Backstage: Street Chronicles (19 page)

“Fuck that bitch-ass nigga, JJ. He trying to come up off me like I’m some lame,” he said to the beautiful Brazilian riding shotgun in his Lamborghini. “Everybody know that I’m nice with the mic
device.” He made an attempt to say a rhyme, but it was corny. Even Miss Brazil noticed it.

After Trapp did the press conference, he made efforts to rhyme, but even he knew he was wack. He didn’t care as long as his bank account was packed with money.

“I’m taking you to Brazil with me next week, I know that’s where you’re from, but fuck it.”

“You know I’m with whatever.” She knew he was a trick so she agreed with everything he said as long as he set her out with money. “Baby, what happened to the diamond bracelet you were getting me, I want it for the trip to Brazil.”

“We can go get it today.”

“Thank you, baby.” She leaned across the seat and began to unbutton his True Religion jeans. She pulled out his penis and started to suck it while he drove.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

Trapp was a sucker for a pretty face with breasts and a round behind. Miss Brazil was only one of the five different women that Trapp tricked on. Trapp spent almost ten thousand a week tricking on gorgeous women.

“You’re going to go broke if you don’t stop squandering your money,” Trapp’s accountant told him.

“It ain’t tricking if you got it,” was Trapp’s reply.

“Okay, we’ll see if you still have it in one year, the way that you spend money.”

“I’m never going broke, I get too much money.”

Trapp was an obnoxious and arrogant person. He rubbed everyone the wrong way. No one at University Records liked him, no one that he met liked him, only the fans liked him until they met him. The way he treated people created so much animosity that he had to hire a bodyguard when he was in public.

What Trapp didn’t know was that things were about to change. He was about to get a visit from an old friend, a friend that he thought was finished.

Trapp drove down Islip Avenue with the top down on his Lamborghini, Miss Brazil was riding shotgun, talking on the phone, when JJ’s truck pulled up alongside them at a stoplight.

“What’s up, Trapp? Remember me?” JJ said with a smile on his face.

Trapp was at a loss for words; he just looked at JJ with confusion.

“What’s wrong, cat got your tongue? I bet you thought I wasn’t getting out. You think you’re going to get away with stealing my songs, but you’re not.”

That’s when Sasha handed Trapp court papers. “You’ve been formally served with this affidavit to appear in court for copyright infringement.”

“Oh yeah, my money too long for y’all to think you can stop me,” Trapp replied arrogantly.

“We’ll see you in court.”

JJ drove away with a victory smile on his face. What Trapp didn’t know was that every song JJ recorded was copywritten with the Library of Congress, so he was protected. With the help of Sasha again, JJ was able to prove that Trapp stole his lyrics.

When they went to court the judge awarded JJ all the money that Trapp had in his bank account, which was a little under ten million. Trapp was sick.

“That ain’t nothing because I can get money anywhere now. The people love me,” Trapp said foolishly.

“We’ll see. I’ll make sure that everybody knows that you lost in court. You’re finished,” JJ replied.

When the news got out that Trapp really did steal all the lyrics on his album, his short career came to a screeching halt. No label wanted to sign him, the chances of him making a hit record again were slim to none.

Trapp pulled up to his estate. He was lucky that he paid cash for his mansion. He was also lucky that the judge left him with it.
When he pulled up to the front of the house he noticed that there was a slim dark-skinned lady sitting on his porch. His first thought was to curse her out and kick her off his property. There was something in her eyes; he felt a familiarity in them. He knew that he didn’t know this lady personally, but there was something about her that made him connect with her on a deep level.

“Hi, Trent. I know you don’t know me, but I know you.”

“How do you know my government name?” Trapp had a perplexed look on his face.

“Because I’m your mother, Trent.”

“You’re my mother.” Trapp gave her a deep look and he saw his own face. He knew she was telling the truth.

“What are you doing here now? You waiting for me to get rich to show your face.”

“I didn’t come here for a handout, Trent, I came to tell you who your father is.”

Trapp’s heart started beating fast when the woman spoke the words
your father
. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know, but he had a feeling that she was going to tell him anyway.

“What made you come forward now? I mean, I’m twenty-four years old. If you knew me why didn’t you come forth when I was being mistreated in all those foster homes.”

“I can’t take back the past. I don’t have long to live, I have terminal cancer. That’s why I’m here, to tell you before I die.”

Trapp had emotional lumps in his throat that he couldn’t control. Tears started welling up in his eyes. The woman began to cry as well when she saw her son cry.

“Your father’s name is Terell Swan.”

“I don’t know nobody by that name, so this was a waste of time.”

“You do know him, just by another name.”

“Who is my father, lady? I don’t have time to play wit you,” Trapp said in a loud tone.

“Your father’s name is OG Rosco.”

Trapp’s face dropped. “OG Rosco is my father?” Trapp couldn’t believe his ears. “Are you sure, I mean how are you sure?”

“I know for sure that he is your father. Terell was my childhood sweetheart. I gave you up for adoption because I was only fifteen years old when I had you. I was a baby myself, so was Terell. He never knew that I was pregnant because I hid it the whole time. Then he left me to be in the streets, so I never told him.”

“I can’t believe that OG Rosco is my father.”

“I’m sorry for everything you been through. If I could take it back believe me I would. But I can’t.” She looked him deep in his eyes. She saw the pain mixed with something else she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was guilt or confusion, but his whole vibe changed. “I don’t want to waste any more of your time, I know you’re a busy man.”

