Backstage: Street Chronicles (30 page)

“I heard you charge fifty thou a track, so the rest is for waitin’ so long.” Crook smiled.

T-Beats looked up at Crook, and he couldn’t front, the gesture was genuine and he felt it, but he said, “It should be half a mil in this bag the way you blowin’ off my shit!” Crook laughed and T-Beats did, too. “But, yo, on the real, son, you nice. Your flow fit the track lovely.”

Crook shrugged. “That’s all I wanted niggas to understand. Good work.” Crook turned for the door, but T-Beats stopped him by saying, “What up wit that album? I hope you ain’t fuckin’ wit no lame niggas to track you.”

Crook turned back. “I’m sayin’, holla at your man if you know somebody wit that hot shit.”

T-Beats opened the door to his studio. “Duke, stop playin’. Who’s fuckin’ wit T-Beats?”

“Who’s fuckin’ with this nigga Crook?”

“Then let’s go cause problems.”

———

Larceny was enjoying his newfound wealth as well, and like Crook, he had a debt to repay.

He hadn’t been home in months, staying with Ike and riding with Crook. So coming though the door of his mother’s apartment felt awkward. As soon as he closed the door, he saw a gigantic roach run up the wall to welcome him back. Nothing had changed. The place still smelled of dirty clothes and fatback. He could hear the TV on Jerry Springer, so he knew where to find his mother.

Larceny walked in the adjoining living room to see his overweight mother in her soiled blue housedress smoking a Kool 100. She hardly glanced up at him, but snidely remarked, “I see that bitch finally threw your ass out, huh? Go to the store, get me some cigarettes. I ain’t got but three left.”

Larceny looked at the woman who gave birth to him, and for the first time wondered what a mother was supposed to be. He never remembered her hugging him or celebrating his accomplishments. All he remembered was hating her.

“Naw, yo, I ain’t stayin’, and once I leave, I ain’t comin’ back. I just came to give you this.” She looked up at him when he said he had something for her. Larceny pulled out a large envelope and tossed it in her lap. A few bills spilled out, all big-faced hundreds. Her eyes never portrayed the inner greed that leaped into her heart.

“What bank you done robbed? ‘Cause when they lock yo ass up, don’t think I’ma get you out!”

“That’s yours, ‘cause I don’t need you to do shit for me. That’s for your fuckin’ insurance policy you tried to get me killed over. All twenty-five thousand,” Larceny growled. “Now I really am dead to you.” He dropped his keys on the table and headed for the door.

She yelled after him. “Nigga, you been dead to me! You shoulda never been born!” All she heard in response was the sound of the closing door. The tears started slow, for what reason she didn’t
know, but they got heavier and heavier, realizing everything she ever had in the whole fucked up world she made for herself had just walked out of her life forever.

Larceny felt freer than he ever felt. He and Crook were getting paper and loving every minute of it. Larceny performed at the shows as Crook’s hype man, but he didn’t live for it like Crook. All he wanted to do was party and bullshit. Unlike Crook, Larceny didn’t save anything, every dime he got, he spent. He stepped up his wardrobe, platinum jewelry, a brand-new red Viper that he had the doors altered to flip up to open. Larceny tricked on broads he couldn’t get before, showing no mercy, even getting one to drink his piss out of a champagne glass. All these chicks were the ones who had dissed him, or he felt would’ve dissed, had they known him before. Now, he was enjoying every minute of defiling them and went as far as to turn several of them out on crack. He spent thousands getting high until their habit was as big as his, then he cut them off and sent them back, broke and feenin.

Larceny’s money grew, too. He spent days butt naked and high in his plush apartment on Chancelor Avenue. Crook came to his crib, banging on the door.

“Yo, Larceny! Bitch, open the door! Open the fuckin’ door!”

Larceny was spread eagle with a chick asleep with her head on his thigh, dick in her face and another chick next to him. All of them were butt naked. Crook was so mad he kicked the door in like SWAT, making everyone jump off the floor. “Get out! Get yo ass out!” he barked on the chicks, grabbing handfuls of hair and flinging them to the door. They were so scared, they ran out without their clothes in hand. Larceny knew he was next, and he tried to get up, but Crook lunged at him and caught him with a solid left hook. “You wanna be a fuckin’ crackhead, huh?! I’ll kill yo ass first!” Larceny rolled off the blow, quickly jumping to his feet. Before Crook knew it, he had caught Crook with a two-piece that staggered him.

“Fuck you, nigga, fuck you think it’s sweet?!” Larceny exploded back. Hand for hand, Crook couldn’t beat Larceny, but over the years he had won his fair share by grippin’ and grabbin’. He took another one of Larceny’s blows and absorbed it, just so he could scoop him off his feet, and then slammed him hard on his back. It knocked the wind out of Larceny, then Crook pinned him and rocked his ass silly.

“Why you so fuckin’ stupid?! This what you want?! Is it?!” He dragged Larceny to the bathroom, picked him up, and dumped him in the tub.

“Damn!” Larceny winced, hitting his head on the side of the tub.” “You coulda broke my neck!”

“Fuck yo neck, you don’t give a fuck about your life!” Crook screamed at him, pacing the floor. “Fuck is you doin’, man? We go through all this so you can just throw it all away? Huh?! Niggas bled, died, and we steady throwin’ bricks at the pen, and this is what you do wit it?!”

Larceny dropped his head in his hands. “Man … man, I’m sick, yo, I’m sick and I’m fucked up, I—”

Crook shook him by the shoulders then smacked fire out his ass. “I don’t wanna hear that Pookie TV shit! You a soldier, nigga, a live-ass nigga and one of the realest ever born! Fuck yo sorry ass mama, fuck the world, it’s always been me and you and we always came through!” He hugged Larceny to his chest and let his man cry on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, man, Crook, I’m sorry.”

“Never say you sorry. Apologize, but never say you sorry.”

“I’ma get it together, dog, I swear I am, yo,” Larceny mumbled between sobs. Crook sat him back in the tub and turned the shower on in his face.

“Clean up, dog, we celebratin’ tonight.”

While Crook and Larceny were dealing with all the paper and fame, Ike stayed in the shadows, handling the business side, negotiating
deals. They wanted no part of any of the numerous labels that had been pursuing them. They were strictly for self, the only question was the sweetest distribution deal they could find.

But one offer was different. It came from Cali, from a real gangsta of the industry, Big Mike Buddha. Big Mike Buddha was a three-hundred-pound Jabba the Hutt–looking dude with ice in his veins to match the ice he sported like baby glaciers. The deals he made were written in blood, in more ways than one. He was an OG Blood, respected in the streets and feared in the music business. So when he sent word for Ike to fly to L.A., there was no way Ike could refuse. Ike didn’t tell Crook or Larceny, instead he took the red-eye to L.A. three days before the platinum party, while Crook was in Raleigh, North Carolina, doing a show with M.O. P.

He arrived at LAX and was immediately scooped up in a black Cadillac limousine. Inside were two identical twin chicks. Their light complexions were peppered with reddish freckles and their thick curvaceous bodies were clad in tight red dresses. Their black locs shades hid the murder in their eyes. But tonight, they had been sent as the welcoming committee and they welcomed Ike to L.A. with a twin blowjob that curled the nigga’s toes and had him cumming and farting at the same time. His knees were weak by the time he stepped out of the limo at Buddha’s Beverly Hills mansion.

He entered the gigantic mansion and was greeted by two white broads in bikinis that led him out to the pool. There were so many topless women of all flavors, Ike thought he was at the Playboy mansion. He found Buddha’s big ass in a deck chair sipping on tequila, watching the sunrise.

“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.