuck, and everyone in the room knew it. Don B.’s lips parted into a wide grin. “That’s why I fucks wit’ you, Animal, because you a real nigga. I ain’t got no problems with ya boy, I’m just trying to extend my hand in friendship. If he don’t want it, I ain’t gonna force him to take it.”

  “Fair enough.” Animal nodded.

  “Make yaself at home, my nigga.” Don B. handed Animal a bottle of champagne to break the tension. “You’re amongst family now.” His tone was almost fatherly.

  Animal accepted the bottle and found a spot against the wall to post up. Throughout the party Animal watched Don B. slither around the room, whispering in ears and shaking hands. In the back of his mind he heard Tech’s warning and wondered if his resentment toward Don B. was because of his character or Jah’s death. Animal fully understood the connection between the two and could empathize with how the death had to have hit Tech, but what he tried to convey to his mentor was that the game was about money and power; ghosts had no room in the arena unless it was in the name of revenge, and as far as he knew, bloodshed wasn’t on either man’s agenda.

  “You good, kid?” Don B. startled Animal out of his daydream.

  “Right as rain.” Animal took a deep swig from the bottle. “I’m just over here thinking, that’s all.”

  “I hope you ain’t uptight about that whole Tech thing?”

  “Nah, Don, we understand each other, so I’m cool.”

  “Well, while you’re over here busting ya brain, I hope you’re giving some thought to the offer I made you about this music shit.”

  “Don, I keep telling you that I ain’t no rapper, I’m a street nigga,” Animal admitted.

  “And so were the members of Bad Blood at one time. Lex, Pain, True . . . all of them were street cats, but I helped them to become stars. See, the difference between me and other muthafuckas is that I make stars. Look at True, God bless, he been a hood nigga since before he came out the womb, but he went on to become a fucking legend under me.”

  “He also became a martyr under you,” Animal pointed out.

  That one stung, but Don B. kept his game face. “Yo, what happened to True was some tragic shit, but it didn’t come from anything we built. That was a case of a crazy muthafuck that didn’t know how to let go of a grudge. I can control Big Dawg’s plans for a nigga, but I ain’t got no power of God’s plans.”

  Animal thought on it. “True was successful because he was talented and he was kicking shit the streets wanted to hear; that ain’t what I’m putting down. Don, the way I paint my picture of the world is different from how everybody else sees it; they ain’t gonna get it.”

  Don B. took off his shades so that Animal could see his eyes. “Dawg, the fact that you’re different is just the reason why they will get it. We made a lot of cake with that hardcore shit at Big Dawg, but at the end of the day it ended up painting us into a category, same as the rest of these niggaz. The music is changing, so we have to be able to change with it. People are ready to accept change, which is why you’ll fit right in.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready for this. I mean, I wanna blow up and all that, but these streets are keeping food on my table, and I don’t know if I’m ready to give that up just yet.”

  “Yo, kid, that shit you getting is chump change compared to what I’m talking about. Check it.” Don B. pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Animal. “This is one of our standard development contracts, not a record deal. This is just saying that you agree to at least work with a nigga in consideration of a record deal down the line. It’s pretty standard, but feel free to have somebody look it over if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “Don, listen—”

  “No, you listen,” Don B. cut him off. “I’m gonna give you fifty thousand as an advance. We’ll get you on some mix tapes and doing features for some of the artists we already got on deck. Once we get your beak wet, we’ll see if we can get you thirsty enough for the life to join the team. You ain’t gotta answer me now. Think on it for a day or two and get back. But I gotta tell you, you keep refusing my hospitality and I might stop offering it. Enjoy the rest of the party, my dude.” Don B. walked off and left Animal to ponder his offer.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Yo, what the fuck is ya problem?” Hollywood roared at the girl who had unknowingly saved his life.

  “What the fuck is wrong with me, nigga? What the fuck is wrong with you?” she barked right back. “You tell me that you were gonna be at work and I find you up in this bitch, running around like you that nigga. What’s up with that shit, Oliver?” She called him by his government name just to piss him off. Of all the chicks Hollywood expected to run into that night, his baby’s mother wasn’t one of them.

  “Yo, they called the shit off until Monday, so I decided to shake out with my niggaz. What the fuck is wrong with that, Gloria?”

  She whipped her head back and forth as if she were looking for the ghost that had just slapped her across her face. “I don’t see nobody up in here with you, sniffing behind them Big Dawg niggaz as usual.” A skinny girl who was at Glor
ia’s side snickered.

