“Yeah.”
“A’ight. Now we are going to enforce these policies with . . .”
“Police!” Destiny blurted the answer like a child in school.
“Riiiight! And the police are going to penalize you, by beating, incarceration, et cetera, until you get in line with the original philosophy.”
Destiny nodded vigorously. She finally understood.
“By applying these methods over time, the masses are stripped of free thought or any revolutionary drive because they’ve seen what happens to people who ‘get out of line’ with the original philosophy. As a result, the masses of the people are like cattle. Only reacting, never acting.”
The bowl inside the microwave sizzled and popped, interrupting Reece’s class. He retrieved the bowl, stirred the salmon, added butter and a little water, and then replaced it in the microwave on two minutes. Next, he added pepper, onions, and butter to the soup. With that done, he continued the class.
“As I was saying, the masses are blind, deaf, and dumb. Eighty-fivers. Then you have ten percent who know but conceal the truth. Then you have people like me, the—”
“Five Percenters, or Poor Righteous Teachers who are supposed to civilize the uncivilized,” Destiny finished his statement for him.
Reece couldn’t help but smile. She remembered. After all this time she remembered the basis of his way of life.
“Yeah. The Five Percenters,” Reece confirmed, unconsciously rubbing the crescent-moon-star-seven tattoo on his right forearm.
Reece stared at Destiny in silence, no doubt recalling all the good memories they shared. Recalling all the things they had in common. Like the fact that they had no family. Destiny, like Reece, lost her parents at an early age. Their similarities were what drew Reece to her. The thing that made their bond so strong was that for once in their life, they had found someone they could love: each other.
But was it all a lie?
That was the thing Reece couldn’t get past. During their time spent in the bunker, his heart had softened, but when he thought about tomorrow it hardened again.
“You remembered?” Reece told her.
“Of course I remembered. How could I forget?”
Life could be a terrible thing. Love made Destiny remember. Hate wouldn’t allow Reece to forget.
* * *
Lisa had dressed and now sat in Qwess’s lap feeding him and herself from the gourmet platter the in-flight chef had prepared. Between bites Lisa and Qwess discussed past relationships. He informed her of Hope, his ex-fiancée who now worked as the director of public relations for Renaissance Records, the Yankees of the music industry. She had been his first love and his first heartbreak. Then he also told her about Shauntay, the woman he was with during his grinding days coming up in the industry. She was murdered on the night of his birthday party celebration when he accepted his first deal with AMG Records. After she was killed, it was discovered she was carrying his baby. It seemed like ages ago.
What he didn’t tell Lisa was why she was killed. Her killers actually mistook her for King Reece. He definitely didn’t share with her that Shauntay’s death was the impetus for the Crescent Crew wars, the bloody retaliation carried out by the Crescent Crew on the Blood Team and the old heads who hired them. No, he didn’t tell her that. Qwess learned that women in the industry claimed to love street dudes until they actually got with one. He only explained that it was mistaken identity.
However, this revelation brought up a point Lisa had been dying to inquire about.
“Um, Qwess, I’m curious about something,” Lisa said.
“What’s up?” Qwess was now reclined in the plush seat, stroking the lacquered wood, thinking about how bad he wanted a jet. Lisa was stroking his waves.
“Now you know I’m not nosy,” she prefaced. “But is it true what they say about you having something to do with your old boss getting paralyzed?”
“Who?”
“You know who. John Meyers. They say you had him hit because he wouldn’t agree to your demands to re-sign you.”
“What? That’s crazy! Who is they?” Qwess demanded.
“People in the industry.”
“Well, people don’t know what the fuck they talking ’bout. I was with you. Remember?” Qwess was agitated that the story was getting crossed up. He was making some major moves that required he keep a clean image.
“I know, poo-pee. Calm down,” Lisa soothed.
Qwess relaxed a little. He had to nip that in the bud immediately. Word traveled fast in entertainment.
“See, that’s what’s wrong with niggas now. Always starting rumors. Then when a nigga box ’em in the mouth, they looking stupid.” Qwess looked every bit the part of scorned artist. He was putting on a good show for Lisa.
