Eviction Notice, page 25
“Fuck y’all niggaz was at, it almost went down,” Lakim snapped once they were all back in the whip.
“My fault, I had a li’l situation, B,” Alonzo told them, peeling out of the parking lot. When they passed under the streetlight, King saw the blood on his hands.
“What’s good, you hit?” King asked nervously.
“I’m good, it ain’t my blood,” Alonzo told him.
“At least not all of it,” Ashanti joked from the backseat. None of them would get the joke until Alonzo filled them in on the way back to New York.
* * *
After King and his rowdy bunch were cleared out of the VIP, it was back to business as usual. The confrontation between Shai and King James spread through the club like wild fire, and everyone was buzzing about the mysterious cat who had the balls to challenge New York’s underworld boss. It had even reached the ears of Paulie, who had rushed upstairs to offer Shai his apologies.
“Shai, I’m sorry about that whole thing,” Paulie said for the seventh time.
Shai waved him off. “Paulie, I keep telling you that wasn’t on you so don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, but this is my club so everything that goes on in here is on me. I don’t even know how those guys got up here, but trust me, the guy who let them slip by is gonna find himself on the soup line tomorrow.”
“That ain’t necessary, Paulie. I don’t blame him for this; I blame myself because I should’ve nipped it in the bud earlier.” He cut his eyes at Swann, who was still fuming. “Paulie, you’ve done a great job with this place and I’m glad to be in on the ground floor.”
“Thanks, Shai, but I couldn’t have done it without your help. Hey, let’s toast to it!” Paulie suggested.
“I’d love to, but we gotta cut out.”
“C’mon, Shai, don’t let that street shit ruin your night. Stick around for a while, I’ll have some more bottles and a few of the girls sent up here for you.”
“Thanks, but no. I got some things I need to take care of early in the morning anyhow. Thanks for the offer though.” Shai shook Paulie’s hand.
“Anytime, anytime. Listen, you gotta come by on Sunday. We’re kicking off amateur night and I’d love to have you on hand as a special guest judge.”
“I’ll let you know, Paulie. Let’s go, fellas,” Shai told his crew.
“I don’t like those cats, Shai. People like King James don’t have the good sense to be scared of anything,” Angelo said.
“Word, I’m with Angelo. That nigga King James was out-of-bounds. I say we blast on them niggaz ASAP,” Holiday said.
“You don’t say shit, Holiday. I’m still running this candy shop,” Shai reminded him. As much as he hated to admit it, Holiday was right.
“Still think this beef is gonna stay in the streets?” Swann asked.
Shai gave Swann a knowing look. “These niggaz seem to be forgetting their places and need to be taught a lesson. Tighten that muthafucka up.”
Swann knew without his having to say so that Shai wanted King James dead. “Say no more, my nigga.”
CHAPTER 34
“Damn, I can’t believe it almost went down in here,” Tone said after King and his crew had been escorted out.
“I told you that nigga King James was bad news,” Devil reminded him.
“More like stupid.” Don B. snorted. “Who in their right mind is gonna try and style on Shai Clark? For as heavy as we are in the streets, even we know better than that. Moving like that, ya man King James has got a life expectancy of about twenty minutes. Speaking of time”—Don B. looked at his watch—“what the fuck is up with ya man Gotti? We been waiting for this nigga Lord Scientific to go on all night.”
“It shouldn’t be too much longer. Gotti went downstairs to get him set up a few minutes ago,” Tone told him.
“Well, he better hurry the fuck up. The Don doesn’t like to be kept waiting, so I’m about ready to bounce,” Don B. said, crushing some weed up in a blunt on the table. He skillfully rolled it up and sparked a lighter on the end of it. Through the flames he saw the stripper with the pink hair walking toward him. “Then again, I may have a few more minutes to kill.”
“What’s goodie, big time?” Porsha sauntered over.