  Hollywood placed his finger against her temple. “Yo, don’t play ya fucking self like I’m in here on some groupie shit. You know how the fuck I roll.”

  Gloria stared him down. “First of all, you better move that fucking finger before you lose it, and second, yes, I know how you roll, and I ain’t how them niggaz roll. Hollywood, I keep trying to tell you about fucking with these fair-weather cats from up the hill, but your ass won’t listen.”

  “Wait. Rewind the tape for a minute.” Hollywood’s eye started to twitch. “You questioning what I’m doing in the spot and your ass is in here, too. Who the fuck is home with the kids?”

  “They’re with my sister, who the fuck you think they with? You gonna stop treating me like I’m ya other baby’s mother.”

  “Fuck all the dumb shit. You’re supposed to have your ass at home with the babies instead of trying to be in here popping off.”

  “Pop off? Hold on, you got me fucked up. I bust my ass around that house all day with them kids and the dog your ass never walks, so if I wanna get some air I’m entitled to it.”

  Hollywood moved in closer to whisper. “Gloria, that’s my word. You better get your ass in a cab and go back to the crib. I’ll meet you there later.”

  “Boy you must’ve let that purple haze fry your brain. If I’m leaving, we’re leaving together.” She folded her arms. The skinny girl at her side glared defiantly at Hollywood to let him know she was riding with her friend.

  Hollywood looked around to see if people were seeing his girl’s act of defiance. There were two cackling broads in the corner trying to throw shade, but the dispute hadn’t been made public yet, which is what he was trying to avoid. “Gloria, just get your ass in a cab, I ain’t gonna have this shit outta you tonight.”

  “The hell you won’t. Hollywood, I’m tired of you always trying to tuck me away. Now, if your ass is gonna be in here getting your drink on, then so am I.”

  Hollywood grabbed her by the arm. “Gloria, don’t make me show my ass in here.”

  “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” she said defiantly.

  “Is there a problem over here?” A bouncer stepped over, sensing trouble.

  Hollywood poked his chest out. “Nah, I’m just sending my girl home. You good fam,” Hollywood said, waving him off.

  “Is everything cool?” The bouncer ignored Hollywood and addressed Gloria.

  “Is everything cool, Hollywood?” She looked Hollywood up and down.

  Hollywood sighed. “A’ight.” He handed her his keys. “Go wait for me in the car. I’m gonna give this nigga Don B. this music and I’ll be right out.”

  Gloria gave him a disgusted look. “Oh, you must think I’m stupid. Okay, Hollywood. Come on, Magda.” She motioned for her friend to follow as she stormed out the door.

  Before Gloria was fully out of the club, Hollywood was on his way over to the section that Big Dawg occupied. Gloria could sit her ass in the car until it bled, for all he cared; he finally had Don B.’s ear and he wasn’t gonna blow his chance to get down with Big Dawg. When he reached their section, the crowd had gotten so big that there was no way to tell who was with Big Dawg and who wasn’t. Hollywood slipped into the inner circle, helped himself to a glass of champagne, and moved closer to Don B., who was telling one of his classic stories.

  “That’s my word, when them niggaz started popping it was like the Fourth of July out here. Them lame-duck niggaz Lazy and Chiba fumbled when it jumped off, but True and Jah took it to some movie shit, right in front of police. Yo, it was brains, bullets, and bowels all over the place when them two got it in,” Don B. recounted for those who didn’t already know the legacy. And to those who did, it seemed like Don B. exaggerated True’s role a little more whenever he told it. In all actuality, it had been Jah who was the rider that day. When they shot Yoshi he’d shown a streak so brutal that it only ballooned the legend status that he was already on the verge of creating for himself.

  “Word, that was a wild-ass day,” Hollywood said, trying to include himself in the conversation, which was a bad move. Everyone got quiet and turned their eyes to Hollywood.

  “What?” Don B. grilled him.

  Hollywood tensed up. “Nah . . . Ah, I was just saying that it was a crazy day. I was out there with y’all earlier, remember?”

  “Some niggaz don’t ever learn.” Devil moved toward him, but Don B. held him back.

  “Hollywood, your ass is like a bad rash, you just keep coming back,” Don B. told him.

  Feeling the tension among the group, Hollywood’s heart began to race, but he managed to find his voice. “Yo, I’m trying to get on and ain’t nothing gonna stop me. I’m trying to let you get first crack at these beats, but either way, somebody is gonna hear them. I’d just rather be on a championship team rather than somebody that’s still fighting for playoff position.” He held the CD timidly out to Don B. He knew he was taking a hell of a gamble, but it was all or nothing.

