Chapter Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Eight
“Is this blindfold really necessary?”
Jamilah tugged at the bandanna Rashad had secured before leading her to the new door that now created an inner pathway for the adjoining businesses.
Renovating the building, inside and out, had been happening since February.
Now, in May, it was near completion. For the past three weeks, except for the construction crew, Behind Bars had been off-limits.
Today Rashad couldn’t wait to give Jamilah the big reveal.
“Keep walking,” he instructed, while holding her hand. “Now turn. Over here. A few more steps. Okay, stop.”
He stepped behind her and untied the bandanna. Jamilah opened her eyes. One hand covered a mouth now wide with amazement. Rashad stood silent, beaming as she did a three-sixty turn.
She threw her arms around Rashad. “This is incredible!”
“No, baby,” he said, returning her hug. “This is hip-hop.”
“When you said the walls would be black I didn’t get it, but…”
“That graffiti is popping, isn’t it? And wait until dark, when the black lights hit that fluorescent paint. Patrons will be transported to Compton, or Inglewood, or Queens, or the Bronx.”
“I don’t feel like I’m in Kansas City, that’s for sure. And what’s that say?” Jamilah read the oversize painted banner. “Higher Infinite Power Healing Our People. Very creative. Did you make that up?”
“I can’t take credit. That belongs to Professor Griff, back when he was with Public Enemy.
Most who enjoy the genre now don’t know about its uplifting, conscious beginnings.
Back then, there was a message in the music, one that inspired and empowered.
That’s why I rock with Kendrick, and creatives like him.
His is the highest profile of any artist bringing that original spirit back. ”
Jamilah admired the rest of the decor, a blend of modern, rugged, and street.
Exposed brick complemented the original wood found beneath layers of dirt and grime, and years of neglect.
Different style tables hosted mismatched chairs.
A long bench occupied one wall. An equally long bar filled the other.
At various intervals, the walls held blank spaces.
“What goes there?” Jamilah asked.
“Masterpieces from local artists that I don’t know yet.”
Rashad checked his watch. “We’ve got to hurry this up. The fellas land in just over an hour.”
Jamilah appreciated the plain but superclean bathroom. She was jealous of his kitchen. Leon’s game room looked like something out of NASA. She imagined gamers going in there and staying for days.
They walked back through the adjoining door and into Side Chic’k. “We should be back around six-ish depending on traffic. Are you sure you don’t mind us taking over your spot?”
“Not at all. Your gas isn’t on yet, and we’re closed today. Plus, I can’t wait to meet these friends you’ve talked so much about. They’re like characters in a movie.”
With a kiss good-bye, Rashad hit the road.
Heading to the airport felt surreal. He couldn’t count the times he’d imagined hanging out in this new city with his old crew.
He was equal parts nervous and excited. On his word, these friends had agreed to pull up their lives and move to Kansas City.
He’d told them it would be more than worth it, that in this smaller, less competitive market, they all could get paid.
Rashad hoped his crystal ball was accurate and that he hadn’t lied.
Rashad parked the roomy Kia Telluride he’d rented in the cell phone lot.
His fingers tapped out a melody on the steering wheel as he waited for the text from Juke that they’d landed.
Moments later, just after Tupac told women to keep their head up and right before Biggie realized it was all a dream, two words flashed across his cell phone screen.
We here.
Rashad smiled. Got your luggage?
Just landed.
Hit me up when you get your bags.
Ur supposed to already be at the carousel holding a sign with our names. Wearing a limo hat and shit.
STFU!
Ten minutes later, Rashad pulled up to the curb where five knuckleheads had everyone’s attention just by being themselves.
His heart swelled, and if he allowed himself to be an emotional kind of guy he might have even gotten misty-eyed.
Except for Antonio, who he’d met in prison, these men had known him since he rode a Big Wheel and had left their lives and comfort zones to help him realize a dream.
He thought back to the thousands of hours spent doing just that, dreaming, envisioning how their lives would look one day.
In the early days, most of those fantasies ended up with them somewhere on stage.
Wearing big chains and rocking the mic in front of thousands.
A bunch of scantily clad ladies clamoring to claim even a few seconds of their time.
The next N.W.A., taking over the world. For Rashad that dream had contracted and expanded, shifted and morphed into various versions of itself.
It had been redefined to what would happen next month with a soft opening.
Still built around a mic. Still rocking a stage. Same…but different.
“Damn, man. You got us out in the middle of nowhere!”
“Bro, you went country when country wasn’t cool.”
“Nah, Eight Track, Shaboozey made that shit cool again.”
Shouts and hugs. Disses and laughter. Six grown men, one who shopped in the big-and-tall store, piling into the SUV.
The space was tight. He could have arranged a rideshare with two cars.
But these were friends who at one time had split hamburgers and tacos and four hot dogs five ways.
Moving separately would have changed the dynamic and made the experience less rich and memorable.
“We’re hungry, dog,” Antonio said. “Take us to your restaurant so we can cook something.”
“Great idea. Consider it an unofficial audition for a job in my kitchen. You probably need to sharpen your skills.”
