God Don't Like Haters 2 (14 page)

"How was that?" Kirbie asked after she
finished.

She received a round of applause from every
one of our hosts. It looked like Liam actually wiped a tear from
his eye, either jokingly or serious, I couldn't tell.

"Okay, you can sing," Liam said. "But what's
your story? You won't get anywhere in this business unless you have
a humble background. Have you been raped?"

"Liam, stop," Skye Munro chimed in with a
laugh.

"No, I haven't been raped," Kirbie said. "My
story is a simple one. I'm from Kansas City, Missouri, I grew up
without a mother in a household ran by an abusive father—who has
since found God, I must say. I love my father, but during his bad
spell I ran away at the age of 14 and a local hustler took me in.
He taught me how to hustle and—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Liam said, shaking his
hands in the air. "What do you mean by 'taught' you how to hustle?
Was he pimping you out? Did you turn a few tricks? The listeners
wanna know."

"I never sold my body and I never will. The
only thing I sold was drugs."

"What kind of drugs?" DJ Trap asked.

"Mostly pills. Ecstasy
. Purple
Gorillas
. That's what a sing about the most. My life in the
streets making fast money from a female’s point of view."

I smiled. Kirbie was doing well, answering
questions confidently. I didn't know if the whole selling drugs
thing was true but it sounded good to me.

Skye Munro sipped from her Styrofoam cup. "A
teenage female singing about selling drugs. Hmmm ... that's a
first. Interesting ...."

"How did you hook up with La'Renz?" DJ Trap
asked.

Kirbie looked at me as she spoke, smiling.
"Well, it started with a phone call. Sundi Ash—"

I quickly covered up her microphone with my
hand. "I'd rather not get into that right now. Next question."

My heart was beating fast as I removed my
hand from Kirbie’s mic. Everyone was looking at me strangely. But I
couldn't let knowledge of Sundi Ashworth's commitment to me get out
there. It would ruin everything. She was my inside girl to Mount
Eliyah ENT.

I should have briefed Kirbie before we came
in here.

Liam kept the questioning going. "Tell me,
Kirbie, because I'm sure listeners wanna know: Why would you choose
to link up with La'Renz Taylor and Taylor Music Group over all the
other labels. No disrespect to you, La'Renz, but Taylor Music Group
is dead. Kirbie, with a voice like yours, I personally would have
chosen to go with the biggest name in the game, Mount Eliyah
ENT."

"La'Renz was the first person to contact me,"
Kirbie said. "He believed in me so I believe in him. I'm a loyal
person."

Good answer,
 I thought.

"Did you sign a contract?" DJ Trap asked.

"Yes."

"That was Jazzmine Short's mistake," said
Liam, with a crude laugh. "What makes you think when you try to
leave that La'Renz won't throw you off a balcony in Dubai like he
did to her?"

I turned to the rude host with the calmest
face I could muster. Liam reminded me of an inmate I once knew. Not
in appearance but in character. Liam was all talk, no action.

"Can we please not speak as if I really
committed that crime?" I said. "Listeners might start to believe
you."

"They should."

"They shouldn't, sir."

"Look, I read the court documents last night
in preparation for this show. You two were last seen in the hotel
together. Yall had an argument. Then she mysteriously ends up
pancake-flat on the ground."

Kirbie said, "I read the documents on my
flight here too. One of the witnesses said they saw La'Renz leave
the hotel room long before Jazzmine Short was seen falling. And
several witnesses said she jumped."

I was still staring at Liam when I put my
palm up toward Kirbie, letting her know to say no more. I didn't
need her help.

"Like I told you at the beginning of this
show, I had to plead guilty because I was being railroaded," I said
to Liam. "I know when to fold to stay in the game. Because the game
isn't over. And I plan to win."

Liam rolled his eyes. "I don't even know what
that means, Mr. Taylor. You're 42 years old. Way too old to still
be a liar. One minute you say you did it and plead guilty, the next
minute you say you're not guilty. Which one is it? You're like the
hiphop Brian Williams. Why should we believe anything you say? You
killed your wife. Admit it."