  Don B. glared at the CD for what felt like forever. When he finally reached over to take it, Hollywood flinched as if he were about to get punched. “Be easy, my nigga, I ain’t gonna knock ya block off . . . at least not yet. I’ll tell you what, we gonna have the DJ spin this, and if it’s dope, we gonna fuck wit’ you, but if it’s whack, we gonna fuck wit’ you.” He motioned to Remo and Devil. “You cool with that?”

  “Don—” Hollywood began, but he was cut off by Devil.

  “Sounds like a yes to me.” The bruiser cracked his knuckles.

  “Ma, tell the DJ I said to spin this.” Don B. handed the CD to a hanger-on without even looking to see who it was. He sat back in his chair with his arms folded, staring at Hollywood from behind his sunglasses.

  Hollywood suddenly felt very ill. He wanted to run into the bathroom and throw up the Chinese food he’d eaten, but he was too afraid to break the circle of eyes that were on him. What he felt had to be what a rat felt like after being dropped into a snake’s tank. The track his little man had produced was getting a buzz in the hood, but it had yet to be tested in front of a real audience, and in a circle of angry wolves wasn’t how he’d imagined himself debuting it. Both his reputation and his health depended on the success of the record, because if it tanked, Remo and Devil were surely gonna punish him, and he had already seen what they could do.

  When the track suddenly sprang to life through the speakers, he almost fainted. The CD was a poor quality, but you could still hear the track. When he saw one of the girls who was a part of the Big Dawg entourage make a sour face, he just knew his ass was out, but suddenly Don B. started nodding to it. Once he started nodding, everybody grooved to it. Fully even started kicking a rhyme over the track. Slowly the color came back to Hollywood’s face and he allowed himself a slight smile.

  “You made this?” Don B. asked, still bobbing to the tune. This gave Hollywood pause. His man had made the beat under the pretense of using it for the mixed CD he was supposed to be a part of, but Hollywood had kicked him out of the group and kept the track. He figured he had the rights to it because it had been made using his studio equipment. With this thought in his mind, he nodded. “Good, I wanna buy it. Come to the office tomorrow and I’ll have the paperwork and check ready. I’ll give you fifteen hundred up front and another twenty-five once we get it laid down on one of the projects we got popping. We might even be able to fit it on a B-side for one of Left Coast’s singles.”

  “Are you serious?” Hollywood was ecstatic.

  “Listen, B, the Don don’t play games when it come to this paper. I’m gonna cop this l’il track off you, but when you come down bring ya catalog so I can browse. You might not be so fucking useless after all.”

  “Good looking, my dude.” Hollywood went to give him dap, but Don B. moved away.

  “Come on with all that shit, you ain’t fam—yet. You made a good first impression, but the final cut will depend on your catalog.”

  “I got you, fam. Ima bring down all my fire shit
; I got it for the streets, Don, word to mine. Yo, thanks, thanks a lot!” Hollywood could barely contain himself. He stumbled back through the lounge with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. After all the bullshit he had endured, it was finally about to go down for him. As far as the kid who had made the track, he wasn’t worried about him raising a stink. When Don B. cut the check, Hollywood would just give the kid five hundred for the beat as if he were purchasing it for his own purposes. He was a slow-witted pot head who would more than likely jump at the chance to get some smoke money in his pocket.

  Hollywood stepped out into the night air feeling like the king of the world and there was nothing that could knock him off his high horse. He was standing on the corner thinking about what he was going to spend his money on when he saw a familiar flash of white. He looked up in time to see his girl hit a streetlight as she tried to drive off in his whip.

  CHAPTER 17

  By the time the clock struck midnight, Tionna wasn’t feeling much pain. Between the three Slow Fucks and the music, she was on a planet all by herself. Happy had disappeared somewhere with the girl he he’d been talking to, which suited her just fine because she really wasn’t trying to waste her night on him. He had his useful moments, but this night wasn’t one of them.

  Boots and Wise were on the dance floor, grinding so hard that it looked like he would cum at any time. Tracy was hunched over the bar going shot for shot with a dude she’d met, leaving Tionna and Gucci to themselves.

  “Huh, drink this.” Gucci slid over a bottle of water and a glass of Baileys.

  “You must be crazy if you think I’m gonna be in here mixing liquors with your crazy ass.” Tionna took a long drink from the water bottle.