“Yo, that’s my fault,” Phil confessed. Phil took a silent consensus of the rest of his brethren. Their faces were all poker, so he couldn’t tell if he had lost face in their eyes.
Samson tossed Phil’s final money stack in a duffel bag, where he put Phil’s other nineteen stack as well as everyone else’s twenty stacks. He placed the duffel bag in an adjacent room and returned to the table to address the brothers.
“All right, listen up. I know everybody’s tripping wondering what’s going to happen now that me and King Reece are back. Well, for those of you who don’t know or weren’t a part of this organization when he was home, he’s a fair person. As long as everyone keeps performing and don’t try to get slick, everything will be a’ight.”
Everyone nodded.
“Now you know some heat is going to come down on us since he’s home, but don’t worry. Everything’s cool. As long as we pay these greedy fucks we’ll be all right,” Samson said this very condescendingly. DT had fucked up and missed payment more than once.
“Ah, yeah, man. Kip handling it.”
“Kip?! Muthafucka, I told you to handle it!” His massive hand smashed the table, shocking no one and everyone. “Fuckin’ Kip was supposed to pay him last time and forgot. Is Kip a fuckin’ captain? Do you want to give him your spot at the table? Don’t leave something so important to no one else. Ya got that?”
He looked around at everyone, letting them know this was meant for them also.
“Something small as this can bring us all down. Y’all niggas been slipping!” Samson spat disgustedly. He focused his wrathful stare on Bone. Bone buckled under the steely gaze and looked away.
“We didn’t come this far to—”
His phone rang, interrupting his tirade. He saw the 213 area code on the screen and answered. It was Reece.
Samson excused himself from the table, spoke a few minutes and returned. He overheard one of the brothers complaining about Reece not being present, as he sat back down. Ant Live decided to clear the air by voicing what was on everyone’s mind.
“The brothers want to know why King Reece isn’t here at the meeting. We feel like we staying true bringing the money without fail. The least he could do is show us some respect by being here. These meetings are important. As you said yourself, no ranking member is exempt from these meetings.” Most of the brothers nodded in agreement.
Samson felt a little like that himself deep down, but after all he and Reece had been through, he tried to suppress his ill feelings.
He responded, “Well, brothers, King Reece is exempt. Obviously the heat is still on him. The man murdered a federal agent in broad daylight so I could go free. He was never charged with that crime. Just because he’s free doesn’t mean they don’t want him. Would you all want him to lead them right to us?” The brothers shook their heads. They hadn’t thought about it like that.
“Okay then.” Samson had made his point. “One thing about King Reece, he’s Crescent Crew to the death. He birthed it, and he’ll die it.”
The brothers weren’t finished. Ant Live continued on. Obviously he felt someone had appointed him spokesman.
“We also concerned about the two Mexicans you kick it with. How you gon’ mob down wit’ some wetbacks? That goes against everything we stand on.” Ant Live was referring to the fact that the majority of the captains were die-hard Five Percenters. Thus if it wasn’t black, it wasn’t right and exact.
“Ho, ho, ho. There are sixteen shades of black. Mexicans are half original. You need to study your lessons,” Samson corrected. All the brothers loved a good debate or cipher. That was the contradiction. The Crescent Crew were all extremely enlightened individuals. In fact, that was the basis of their bond. Yet in the name of the dollar, they could all get as savage as the Dark Ages of Europe. Despite their squabbles, they were all carved from the same mold. Outcasts, rebels, geniuses.
Samson continued his speech. “Furthermore, these two helped me hold it down in Mexico. That’s why I fucks with them. Nuff said. Now if we can get back to business, and stop worrying about small shit.”
That was that with that. Samson wasn’t the type to sugarcoat anything. Unlike Reece, who operated like a stiletto, Samson operated like a butcher knife. Reece used tact to keep the soldiers on point. Samson was just brutal. The soldiers understood this. That was just his way. No one took offense. As far as the Crew was concerned, as long as everyone was eating, thriving, and staying loyal to the Crew, they could not give a fuck how Samson talked to them. Proof was in the pudding.
