God Don't Like Haters 2 (7 page)

Then my phone chimed. I looked down and saw I
had a notification from The Site. The link indicated that it was an
inbox from a woman named Sundi Ashworth. Sundi Ashworth? That name
rang a bell, but I couldn't remember off the top of my head why it
sounded familiar. I started to tap the link to read her message
when I heard Mark mention something about the Beltrán cartel.

I looked up.

"They're family and they don't play," Mark
said. "I told them I was bringing two people that I trusted with my
life and they're still making me take all the necessary
precautions."

"Did you say Beltrán cartel?" I asked.

"Yes. That's who we're meeting up with.
They're family."

I had heard of the Beltrán cartel. They were
rumored to have a monopoly on all the drugs flowing through
Hollywood. Some of the biggest conspiracies surrounding suspicious
celebrity deaths were tied to Beltrán.

"You're related to members of the Beltrán
mafia family?" I asked in disbelief.

Archie gave me a warning: "You're asking too
many questions, Kirbie. I told you about that."

But Mark was smiling at me through the
rearview, happy to share. "It's not obvious,
mami
? My last
name is Beltrán. What, you just thought it was a rap name?"

Yes, I did.

"Those are my people on my daddy's side.
They're blood. They got connections to the music industry but even
I can't get in through them. I tried to get my uncle Julian Beltrán
to hand my demo to somebody, 
anybody
, but he threw my
disc on the ground and smashed it with the heel of his
boot. 
Pinche culero,
 disrespectful as fuck. Their
tight-lipped on that Hollywood shit. And that makes sense because
they're probably making billions off of them rich famous people.
That side of my family only fucks with me as a street dealer. But I
guess I'm cool with that. I'll break into the music industry on my
own."

A thought occurred to me. 
Maybe if I
gave them 
my 
music and told them about the
following I already had then they'd be more
receptive.
 Then I quickly dismissed the idea. This was a
cocaine meeting, and nothing else.

Mark said something to Archie about reaching
into the center console, and I jumped back into my Site world on my
phone. I was curious to know who Sundi Ashworh was. I tapped her
name with my finger and the message popped up on my screen:

Sundi Ashworth:
 Hello, Kirbie, my name's
Sundi Ashworth (A&R) and I'm sending you this message in
regards to—

Archie snatched my phone before I could
finish reading the message. "I told you to stay off the fucking
phone and pay attention! See, now you're not getting your phone
back until we're done." He handed me a black sleep mask. "Put this
on like the man just said."

"What's this?" I asked, feeling the satin
material with my thumbs. Then I looked up at the rearview where
Mark was staring back at me.

"It's a blindfold," Mark said. "You have to
wear it. Like I said, my family is making me go through all the
necessary precautions."

I hesitated, but then I dutifully placed the
mask over my head after I saw Archie adorn his. I couldn't see a
thing.

And I suddenly started to feel homesick.

Chapter 10

Andre "Coras Bane" McDougald

"Are you seriously sitting there still thinking
about Kirbie? She's not coming, Coras. Get over it. You have a show
to do. And if you're gonna sit there and dwell on shit that's out
of your control, then you're gonna fuck up enormously when you get
on stage. We don't have room for mistakes. This show will make or
break your career. If you really wanna be a rap superstar, then
you'll get up and shake that shit off."

I heard Ashleigh, but I didn't hear her. I
was sitting in a folding chair in our dressing room backstage at
the Sprint Center still fuming over Kirbie going awol. Still angry
as fuck that Archie won, still sulking, still bitter, still ... I
didn't even really want to go on stage anymore.

Ashleigh pulled me by my arm and forced me to
stand up. I was on my feet for all of five seconds before I plopped
back down.

Ashleigh sighed. "Gee, please talk some sense
into yo boy. He's scaring me."

Gee Beats was on the other side of the
dressing room preparing his alcoholic drink of choice. He had
several bottles on the counter—vodka, cognac, Sprite, an unlabeled
fruit juice, a bottle of prescription cough syrup, an energy drink,
and an empty wine bottle to mix it all in. The wine bottle had a
yellow funnel stuck inside its mouth. He had a whole laboratory set
up over there.

