by Nikki Turner
“Dog, welcome to L.A.,” Buddha greeted him with a shit-eating grin. “How was your flight?”
Ike sat down and a chick asked him what he was drinking. “VSOP,” he told her and she left to fix it. He turned to Buddha. “Not as good as the ride over.”
Buddha laughed.
“Accommodations, baby, I always make sure my brothers are taken care of.
“So …” Buddha swung his legs over the deck chair so he could sit sideways, facing Ike. The girl returned with Ike’s drink, then left. “I’m hearin’ a lot about the moves you makin’, and I gotta be honest, I’m a little offended.”
“Offended? Why?”
“Come on, Ike, you ain’t no music cat. So why, when you decided to dabble, didn’t you come to me? Instead of goin’ through all this unnecessary … thuggery. You know I coulda handled it,” Buddha told him, then sipped his drink, never taking his eyes off Ike.
“Naw, Mike, it wasn’t like that. I never really intended to get involved, but shit just happened so fast, so I rolled with it,” Ike explained.
Mike nodded. “I can dig it, but, yo … this is a crazy business, and you know, two heads is better than one. Black Knights Records is the home of that gangsta shit, dig? I’m sure we can work something out.”
Buddha was smiling, but his eyes were of stone. Ike knew he needed to tread lightly. “Mike, I feel you. I do … but Crook … he ain’t feelin’ being on a label. I mean, can you blame him? What can a situation like that offer?”
“There’s a thousand ways we can make it so Crook can benefit from my expertise, and I can benefit from his creativity. The question is, are all parties willin’ to make a deal?” Buddha was persistent. Wasn’t no way he wasn’t gonna cake off this album after the single alone had moved five million and was still going strong.
Ike sipped his drink casually, concealing the slight jitters. He watched the females as they slithered all around him. “Let me talk to Crook,” he replied, since it was Crook who wasn’t with it, let him tell Buddha no. “Then I’ll be in touch.”
“Why don’t you,” Buddha agreed. “Matter of fact … Why don’t we both talk to Crook? We could take my G-4, be in Newark for the party, then come back and celebrate the future.”
“I don’t see any problem wit that.”
“Neither do I.” Buddha grinned like a cat on his way to a mouse convention.
The platinum party was held at Club Mirage, the same club Crook had walked into months earlier, and walked out to the respect and fear of the whole industry.
Now, the party was for him, and many in attendance then returned to toast his success.
Larceny arrived in a stretch Hummer, with six of his Blood brothers and three sisters all dressed in Blood red and frosted neck to wrist. Ike rolled up in a brand-new champagne-colored Phantom, along with Mike Buddha and the twin chicks, one on each arm.
But Crook killed them all, pulling up in a 1930’s style, two-door Cadillac and wearing a black and white pinstriped zoot suit—Capone style—derby, and platinum-tipped cane. He opened the door for Sheena. He lifted her gracefully and she got out with her hair in a ‘30s style wrap, a gorgeous sequined off-the-shoulder gown, and crystal-beaded mules blessed her feet. She stepped out to the flash of the paparazzi, shyly smiling for the camera. Crook could tell she felt a little uncomfortable because she wasn’t model size or as shapely as the gold diggers milling around.
Crook leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Relax, baby, and smile like you’re loved. You the prettiest woman in the house.” From then on, she floated through the sea of people like a queen.
Everybody was showing Crook and Larceny love. Rappers who Crook didn’t know or even want to know treated him like they were the best of friends. The only cats he showed love were M.O.P. and 50, the only cats he respected in the industry.
“Salute,” Lil’ Fame greeted him.
“Salute,” Crook replied and dapped Billy Danze.
M.O.P. and 50 were the only guest appearances he had on his album, so he brought them through to perform at the party. M.O.P. went first, then 50, then it was finally Crook’s turn.
He and Larceny took the stage like they owned it, just like in his dream, all eyes were on him, but unlike the dream, he didn’t freeze up. Crook ripped through several joints until he was dizzy and he even challenged anyone in the house to battle for fifty thousand on the spot. Nobody stepped up.
After the performance, Crook settled into a booth with Sheena and draped his arm around her while he sipped E&J with the other.