“That’s Big Dawg, and now that you’re here, everything is good.” Don B. looked her up and down. “Don’t just stand there looking all good, take a load off, ma.” He patted his lap. Porsha took the seat next to him instead. “Damn, mama, I ain’t gonna bite you, at least not yet.”
“I don’t like to be bitten. Spanked, maybe, but I don’t do the biting unless I’m biting my lip in pleasure when I’m getting dicked down,” Porsha teased him.
“We might be able to arrange that.”
“Slow down, speedy, and let’s start with a drink first.” Porsha helped herself to a glass of champagne. Her cockiness turned Don B. on.
“It took you long enough to come check for a nigga, ma.”
“I was a li’l busy, as if you didn’t see my show,” Porsha told him.
“Shit, every nigga in the joint seen ya show. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was airing on pay-per-view too,” Don B. joked.
“They can show that muthafucka on the moon as long as I get my cut, ya heard?” Porsha said seriously.
“I like a chick that’s about her paper,” Don B. told her. “But on some G shit, I dig ya style, ma.”
“That makes two of us, because I dig my style too.”
Don B. laughed. “You a funny chick. Check, after I conduct this li’l business I’m gonna slide outta here. Why don’t you go get dressed and we can go get something to eat.”
Porsha took a sip from her glass and calmly set it on the table. “That definitely sounds like something we may be able to discuss, but let’s be clear on a few things, my G. Just because I shake my ass don’t mean I’m selling it, so if you think throwing a li’l bit of paper in the air is gonna get you in my panties, you can save ya bread for one of these slums-ass hos sucking dick in the bathroom downstairs; that ain’t my bag.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Don B. lied.
“Of course you didn’t,” she said sarcastically, “I’m just letting you know what it is with me. You can’t put a price on what I got down here.” She patted her pussy. “If I fuck a nigga it’s gonna be because I dig him, not for paper.”
“I can respect that,” Don B. said, not really knowing how else to respond. “Do you dig me?”
Porsha thought on it for a minute. “You a’ight, but then again I’m just meeting you. Who knows how I might feel about you down the line.” She took another sip from her glass.
All Don B. could do was shake his head. It seemed like she had a snappy comeback for everything he said. He was used to chicks throwing themselves at him, but Porsha was a horse of a different color, which meant he would actually have to put some effort into fucking her. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but he was intrigued by the sharp-tongued young lady.
A big-boned dark-skinned chick strutted over to their table and motioned that she needed to talk to Porsha. “Excuse me for a second,” Porsha said, getting up. She made sure to throw something extra in her walk for Don B.’s viewing pleasure. “What’s good, Kat?”
“We gotta bust a move, baby,” Kat told her.
“Bust a move? Girl, you tripping. I’m in here making a killing and I’ve got this nigga spinning right now.” She motioned over shoulder to Don B., who was whispering something to his people.
“Well, you’re gonna have to take that meal to go. Shit is going down in here and it ain’t good. They found two dudes in the alley out back carved up like two birds on Thanksgiving, and on top of that I heard one of these niggaz tried to rape Brick House. Best believe before the night is over the police are gonna be crawling all over this joint, and with the type of shit they got going on in here, I don’t wanna be around for it.”
“Damn, that’s horrible, I hope she’s okay,” Porsha said sincerely. Brick House was a royal bitch, but rape was something Porsha wouldn’t wish on her worse enemy.
“Fuck her, it’s gonna be poor us if we get caught in here when it hits the fan. I called my brother Marcus already and he said he’ll be here in twenty minutes to pick us up. I’m leaving. What you gonna do, P?”
Porsha weighed her options. If what Kat was telling her was true, then she definitely needed to shake the spot, but she had her hooks in Don B. and didn’t wanna lose him just yet. She looked back at his table, where the waitress had just set two more bottles. “I’m outta here in a few minutes too but I think I’m gonna catch a ride with Don B.”
“Porsha, don’t be a fool for no dick,” Kat warned.