“Come on, poo-pee. Don’t let the haters vex you. This is our time.” Lisa planted kisses all over his face.
Lisa was clearly open. Qwess had really put his thing down on the young girl. She didn’t want him to leave her sight. “I wish I had two of myself. I’d keep one with you at all times,” she whispered in his ear.
“What?” This broad is loco, thought Qwess.
“Ya feel me,” Lisa continued. “I just like being with you. You really understand me like no one else does, and you allow me to be me. When are we going to spend some time together again?”
“I don’t know. I gotta shoot to Atlanta to make sure everything is right for Flame’s release party. Plus we got a major announcement to make that’s going to shock the industry.”
“Really? What is it?” Lisa jumped like a little kid.
“Nah, I can’t let the cat out the bag, but you will know.” Lisa was disappointed. Here she had shared the most intimate details of her life, and he was keeping a funky little business move from her. She didn’t like it, and she told him as much.
Qwess understood, so he swore her to secrecy, then told her, “Niya is now with ABP.”
Lisa’s jaw dropped, and she sat in silence. Maybe the rumors were true. When she told Qwess what the industry was saying, she meant just that. The industry was saying that. However, Linda Swansen had paid her a personal visit to warn her about the dangers of getting too wrapped up with Qwess. Linda’s message was simple: If Niya signs to ABP, Qwess is poison. Stay away.
Now, Lisa knew Niya was signed to ABP, which must mean Qwess was poison, according to Linda.
Qwess was a very potent poison that changed the tables. Most poisons killed you, but Lisa felt that she would die without this poison. She was in love.
Oh, what to do?
* * *
Destiny and Reece were finishing up the last portion of their “setup” meal. Reece had added Veg-All to the salmon and soup, which set the meal off proper.
Destiny was still in thought about the lesson Reece had given her about the five P’s of perdition. She definitely understood it, but she was unsure why Reece had bothered to explain it to her, especially since he was going to make her live in this bunker for the next four years—if he was going to let her live at all. Reece was likely to spazz out at any time and extinguish her life.
“Reece, why are you sharing this with me?” Destiny finally asked.
“What? This knowledge?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I see it like this,” Reece began, straightening himself up on the cot to look at Destiny. “You’re the mother of my seed. Which means you have to be able to endow him with proper education. Knowledge of self. The first principle of proper education is knowing the basis of the education of the masses. What is known as ‘the box,’ because it closes people’s minds.”
Destiny got the point. “But why are you teaching me this if you’re going to keep me here for four years? I mean, you have possession of Prince now. You can teach him yourself. By the way, where is he?”
“Vyshay has him.”
“Who?”
“Vanilla,” clarified Reece. “And I am teaching him. I just want you to know so you won’t be a
stranger to it.”
“Who is Vanilla?”
“She’s one of my partners. She held me down when I was away.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds before Reece asked Destiny, “What’s wrong with you? The whole time I’ve been talking you’ve been preoccupied.”
What’s wrong? I’m locked in a fucking concrete bunker! “Nothing,” said Destiny.
Reece eyed her suspiciously.
“Nothing you care about anyway,” she clarified.
“Try me,” Reece offered.
Destiny measured her words. “I’m late.”
“You’re late. Late for what?” Reece mocked, checking his Jacob and Company timepiece. “You ain’t going nowhere.”
“I’m late late.”
Reece jumped from the cot, clearly vexed. “Dammit, Destiny, don’t do this shit! Don’t pull the pregnancy stunt on me. You fucking playing me like I’m stupid! I try to show you a little compassion, and you take my kindness for weakness! Fuuuuck!”
The pit bull started barking and going crazy upon seeing his master upset.
“Wait, Reece!” Destiny cried out, pulling his arm back. “Baby, I’m serious. I haven’t had my period for weeks now,” Destiny claimed. “I wanted to tell you, but I knew you’d act like this. I didn’t want you to think I was soft.”