With all the anger-management classes and the
coping skills certificates I received while in prison, I should
have been able to shirk Liam's comments. But I couldn't. I
internalized them, where they mixed with all the rest of my pent up
aggression and caused a chemical imbalance.

I exploded.

I grabbed the first thing in reach—my
microphone. I bashed Liam in the head with it, busted his skin open
above the eye in that one swing. There was blood. Skye Munro
screamed. I wanted Liam to fight back but he didn't; he fell out of
his seat on the away-side of his chair, so I had to yank the chair
out of the way to get to him.

"Security!" DJ Trap yelled.

Liam cowered as I swung the mic down at him
again. But the cord caught and the mic just dangled over the edge
of the table above his head. Lucky him. I kicked him in his ribs
one good time before a group of big men grabbed me up.

I didn't resist.

"I loved my wife!" I shouted into a camera as
I was hauled out of the booth. "I didn't kill Jazzmine Short!"

Chapter 20

Sammy "The Hitman" Russtrip

I was sitting in the passenger seat of a silver
Yukon Denali, waiting for La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor to come out
the exit doors of 104.1 Revolt. My driver was on his smartphone,
and when I peeked over at his screen I saw he was on The Site. I
couldn't believe that Eliyah Golomb really wanted me to work with
this kid.

"We're following somebody, Jarvis," I
reminded the 23-year-old. "Put the damn phone up."

"Sorry, Dad," he said, and quickly fumbled
with the cell phone to put it in the pocket of his fleece jacket.
He looked across the street at the celebrated radio station,
wide-eyed. "Where is he?" he asked anxiously, his boyish brown eyes
darting around everywhere.

"Calm down. He hasn't come out yet. But
you're being paid to watch everything around you, not just La'Renz.
And looking down at your phone while you're on a mission will get
you killed. If it doesn't pertain to the task at hand, then NO
PHONE."

"Okay. Sorry, Dad," he said again.

"Out here in the streets, call me Sammy. You
hear me? It's Sammy."

Yes, Jarvis was my son. My biological son.
This was one of his first jobs working with me as an investigator.
Some people referred to me as a hitman, but I preferred the
term 
investigator
. I had principles, procedures,
protocol and bylaws that I adhered to like any other
professional.

One might ask me why I would want to bring my
son into this way of living. Well, it wasn't exactly my choice. It
was tradition. My father was an investigator who killed, tortured
and maimed, and 
his
 father taught him those skills
which were eventually bequeathed to me. Still, I was hesitant about
bringing Jarvis into this game. His generation was different. There
was less discipline and initiative in these young men nowadays.
Less was expected of them than in my day. His generation remained
knuckleheads well into their mid to late twenties, whereas I was
considered an adult at sixteen. There was very little room for
child-like behavior in 1980s New York, my formative years.

Several months ago Jarvis was charged with
first degree murder. He was accused of killing a 25-year-old man
from Brooklyn over a dispute with a girl. Jarvis confessed to me
that he was guilty of the crime. He killed the young man for
physically abusing the girl, a girl Jarvis had been romantically
involved with. The girl went to the cops after Jarvis told her he
"took care" of her problem. I smacked Jarvis over twenty times
upside the head when he told me the story. I chased him all over
the living room of his apartment smacking him and kicking him to
the floor, explaining to him the first rule of murder—never
tell 
anyone
 what you've done, and especially not a
love interest tied to the victim.

Because of the female witness and a solid
motive and a ton of circumstantial evidence, Jarvis was set to
serve life in prison. But I talked to Eliyah Golomb and he agreed
to put his legal army on the case, as long as I agreed to teach
Jarvis the trade of "investigating." After I forced Jarvis to
murder the female witness—a deed I personally oversaw—the case was
eventually dropped.

And here we were.

"Dad—I mean Sammy—are we gonna take out
La'Renz today?" my son asked me.

"No. Eliyah hasn't given us the word yet. He
wants us to watch him for a while, learn his locations and figure
out the best place to hit him when he does give the word."

"Why does he want La'Renz dead so bad? Does
he really think La'Renz can build his company back up to rival
Mount Eliyah ENT? We all know that's impossible."

"History tells us that anything is possible.
Sometimes you have to squash the little bug before he turns into a
big bug."