"Gee!" Ashleigh called again. "Help me with
him!"

Gee burped.

I looked up and watched Gee walk over to me
casually but I could tell he was drunk. He bent over and put a hand
on his knee and pointed his finger in my face like he was about to
scold me.

"You know what, nigga?" he said to me with a
smart mouth. "You actin' like a little bitch right now. You actin'
real paranoid n' shit. Now these muthafuckas smoked yo goddamn
cousin in front of you, nigga. Blew his head off in front of yo
face, and you ain't gon' do shit?"

I burst into laughter. I couldn't help it.
Ashleigh laughed too and pushed him, told him to stop playing. He'd
just recited a classic line from the movie 
Menace II
Society
. He had O-Dog's tone down pat.

As much as I didn't want to, I stood up and
hugged Gee and thanked him for making me laugh. I was still bent
out of shape over Kirbie ditching us, but he did make me feel
better.

Ashleigh joined in on the hug, wrapping her
arms around the both of us. "I guess it's just us three," she said.
"That's all we need, right guys?"

I said, "We're gonna have to make it
work."

"How long is this hug gonna last?" Gee
asked.

"However long it takes for Coras to shake off
his bad mood," Ashleigh said.

"I'm good," I said. "I really am. I'm
ready."

"I'm not," said Gee.

Unexpectedly he tried to push away from us,
and with me thinking he was joking again, I sort of held on to him.
Big mistake. Mustard-colored vomit exploded out of his mouth,
splattering all over my designer tee shirt and Ashleigh's zip-front
silk dress.

Ashleigh screamed in horror. "Gee!"

All I could do was hold my arms out and look
down at the gulash oozing down my shirt. I didn't want to touch it.
Gee had dropped to his knees to finish puking his guts out. He
looked bad.

And his vomit was mixed with blood.

***

I took Gee to the bathroom. I had changed shirts and
so had he. I was rinsing my gold chain in the sink as he kneeled at
the toilet bowl behind me. We didn't have much longer before we
were scheduled to be on stage and I was trying to hurry.

"You okay now, Gee?" I asked, as I stared at
the reflection of his stall in the mirror.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I heard him say.

"You sure? Do you need to go to the hospital
and see a doctor?"

"No. This happens all the time."

"You throw up blood all the time?"

"Uh ... no. That was some new shit."

I dried my chain off with paper towels, then
put it on and went and helped Gee to his feet. His legs were
unsteady at first, but after a couple steps toward the sink he
seemed okay. I wondered if Ashleigh was going to make it back here
in time to see us perform. She left to find a clothing store nearby
so she could change outfits.

My phone rang. I answered it because I
thought it was Ashleigh.

"Hello?"

"You been ducking me, nigga?" It was
Milo.

"Of course not," I lied. "Wussup?"

"Why haven't you been answering my
calls?"

Milo never called me. I only called him, or
just showed up in person whenever I needed to re-cop on pounds
of 
OG
. I knew what this call was about, and what all of
his other calls I "missed" were about.

Monifa's spoiled-brat ass. Running her
mouth.

"I know why you haven't been answering,
nigga. My sister told me what happened. You got me fucked up. What
makes you think yo boy can put his hands on my sister?"

"What? My boy? He didn't touch her."

"She said Gee threw her on the ground."

"He didn't throw shit. We
both 
placed 
her on the ground. Gently. She was
trying to attack one of my artists."

"You think I'm stupid, nigga? It ain't no way
in hell you can 
place 
my hype
sister 
gently
 on the ground. Yall slammed
her!"

"She was—"

"I don't give a fuck what she did or what she
was about to do! She told me she caught you cheating and was about
to fuck the girl up she caught you with. You should've let her
handle her business, or learn not to cheat on my sister at all. But
you—and 
especially 
yo homeboy—better not ever put
your hands on her again!"

"Okay, I'ma let her ass get shot next time,"
I said. As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could take
them back.

"What?!" he hollered. "What slick shit did
you just let come out of yo mouth?! Never bite the hand that feeds
you! First rule of the streets! See, I was gon' spare you and only
fuck up yo homeboy. But now yall both got something coming."