Reece slowed his roll from the door. He turned to look at Destiny. She looked sincere, but hell, she looked sincere the whole couple of years she was setting his ass up. She had Reece thinking she was a daddy’s girl going to school. Truth was, she was just as parentless as he, and she was a federal agent. If it wasn’t for the vigorous inquiry he had conducted, he wouldn’t have been convinced she wasn’t a cop now.
Destiny continued with her pleas. “Reece, listen. At this point it doesn’t matter. I’ve already resigned my fate to you. You’re gonna do what you wanna do. As long as Prince is taken care of I couldn’t care less. But please believe it: I haven’t seen my period in weeks. Just thought you should know.”
Reece was silent. All he could think about was how she was trooping so strong. He was almost proud of her. Then she had to pull a pregnancy stunt.
“Sooo . . . if you are pregnant, are you saying the child is mine?” Reece asked.
“Fuck you, motherfucker!”
Reece shrugged his shoulders. “I’m saying, I just came home; I don’t know who you was fucking while I was away.”
Destiny crossed her arms. “Fucking while you was away, huh? After the ordeal that you put me through do you honestly think that I will be out here fucking someone else? It took me a year to just get over the devastation of what happened with you! And please tell me, who do I follow up with after dating you?”
Reece stared at Destiny and nodded. “Pregnant, huh? A’ight. We gon’ see. I got this release party in a couple of days. After that, I’ll get back with you. And Katrina?”
Destiny perked up. “Yeah?”
“You better not be fuckin’ playing with me. Ya hear?” Reece walked out the door.
Keys jingled. Locks turned. Destiny was alone with her thoughts.
If she was pregnant, would Reece let her go?
She could only hope.
Chapter 16
Club Crunk was Atlanta’s new premiere nightspot located in the Buckhead section of town. It got its name because the proprietor was none other than Atlanta’s godfather of crunk music. He had invested a healthy portion of money to make Club Crunk just as popular as his music. He had succeeded, too. On any given night, one could spot a number of entertainment’s glitterati perusing the club. Add the fact that ballers the world over visited Club Crunk regularly, and you would have to concede that Club Crunk was the “it” spot for the southeast. And it more than accommodated its audience. Sitting on more than 20,000 square feet, Club Crunk was tri-level. The bottom floor boasted a full-size pool for the infamous Wet-n-Wild Wednesdays when female patrons were known to strip down to their birthday suits and skeet-skeet up the place. The middle floor was the biggest, containing three full bars, two dance floors, pool tables galore, and numerous “privacy” booths. The third floor was where the ballers played. The entire third floor was reserved for VIPs.
Not one of those hide-me-I’m scared-to-be-touched VIP sections either. This VIP section was so big it could’ve been a separate club itself. Fitted with state-of-the-art technology, this room was made to be adored. Plasma screens made up one wall, a full bar made up another. A dance floor sat center of the room so people could really let their hair down. Tucked into a neat corner was a black room. Called that because the lights were low, and inhibitions were lower, the black room was where jump-offs happened. No one said, heard, or spoke of anything in the black room.
Admission to the third floor started at a thousand dollars.
When Atlantic Beach Productions hosted the release party for one of their premiere artists, Flame, everyone who was anyone came to frolic. Word was on the wire that Qwess had strongarmed his way out of a contract with AMG, so in certain circles he was beginning to be revered with respect. He had done to the Matrix—the mainstream that controlled artists like puppets—what so many others desired to do, but never did. He had literally taken his destiny into his own hands. He was a bona fide shot-caller in the industry, so people wanted to be associated with him in any way.
The admission extended around the corner, far from under the courtesy canopy, which stretched a nice way from the entrance door. People from all walks of life eagerly anticipated entrance into Club Crunk. Pimps strutted in loud three-piece suits. Ladies who looked like they should’ve belonged to the pimps stood proudly in sheer miniskirts and six-inch stilettos. Ballers repped in everything from ostrich boots to Timbs.
