The Fix

by K'wan

  The inside of the club was crowded and dark, except for the few lights at private tables and the spotlights focused on the stage where a rap group was performing. Li’l Monk recognized the group Bad Blood from their videos, but couldn’t say he was a fan of their music.

  “It’s packed in here,” Sophie said, startling Li’l Monk. It was the first time she’d said more than two words to him since their conversation in the taxi.

  “Yeah,” Li’l Monk replied. It was all he could think to say.

  “Yo, let’s hit the bar and get some drinks,” Omega called over to him, pointing at the bar on the other side of the room.

  “With all these people in here, it’s going to take forever for us to reach it,” Tasha said. They couldn’t move more than a few feet without bumping into someone.

  “I got this.” Li’l Monk began bulldozing a path for them through the crowd to the bar. “What you drinking?” he asked her, hoping she asked for house-brand liquor instead of something exotic. He had been doing the math in his head, and between the new clothes and bullshitting around he had already eaten up a good chunk of the money Ramses had given him.

  “Everything is on me tonight,” Omega told him with a wink. He didn’t say it, but he was aware of Li’l Monk’s financial situation and didn’t want his friend to be embarrassed.

  “Since it’s on you, let’s get some champagne,” Tasha suggested.

  Omega shot her a look. “How about we start off with a few shots and move from there.” He turned his back to her and ordered the drinks.

  “Your shovel is showing, gold digger,” Sophie whispered in Tasha’s ear.

  “Child please, these goodies don’t come for free,” Tasha said with a roll of her eyes.

  The bartender came back with four shots of tequila and four Coronas and set them on the bar. Omega divided the drinks among them. “I’d like to propose a toast.” He raised his glass.

  “Hey now.” Tasha snatched her drink up.

  “What are we toasting to?” Li’l Monk asked.

  “The world, because soon it’s gonna belong to us.” Omega downed his shot.

  CHAPTER 22

  Walking inside the club was like stepping into another world for Persia, especially since she had never been. Seeing clubs in movies and music videos was one thing, but to actually be in the thick of it felt surreal to Persia. The people, the music, the glamour . . . she loved everything about it.

  Chucky led them across the dance floor, where there were throngs of people humping and grinding on each other. To her left, two girls were engaged in a lip lock and feeling each other up like they were about to go at it right there in front of everyone. Overhead the strobe lights began blinking in different colors and patterns, making it hard for Persia to focus. She was suddenly overcome with vertigo, and stumbled. Thankfully, Chucky caught her by the arm and kept her from falling and embarrassing herself.

  “You okay?” Chucky asked, steadying her.

  “Yeah, my heels just got caught on something,” Persia lied. Truth be told, it was a side effect of the Joy Ride she’d popped. Something about the flashing lights was making the drugs in her system spike, and Persia felt like she was on a roller coaster with no safety belt.

  “I could carry you if you want?” Chucky offered.

  “That’s sweet of you, but I’ll be fine. I just need to sit down for a minute,” Persia said.

  “Then let’s get you a seat and a drink.” Chucky took her by the hand and pulled her along.

  In the back of the club there was a section that was separated from the main area by a thick gold rope. There was a sprinkling of tables and booths, some occupied and some not, and each had a bottle of champagne on it. Waitresses scurried back and forth to cater to the needs of those privileged enough to occupy that side of the rope, while groupies with no shame performed strange acts for men with long paper and larcenous hearts. This was their destination.

  “Give me a second,” Chucky told Persia, and approached the rope to speak with the bouncer guarding it. They exchanged a few words, before a man wearing a sweat suit and a long gold chain interceded. The man in the sweat suit motioned to the bouncer that Chucky was “good,” and he was allowed to step inside the gold rope, where he was greeted with a handshake and a hug.

  “That dude looks familiar,” Marty said, trying to place his face. She didn’t have to wonder who he was for long because a few seconds later they were all whisked inside the roped-off area by security.

  “Ladies, this is a friend of mine, Tone,” Chucky introduced them.

