Animal (9 page)

“I told you we show our peoples nothing but love on this side,” Don B. said.

“And so I see,” Dance smiled at something one of the girls had just whispered in his ear.

“Well, if seeing is believing, then believe Big Dawg is where you need to be.”

“Come on, Don, I thought we wasn’t gonna talk about business tonight,” Dance reminded him.

“It’s always about business,” Don B. said and dismissed the two girls, then sat on the sofa next to Dance. “Check this out, my nigga; I see you working ya li’l thing on the streets, and I respect it. You are one hell of a hustler, Dance. Can’t nobody but the Lord take that from you, but the key to any successful
hustle is finding the right connect, and Big Dawg is the mainline to your wildest dreams.”

“Yeah? What you know about my dreams, Don B.?” Dance challenged.

Don B. removed his glasses and looked Dance square in the eye. “I know you’re tired of your grandmother living in them projects. I know you’re tired of hiding your car in garages at night because you owe the city money for tickets, and most important, I know you’re tired of being a local celebrity when the world could be your playground. Don’t test me, young boy. I made my fortune of knowing what people dream about.”

“I hear you talking, Don, but I been doing okay on my independent grind, so who’s to say I won’t make it on my own?”

“I’m to say. You know why? Because I’m like God in this game. He who holds the gold holds the crown, and right now, my company is smashing the competition. Dance, you ain’t new to this, so you know what’s popping, and I challenge you to name one Big Dawg artist that didn’t go platinum.”

Dance couldn’t.

“Exactly,” Don B. continued. “You know what we do over here.”

Devil came over and whispered something into Don B.’s ear. Don B. peered around his bodyguard and spotted Ashanti standing across the room watching him like a hawk. He motioned to give him a second and turned his attention back to Young Dance.

“Dance, I ain’t in the way of twisting nobody’s arm; I’m just trying to give you a little direction. Now, I’m about to go holla at my man right quick and give you a few ticks to ponder that.” Don B. got up and left Dance alone with his thoughts.

EIGHT

A
SHANTI WATCHED
D
ON
B.
AMBLE ACROSS THE
room, greeting people and kissing the cheeks of women. The way he carried himself you’d have thought he was the prince of Harlem. It took all of Ashanti’s resolve not to throw up. He hated Hollywood types like Don B.; the ones who were nobodies until they came into a few dollars, then they started acting like they had status in the hood. On more than one occasion he had warned Animal about trusting Don B., but they were getting money together, so Animal let him live. Now Animal was gone, leaving his musical legacy to Don B. and Ashanti unanswered questions. A few times he’d thought about getting at Don B. on some extortion shit, but he learned that you could catch more flies with honey than you could with vinegar, so he played the game.

“What’s goodie, my nigga?” Don B. greeted Ashanti with a warm smile.

Ashanti’s face remained unchanged. “I took care of that thing for you.” He pulled an envelope from his back pocket and handed it to Don B.

Don B. opened the envelope and reviewed the papers stuffed inside. It was a waiver signed by a popular music producer. He was suing Don B. for illegally using his beats on mix tapes. Don B. had tried everything from throwing money at him to threatening him, but the producer wouldn’t budge . . . until Ashanti paid him a visit.

“Damn, I been trying to get this for months. How did you get him to sign off on it?” Don B. asked.

Ashanti gave him a look. “Do you really wanna know?”

“Nah, I guess I don’t. I just hope you left him whole enough to still work.”

“His hands are good money, but his jaw is another story.”

“Fuck it, he ain’t no vocalist; he’s just a producer. His hands are the only things that matter anyway, right?”

Ashanti didn’t answer.

“Anyhow,” Don B. continued, “I appreciate you taking care of that for me. I keep telling these dudes they don’t make cats like you and Animal anymore. If I had ten of y’all on my squad I’d be good. What do you think about coming to work for Big Dawg?”

“Nah, I’m a street nigga. I ain’t off punching no clock, and to keep it one hundred, I don’t too much care for rappers.”

“You like bitches, don’t you? At Big Dawg, we specialize in three things: good music, money, and pussy.”

“So I’m told,” Ashanti said unenthusiastically.

“Why don’t you kick back for a minute and enjoy the party? We gonna get into some gangsta shit with some of these hoes, then roll out to get some food in Brooklyn before we hit the club. Hang with us tonight, my nigga,” Don B. urged him.