“I’m proud of you, baby,” she told him with a kiss. “And I’m so happy that you got what you wanted because you deserve it,” she added with teary eyes.
“Naw, ma, we deserve it. You put in most of the work, while I ran crazy. I know I put you through a lot, but the pain is over, we can finally start livin’.”
He kissed her deeply, dancing his tongue around hers. The kiss was interrupted with “Ay, yo, dog, Ike wanna see you, he said it’s important,” Larceny explained.
Crook looked up, annoyed. “Nigga, this important.”
Sheena giggled. “It’s okay, Vic, I ain’t going nowhere,” she assured him, meaning every word. Crook pinched her cheek, then rose from his seat and followed Larceny to the VIP section where Ike and Mike Buddha were sitting with their chicks, sipping bubbly. Ike stood up to greet Crook. “What up, dog. Lookin’ good, baby! You kilt ‘em in that throwback Caddy, looking like a black Al Capone.”
Crook grinned. “Fuck that cracker, he look like a white me!” Everyone laughed as Crook added, “I couldn’t let nobody outshine me at my own party.”
“I want you to meet somebody.” Ike turned to Mike Buddha, but Crook cut in.
“No need, Ike, everybody knows Buddha.” Crook extended his hand to Buddha. He shook it firmly. “What up, Buddha? All yo shit is gangsta. I respect yo label and yo hustle, yo.”
Mike Buddha nodded with appreciation. “The feeling is mutual. If the single is any indication of what’s to come, I see nothing but big things in your future.”
“Word.”
“So what’s the plan? Ike tells me labels been kickin’ in your door like whoa. Who you gonna sign wit?” Buddha inquired.
“Gun Music Records,” Crook stated proudly. “We got our own label.”
Buddha lit a Cuban. “Indo’s good, but it’s hard for Indo labels these days. You get distribution yet?” Buddha continued with his twenty-one questions.
Crook looked at Ike like, this your department, but answered, “Naw, dog, just a lot of deals on the table; just waitin’ on the right offer.”
“That’s what’s up,” Buddha agreed. “But what do you think about Inner-Vibe distribution? That’s my distributor, and I’m sure we could get something proper on the table. Especially if you merged your label with me.”
Crook chuckled. Everybody wanted a piece of the pie. “I’m sure, but for now, I’m feelin’ my independence.”
Buddha scratched his chin like, “Well, everybody need somebody sometimes. This just happens to be one of those times.”
Crook could see the fat cat getting agitated. Buddha wasn’t used to any kind of resistance. But Crook wasn’t used to giving in, so he said, “Yo, I appreciate your offer, but right now I want to see what Gun Music can do for self. It was good to meet you, but I need to get back to my fiancée.” Crook extended his hand to Buddha.
He just looked at it without shaking it. “Have a seat, Crook, let’s drink a little. Talk man-to-man, because an offer from Black Knight is never repeated twice.”
Buddha’s tone turned ominous. To Buddha, Crook was a young punk, an upstart hardhead that needed to be put in position, one way or another. To Crook, Buddha was a cat he looked up to, but he wasn’t gonna let Buddha look down on him because of it. Ike shifted silently, and the twins’ body language reflected the tension in the air, so Crook tried to bow out gracefully before the situation totally deteriorated.
“Buddha, on the real, I thank you
for comin’ to my party. To me, that’s respect and I do nothin’ but return it, and I give you my word, we’ll talk again, but—”
Buddha’s famous temper exploded. “No! We’ll talk now, you bitch-ass sucka mu’fucka! You think you a real killa, huh?! A live wire?! You fuckin’ wit vets now, not these puppet things you been gorilla’n! You better bow yo bitch ass down when I speak to you or find yourself among the unspeakable!”
Buddha felt disrespected because he seldom heard no, and when he did, he never heard it twice. He couldn’t accept it, wouldn’t accept it, but he didn’t realize he’d better be prepared to hold court on the spot.
Ike was the first to see it in Crook. That look in his eyes, the one he had almost in this very same spot, when Mark Allen made his final mistake. He wanted to warn Buddha, tell him to kill him now, on the spot, but before the words came out, it all began to blur too fast for Ike to speak.
