Promise Kept, page 11
Later that night, Trap’s people had taken Inferno and his entourage to an after-hours spot for some drinks. This is where Trap made his pitch for Inferno to sign with his label. Trap had a solid game plan, but the money wasn’t quite what Inferno had been anticipating. The rapper knew that his stock was up at the time, so, as he should’ve, he tried to milk the situation. Inferno’s plan was to get the labels into a bidding war for his services. It was a sound plan, but what he hadn’t anticipated was that being a game that Trap wasn’t willing to play. Trap was a man who did the squeezing, not get squeezed, so the deal never got done. When they parted, it was on good terms, or so Inferno foolishly believed, but Finesse knew better. You didn’t slight a man like Trap and expect him to forget. This is why Finesse made sure to keep his head on swivel during their dealings with the Florida gangster.
“C’mon, man. You know how that shit go—” Inferno was about to say something that would likely lessen them further in Trap’s eyes, but Finesse saved him the embarrassment.
“That was my fault,” Finesse threw himself onto the sword. “Your offer was a fair one, all things considered. It’s just that, at the time, your label was still really new, and we weren’t sure that you would’ve been able to give the project a big enough push. Wasn’t meant as no slight to you, simply a business decision that I made in the best interest of our company.”
For a few beats, Trap said nothing. He just stared, as if his brain was trying to decipher the hidden message beneath Finesse’s words. “I can respect an honest man. Truth be told, with the trajectory Inferno was on, I probably didn’t have the necessary resources to give him the push he needed, but it would seem that we now find ourselves in a reversal of fortunes. Your name has been trending, my friend. Not necessarily in a good way, either.”
Inferno made a dismissive gesture. “You know how them blogs be hyping shit when you come from what we come from. I got a reputation, so whatever I do, they’re always going to try and paint the worst picture of me.”
“I know, probably better than most, what it’s like to be constantly haunted by things you’ve done in the past,” Trap said honestly.
Trap was a gangster from down the bottom of the map. He was beloved in his city as a hustler and later as a hometown hero before he got his shine as a rapper. The hood loved Trap, and Trap loved the hood. He wasn’t one of those guys who posted turkey giveaways on Instagram for clicks, he was really in the trenches with his people. Back then, Trap hadn’t been a rich man, but he never hesitated to break bread with someone in the neighborhood who needed something. He was literally the people’s champion.
Around the time that his rap career started gaining traction, a tragedy in his neighborhood truly put his mantle of people’s champ to the test. A serial rapist had been preying on women in the area. Over the course of three weeks, he had claimed two victims, and there was a lingering fear that he would claim a third if he wasn’t caught. Since Trap’s neighborhood was one of the poorest in the county, the police hadn’t made catching the rapist a priority. It wasn’t until his next victim, a girl of about twelve years old, was found in an alley, sodomized and beaten to within an inch of her life, that the neighborhood had finally decided they’d had enough, and Trap took the law into his own hands.
With the help of his best friend and running partner, a shooter they called Nutty, Trap led a manhunt to find the animal. It hadn’t proved to be as hard as he had anticipated, once he put word out that he was offering a reward for the identity and location of the rapist. Trap and Nutty tracked the man to the home that he shared with his mother, which ironically was less than a mile from the street they lived on. They’d assumed that it was someone from outside the neighborhood violating the women, but it had been one of their own the whole time.
Needleless to say, Trap and Nutty retired the rapist and allowed the mothers and daughters of their neighborhood at least one decent night’s sleep. The rapes disgusted Trap, but what he found almost as disturbing was the number of people who chose to remain silent about what they knew until there was cash involved. Had they only come forward sooner the women could’ve been spared the indignities forced on them by the rapist. Trap lost just a little more faith in humanity because of that, but it would be the events that followed the execution that would show him just how fucked up the world they lived in was.
The execution of the rapist had made Trap and Nutty somewhat folk heroes around the neighborhood. They already had the respect of the streets because of how they put their thing down in the game, and now that they also had the love of the community, it only made them that much stronger. For as many people there were who loved Trap and Nutty for what they had done for those women and the little girl, there were twice as many who found even more reasons to hate them. Jealousy can sometimes bring the most thorough cats out of character, as was the case when a rival of theirs tried to knock them out of the box by making an anonymous call to the police about the vigilante execution. All it took was the next-door neighbor picking Trap and Nutty out of a mug book to corroborate the tip they’d received, and it was enough to charge both Trap and Nutty with murder.
Even with paid lawyers, the case was looking shaky for them. Under the circumstances, their lawyers were sure that, if they took it to trial, they could find a sympathetic jury. They could argue that, for killing a child rapist, the boys should be given medals, not prison sentences, and there was a slim chance that they could get the case to swing favorably. Still, this was murder, and they were young Black men in the state of Florida. Even if the defense team got the charges knocked down, there was no way they were going to walk without doing some time. It was then that Nutty made the ultimate sacrifice. He agreed to eat the whole murder under the condition that they give Trap a lesser sentence. Nutty was a repeat offender and already had an open case for a shooting in Orlando. He was going to have to lay down, regardless of how it went. The DA didn’t scoff at the idea. In his mind, he was getting a two-for-one, a rapist and a killer off the streets in one shot. And so it went. Nutty was given fifteen years, and Trap was spared so that he might continue to build on the dream they had started.
