by Nikki Turner
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
Trapp was a sucker for a pretty face with breasts and a round behind. Miss Brazil was only one of the five different women that Trapp tricked on. Trapp spent almost ten thousand a week tricking on gorgeous women.
“You’re going to go broke if you don’t stop squandering your money,” Trapp’s accountant told him.
“It ain’t tricking if you got it,” was Trapp’s reply.
“Okay, we’ll see if you still have it in one year, the way that you spend money.”
“I’m never going broke, I get too much money.”
Trapp was an obnoxious and arrogant person. He rubbed everyone the wrong way. No one at University Records liked him, no one that he met liked him, only the fans liked him until they met him. The way he treated people created so much animosity that he had to hire a bodyguard when he was in public.
What Trapp didn’t know was that things were about to change. He was about to get a visit from an old friend, a friend that he thought was finished.
Trapp drove down Islip Avenue with the top down on his Lamborghini, Miss Brazil was riding shotgun, talking on the phone, when JJ’s truck pulled up alongside them at a stoplight.
“What’s up, Trapp? Remember me?” JJ said with a smile on his face.
Trapp was at a loss for words; he just looked at JJ with confusion.
“What’s wrong, cat got your tongue? I bet you thought I wasn’t getting out. You think you’re going to get away with stealing my songs, but you’re not.”
That’s when Sasha handed Trapp court papers. “You’ve been formally served with this affidavit to appear in court for copyright infringement.”
“Oh yeah, my money too long for y’all to think you can stop me,” Trapp replied arrogantly.
“We’ll see you in court.”
JJ drove away with a victory smile on his face. What Trapp didn’t know was that every song JJ recorded was copywritten with the Library of Congress, so he was protected. With the help of Sasha again, JJ was able to prove that Trapp stole his lyrics.
When they went to court the judge awarded JJ all the money that Trapp had in his bank account, which was a little under ten million. Trapp was sick.
“That ain’t nothing because I can get money anywhere now. The people love me,” Trapp said foolishly.
“We’ll see. I’ll make sure that everybody knows that you lost in court. You’re finished,” JJ replied.
When the news got out that Trapp really did steal all the lyrics on his album, his short career came to a screeching halt. No label wanted to sign him, the chances of him making a hit record again were slim to none.
Trapp pulled up to his estate. He was lucky that he paid cash for his mansion. He was also lucky that the judge left him with it. When he pulled up to the front of the house he noticed that there was a slim dark-skinned lady sitting on his porch. His first thought was to curse her out and kick her off his property. There was something in her eyes; he felt a familiarity in them. He knew that he didn’t know this lady personally, but there was something about her that made him connect with her on a deep level.
“Hi, Trent. I know you don’t know me, but I know you.”
“How do you know my government name?” Trapp had a perplexed look on his face.
“Because I’m your mother, Trent.”
“You’re my mother.” Trapp gave her a deep look and he saw his own face. He knew she was telling the truth.
“What are you doing here now? You waiting for me to get rich to show your face.”
“I didn’t come here for a handout, Trent, I came to tell you who your father is.”
Trapp’s heart started beating fast when the woman spoke the words your father. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know, but he had a feeling that she was going to tell him anyway.
“What made you come forward now? I mean, I’m twenty-four years old. If you knew me why didn’t you come forth when I was being mistreated in all those foster homes.”
“I can’t take back the past. I don’t have long to live, I have terminal cancer. That’s why I’m here, to tell you before I die.”
Trapp had emotional lumps in his throat that he couldn’t control. Tears started welling up in his eyes. The woman began to cry as well when she saw her son cry.
“Your father’s name is Terell Swan.”
“I don’t know nobody by that name, so this was a waste of time.”
“You do know him, just by another name.”
“Who is my father, lady? I don’t have time to play wit you,” Trapp said in a loud tone.
“Your father’s name is OG Rosco.”
Trapp’s face dropped. “OG Rosco is my father?” Trapp couldn’t believe his ears. “Are you sure, I mean how are you sure?”