"Did Eliyah really have Jazzmine Short
killed? Were you the one who killed her?"

"No."

"Are you just saying that because you don't
wanna tell me?"

"No. Shut up and pay attention."

I pointed across the street at the radio
station, as security hauled La'Renz Taylor out of the building and
shoved him onto the sidewalk. Jarvis laughed. A young girl was
escorted out after La'Renz in a more civil manner. She was wearing
a pink long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans, and she seemed to be
asking La'Renz if he was all right.

"Who the fuck is that girl?" Jarvis said in a
way that was clear he was attracted to her. "I’ve never seen her
before. Is she famous?"

"No. I don't think so. She's probably some
new artist he picked up."

"Do we gotta kill her too?"

"Maybe."

"Fuck. Can you ask Eliyah if I can keep
her?"

"Jarvis, start the truck."

He cranked it over with a teasing laugh. My
boy was showing me he had a sense of humor. I used to have one too.
A long time ago, before I saw a man choke to death on his own
genitals.

A Volvo SUV pulled up to the curb to pick up
La'Renz and the girl. With my digital zoom-lens camera, I snapped a
burst of pictures of the Volvo and its license plates. I didn't get
a shot of the driver but I had a good idea who she was. We followed
the Volvo for miles, as it winded through New York City and ended
up in a very nice neighborhood in Brooklyn Heights on Willow
Street. Once the female driver stepped down out of the truck, my
suspicions were confirmed.

"That's Sundi Ashworth!" Jarvis
exclaimed.

I nodded. "Yes, that is."

"What is she doing with La'Renz? Doesn't she
still work for our boss?"

I snapped pictures of the group—Sundi
Ashworth, La'Renz Taylor, and the young girl—as they headed into
Sundi's townhome. Then I set the camera in my lap. Eliyah Golomb
wasn't going to like this. He wasn't going to like this at all.

"Let me see your phone," I said to my
son.

GabbyTV:
 You won't believe this people,
but I have more news on La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor. He had an
interview on 104.1 Revolt an hour ago where he showed his ass!
There's video floating around the web of La'Renz beating Liam
Bashor over the head with a microphone. Sources say the former
mogul nearly killed the co-host. Now we all know Liam is an
instigator, but that gives La'Renz Taylor, convicted murderer of an
R&B legend, no right to do what he did today. They need to lock
La'Renz right back up. Right now! And throw away the key. And
before the fight started, La'Renz brought along a little girl whom
he introduced as his new "artist." This girl had the audacity to
compare herself to Caylene Hope! Little bitch, how dare you?!
Though the girl can sing, she's no Caylene Hope and never will be.
It seems as though La'Renz is trying to turn this girl into the new
Jazzmine Short. I don't see it happening. I'm not buying it. And I
hope you guys aren't either.

Chapter 21

La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor

"La'Renz, what the fuck were you thinking?!" Sundi
hollered at me. "I can't believe you fuckin' attacked Liam Bashor!
You told me you changed. Are you back on cocaine again?"

"No, Sundi. No. I'm clean. I been clean and
I'm staying clean."

"What you just did wasn't clean. The media
isn't how it used to be, La'Renz. You can't intimidate people and
you definitely can't put your hands on people. Now when Liam sues
you we'll never get off the ground!"

"Are you out?" I asked her.

She stopped pacing and glared at me. "I
should be. I'm jeopardizing my job at Mount Eliyah to help you and
commit to you and Taylor Music Group. But I'm not gonna leave Mount
Eliyah if you're just gonna throw your future away."

"I fucked up, Sundi. I'm sorry."

She started scrolling her thumb on the screen
of her smartphone. "The blogs are fuckin' goin' nuts right now. We
might not be able to recover from this." She tossed the phone at
me. It hit me in the stomach kind of hard. "Look at it," she
ordered. "Look at all the shit they're saying about you. They're
calling for you to go back to prison."

I didn't look at the screen. I set the phone
beside me on her bed and looked up at her. "I don't care what the
blogs think. Since when have I ever cared about the media?"

"It's different now, La'Renz."

I stood up and put my hands on her shoulders.
She turned her head, not wanting to look at me. But I still told
her how I felt.