“Roy, are you sure you need a hundred of them thangs?” Samson inquired.
“Yeah.”
Samson went around the table giving out tickets. “Tickets” were the work that the Crew transported back to their cities. An hour later, the meeting was adjourned. After everyone had left to return to their respective cities, Samson sat at the marble table brooding. His heart was heavy.
He retrieved a bag of cocaine from his front pocket and threw it on the table. He pushed a button to reveal the bank of video monitors facing him. He sprinkled some cocaine directly on the marble table, separated it into thin lines, then filled both nostrils to capacity. The potent powder pushed him to the back of the high-backed plush leather chair. The springs in the chair creaked, threatening to crumble under the enormous weight it held. Samson tilted his head back and looked at the television screens. The women were shaking their moneymakers for the patrons. Samson stared absently at the screens and analyzed his problems.
He had returned to the States eager to see his leader. He had always been loyal to King Reece, as Reece had been loyal to him and the Crew. However, Reece seemed torn. Shaken. Samson couldn’t help wondering if he was going to remain loyal to his endeavors with Qwess or his endeavors with the Crew.
The Crescent Crew sensed a slight shift in Reece’s priorities, but prior to today no one had voiced their concerns. Now it was on the table. Samson had quelled the concerns for today. He put his word on the line. He had to speak with Reece ASAP about this. It could become a problem.
Samson’s second dilemma was what Reece had told him on the phone. He couldn’t believe Reece was talking with Destiny again! Sure, she had his son, but she had crossed not only him but the Crew also. She deserved to die, just like the only fool who testified against Reece at trial.
During the call Reece had instructed Samson to track Destiny down and keep an eye on her for him when she came to town in two days. Samson didn’t know what he had planned. All he knew was Reece forbade any harm from coming near her way.
Oh, well, thought Samson. He’d respect Reece’s wishes ... for now.
Chapter 10
AMG, parent label of Atlantic Beach Productions as well as numerous other minority-owned record labels, had business offices throughout the world. Their southern division’s headquarters were located in Bank of America Towers in Charlotte, North Carolina. The entire twenty-eighth floor belonged to AMG. A beautiful, petite administrative assistant greeted visitors the moment they stepped off the elevator. The waiting area boasted fine Italian leather sofas the color of money. The ivory walls were lined with gold and platinum plaques of AMG’s artists. Qwess, Doe, Amin, and Niya bypassed all of this and went straight into the main conference room, which contained a glass wall that spanned the entire room and gave occupants a breathtaking view of Charlotte’s business district.
Inside the room with the others were John Meyers, token Negro and head of AMG’s Black Music Division; Lansky, the top corporate attorney for AMG; and Linda Swansen, VP of AMG, tenacious SOB.
“Salim, you’re being unreasonable!” Linda was relaying to Qwess. “We’ve already given you your masters just to sign you. Now you’re asking us to relinquish control of the master recordings of all of your artists. This is unreal.”
“Well, if that’s unreal, I’ll tell you what’s very real. Me walking. It’s either that or nothing.”
Qwess was having a ball! He enjoyed having all the cards in h
is hand. He knew AMG would never meet the requirements he was demanding in order for him to re-sign with AMG. His demands were meant to deter them. He had no intention of re-signing. He had all the capital needed to go fully independent and cover distribution expenses. Unlike other artists with their “own” record labels, Qwess fiercely embraced independence. He loved the autonomy it brought him. For the past five years he’d played the compromise game. “Make a song about girls.” “Make a song about clubs.” “Make this . . .” Make that . . .” No more. There was no new Bentley, house, or anything else they offered going to make him change his mind.
“Wait a minute, Salim. Let’s be rational here. Now we’ve made you a very rich man over the years . . .” Qwess scoffed at Linda while she spoke. “Now we can continue to enrich your lifestyle. You need the continued exposure AMG can provide for you. As I understand it, you’re about to break a new artist. Mysterio, correct?”
Qwess nodded.