“I know for sure that he is your father. Terell was my childhood sweetheart. I gave you up for adoption because I was only fifteen years old when I had you. I was a baby myself, so was Terell. He never knew that I was pregnant because I hid it the whole time. Then he left me to be in the streets, so I never told him.”
“I can’t believe that OG Rosco is my father.”
“I’m sorry for everything you been through. If I could take it back believe me I would. But I can’t.” She looked him deep in his eyes. She saw the pain mixed with something else she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was guilt or confusion, but his whole vibe changed. “I don’t want to waste any more of your time, I know you’re a busy man.”
The lady started walking away; that’s when Trapp stopped her.
“Wait. If you like you can spend some time here with me. There is more than enough room.”
“Thank you, but I have to go.”
With those words the woman walked away from Trapp’s sprawling mansion.
“Terell Swan, you have a lawyer’s visit,” The CO announced.
“This is what I’ve been waiting for.”
OG Rosco strolled down to the attorney-inmate visiting room. When he got there his lawyer was seated. He stood and shook OG’s hand when he walked in.
“How’s everything, Mr. Swan?”
“As good as it’s going to get. Now let’s cut to the chase.”
OG’s lawyer handed him a piece of paper with a name and a few paragraphs written on it. The name read: Trent Sanford aka Trapp. OG read the statement. It basically was a detailed account of OG’s drug operation.
“I knew Trapp was a rat!”
“Now, Mr. Swan, don’t go killing him just yet.”
“Don’t worry, I got this.” OG stood as a sign for him to be escorted back to his cell.
When he got to his cell block, he got on the phone.
“What’s poppin, Shank? I want you to talk to Trapp for me.”
“I’m going to see him tonight.”
“Good.” OG hung up the phone before he said anything else. “You’re going to get yours, Trapp.”
Trapp drove his Range Rover down his old block remembering the time when he was a nobody on these streets. The news that his mother gave him disturbed him deeply.
I snitched on my own father, he thought to himself. It’s not like I knew he was my father.
He stopped at a traffic light and nervously pulled on a cigarette. He was in such a trance that he didn’t notice Shank get out of the car behind his and creep up on his Range with a 45-caliber handgun in his palm.
By the time Trapp saw Shank, it was too late.
“This is for OG Rosco!” Shank emptied a full 16-shot clip into Trapp’s door. “Rat Bastard!”
Trapp’s forehead hit the steering wheel causing the horn to blast continuously. The last thought that Trapp had before he died was, OG Rosco is my pops.
JJ wrote a whole new album in a new rhyme book. His new album was hotter than the first. JJ had more to talk about nowadays because of his ordeal with the game.
JJ changed his subject matter up on his new album. The information that he learned from Solomon went into every song he wrote. JJ even
wrote a song about the situation with Trapp, called “Stolen Legacy,” named after the book that Solomon gave him.
“Stolen Legacy” became JJ’s biggest single from his new album. Everyone knew about the whole Trapp fiasco, so it was easy for people to like the song.
JJ went through hell in order to come out right. He learned a lot of valuable lessons from the ordeal. The most valuable lesson he learned was to never take life for granted.
“You ready, baby?” Sasha asked JJ.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled at him before speaking. “Can I ask you a question, honey?”
“Sure.” JJ was anxious to see where she was going with her question.
“When we first met, did you want to take me serious, or was you going to play me and never call me?”
“Actually, I was going to call you every day after that day because I couldn’t get you off my mind.” JJ paused and reached into his pocket and pulled out the biggest diamond ring Sasha ever saw. “In fact, I have a question for you.”
When Sasha saw the ring, she knew what his question was.
“Oh my God!” she screamed with excitement.
“Will you marry me, Sasha?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” She hugged him around his neck and he squeezed her in his arms.
They stayed in a lover’s embrace until they both were tired of hugging. They were happy and in love, their future was promising, all due to the past. Even though, all we really have is the moment.