"Milo, I—"

"Shut the fuck up and take yo lick. My niggas
will be seeing yall real soon. And don't think I don't know where
yall at right now. Social media is a bitch."

He hung up.

"Hello?" I said, not sure if he’d really hung
up. Yep, he really dunked on me. I put my phone in my pocket.

"Milo?" Gee asked.

"Yeah."

"He trippin'?"

"When is he not?"

I hated bowing down to Milo. But he was the
plug, and I was eating real good off of his strain of weed so I had
to bite my tongue sometimes. He didn't deserve to be the plug, in
my opinion. He treated niggas that copped weight from him like
peons instead of respectable business partners. I told myself once
my rap career took off I was going to rob him and kill him, or just
kill him. It wouldn't be a murder-for-hire job either. I was going
to pop him myself.

On our way out of the bathroom, the door
burst inward at us, startling me and Gee. Five brothas—no, six—were
filing in and I instinctively reached for a pistol on my waist that
wasn't there (Ashleigh made us leave our weapons in the car per the
promoter's request). I stepped to the side as Milo's goons—

No, wait, these weren't Milo's people, I
realized as the group bogarded past us. This was Yayo Love and his
security team. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Clear the bathroom," one of the big security
guards said.

"We're leaving," I said back, trying to look
around him at Yayo Love but he had already went into his stall and
shut the door. It would have been nice to sell Yayo a pound
of 
OG
. I knew he smoked, and I had three sealed
purchase-ready pounds of it stashed in our dressing room.

"Get out," the security guard said with
authority—and I could have sworn he flinched at us. "Let the man
take a shit. No autographs."

Gee flinched back, and I pulled him out of
the restroom before we got jumped.

But obviously I wasn't fast enough. We didn't
get halfway to our dressing room when I heard my name being called
in the hallway behind me.

"Coras, hold up!"

Me and Gee turned. And we saw four people in
dark hoodies—two of which I knew for a fact worked for Milo—walking
toward us. I tensed.

"Stay right there," said the one leading the
pack. He was the tallest, and I was almost certain his name was
Oyeah Mason. "Yall know what time it is."

How the fuck did they get
backstage?
 I wondered.

Oyeah had his hands in his hoodie pouch. I
didn't know if he was holding or not. Another one of the brothas
walking with him pulled out a camera phone and held it up to film
us. He was grinning. I knew then that they planned to jump us and
record it, to later show it to Milo and, who knows, maybe they'd
post it on The Site to embarrass us. Gee took a small step back and
I didn't know if he was feeling lightheaded again or if he was
about to run.

I whispered to him, "Stay with me, Gee.
Follow my lead."

"I'm feeling sick again."

"Don't pass out."

Oyeah Mason got in my face. He pulled his
balled fists out of his pouch and showed me his dark, calloused
knuckles. "One hit, and you're gone. But I'ma give you a chance to
apologize on camera. Milo said if you apologize, not to touch you.
But yo boy Gee right here is getting roughed up no matter what. He
shouldn't have put his hands on my nigga's sister."

I knew why Milo decided to give Oyeah orders
not to touch me. I was Milo's bread and butter, just as much as he
was to me. I sold his drugs faster than anybody he fucked with,
whether he admitted it or not. But to show his so-called authority,
or to scare me, he was trying to demonstrate on Gee. I wouldn't let
it go down like that.

Oyeah told the camera man to step back and
get a wide shot.

"This ain't the time or place," I said to
Oyeah. "We gotta be on stage in like ten minutes." 

"Nigga, I don't give a fuck!"

That was when my right fist came across and
slammed into Oyeah's jaw. It was probably the most accurate, most
powerful punch I'd ever thrown in my life. I put my whole body into
it, and I saw Oyeah's eyes lose focus before he hit the ground.

Gee attacked the person nearest him, reaching
out and grabbing the man by his face with claw-like fingers to poke
his eyes out. I tried to get to the camera man, but the fourth guy,
who was smaller than me, grabbed me around the waist to pick me up
and slam me. He lifted me off the ground only a few inches before
my weight got the best of him and he gave that idea up.