“If it’s all the same, I’ll take what you owe me and bounce,” Ashanti told him.

“Right. I got some paper for you, don’t I? Check, why don’t you come by tomorrow and pick it up from the office? I don’t know if I got that kinda paper on me right now.”

Ashanti’s face soured. “Blood, don’t even try to play me. Services rendered, services paid for. Now, if you ain’t got my bread, then I’d be more than happy to take it in trade.” Ashanti let his eyes roam over Don B.’s jewelry.

Don B. smiled. “My nigga, you know I was just playing with you. Come with me to the back room. I got you.” He draped his arm around Ashanti and led him across the room.

“This is quite the party you got going on,” Ashanti said.

“Every day is a party at Big Dawg, my nigga. It’s the life of the young and rich. You need to get up on it,” Don B. boasted.

“I’m working my way up. But check, since you getting it like that, I’m gonna need you to put something on top of that paper you owe me. I wanna drop it on Gucci’s people.”

Don B. frowned. “Gucci’s people? Animal’s royalties go into an account, and I know for a fact his lawyer breaks her off every so often so I know the broad ain’t hurting for no cheese.”

Ashanti wanted to slap Don B. in the mouth for his reckless talk, but he kept it cool. “Blood, it ain’t for Gucci. It’s for her peoples. You know she all twisted up in the hospital, and her moms and Tionna been taking off work and shit to hold her down, so I know things gotta be a li’l tight. They ain’t asked me for nothing, but I figure they could use it.”

“Tionna? Man, fuck that bitch! She could be sitting at Jesus’ bedside, and I wouldn’t put a dollar in that tramp’s hand,” Don B. spat.

A few years ago he and Tionna had a thing that went sour. Tionna thought she had a come-up in Don B. and tried to play
him like a trick, but she soon found out there was a dark side to The Don that she wasn’t ready for when he released a tape of them having sex that spread on the net like wildfire. The sex tape scandal rocked Tionna’s life to the core and proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back in her already shaky relationship with her baby daddy, Duhan.

To get back at Don B., Tionna threatened to go to the police and scream rape. Shortly after making the threat, she came home from work one day and found that her apartment had mysteriously burned down, leaving her and her children homeless once again. The message was clear, so Tionna wisely backed up off Don B., but the bad blood between them still lingered.

“Blood, you still off that shit?” Ashanti asked as if it had been a simple argument.

“Muthafucking right. That bitch tried to break me, then ruin me, and I’m supposed to let it go? Nah, B. I ain’t doing shit for Tionna,” Don B. said finally.

“Then don’t do it for Tionna. Do it because I’m
asking
you to.”

Don B. looked at Ashanti. His face was emotionless, and his eyes had that same predatory look that Animal’s did when Don B. had first met him. “Because I got love for you, I’m gonna do it. But don’t make this shit no habit, B. Is twenty-five hundred enough?”

“For now,” Ashanti said with a devilish smirk.

“This nigga here.” Don B. half-laughed and continued leading the way through the spot.

Don B. was saying something to Ashanti, but he was only half-listening. His attention was focused on the kid in the blue Kansas City cap staring at him from across the room. Ashanti thought he recognized his face, but couldn’t place it right off.
The two young men drew nearer to each other, and it dawned on them both at the same time. Ashanti hadn’t seen him in years, but Dance looked the same as he did when they attended middle school together. Ashanti and Dance had been friends back then, but after awhile, Dance had started doing music, and Ashanti got caught up in the streets so they went their separate ways. Though Dance was a Crip and Ashanti claimed Blood, they had remained cordial the few times they did bump into each other.

“Damn, you’re one of the last people I’d have expected to bump into here. What up, Ashanti?” Dance shook Ashanti’s hand, then pulled him in for a hug.

“Chilling, baby boy. Been a long time,” Ashanti smiled. It was the first time in a long time that he had smiled, and it was genuine. “What’s good with you, Dance?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I ain’t seen you in a minute, but I hear your name ringing all through these streets though. They say you grew up to be a menace to society,” Dance told him.

“And they told me you grew up to be a pop star, so I guess we can’t believe everything
they
say, huh?” Ashanti replied.

“True,” Dance nodded, “but what you been up to otherwise? It’s like once you stopped going to school you vanished off the face of the earth.”

“I always been here. You just had to know which rock to look under to find me,” Ashanti half-joked. “But enough about my tragic-ass life; I hear you’re doing your thing with the music. I’m proud to see cats from the trap make it, real talk.”