The lady started walking away; that’s when Trapp stopped her.

“Wait. If you like you can spend some time here with me. There is more than enough room.”

“Thank you, but I have to go.”

With those words the woman walked away from Trapp’s sprawling mansion.

“Terell Swan, you have a lawyer’s visit,” The CO announced.

“This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

OG Rosco strolled down to the attorney-inmate visiting room. When he got there his lawyer was seated. He stood and shook OG’s hand when he walked in.

“How’s everything, Mr. Swan?”

“As good as it’s going to get. Now let’s cut to the chase.”

OG’s lawyer handed him a piece of paper with a name and a few paragraphs written on it. The name read: Trent Sanford aka Trapp. OG read the statement. It basically was a detailed account of OG’s drug operation.

“I knew Trapp was a rat!”

“Now, Mr. Swan, don’t go killing him just yet.”

“Don’t worry, I got this.” OG stood as a sign for him to be escorted back to his cell.

When he got to his cell block, he got on the phone.

“What’s poppin, Shank? I want you to talk to Trapp for me.”

“I’m going to see him tonight.”

“Good.” OG hung up the phone before he said anything else. “You’re going to get yours, Trapp.”

Trapp drove his Range Rover down his old block remembering the time when he was a nobody on these streets. The news that his mother gave him disturbed him deeply.

I snitched on my own father
, he thought to himself.
It’s not like I knew he was my father
.

He stopped at a traffic light and nervously pulled on a cigarette. He was in such a trance that he didn’t notice Shank get out of the car behind his and creep up on his Range with a 45-caliber handgun in his palm.

By the time Trapp saw Shank, it was too late.

“This is for OG Rosco!” Shank emptied a full 16-shot clip into Trapp’s door. “Rat Bastard!”

Trapp’s forehead hit the steering wheel causing the horn to blast continuously. The last thought that Trapp had before he died was,
OG Rosco is my pops
.

JJ wrote a whole new album in a new rhyme book. His new album was hotter than the first. JJ had more to talk about nowadays because of his ordeal with the game.

JJ changed his subject matter up on his new album. The information that he learned from Solomon went into every song he wrote. JJ even wrote a song about the situation with Trapp, called “Stolen Legacy,” named after the book that Solomon gave him.

“Stolen Legacy” became JJ’s biggest single from his new album. Everyone knew about the whole Trapp fiasco, so it was easy for people to like the song.

JJ went through hell in order to come out right. He learned a lot
of valuable lessons from the ordeal. The most valuable lesson he learned was to never take life for granted.

“You ready, baby?” Sasha asked JJ.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled at him before speaking. “Can I ask you a question, honey?”

“Sure.” JJ was anxious to see where she was going with her question.

“When we first met, did you want to take me serious, or was you going to play me and never call me?”

“Actually, I was going to call you every day after that day because I couldn’t get you off my mind.” JJ paused and reached into his pocket and pulled out the biggest diamond ring Sasha ever saw. “In fact, I have a question for you.”

When Sasha saw the ring, she knew what his question was.

“Oh my God!” she screamed with excitement.

“Will you marry me, Sasha?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” She hugged him around his neck and he squeezed her in his arms.

They stayed in a lover’s embrace until they both were tired of hugging. They were happy and in love, their future was promising, all due to the past. Even though, all we really have is the moment.

eah, Daddy, give it to me.”

Kessy’s canary-yellow thong underwear were tossed on the mess of papers on the cherry oak desk as she bounced on the lap of Nicholas Michaels, the owner and president of Hustle Hard Records. Kessy humped Nicholas aggressively, and his smooth brown face and chestnut-brown eyes stayed calm as he let Kessy work him. He fondled her breasts, but mostly rested his head back on the black leather chair with his eyes closed.

I sat on the yellow suede couch near the window, bored. Kessy and Nicholas had only known each for about four hours. We saw him at a red light on Thirty-sixth Street in Manhattan.

There wasn’t much space between Kessy’s butt and the wood desk. She didn’t care if her butt bumped the desk a time or two. She never felt the scratches the wood splinters left on her behind.
She was in a zone. There was hardly anyone left in the office of the small record label. It was after eight o’clock in the evening and only the janitor, the security guard, and Nicholas were here when we arrived an hour ago. Every now and again Nicholas would try to quiet Kessy down. As empty as the place was he still wanted to be quiet.

“But you’re Nicholas Michaels. Ooh, you feel that? Oh my gosh I get wetter just saying your name!”

And with that she gave two more hard bounces. Then three slower, more careful ones. Her caramel C-cup breasts flopped against his bearded chin. Nicholas’s ebony skin glowed with a hint of red in his cheeks. Was he blushing? Kessy was good! She always knew when it was time. A man didn’t have to shake, tap her on the behind, or whisper. Kessy had power between those legs!

Seeing Nicholas close his eyes and grip Kessy’s waist was my cue to leave. I got what I needed. As she slow-grinded to pull out whatever he had left, she held on to the top of his black leather chair firmly and pulled herself closer to his chiseled chest. I’m not sure if Nicholas even remembered I was in the room. Kessy was a twenty-three-year-old caramel beauty and my best friend. She was well stacked and had a waist perfect for a size four but a booty that took a size ten. She still had on her red pumps, and her long legs straddled Nicholas’s lap to secure his position although he wasn’t moving anyway.