  “I know I’d seen your face somewhere before. You’re signed to Big Dawg, right?” It finally hit Marty where she had seen him before. He was in a few of the rap videos she had seen.

  “Yeah, I’m down with Big Dawg, but not signed to them. I don’t rap, I count money,” Tone boasted. “But enough about me, you guys are guests of Chucky, which means you’re guests of the Dawg House.” He motioned around the VIP area. “Let’s get you pretty ladies situated so we can begin the festivities.”

  Tone showed them to a private table, which had an excellent view of the stage. The group, Bad Blood, had just finished their set and were lounging at the table, drinking and smoking weed. They had some girls with them, but the females were quickly forgotten when the fellas saw Persia and Marty.

  “Damn, I think I just caught a mean case of Jungle Fever,” one of the men in the group said, eyeballing Marty like she was the Last Supper.

  “Fall your thirsty ass back, Pain. You ain’t entitled to every piece of flesh that comes through here,” Tone told him.

  “Why not? We’re dawgs and share everything don’t we?” Pain asked jokingly.

  “Excuse this ignorant muthafucka. His mother dropped him on his head when he was a kid and he hasn’t been right since,” Tone told Marty.

  “You cuffing already, Tone?” another of the group joked. He was called Lex. He was Pain’s partner in crime, but not quite as abrasive.

  “You know cuffing ain’t in my vocabulary, Lex, so knock it off. I’m just trying to make sure you thirsty-ass niggas don’t frighten our guests off before we’ve had a chance to get properly acquainted.”

  “Don’t worry, Tone. We won’t be too rough with them,” Pain said sarcastically.

  “Sometimes I like it a little rough,” Sarah spoke up. She already knew that Persia was going to hook up with Chucky, and Tone had eyes for Marty, but she was sizing up the quiet dude in the corner with the big chain on. Weighed against what was left over, Pain was the next best option so she figured she might as well put her bid in early.

  “I think I like you, white girl. Why don’t you come have a seat by me and get some of this liquor.” Pain patted the seat next to him. Fearlessly, Sarah went over and took the spot he’d patted, making it a point to bump the girl over who had been sitting closest to him. She held her cup out while Pain filled it with straight vodka. He offered her a chaser, but she declined.

  “You’ve got some live as lady friends, Chucky,” Tone said.

  “So I’m noticing.” Chucky watched in amazement as Sarah downed the vodka and held her cup out for another round.

  “Is that crazy-ass Chucky?” The quietest of the young men asked abruptly, jumping to his feet. He hadn’t said much since they’d come over. The diamond-encrusted Rottweiler medallion hanging from his chain clanged against his chest when he moved. The girls who had been hanging on him quickly scattered, thinking there was going to be an altercation, but instead he and Chucky embraced each other. “Damn, I ain’t seen you in a minute.”

  “That’s because you’re too busy being famous to come back and visit us niggas in the slums, True,” Chucky said with a smile. True was the biggest act signed to Big Dawg. He was quickly making the ascension from underground rapper to celebrity, and the country was rocking to his music. But for as much as a star as True was becoming, to Chucky he was still the same bad-ass kid who used to sell crack on Eighth Avenue.

  “I ain’t nev
er too big to visit the hood that birthed me, but I’m wise enough to make my visits as infrequent as possible and only when necessary. It’s an unfortunate thing when niggas get so bitter from you trying to reach the stars that they get to scheming on how to put you in the dirt,” True said solemnly. “But enough about that bullshit, what brings you out tonight? I know you ain’t no fan of crowds, and this place is a zoo.”

  Chucky shrugged. “Just came to handle some business with Tone and grab a drink.”

  True was smart enough to read between the lines. The only business Chucky dealt with was the business of cocaine. True shook his head. “Same old Chucky.”

  “We can’t all be blessed enough to go platinum,” Chucky shot back.

  Their conversation was interrupted when a young man joined their group. He was tall, standing about six feet four inches, with rich chocolate skin and innocent eyes. He went around the group giving everyone dap, but when he turned and saw Persia he paused. When their eyes met it was as if everything else had faded away and she was the only woman in the room. He tried to say something, but couldn’t find the words. It was as if she had stolen his breath and all he could do was stare.