“Thanks, Ashanti. It’s been hard, but we’re hanging in there trying to do what we do.”

“And everything you do is gonna be
big
for as long as you’re
fucking with
Big
Dawg,” Don B. cut in. “I didn’t know y’all knew each other.” He looked from Ashanti to Dance.

“Man, me and Ashanti go back to free lunch,” Dance told him.

“Oh yeah?” Don B. raised his eyebrow behind his shades. “Then I gotta ask, has this li’l nigga always been this vicious?”

“Ashanti been about his business since he was yay high to a mailbox. But being that y’all know each other, I guess I ain’t gotta tell you that, huh, Don?” Dance said slyly.

“Cut that out, Dance. This my li’l man right here.” Don B. tried to drape his arm around Ashanti affectionately, but Ashanti stepped out of his reach. When he did so, he accidentally bumped into a kid who had been passing by. He was wearing a red T-shirt and flannel shirt and denim Capris.

“My fault,” Ashanti said. Little did he know, the kid and Dance had been trading evil looks all night as their respective crews were from different sides of the color line.

“Yo, watch that shit, Blood,” the kid snapped. Seeing Ashanti talking to Dance the kid assumed he was a part of Dance’s crew.

“I said sorry, fuck you. Want a cookie, homie?” Ashanti barked back.

By now, the kid’s crew came to flank him. Dance stood with Ashanti, ready to put in work if it went that far. The kid Ashanti had bumped lifted his shirt exposing the butt of his gun. “Nigga, I think you need to recognize where you at.”

“I know just where we at, now ask me if I give a fuck,” Ashanti said, drawing his gun. “You wanna bang, nigga? Stop bumping ya gums and draw,” Ashanti challenged. Everyone looked on in surprise as the frail little boy stood fearlessly against the goons.

“Y’all niggaz chill the fuck out.” Lord Scientific stepped to the forefront. His long dreads swung back and forth when he moved.
His lanky frame seemed to tower over the rest of his homies. Lord Scientific was another artist Don B. had recently signed who hailed from Newark, N.J. He lived the life most rapped about and wore it on his sleeve like a badge of honor. He was street poisoned with no care for an antidote. Don B. had seen firsthand the kind of mayhem Lord Scientific could bring to a venue so he quickly signed him to a record deal, as well as purchasing the rights to his mix tape, which was about to be rereleased under Big Dawg Entertainment.

Lord Scientific stood before Ashanti. “Blood, you really wanna go there with it?”

Ashanti looked him up and down. “Not really, but I ain’t in the way of being carried either. A man respects a man, and I’m a man.”

Lord Scientific nodded in approval. “A man of simple philosophies and strong principles.”

“The only philosophy I know is survival of the fittest. Anything besides that,” Ashanti paused, “I guess I’ll leave it to God to sort out.”

“I hear you, shorty. Ain’t no problems here, right?” Lord Scientific looked at the kid who started it. He hesitated, but finally nodded. “Cool,” Lord Scientific extended his fist to Ashanti.

Ashanti studied the fist as if it might have been booby-trapped before giving Lord Scientific dap. “Cool.” Ashanti was about to leave, but Lord Scientific wasn’t done.

“What’s your name, shorty?” Lord Scientific asked.

“My name isn’t shorty; it’s Ashanti.”

“Ashanti,” Lord Scientific stored the name in his head. “I’ll remember it.”

“You’d do well to, as I’m sure you’ll be hearing it again,” Ashanti told him with a knowing grin.

NINE

“A
SHANTI?
I
DON’T KNOW ABOUT THAT ONE
,” Pam said, refilling her plastic cup with coconut Círoc. Pam was older than Fatima and loved her like a little sister. The two girls did almost everything together. For the last hour or so, she and Fatima had been sitting on the benches, sipping and talking shit when the conversation switched to guys in the hood that they would sleep with.

“What’s wrong with Ashanti?” Fatima asked defensively. This was her first time ever confessing her crush on the young shooter to anyone, and she didn’t like Pam’s reaction.

Pam paused, trying to find the words to articulate what she wanted to say without being offensive. Eventually she shrugged and said, “Because he’s Ashanti!” she saw anger flash in Fatima’s eyes so she softened her approach. “Fatima, all I’m trying to say is with all the
boss dick
that would love to have you, why get hung up on a soldier?”