“So,” Trap continued, “reputations aside, what were you boys thinking about the direction you wanna go in with this project?”
“To the top of course,” Inferno answered.
Trap let out a short chuckle at Inferno’s ever-mounting cockiness. “And I believe that this project has the potential to do just that. It just needs a little push and some polish.”
“Polish? What you mean? Everybody knows that I’m a top-five MC and the production on this is tight. If you ask me, this is a project that’s ready to go,” Inferno insisted.
“Which is why I’m not asking you. I’m telling you what I know. Hear me out before you jump in your feelings,” Trap said in an almost soft tone. He sounded like a parent who was about to try and simplify something for their child. “You got a gift that doesn’t come along often. Nobody could ever take that from you but God. Now, for as tight as your lyrics are, your production could use a little work. I’m not saying that your beats are bad, but they aren’t clean. I can hear the difference in the level of your vocals on certain songs. It’s subtle, but it’s there. That’s what happens when you try and save a few dollars by hiring a cook to cater your dinner, instead of dropping the extra bread and bringing in a chef.”
“Damn, sounds like you’re trying to tell us that our project is some no-frills shit,” Inferno said defensively. Trap had been dead on with the accusation though. After recording costs and other expenses, they didn’t have much left in the budget to bring in one of the high-profile producers they’d worked with in the past or book high-tech studios. This project had been a grassroots one. The fact that Trap knew this meant that he was either paying closer attention than they thought or they were that transparent. From the way the meeting had gone so far, Finesse suspected that it was the latter.
“No disrespect intended,” Trap clarified. “I’m just saying that I’m not that far removed from cutting corners to save a buck. We do what we gotta do to get where we gotta go. Now, with a machine behind you, it would alleviate some of those headaches.”
“And this is what has brought us to the table tonight.” Finesse stepped in. Where Trap was about to go with the conversation was more his lane than Inferno’s. This was about to be a battle of wits. “Trap, we’ve known each other for a little minute now, so we ain’t gotta dance around what is and what ain’t. Whether it’s a little raw or not, the project is still dope. Everybody in this shitty strip club knows it. In a minute, everybody on the streets are going to know it too. My guy reached out to you out of respect to offer you an opportunity to be a part of what’s about to happen, but for the sake of transparency, you need to know that yours isn’t the only label interested in this project.”
“And who says I’m interested?” Trap asked.
“You did, the moment you agreed to take this meeting,” Finesse said confidently. “You’re a man who can smell an opportunity from a mile away, which is why you didn’t tell Inferno to fuck off when he reached out. I haven’t insulted your intelligence, so you need to put some respect on mine.”
“And you need to take some of that bass out of your voice, before you turn this into something you don’t want it to be,” Moochie threatened. No one had even noticed that she had removed Keisha from her lap and was glaring at Finesse and Inferno. Moochie had a short fuse, and putting in work was one of her favorite pastimes.
“Take it easy, Moochie. The man is just speaking his mind.” Things were starting to get a little choppy, and he knew how Moochie could get. “Let’s everybody take a beat and have a drink. Whatever happened to the bottles ol ’boy claimed he was sending over?”
On cue, Promise appeared. Though she had gotten walking in the heels down to a science, doing so while carrying a heavy tray full of bottles proved to be a different kind of struggle. Crossing the room had been like walking the Green Mile. A few times, she felt her ankles trying to give out but held her balance. To get to the private table, she had to cut between the DJ booth and the coat room. It was a straight shot with her only obstacle being the strip of moldy old carpet that had probably been there since Larry took ownership. She cleared one foot with no problem but had to adjust for the weight of the bottle tray when she planted the other, and that’s when things went wrong. Her ankle buckled, and she felt the buckets begin to slide to one side of the tray. Instead of trying to save herself from falling, she tried to protect the bottles from breaking, which threw her even further off balance. That split-second decision she’d made to put Larry’s bottom line before her own personal safety would cost her. Her eyes snapped shut as she fell, waiting to hear the bottles crash to the ground, which would surely be followed by Larry bouncing her out on her ass. She was prepared for the worst, but not for what would happen next.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There was no embarrassing crash, only a few loose cubes of ice bouncing from the bucket and landing harmlessly on the floor. Promise found herself swathed in the shadow of a man she was sure hadn’t been there when she’d started her spill. When she opened her eyes, she spied five slender fingers balancing the tray that she had nearly dropped. She followed the trail from the hand to the wrist and eventually up an arm covered in soft, black fur. Its counterpart was snaked around her waist, holding her suspended like a ballerina mid-move. She didn’t dare try and turn to see who had saved her from a second embarrassing moment until she was sure that she wouldn’t spill onto the floor. Once the danger of falling had passed, Promise was gently released to stand on her own. When she turned around to thank her savior, she found herself staring at a man who looked like an angel that had lost his footing and fallen from heaven.