The Roof … the Roof Is on Fire!
We Don’t Need No Water …
LOSE TO WIN
By Lana Ave
Chapter 1 | I’ll Watch
eah, Daddy, give it to me.”
Kessy’s canary-yellow thong underwear were tossed on the mess of papers on the cherry oak desk as she bounced on the lap of Nicholas Michaels, the owner and president of Hustle Hard Records. Kessy humped Nicholas aggressively, and his smooth brown face and chestnut-brown eyes stayed calm as he let Kessy work him. He fondled her breasts, but mostly rested his head back on the black leather chair with his eyes closed.
I sat on the yellow suede couch near the window, bored. Kessy and Nicholas had only known each for about four hours. We saw him at a red light on Thirty-sixth Street in Manhattan.
There wasn’t much space between Kessy’s butt and the wood desk. She didn’t care if her butt bumped the desk a time or two. She never felt the scratches the wood splinters left on her behind. She was in a zone. There was hardly anyone left in the office of the small record label. It was after eight o’clock in the evening and only the janitor, the security guard, and Nicholas were here when we arrived an hour ago. Every now and again Nicholas would try to quiet Kessy down. As empty as the place was he still wanted to be quiet.
“But you’re Nicholas Michaels. Ooh, you feel that? Oh my gosh I get wetter just saying your name!”
And with that she gave two more hard bounces. Then three slower, more careful ones. Her caramel C-cup breasts flopped against his bearded chin. Nicholas’s ebony skin glowed with a hint of red in his cheeks. Was he blushing? Kessy was good! She always knew when it was time. A man didn’t have to shake, tap her on the behind, or whisper. Kessy had power between those legs!
Seeing Nicholas close his eyes and grip Kessy’s waist was my cue to leave. I got what I needed. As she slow-grinded to pull out whatever he had left, she held on to the top of his black leather chair firmly and pulled herself closer to his chiseled chest. I’m not sure if Nicholas even remembered I was in the room. Kessy was a twenty-three-year-old caramel beauty and my best friend. She was well stacked and had a waist perfect for a size four but a booty that took a size ten. She still had on her red pumps, and her long legs straddled Nicholas’s lap to secure his position although he wasn’t moving anyway.
I tried to be discreet when I got up to leave although there was no need. Nicholas looked like he was ready to take a nap, and Kessy would caress him until she knew I was gone. Nicholas’s pale blue jeans were around his ankles. The janitor saw me trying to be quiet closing the office door. He wore big old school silver and black headphones that looked like they could keep anyone’s ears warm on a cold winter night. My purple and gray Air Max sneakers kept my footsteps light. When I reached the glass double doors I saw the reflection of a twenty-four-year-old woman in dark blue jeans with a matching denim jacket. The grape color of my button-down shirt made my light skin look lighter. I saw a woman who was transitioning from being a girl. A woman who decided what she wanted to do with her life and how she was going to get there. My parents taught me I should own whatever business I work for. My mother taught me how to be dedicated. My father taught me how to cut to the chase and take what you want. The path lay ahead of me. I just had to lay the bricks down. The music business is where I belonged. It was a game, and I was great at playing games. Just like Monopoly. I always liked getting the small houses first then building up to the bigger ones. Hustle Hard Records would be my small house.
I looked to see if I could see the brightness of my green eyes in the glass. Instead I saw the janitor looking at me there standing still. He probably was curious as to why I was leaving alone.
Chapter Two | First Day
I showed up at the offices of Hustle Hard Records the morning of Monday, September 15th. I requested to see Mr. Nicholas Michaels. Just as the receptionist started to turn me away (since I didn’t have an appointment), Mr. Michaels was getting off of the elevator. He recognized me although my pinstriped skirt and jacket were quite different from the attire he saw me in last. He stared curiously at the manila envelope in my hand.