“Good! Just re-sign with us for another five albums—a three-sixty deal—and we’ll give him the same guarantee of exposure as we gave your other artist . . .” She fumbled for the name.
“Flame,” John Meyers assisted.
“Yes, Flame. With our resources, we can make Mysterio a household name, just like we did Flame.”
Three-sixty deals were taking root in the entertainment industry. A 360 deal was a deal that allowed record labels to receive a percentage of any money an artist generated, from concerts to merchandise to movie deals. Typically, an artist didn’t make much money off record sales, and they rarely recouped their advances. In the past, performance and merchandising was where they made up for the difference. Savvy artists could make more money from merch and concerts than they would record sales. The industry caught on to how much money they were missing out on and arbitrarily changed their business model. The 360 deal was the result of this change.
Qwess raised his hand to silence her. “Linda, I have to respectfully decline. You asked me to hear your offer with an open mind. I did, and my answer remains the same. ABP is officially done doing business with AMG. Now could you please pass me the paperwork?”
Linda Swansen grudgingly accepted defeat. She gestured for Lansky to supply Qwess the paperwork. Qwess slid the paper to Amin, who briefly perused the packet and gave Qwess a stern nod as he passed it to him. Qwess signed the paperwork, leaned back in his seat. He steepled his hands waiting on the next issue to be brought up.
Amin took the floor. He stood up, smoothed out his shirt, stroked his long beard, and commenced his pitch.
“As you know, I represent Mrs. Diaz here, and frankly my client is very unhappy . . .” Amin went on to explain how AMG had reneged on numerous promises to Niya. How they made unrecoupable expenses recoupable, how they garnished wages for her advance without her knowledge. All because her manager was a do-boy for AMG. He proceeded to explain how Niya was on the verge of bankruptcy because of the overpriced producers and big-budget videos AMG insisted she needed in order to be a star. He summed up his speech by letting them know that he had been retained as new management to either reconcile the situation or get her out of the deal altogether.
Linda, John, and even Lansky were livid when Amin completed his speech.
Linda spoke first. “Excuse me, what did you say your name was again—Ramen?”
“No. Amin.”
“No. You must’ve said Ramen ’cause surely you have soup for brains if you think you can walk in here and make demands for someone we already own.”
Amin was aghast. Own? Linda wasn’t finished. She hadn’t made it to the number two spot in her profession by being docile.
“See, what you fail to realize is no matter who her management is, we own her. We have her under contract for at least two more albums and an option for two more. So, Mr. Amin, if you’d be so kind as to spare us your scathing review of our infractions toward Mrs. Diaz, it would be greatly appreciated.” Linda’s nostrils were flared, her pale face now pink. She leaned back in her seat. Amin stole a glance at Doe and Niya. Doe was on the verge of exploding. Nobody talked to or about his wife like a piece of property! If it weren’t for the tremendous amount of respect he carried for Amin’s business acumen, he would’ve disobeyed his explicit instructions to stay calm and let him handle things. However, he did stay calm and let Amin handle things.
“Ms. Swansen—”
“Mrs.”
“Okay. Mrs. Swansen. You and I both know there are legal approaches to take to rectify a faulty contract. I was sincerely hoping we could at least act like civilized individuals to bring about the best solution.”
The words were barely out of his mouth before she responded. “There aren’t any laws broken here. This is how business is done.”
“No! Don’t do that! You know Niya is entitled to an increase in points determined by the amount of records sold.”
Linda tilted her head to the side, sizing up her opponent again. Then she smugly responded, “Entitled, my dear. Not guaranteed. If you look closely at the contract you’ll see she waived that right to the company when she signed for her advance.”
Amin looked at John Meyers, who nodded agreement.
“You shysty sons of . . .” Amin whispered. He was now shocked and upset. He didn’t realize the game was played so dirty. It was then that he realized just how fortunate he was to be dealing with Qwess.
“Don’t be upset, dear. I realize that you’re close to your . . . client, but in the business world nepotism works best if it’s practiced from the start. You can’t change horses in the middle of a race.” She gave Qwess the coldest look, as if to insinuate if he rode with the team, Niya would get shown some love. “Okay, now that that’s settled, is there anything else?”