Calling him an angel might’ve been a stretch, but he was a beautiful man. His skin was of a pecan color, and there was a cute dimple carved into his right cheek that deepened when his rosebud lips curved into what may or may not have been a smirk. It wasn’t a smile. He showed just enough of his teeth to let her know that he hadn’t judged her for her clumsiness. Beneath his fur coat, he wore a baggy, tattered sweater that looked like it had come from the thrift store but was really a $1,200 top. Promise knew this because she and Mouse had seen a fashion designer wearing it on TV, so they googled the piece and couldn’t believe how much they were trying to charge for the rags. Atop his head was a rolling mop of rich, black hair that sat high at the top and lightly tapered on the sides. With no facial hair to speak of, he looked like a boy, but the print against his leg through the tight black leather pants said that he was all man. Maybe too much man. Against her better judgment, Promise spared a look into his eyes. That was the cold water splashed on her face that woke her up. On the surface, he was a beautiful man, but his eyes were dark and cruel. It was his eyes which told the story of what he really was, and it was no angel.
“You think you got it from here, lil mama?” the man in the fur coat asked.
“Yeah, tripped over this stupid carpet.” Promise jabbed her heel at the moldy hump.
The man in the fur looked down at the dirty carpet they were standing on and twisted his lips slightly. “Yeah, this carpet can be detrimental to your health. So can everything else in this place, if we’re being honest about it.” He took in the establishment and its dated decor. When he was done with his inspection, his gaze drifted back to Promise. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Has Larry finally decided to step up his quality of life, or you just passing through?”
“I . . . uh . . .” Promise fumbled. “I need to get these bottles to the table.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. There was something about the way the man in the fur coat was looking at her that made her uneasy.
“It seems we’ve both got business at this table, but by all means . . . you first,” he half-bowed and motioned for Promise to go in ahead of him.
Not really sure what to make of what was going on, Promise entered the private section and began going about her job of getting drinks into everyone’s hands. As she was popping the corks on the bottles, she couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air. Promise had thought the man with the fur coat was a member of Inferno’s party, but it became obvious that he wasn’t from the confused looks everyone was sending his way. The man with the fur didn’t speak. He just stood, letting his eyes silently assess all parties gathered. Promise wasn’t sure what was lingering between the groups, but she knew she wanted no part of whatever was about to transpire. She did her best to get the bottles opened and the glasses filled, so she could get out of that nest of vipers before they started biting each other.
“Bro, you lost or something? This is a private party,” Moochie spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She hadn’t left her seat but slid forward to better position herself if she had to spring into action.
“No, love. I’m just a shepherd looking for one of my flock that has gone astray,” the man in the fur coat said. He looked to Donna, who was trying her best not to make eye contact with him.
This time, Moochie did stand, and when she did, her full height was a few hairs taller than the man in the fur coat. When she spoke, her tone left no room for misinterpretation as to what she meant. “I don’t know about no sheep. You won’t find nothing but wolves over here.”
The man in the fur looked at Moochie, cocking his head to one side, then the other, while he stared at her as if she was an alien and he was trying to guess what planet she was from. After a time, he smiled, hands clasped in front of him at his waist and taking a confident stance. “Let me guess? You’re the problem of the group, huh? They let you jump off the boat to see how deep the water is? I can respect a stand-up bitch.” He gave a mock salute. “Honestly, big bones, I ain’t got the time or brain cells to entertain you. I’ll take what’s mine and be out of your way so you all can get back to your night.” He looked to Donna, who was nestled deeper between Trap’s legs. “Baby, you really gonna make me say it?”
“Christian, please don’t start.” Donna put a name to the face.
“Donna, you ain’t in no position to make demands or requests. That pretty face of yours still being intact after you call yourself putting shit in my game is the one and only blessing you’ll get tonight.” Christian was to remain a gentleman about it, but Donna was testing his patience. “Now you sitting up in here like Queen Shit and trying to pull me out of my character, but we both know I’m too playa for that. However, before I let you piss on my head and try to convince me that it’s raining, I’ll knock you off that throne I put you on. Let’s go.” He reached for her, but Trap deflected his hand.
“You need to chill, homie. Whatever you’re tripping on ain’t that serious,” Trap said. It wasn’t that deep for him. Dude could’ve done whatever he needed to with the girl, but he had to do it away from Trap. Donna wasn’t his girl, but she was in his company. To allow her to be touched would be a slight to him. At least, in his mind. So, against his better judgment, Trap stuck his nose somewhere it didn’t belong.
Christian looked at Trap with deadly intent in his eyes. “Friend, we don’t know each other, so I’m not gonna take you touching me personally. I see your angle. This bitch is entertaining you. Got you all turned on with the notion of getting between them legs and seeing what that pussy do. Naturally, there’s some part of you that feels the urge to protect her. At least, until you get to the pussy.” He went on as if he was a profiler, breaking Trap down. “I get it because I’d probably feel the same if the shoe was on the other foot. Only problem with that is, you got no clue what my gripe or my right to this whore is. From one gangster to another, please stay out of this.”