“Of course not. He was just saying that he was ready to bounce anyway, so by the time I get dressed he should be ready to roll out. With or without Don B., I’m outta here in the next forty-five minutes or so.”
Kat knew the look in Porsha’s eyes all too well. She wanted to drag her out of the club and harm’s way, but Porsha was grown, or so she thought. “A’ight, do you then, ma, but make sure you hit me and let me know that you got outta here in one piece.”
“I will.” Porsha gave Kat a parting hug. Then she went back over to Don B.’s table and reclaimed her seat next to him.
“What’s up with your homegirl, she ain’t wanna party?” Tone asked. He would’ve loved to get a piece of Kat.
“Nah, she had to make a move. I’m probably gonna leave too because she’s my ride back to Harlem,” Porsha said. She knew that if she put it out there, Don B. would take care of the rest.
“Oh, you live in Harlem? Don’t even worry about it, I’m going the same way so it’s nothing to drop you off after breakfast,” Don B. offered.
“You’re persistent as hell, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t be where I am today if I knew how to take no for an answer. Go get ya clothes and whatever else you gotta do so we can get outta here,” Don B. told her.
“A’ight, give me like twenty minutes.” Porsha went off to get dressed.
“I know you gonna let me taste that, my nigga,” Tone said as soon as Porsha was out of earshot.
Don B. smiled. “You can always ride in my whip, Tone, as long as I get to test-drive it alone first. I’m gonna bust that slick-mouthed bitch wide open!” One of Gotti’s minions appeared at the table and told Don B. that Lord Scientific would be performing in about fifteen minutes on the main stage. “About fucking time.” Don B. grabbed a bottle off the table when he got up. “Let’s go downstairs and watch this shit so we’ll be close to the door, because as soon as shorty is done getting dressed I’m trying to get outta here.”
Don B. led his crew downstairs into the swarm of people. Devil and the bouncers kept the groupies back as best they could, but it was still a task. Don B. had long ago lost interest in the hype of Lord Scientific, and his thoughts were on Porsha and the things he planned on doing to her. If Lord Scientific wasn’t all that they’d hyped him up to be, Don B. was outta there.
* * *
Don B. and his people met Gotti by the bar, where he was talking to the young cat who worked for the DJ. He was confused because he’d expected him to be on stage with the mysterious Lord Scientific. Instead, there were some kids up there who looked like they were the Wu-Tang Clan in their early days. There were about a dozen of them, dressed in oversize T-shirts, khakis, and capri shorts and waving red bandannas as proudly as if they were American flags and they were doing their patriotic duty. They were some of the dingiest cats Don B. had ever seen and some of the surliest. The group parted like the Red Sea and from their midst a lone figure stepped forward. He was topless, showing off his well-defined body and the golden revolver that dangled at the end of the thick chain around his neck. His long dreadlocks swayed back and forth as he bobbed to a beat that only he could hear. The crowd became deathly silent as he surveyed them from under hooded eyes.
“Jersey!” he bellowed, and the crowd went wild just before the music exploded through the speakers.
The reaction was like nothing Don B. had seen since they heydays of Bad Blood, when his li’l homies were tearing down every club in New York City. The crowd fed off the rapper’s energy liked starved children, singing the lyrics along with him. The rapper had them eating out of the palm of his hand, and even Devil was caught rocking to the ill beat. Everything was going well until someone threw an empty water bottle onto the stage.
“Hold on, hold on. Cut the muthafucking music,” the rapper ordered the DJ. There was some grumbling throughout the crowd as the performance was halted. “Who threw that?” the rapper asked, surveying the crowd.
At first there was no response, then someone pointed out a smug-looking cat who was standing off to the side with about a half-dozen dudes, all wearing hard faces.
“Oh, you niggaz think you funny, huh?” the rapper said, zeroing in on the man and his crew. “Well, Ima show you how we deal with comedians in Newark, muthafucka.” The rapper looked at his crew and gave them a knowing nod. “Feeding time,” he said and pointed at the bottle thrower.