  “See something you like, homeboy?” Chucky asked, snapping him out of it.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know she was with you,” the boy said apologetically.

  “Well, now you do, and you might wanna keep your eyes to yourself. Some people might take that gawking as disrespectful,” Chucky warned.

  Tone placed his hand on Chucky’s shoulder. “Relax, he didn’t mean anything by it. My little cousin, Vaughn, can be a bit naïve about certain things, but he’s not a disrespectful kid.”

  “Wait, this is the same little dude who used to be in the park, practicing throwing footballs through the tire swings?” Chucky asked in surprise.

  “Yeah, that was me,” Vaughn said shyly.

  “Man, I haven’t seen you since you were like ten years old!” The last time Chucky had seen Vaughn he was a rail-thin little kid with a big head, but he had grown into an Adonis of a man.

  “Vaughn’s been in Virginia for the past ten years or so,” Tone began. “He got himself into some trouble up here, so his mama sent him down there to live with our aunt and go to school.”

  “That’s what’s up! You still playing ball?” Chucky asked.

  Tone laughed. “Chucky, I can tell you’re not into sports. Everybody knows Vaughn Tate, starting quarterback for Virginia Tech. My little cousin is gonna be in the NFL one day,” he said proudly.

  “Tone, I wish y’all would stop saying that. Maybe one in every ten thousand kids actually makes it to the pros, which is why I’m busting my ass to graduate in case football doesn’t work out.”

  Tone draped his arm around Vaughn. “It’s gonna work out, trust your big cousin on this one. Listen, I got some business to handle with Chucky, so I’m gonna skate for a minute. Get yourself a drink and mingle. I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Okay, Tone.” Vaughn nodded.

  “I trust you ladies will be okay in the company of these wolves?” Tone asked Persia and her friends.

  “Every dog can be tamed.” Marty slipped onto the seat next to True. She ran her finger along his gold chain. “You boys go do what you have to do. True was just about to tell me all about how many albums he sold.” She picked up his cup and sipped from it.

  “Damn, you don’t beat around the bush do you?” True asked with a smirk.

  “Not really,” she said honestly.

  Leaving the girls in the care of the rappers, Chucky and Tone disappeared to the bathroom to talk money. The guys from Bad Blood weren’t that bad once the girls got to know them. They freely shared their liquor with the girls and every time they turned around it seemed like someone had lit another blunt. Though the rappers treated Vaughn like he was one of them, it was obvious that he didn’t belong. They were loud and obnoxious, whereas he was quiet and polite. Vaughn didn’t hit the weed, but he partook in the alcohol. Every so often Persia would catch him looking at her, but whenever she turned in his direction, he looked away. She had to admit that Vaughn was a good-looking guy, but he wasn’t her type. Persia like bad boys and Vaughn seemed a little too pure for her taste.

  Persia was a little tense at first, but she eventually loosened up. True ordered a bottle of chilled tequila, and poured rounds for everyone in black shot glasses with the Big Dawg logo on them. Persia had heard horror stories about the effects of mixing liquor, but she was going to do it anyway. If they were pouring she was drinking, and if blunts were being rolled, she was smoking. Only God knew when she’d have another night like this before twenty-one and she wanted to make it memorable. Being out at the club, surrounded by pretty people and money made her feel like a different person. There was nobody to harass her about her grades, and she and her mom weren’t beefing. All that existed at that moment was a good time.

  “Don’t drink that,” Vaughn told her when Persia reached for the shot glass.

  “Why not? I’m trying to get my drink on like everyone else.” Persia told him, holding the glass mid-shot.

  Vaughn shook his head. “Everything that glitters isn’t gold, shorty.”

  “Vaughn, stop talking the girl’s ear off and let her do her shot,” Pain barked.

  “Yeah, Vaughn, stop being such a wet blanket,” Sarah half slurred. “As a matter of fact, I don’t see a drink in your hand.” She thrust her shot glass at him, splashing liquor of Vaughn’s pants.