“Man, my skills are sharper than a blade that just kissed a whetstone.”
“Speaking of lips,” Sky Walka segued, “how’s the female population around these parts?”
“How would Ra know?” PhD asked. “He’s too ugly to catch one.”
“He’s got a shorty,” Juke said. “Hasn’t said that much about her, but I peeped that puppy dog look when you were back in Cali and got a text.”
Rashad blew him off. “Don’t believe what’s been created in Juke’s imagination. A puppy dog look has never graced this face.”
The chatter continued nonstop until Rashad pulled up to Side Chic’k when suddenly, all at once, the car went quiet.
“Rashad, you shouldn’t have,” Antonio murmured. “You didn’t have to bring me a welcome gift.”
“Man, what are you…”
The sentence died on his lips as the reason for the sudden silence walked toward his car. Blonde-tinted hair. Pretty face. Enticing breasts threatening to spill over. And a smile that sent Rashad’s spidey senses straight to the moon.
“Fuck.”
“Who is that?” Juke asked, with obvious interest.
“Bad news. Come on, y’all.”
Four car doors opened. Rashad walked with purpose toward the restaurant’s entrance. Various comments sounded behind him. A hand pulled his arm.
“Rashad!”
He took a breath, determined to stay calm and shake DeeDee the Stalker. “We’re closed.”
Her voice turned flirty. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“I’ll open for you, mami,” Antonio drawled.
“Rashad, can we talk? I’ve been trying for months, and you keep ignoring me.”
“That should tell you something.”
He watched as Jamilah came down the hallway, stopping short when she took in the scene. He shook off her arm.
“I think one of my friends is trying to get your attention.”
The Stalker followed his line of sight and saw Jamilah.
“Why are you acting like you don’t know me, like we haven’t been together? I knew you were special, going places, and that I was supposed to be your girl.”
Rashad turned then, looked her straight in the eye. “Is that why the last words out of your mouth were about money?”
“Why not?” DeeDee pouted. “Men like you always have it like that.”
“Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it. You’re not my girl. Go. Away.” He entered the shop. DeeDee tried to follow. “I told you we’re closed. Now, back up.”
“You’re not going to be able to forget me this easily,” she yelled through the glass.
Livid, Rashad opened the door up just enough to tell his homeboys, “Follow that pathway and meet me around back.”
“Should we call the police?” Jamilah asked, clearly vexed. “She was trespassing.”
“Technically, she was on the sidewalk. Public property.”
“How did she even know we’d be here?”
Rashad shook his head. “Bad karma is all I can think. In another lifetime, I must have really fucked up.”
Rashad listened as his friends joked about her in the dining room. Wasn’t a damn thing funny, but they didn’t know that. He decided to ignore their ignorance and shift their attention.
“Fellas,” he said, pulling Jamilah out of the kitchen and wrapping an arm around her waist, “this is my lady, Jamilah. Jamilah, this is family.”
Very quickly, the incident with DeeDee the Stalker was forgotten as chicken fried, music blared, and everyone caught up on each other’s lives.
Rashad basked in watching Jamilah with these friends who were like brothers.
More than once, he saw her and Juke talking and laughing.
God only knew what lies that boy told. They plied Jamilah with stories about Rashad’s boyhood and life in the Jungle.
They were appropriately impressed when he walked them next door.
“Let’s test the sound system,” Juke suggested.
“It’s not hooked up yet,” Rashad said.
“Damn, cuz. That’s the first thing that should have happened. Even before you opened a can of paint!”
Rashad hadn’t intended to entertain his friends at Side Chic’k, but before they knew it, three hours had gone by.
He was tired and they opened tomorrow. With a yawn, he suggested they get the place cleaned up so he could drop them off at the hotel.
He was in the kitchen when Juke came around the corner, no joke in his expression.
“Police are headed this way,” he said, his voice low and trepidatious.
“Probably not,” Rashad answered. “They patrol the area. It’s all good.”
“They’re at your door,” he explained.
Rashad grabbed a towel to dry his hands and followed Juke into the dining area. Sure enough, two officers stood just beyond the entrance looking their way.
He quelled the familiar angst that arose from being allergic to law enforcement. Gathering himself, he opened the door and calmly asked, “Officers, may I help you?”
“We’re looking for Rashad White,” the taller of the two said, as the shorter one looked beyond him to the other men inside.
Rashad’s heartbeat quickened, though his voice remained casual. “That’s me.”
“Rashad White,” the officer began, pulling out cuffs, “you’re under arrest.”
Commotion broke out behind him. Jamilah rushed to the door. “What is this about?” she demanded.
“Ma’am, stand back or you’ll be arrested for obstruction.”
She stood her ground, eyed his badge. “Officer Henley, is it? This is a mistake.”
“What’s the charge?” Juke yelled out.
“Assault. Let’s go.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” Rashad told Jamilah. “Call Tyson,” he yelled to Juke. As they led him to the police car, he looked across the street and saw DeeDee, disheveled and with a tear-stained face, smirking in the shadows.