Crook turned to Larceny as if he was leaving, pulling his pistol from his waist the whole time in a single motion. He turned and fired twice into Mike Buddha’s pig like grill. There was no emotion, no angry words, just a principle being upheld. The twins went into action. Crook hit Buddha once more in the throat before one of the twins pulled a small .380 from her garter belt and hit Crook in the shoulder. The force pushed him into Larceny, who by that time had pulled his pistol and hit the twin dead in her forehead, slumping her onto Buddha’s convulsing body. Ike and the second twin dove out of the booth as the crowd went into a frenzy.
“They killed Buddha! Crook killed Buddha!” Ike shouted, and the Bloods in attendance set it off.
Larceny and Crook had been friends for a long time, but Larceny had also made a blood oath with the gang: the Bloods. In the split second it took for Crook to murder Buddha, Larceny’s decision was made. He went against the oath he took with his life and rode with his dog.
“You hit, dog! You hit!” he cried to Crook.
“I’m good, yo. Let’s just get Sheena and get the fuck outta here!” Crook replied.
Larceny came up firing and cleared a path. As one innocent chick got hit in the exchange, Ike came out of hiding with two burners, both blazing at a ducking and running Larceny and Crook. Crook started to go for Sheena, but thought twice. He didn’t want to draw the gunplay anywhere near her.
“Sheena!” he screamed, hoping she’d hear him and get out.
Sheena was still in the booth when the gunfire erupted, and ducked deep in the booth. But when she heard someone shout “Crook killed Buddha,” she burst into tears, and crawled along the floor trying to get to her man.
“Vic! Where are you?!” she hollered in anguish, but she got no reply.
Larceny and Crook had made it out of VIP, but more of Buddha’s people were waiting and opened up on the two figures as they stumbled out among the fleeing partygoers.
Pop! Pop!
Two shots and a famous rapper from Marcy fell dead. No one was safe. Crook shot back from behind a nearby booth and dropped one of the shooters, then he heard, “Victor! Victor, where are you?!”
“Sheena!”
Her heart leaped when she heard his voice. “Victor!” Crook looked around for Larceny, who was exchanging fire across the floor from behind the bar. “L! Get Sheena outta here!” Larceny nodded and hopped over the counter, taking cover against two fallen bodies. He fired randomly to clear a path, then crawled along the floor until he saw Sheena huddled behind an overturned table.
“Sheena,” he whispered loudly, “Sheena, it’s me, Larceny.”
“Where’s Victor?” she asked trembling, scared of what he might say.
“He’s good, but we gotta go.” He put his arm around her and led her toward the front door. Once outside, he fumbled for his keys.
“Shit! I ain’t drive my shit!”
A burst of automatic gunfire silenced his thoughts. Instinctively, Larceny threw Sheena down behind a parked car, and returned a blast until his pistol sat back empty. The fire had come from the second twin standing on the door of the Phantom, blasting a Mac-11.
While her attention was on Larceny, she never saw Crook creep up behind her and put the gun to her head. “Die slow, bitch!” He snuffed her permanently and snatched up the Mac. It was just in time, because two Bloods came running out on him, firing recklessly. He ducked inside the Phantom, feeling the broken glass from the windshield rain down on him. He came up blazing, catching one of the bloods, the other took off.
When Larceny ran over to the Phantom, Crook asked, “Where’s Sheena?”
“Behind that car back there,” was his friend’s answer.
Crook gave Larceny his keys and told him, “Go get the car, I’ll get Sheena.”
They split up, Larceny ran down the block to get the Cadillac, while Crook crept down to Sheena. Ike came out and saw Crook dipping across the front of the club and tried to take his head off, but missed several times. Ike heard whimpering to his right, and when he looked over, he saw Sheena. “Blood for blood, nigga!” Ike yelled and Crook knew exactly what he meant.
From his angle Crook couldn’t hit Ike and save Sheena at the same time, so without hesitation, he flung himself between Sheena and the impending barrage of shells. His body covered hers as the slugs ate up his back, filling his lungs with blood.
“Noooo!!” she screamed, feeling the jolts Crook’s body was taking, but he never made a sound. Larceny was skidding up when he saw Ike on the sidewalk. He hopped the curb in the car and aimed it like a guided missile at him. Ike tried to shoot Larceny through the windshield seconds before he collided with the fender and his body was crushed between the car and the building. Larceny jumped out, snatched Ike’s gun out of his lifeless hand, and hit him two times, just to make sure.