  “I’m cool on that Devil’s Brew. I’ll stick with what I know.” Vaughn held up the bottle of beer he was sipping.

  “Shorty, you drinking or not? Because you’re holding up the toast,” Lex asked, eyeing Persia like a hungry predator.

  Feeling like everyone in the club was watching, Persia threw the shot back. The tequila stung, but only for a second before sending a calming numbness through her chest. She ran her tongue along the roof of her mouth and it felt gritty, as if the glass hadn’t been properly washed. She wiped her tongue with a napkin and resumed her drinking. What she didn’t know was that that the residue she felt on her tongue were from the crushed pills sprinkled in the bottom of each glass.

  After the last act preformed the DJ cut loose. He had the crowd going crazy, playing a mix of all the most popular raps songs that were out at the time. Persia was swaying back and forth, in her chair, to the beat. She thought after consuming the different liquors and smoking so much weed, she’d be sick by then, but she actually felt great. So great in fact, that she got up and started dancing.

  Marty joined her on the dance floor and the two of them started dancing together. At first they were just clowning, but the deeper into they got, the more intense the dancing became. At some point they moved their little dance-off to a tabletop, and were putting on a show for the members of Big Dawg. Marty was dancing so close to Persia that she could smell the liquor and weed on her breath. Staring into Marty’s eyes Persia realized that she had known Marty nearly all her life and never realized how beautiful they were. They were as green as summer leaves, and Persia found that she could stare into them all night.

  A trail of sweat rolled down the side of Persia’s face. Marty reached up to wipe it away, and when her hand made contact with Persia’s skin, is sent an electric shock through her entire nervous system. Marty picked up on it, and ran her fingers gently over Persia’s spine, causing her to shudder. Everything around Persia became a blur . . . the whistles, the flashes of cameras, the stray hands on her legs . . . She blocked it all out. She was too far gone in the rapture drugs, music, and Marty’s touch to care about anything else.

  CHAPTER 23

  After having a few drinks, Tasha convinced Omega to get out on the dance floor with her. To all their surprise, Omega was a pretty good dancer. Sophie tried to get Li’l Monk to join in, but he declined. He had never been very coordinated and refused to go out there just to make a fool of himself.

  “You’re no fun.” Sophie tossed a napkin at Li’l Monk
.

  “I’m plenty of fun, I just ain’t no dancing-ass nigga. As big as I am, I’d look like a damn fool out there pop-locking.” Li’l Monk imitated one of the moves he’d seen Omega do on the dance floor, which made Sophie laugh. “See, I told you I’m fun.”

  “You a’ight, I guess.”

  For a few seconds there was an uncomfortable silence.

  “You want another drink or something? If the shots and beer are too harsh, I can get you something softer, maybe some wine?” Li’l Monk suggested.

  “You know damn well I don’t drink no wine, and you don’t have to keep offering to buy me drinks, Li’l Monk. I’m not here with you because you buy me drinks, I’m here with you because I like being around you.”

  “I couldn’t tell from the way you were giving me the cold shoulder in the car,” Li’l Monk said.

  “I was giving you the cold shoulder because you had hurt my feelings. And speaking of that, I owe you an apology. It was wrong of me to take something you told me in confidence and throw it in your face because I was in my feelings.”

  Li’l Monk shrugged as if it was nothing. “You know we can speak our mind to each other, that’s how it’s always been with us. You’re my best friend.”

  Sophie sighed. “How come you can make ‘friend’ sound like a dirty word?”

  “Okay, how about homie?” He laughed.

  “Cut it out.” She punched him playfully.

  Li’l Monk grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her close to him. “Don’t me spank your li’l ass in here.” He patted her on the butt.

  “Watch those hands.” She moved out of his reach. “I can’t just be having random niggas touching me like that.”

  “Oh, so I’m just a random nigga now?”

  “You ain’t my nigga, so what else can you be? That’s the problem with you guys; girls are always giving you the milk without making you pay for the cow and that’s why you think you can treat us like shit.”