Qwess returned her stare as he got up from the table.
“Nah. That’s it. Have a nice life,” he shot over his shoulder while leaving with his Crew in tow.
* * *
Reece was in Charlotte as well. Only he was there for unfinished business. He had been playing phone tag with Destiny for the past few weeks and finally built up enough trust that she allowed him to come visit her. More importantly, he was finally going to meet his son, Prince, for the first time.
When Destiny had visited Fayetteville a couple weeks prior, she was all alone. She had returned to the city to give a deposition on an unrelated case and hoped to see Reece. Unfortunately, he was in Cali on business, but he did provide a crew to protect her. Destiny’s life had been threatened. Certain members from the department held a grudge against Destiny because she had refused to go hard against Reece at his trial. They felt she had defected and crossed the blue line. She had received death threats and at one point really feared for her safety. She expressed this to Reece when they talked while he was in Cali. Because of their child, Reece enlisted a security detail to guard her while she was in town. After that gesture, she gained a little more trust in him and they arranged for Reece to come visit in Charlotte.
Reece parallel-parked his Cadillac STS in a vacant spot in front of the single-family home. The ’Lac had no rims, no system. Just dark tint. Reece had balled out of control enough to last two lifetimes before his incarceration. Though he still had a penchant for nice cars and things, and still had a beast or two tucked away in the cut (like his new Maybach), he no longer drove them on a daily basis. The stock-trim Cadillac fit his new modus operandi.
While in prison he had learned an important lesson about perception just by studying people. He understood that the way people perceive you dictates how they treat you. That being the case, Reece didn’t want to raise any eyebrows. He was flying beneath the radar until he regained his footing. He had lynched more niggas in the Carolinas than the KKK. He didn’t wish to be remembered by any family of his victims.
There was also the matter of the police. National news outlets had reported his release. One never knew what they were capable of with their shiny badges and happy trigger fingers. So Reece figured out of sight, out of mind
. The lower profile he kept, the safer he would be.
Reece climbed from the Cadillac and smoothed over his simple white T-shirt and jeans. He stole a glance at his Movado: 11:35 a.m. Still early.
Reece walked through the small gate up the steps and rang the doorbell. His heart thundered in his chest, and for some reason his hands felt clammy. He took deep breaths to calm his emotions and puffed his chest out defiantly.
Inside, he heard a kid yell, “Mommy, someone’s at the door!”
Reece heard someone fumbling with the locks on the door, then it opened slowly. Reece peered through the glass and saw a miniature version of himself. His son, Prince, placed his hands on the glass door and stared at Reece.
“You look like my daddy,” the five-year-old observed.
Reece exhaled a ball of stress and stared at his son. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Prince was a carbon copy of him. His long locks dangled past his shoulders, and his dark brown skin looked pure. Large, inquisitive eyes beamed from his head in curiosity.
Reece bent down to his son’s eye level and placed an open palm on the glass door. “Hey, little guy. What’s up?”
Prince placed his hand on the door and smiled.
“Prince, what did I tell you about opening that door!” Destiny yelled as she came around the corner. “Who is it any—”
Her words stuck in her throat when she saw Reece at the door. She had been aware of him coming to town, but he was early by a few hours. In the quickening silence that ensued, Destiny sized Reece up. She admired the way his bald head glistened in the midday sun. The way his T-shirt grooved in and out of the cuts in his shoulders. Even with a loose T-shirt on, it was clear Reece followed a workout regimen religiously.
Reece’s breath was stolen the moment he laid eyes on her. Destiny was wearing powder blue velour gym shorts and a tank top. The shorts hugged her curvy hips while the tank top gripped her 38Cs like an eager lover. Her shoulder-length hair was dyed brown and hung loosely framing her face in perfect contrast with her smooth peanut-butter skin. His pulse quickened as a roller coaster of emotion careened through his brain. He stood frozen in place as he stared at the love of his life and the person who had broken him.
King Reece Page 10
