God Don't Like Haters (11 page)

My attention suddenly went
to the other side of the club—and I realized my mistake. This DJ
booth was upraised, allowing me to see everyone in every corner;
and that meant everyone could see 
me
 too. On the other side of
the club was the bouncer whose fingers I nearly broke pointing me
out with his good hand to his security buddies. The black shirts
started moving toward me.

So I started moving too.

I darted back down the steps, moving toward
a rear exit I hoped was accessible. I had to push between a lesbian
couple feeling each other up in the dark and one of them shoved me
back—something about me and females today—and I stumbled into a set
of rear doors, pushed one open and I was suddenly outside.

I started heading west on 24th Street. I
should have felt better now that I had finally cooled down,
breathing in the 30-degree night air of New York City. But I didn't
feel better. I felt even more on edge.

Because someone was following me.

CHAPTER 18

Kirbie Amor Capelton

I couldn't remember the last time I'd been in a
Kansas City club where I wasn't on stage performing or selling
pills. I had never come to just have a good time. And tonight was
no different. I was here to kill.

I had my .380 tucked in my waist. It was
covered up by my light purple hoodie. The hood was scrunched over
my head because I had the drawstrings pulled tight. I thought I was
being inconspicuous. But a guy I bumped into on the dance floor
caught my face in the flickering flashes of the strobe lights. I
recognized him too. Evan Woodman. He had bought pills from me
before. We were Site friends too.

"Kirbie?" He smiled. "Wussup? You look like a
killer."

"Hey." I was looking everywhere but at
him.

"I need to buy three pills."

"I don't have any on me. Sorry."

"What are you doing here? Are you
performing?"

"No," I said curtly.

"Wanna dance?"

"Maybe next time."

"Who are you looking for?"

"Nobody. Excuse me."

I was starting to walk off when I saw the
flash of light. I turned just in time for my face to be captured in
Evan's camera pic.

He smiled at the horror in my expression.
"It turned out good,” he said, “don't worry. Wanna see?"

"Delete it," I ordered.

"It's a good pic. Look at it."

"I said delete it! I don't want that shit
going on the internet. I don't want everybody to know I was
here."

"I won't post it then," he said.

Without even thinking, I pulled my .380 out
and pointed it at his dick. "Give me the goddamn phone!" I
snapped.

He froze, I snatched the cell and stuffed it
in the front pouch of my hoodie and made my way through the crowd.
I turned back to see if he was following but he was gone.

A phone started ringing. I didn't know if it
was mine or Evan's because the music was so loud. I found a wall
near the men's bathroom to rest against, as I searched to see which
phone was ringing. It was mines going off.

"Hello?"

"Where'd you go?" Archie asked me.

"To sell some pills," I lied.

"What pills? The ones that got stolen?
Because the pills that we had left our sitting in front of me on
the kitchen table."

I sighed and came clean. "I'm getting our
stolen pills back, Archie."

"From where?! What are you up to,
Kirbie?"

"Don't worry, I'm alright."

"I'm taking your gun, that's it!" he
declared. "I'm hiding that muthafucka. You're gonna get yourself
locked up again. You don't always have to be the bad girl. Learn
how to take a loss!"

"I'm done taking losses. I've taken losses my
whole life."

"Are you at a club? Why do I hear music?"

"You're not here. So why does it matter?"

"What's that mean? You calling me soft? No,
Kirbie, I'm being smart. I know how to pick my battles."

While on the phone, I had been watching who
came in and out of the men's restroom. And to my excitement, I saw
the man I was looking for heading inside! It was the muthafucka
with the gold teeth! I was positive! He staggered against the wall
across from me, looked me directly in the face but didn't recognize
me because he was so drunk. He made his way inside the bathroom
sluggishly.

Archie was still whining in my ear. "Come
home, Kirbie. We'll bounce back. We always do. Getting robbed is
part of the game—"

I hung up on Archie and went in the bathroom
after my victim.

CHAPTER 19

La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor

I crossed to the other side of 24th Street. Whoever
was following me crossed too.

The adrenaline rush I was feeling now was of
the same metabolic intensity as my near-death experience behind
prison walls. When I first entered the state institution I was
treated less than human by other inmates because I had pled guilty
to "killing a queen." The whole first and second week I was
taunted: "Money won't do shit for you in here, Mr. Taylor!" "Wait
till I get my hands on you, I love redbone niggas!" "I'ma make you
eat my Jazzmine poster and then throw you off the top tier like you
did her!"

A “hit” was put on me. I was walking back
from laundry by myself. I felt a presence in the hallway with me,
but I didn't turn around because I wanted to use the element of
surprise. I turned the corner, then immediately flattened my back
against the wall. As soon as the inmate turned the corner after me,
I grabbed him and pulled him into me in a way that put his back
against my chest. My hands came up, I gripped his head and I
twisted it in a snapping motion. He fell to the ground. I realized
I hadn't killed him when his eyes blinked up at me. I had failed,
didn't yank his head hard enough.

But now, as I passed through a column of
steam rising out of the storm drain on 24th Street, I felt the
strength in my bones to separate a man's head from his shoulders in
one extraordinary pull. I ducked inside the open gate of a
fenced-in alleyway and flattened my back against the brick wall. I
quickly took my watch off and stuffed it in my pocket.

I wanted no interferences.

I listened for footsteps and waited. Then
the person who'd been following me came around the corner—directly
into my lethal arms.

"No!" she screamed.

It didn't register that it was a woman's
scream until I had her head in a deathlock, with one hand
positioned perfectly at the rear of her skull and the other planted
firmly under her jowls/chin. I wanted to snap her neck still—to
complete what I had failed at in prison, to release all the pent up
aggression surrounding my wife's death—but the smell of this
wonderful female hair rustling in my face was too disarming.