“Nooo,” Larceny heard Sheena moan.
He turned to see his man sprawled out on top of her, back drenched in his own blood. All Larceny could do was drop his head, then the rage of it all bubbled up. “They killed him! Fuckin’ kilt him!!!” he kept repeating.
Sheena rocked Crook’s lifeless body in her arms, hearing the approaching sirens. Larceny ran over to hug Crook one last time.
“Damn, dog, why? Why the fuck couldn’t they just let us live?? “I love you, dog. I love you.” He kissed Sheena on her forehead. “Boo, I gotta go. The police is coming, but I’ll be back. On my life, I’ll be back.”
Sheena heard nothing, she didn’t even realize he was there. All she felt was pain so deep, she was scared it would never end. The police found her cradling Crook to her chest.
The club was a mess. Several celebrities besides Crook and Buddha died, and one was paralyzed. The police chalked it up as gang related, determined everyone dead killed everybody else, and left it at that. To them, it was a few less niggas to worry about.
Larceny couldn’t take it. Nothing about it made any sense and nothing could justify the fact that Crook was gone forever. All he wanted to do was get high. Maybe even high enough to join Crook, but certainly high enough to forget.
He spent the next few days alone with his pipe and a quarter kilo of coke. While the world mourned and sensationalized the industry murders, he sank deeper into his own depression.
The day of the funeral, Sheena kept calling but all she got was his voice mail. He sat huddled by the picture window, cradling his glass companion. Beep …
“This Larceny leave a message, unless you naked, then leave an address,” his recorded voice said. He expected to hear Sheena again, begging him to pick up, to call but instead he heard Crook say, “Crook and Larceny ain’t no gimmick. We ain’t just decide in somebody studio that, yo, I’ma be Crook and you gon be Larceny, you know, to sound hard like these studio gangstas. We always been Crook and Larceny ‘cause that’s how we survived, yo.
“I ain’t glorifyin’ it, but its reality. Ain’t nobody ever give us nothing. We took whatever we got.
“Except—beep—” Larceny added and they laughed. It was a recording of a radio interview they had done, and they beeped out the word
pussy.
“Yeah, we ain’t never took no—beep—” Crook repeated. “We ain’t on no R. Kelly baby rapin’—beep—That’s that faggot—beep.”
Even though Sheena was just holding the phone to the stereo, Crook’s voice sounded so clear to Larceny, like he was right in the room with him, telling him these things live and direct, slapping him back to reality like the day they last fought. Crook’s voice made him remember his man. Remember how they met, stealing cigarettes, robbin’ together, starvin’ together, and finally, on top of the world together. He looked at the pipe in his hands as Crook finished the interview.
“So what’s next for ya’ll, what else can we expect from Crook and Larceny?”
“What else,” Larceny heard him say, recalling the smile when he said it. “We gonna pump the music up and count our money.”
He finished, mimicking Rakim’s words off “Paid in Full,” his theme song.
Larceny knew he had to get to the funeral. He had to be there for Sheena, but especially for Crook. He didn’t even bother to get dressed. He threw on his boots and grabbed his keys, wearing only a dingy T-shirt and cut-off sweatpants.
Crook’s funeral was packed to capacity. The large church it was held in on Freling Huysen Avenue had so many six-figure whips lined up in its parking lot it looked like an industry party. The fans and media mulled around outside, holding up homemade signs and T-shirts, while the media snapped pic after pic.
Larceny triple-parked his Venom and left the door thrown up like a bat wing. As he pushed his way through, he looked around at all the strange, but celebrated faces. Cats tried to holler at him, chicks tried to console him, but he pushed past them all, heading to the front of the church where Sheena, her sisters, and two daughters, Tameek and Syasia, were sitting. He hugged Sheena, who simply whispered, “Thank you.” She embraced him tightly even though she must have smelled his three-day must.
Larceny looked into the kids’ faces and knew he had to hold them down, especially Tameek. She was frowned up just like Crook, and Larceny knew one day she’d have the attitude of fuck the world, too. So he had to be around to stop it.