That became my first day working at Hustle Hard Records. It was just an intern position, but I didn’t care. It was a start. People in the office looked at me crazy when Nicholas introduced me. No one knew I was coming and it was obvious I wasn’t a student. The other interns looked like they were about twelve and thirteen even though they claimed to be in college. I wasn’t there to make friends, though. I was there to start my business. Yes, my business! You see, the music business is one of the best hustles there is. I mean, not if you’re a singer or a rapper, but if you’re the owner/money lender. You lend them the money to finance what they need to get them on top, and they owe you. Now, that’s a business that makes money! It’s like being a bank. All you have to do is find the right borrowers. You know, like the ones who want a house so bad they don’t care the interest on it is damn near more than the loan? Yeah, you need some of them. My mama always said, “If I owe you, you’ll never be broke!”
Of course, she said that as she was borrowing my allowance money to buy her and her boyfriend a case of Coronas. Whatever, it’s still true. As long as you owe me, I’m not broke!
“Good morning, Cassandra. This is Sakia Sands. She’ll be our new intern.”
I hope Miss Cassandra didn’t think she was hiding her thoughts. I saw right through that phony smile. When she heard my name she twisted her mouth a little. Not too much so that Mr. Michaels saw it. But just enough that I did. She thinks I’m some chick this dude is freaking off with. No, boo, that would be Kessy and Kessy ain’t trying to work for anybody! Shoot! Kessy’s parents got boocoo dough and all she wants to do is sex every and any man who thinks he’s at the top of his game. She doesn’t even need a whole hour to break ‘em down. So even if I was Kessy, this chick right here wouldn’t know the half and her little paycheck would be embarrassed to stand in my presence!
I had to keep a straight face while the hater acted like she was happy to show me around. Tossing her spiral-curled shoulder-length weave must’ve made her feel pretty. Her insecurity was obvious and unnecessary. Her dark skin and almond-shaped eyes were actually quite beautiful. Her doo-doo green pantsuit needed a little work, but she was still cute. Besides, I wasn’t trying to compete with her. In a short time, I was going to be the head woman in charge. She’d be lucky if I let her work for me! Let her keep thinking her stuff don’t stink. She’ll smell it in a minute!
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Cassandra tried to keep me busy with refiling things that were already in order and refilling the coffeepot like I was part of a high school work program. I played cool because she had no clue of the deck I was working with. That’s just who I am. My daddy taught me that. When he found my mother in bed with his best friend, Mr. Paul, my dad acted like it was okay. Hell, he even jumped in the bed to join them. Yes he did! He stripped down and he rammed himself into my mother’s behind while she nervously gave Mr. Paul oral sex. Mr. Paul was probably dumb enough to think that whole situation turned out for the best. My mother, on the other hand, was basically getting raped up her behind while my father was “playing it cool.” It’s funny how my mom tells that story thinking it will make me hate my father. She wants me to think of him as a rapist, but I just think of her as a whore. Mr. Paul was broke and always coming by to borrow money. All she got out of that was a sore ass and Mr. Paul still owing her fifty dollars. I don’t know if it was my father or the fifty dollars he borrowed from my mother that made him never come by again. Knowing Mr. Paul, it was the fifty dollars.
“Hey. My name’s Brooke.”
Her hair was brown and her frame petite. Her skin was white at one point but it was now orange from what seemed to be over-tanning. Her Malcolm X glasses made her look very professional even though she wore jeans and a T-shirt. Still, she was pleasant and the only one who reached their hand out to me. The other interns acted like I was trying to take their job. As if there was a ranking or something and their superior intern status was at risk.
“Hi, I’m Sakia. Nice to meet you, Brooke.”
“Sakia? That’s an interesting name. What does it mean?”
“I don’t know. I think my mom just liked it. I don’t care much about it. It’s just my name.”
“Just your name, girl? It’s what everyone knows you by. Girl you can be a CEO with just a name. Think of whose company you’re working for. Nicholas Michaels. That’s his name. There’s so many people who aren’t really sure what he does or what his role is, but they know his name. If your name doesn’t have a meaning, you better give it one.”