A convoy of white Benz limos pulled up beside the long line right in front of the club. The three chariots idled a moment before the passengers emerged, one car at a time.
In the first limo was Doe. He placed his marble-print leather shoe on the pavement and let it linger a second for everyone to see. The marble shoe was an idea he was pitching, so he decided to test it this night. All eyes were on him, indeed, when he fully emerged in an all-gold leisure suit, with his wife, R & B sensation Niya, on his arm. She wore a brown satin dress that complemented Doe’s suit, and matching heels. Her neck, wrist, fingers, and ears were all flooded with the finest ice. Her hair pulled into a bun, mink stole around her shoulder, she looked more like a model than a singer. Amin followed her in a simple gray suit. Six-foot-five Mustapha was assigned this detail. He ushered them inside.
Flame bust out of the second limo wearing a Carolina-blue silk-linen blend suit, with matching gators. His diamond-encrusted ABP chain swung defiantly at his neck. Ladies attempted to rush him, only to be held back by club security. Flame’s best friend, 8-Ball, tailed him, wearing identical colors but a different ensemble. He was hooded out. As Flame walked toward the door a young woman yelled out, “I love you, Flame!” She tossed her panties at him.
Flame caught them, smelled them, and then flashed his new platinum grill. “I love you, too!” Six-foot-six Abdullah escorted him inside.
In the third limo sat Qwess. He waited a few minutes for the crowd to calm down before he poured out in an off-white linen suit, with green shirt. The coat stretched to just above his knees. His green-and-white gators announced his arrival proudly. Once he stood to straighten himself, the R & B duo Desire stepped out of the limo to join him. Melinda (the red one) wore a green slip dress, limited jewels, and a ton of makeup. She was clearly a bottle beauty. She grabbed Qwess’s left arm. Her sister Clarinda was naturally pretty, but her beauty was further put on display by the cream dress with the plunging neckline she sported. Her hair was pulled up into a neat coil. She clutched Qwess’s right arm. Qwess tilted his cream-colored brim over his left eye, and the paparazzi unleashed a volley of flashes. The diamonds Qwess flaunted on his wrist were so pure, they flashed back like they were taking pictures. Qwess strolled to the entrance with the limo door still o
pen. When most of the focus was averted from the car, Reece slid out in a dark-green silk suit. His bald head and bejeweled grill competed for shine. Hulk picked up the rear in a no-nonsense black-on-black suit, replete with earpiece and scanner to stay in contact with the rest of his security team.
Inside, Club Crunk was already packed with people who were afforded the luxury of not having to stand in line. Actresses, models, porn queens and kings, players from the Atlanta Hawks and Falcons, legendary hustlers, everybody was up in the joint. ABP had reserved an entire corner of the club. When they arrived at their tables, Cristal, along with an assortment of appetizers, awaited them. Numerous local radio and television programs were broadcasting live, as well as a rep for BET. The attention was focused more on the organized assault on AMG’s offices than on Flame’s actual album. Flame was popular, but he didn’t warrant that much attention. Also, one of ABP’s PR reps had leaked to the press that a major announcement was to take place at the party. Therefore, every station wanted to be first to break the news.
Once the entourage was settled, everyone relaxed and kicked the bobo until it was time for Flame to perform. He was doing a couple of songs off his new album to generate buzz. There were also plans to give out CDs with bonus material, along with a Making of . . . DVD.
Desire sat underneath Qwess, each sister under a respective arm. One would think that Qwess had boned them both because of his reputation as a philanderer. Truth was, he hadn’t sampled the goods of either sister. He didn’t believe in mixing business and pleasure that close to home. Plus, he didn’t want the chicks to think he owed them more than he did. Leave it to a broad to think that just because you laying pipe, they deserve some of your pie, when in actuality the woman received more satisfaction than the man. That’s how Qwess saw things anyway.
“Yo, Flame, remember what I told you when we first met?” Qwess asked Flame, who was sitting beside Clarinda. “Tell ’em.”
Flame scooted closer. “What, dawg? You told me a lot of stuff.”
King Reece Page 16