The young boys leaped off the stage and swarmed in on the bottle thrower and commenced to beat him like an unruly child. His team tried to jump in and found themselves swarmed by every Blood gang member in the club. Chairs were thrown, people were trampled, and Brick City was being torn apart. The performance had turned into a full-scale riot and the party was officially over.
“Fuck this, we gotta get Don B. outta here,” Devil yelled over the crowd, knocking out some drunk who had gotten too close to them.
“True,” Tone agreed, ducking a bottle that sailed over his head. “Yo, Gotti, we’ll hook up another time so Don B. can see your boy do his thing.”
Gotti laughed. “You just did.” He nodded across the room. The rapper with the dreads had come down from the stage and was in the thick of the fight, attacking everything that moved. He jumped on one kid and started strangling him with the microphone cord while his crew kicked the kid in the face repeatedly.
“You can’t be fucking serious.” Tone looked at him and shook his head in disappointment before turning to Don B. “Don, my fault for wasting your time on this.”
Don B. laughed. “Wasting my time? My nigga, I ain’t had this much fun in years. Gotti, y’all niggaz come to the city and see me tomorrow afternoon so we can discuss this paperwork.”
Tone thought that Don B. had finally lost his mind, but his thinking was quite clear. Lord Scientific and his crew were wild as hell and it would probably end up costing Don B. more to clean up after them than to actually make a record, but their brand of ignorance was just what Big Dawg Entertainment needed to reassert itself at the top of the food chain. The whole world would look at Lord Scientific and see a thug, but Don B. saw a dollar sign.
Part IV
TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES
CHAPTER 35
By the time Porsha made it back to the block the next day she was damn near out on her feet. As Kat had promised, Brick City was live, but Porsha didn’t think either of them was prepared for how live it would get before it was all said and done. She came out of the dressing room just as the fight was about to pop off. Lord Scientific and his crew tore the places to pieces and security was powerless to stop the swarm of Bloods who laid siege to the establishment. It got so crazy that they had to call in the task force to shut it down.
The Bloods were good ass kickers, but the boys in blue were professionals. They were handing out ass whippings, pepper spray, and charges like free toys on Christmas. They were lenient with the celebrities but all the regular folks were treated to rides to various precincts in and around Essex County. Porsha almost broke down in tears when they slapped the handcuffs on her. She was already strapped for cash, and knowing that the few dollars she had managed to scrape up in Brick City would have to go toward her bond was the icing on the cake. Just when things seemed bleakest, Don B. came to her rescue. She wasn’t sure what he said, and honestly she didn’t care, but by the time he got finished whispering in the right ears and greasing the right palms, Porsha was released along with the rest of his entourage.
After they left the club she rode with Don B. and his crew back to the city in their Hummer. From the outside, all the windows were tinted so dark that you couldn’t see the inside, but once Devil opened the door for Porsha to climb in and she got a good look, she was thoroughly impressed. Like the exterior, the interior was candy red, including the steering wheel and carpet. There was a standard row in the back of the extended truck but Don B. had ripped the rest out and replaced them with airplane seats that you could heat or cool to your liking. The leather was so soft that Porsha felt like she would rip it if she moved the wrong way, so she tried to stay still for most of the ride. She had been in some nice rides before, but Don B.’s Hummer took the cake.
Don B. and Porsha sat nestled in the rear row of the Hummer, sipping cognac and blowing Kush as they got to know each other a little better. From what she had heard about Don B. he was supposed to be some sort of ignorant-ass thug, but he was actually quite intelligent. She was thoroughly impressed as he took her through the history of jazz music and hip-hop, breaking down how the two were so closely related. He was so passionate when he spoke about music that Porsha could tell he had a genuine love for it and wasn’t just another rapper who was out to get paid.