I let the woman go and gave her a hard push.
She fell into a passenger van clumsily.

"Why are you following—?" I paused. I was
staring at Sundi Ashworth.

"Are you gonna help me up?" she asked.

I extended my hand. She grabbed it and I
pulled her to her feet.

"Where'd you come from?" I said.

"I was in the club with you. I saw you
talking to DJ East and I was coming over to speak but you left in a
hurry."

"What were you doing in the club in the first
place? You're a party girl now?"

"No, I told you I work for
Mount Eliyah ENT as an A&R. I was looking for talent, seeing
what's currently in rotation at the clubs. I would have been at
home going through submissions but 
somebody
 stole all of
them."

"You can have the submissions back."

"I don't want 'em. Something tells me you
already went through them. And if you didn't find any worthwhile
material then that means there's nothing to be found."

A compliment. That was a compliment she just
gave me.

Despite the bitter cold, Sundi looked warm
and vibrant in a winter white normcore overcoat and denim jeans
that frayed over sky blue high heels. Her hair was big and springy,
and one isolated spring of hair was dangling between her beautiful
brown eyes.

I was enjoying looking at her.

"Why did you follow me all the way down 24th
Street?" I asked.

"Because I realized I made a mistake."

"What kind of mistake?"

"Working for Eliyah Golomb.
When I saw you in the club in action just now, being La'Renz
Taylor, I started thinking about all we've been through. I was
scared back then after you got arrested. I received death threats
in my e-mails from people accusing me of breaking up you and
Jazzmine's marriage. I thought I would never be able to work in New
York City again. 
Any
city
 at all. So I took the A&R
job at Mount Eliyah as soon as it was offered to me." She brushed
the spring of hair away, and I actually wanted to put it back. "I
want to work for you again," she said. "I know you still have what
it takes to be just as big as before and I wanna be a part of
it."

"I'm staying in a hotel right now. I haven't
even found office space to do business out of yet."

"You can come live with me. I stay in
Brooklyn."

"Have the death threats stopped?" I asked
her.

"Yes. Once the media got word that I was
working for Eliyah, that sort of washed my slate clean. People
backed off."

"Well if you think the hate was strong then,
you know it's gonna kick right back into high gear when they find
out you work for me again. The hate will be worse."

"I'm not scared anymore," she said with
unbendable pride. "I know you’re innocent of killing Jazzmine, and
I'm gonna stand by you like I should have seven years ago."

"I have a question."

"What is it?" she said.

"May I kiss you, please?"

She smiled and shrugged one shoulder. "Sure,
La'Renz. Why not?"

CHAPTER 20

Kirbie Amor Capelton

I was standing inside the men's bathroom with my gun
at my side. It was just me and my gold teeth robber friend in here.
He had closed himself inside a stall, but he hadn't locked the
door. He thought he was alone. I could open it up and shoot him in
the back of his head right now while he was pissing.

But I at least wanted him to tell me where my
shit was first.

I took a step closer to his stall, but then I
stopped abruptly when he starting singing to himself.

"Hustling just to make a
way/ each and every day I pray, that I make it out
this 
gaaaame!"
he bellowed at the top of his lungs, as he relieved himself.
"I wanna start anew/ God, just show me what to do/ and I promise
I'll 
chaaaange!"

His singing was crude, but
that wasn't why I paused. I was startled that he was singing lyrics
to one of my songs! It was a song called "Can't Hustle Forever"
that was featured on Coras's recently released
mixtape 
Swope Park Gritter Vol.
2
. So I was amazed that this guy knew the
lyrics to my songs 
already
. The mixtape hadn't been out
a month. Did I get robbed by a fan?

He kept singing, as his piss stream began to
wane. He was almost finished, so I didn't have a lot of time to
decide if I should go through with this. I felt like God was giving
me a sign to turn around and get the hell out of this bathroom and
go pursue my dreams. That's what "Can't Hustle Forever" was all
about: leaving the bullshit behind. I could bounce back from losing
those pills, just like Archie and Coras had said. It would take
time and extra energy, but I could do it. I didn't have to kill
this man.

Just like I didn't have to kill Mary Moét
...

About a year ago, I was
faced with a situation that I handled completely wrong. I was just
starting to become a hot artist in Kansas City when it was brought
to my attention that another local singer, Mary Moét, was stealing
production from me as well as my vocal style—and in some cases she
re-sang whole verses of mine word-for-word. Coras tried to calm me
down by saying, "Imitation is the best form of flattery,"
explaining to me that copycatting was part of the music industry.
But I took it personal—especially when I saw that people on her
Site page were accusing 
me 
of stealing
from 
her
.
And although she didn't respond to those accusers, she didn't
correct them either.

One night I followed Mary Moét home from a
show she performed. She was walking up to her apartment building in
a cheap bodysuit and Louboutin redbottom knock-offs, when I called
her name. She turned around. When she recognized me she started to
smile. It went away in a snap when I pointed my 9mm at her. I had a
30-round clip attached, but I only used five.

It wasn't very long before I got
arrested—not because of evidence but because of haters and hearsay.
Archie bonded me out, I paid for my own lawyer, and Coras found me
a private investigator that worked independent of my lawyer to
gather his own valuable background information on witnesses that
claimed they knew I shot Mary Moét. The lack of evidence was the
main thing that led to my acquittal.

To this day, I often wondered if Mary Moet's
last smile was one of respect and admiration or if she'd just been
taunting me.

"I wanna start anew/ God,
just show me what to do!" my robber sang again, snapping me out of
my thoughts. "And I promise I'll 
chaaaange!"