The Need to Know

Chapter 1

It was written on the wall in lipstick. Bold strokes were used to get the letters large and prominent.

In chalky red script, the word asshole was painted on the wall of my living room.

I should’ve been offended, sure, but I had to admit, the red lettering gave color to the otherwise dull white walls.

After checking every room in my condo and coming up empty, I came and just stood staring at the wall, marveling at the intruder’s handiwork.

It was a quarter after seven, and I’d missed my early morning workout because I had a meeting with my father in an hour. Whoever had done this must’ve been in and out, because everything else was intact outside of their crude memo.

Some people—my mother—liked to complain that I lacked taste or style, but really, I admired the minimalist and clean aura white presented.

Nearly all my shit was white. The walls—formerly, my blinds, the marble coffee table, my entertainment center, and my shag rug. Every inch of the room was crisp and white, outside of my gray sofa and hardwood floor.

As a gag, I should’ve hung an empty frame around the graffiti and made it art. But I wasn’t an asshole. At least, I tried not to be.

“You just let this happen, huh?” I asked, loud enough to where I knew she heard me.

I drew my gaze away from the vandalism, looking for her. The search wasn’t long before I found her. There, in my dining room across from me, under the table, she was laying comfortably.

Gesturing a hand toward the lipstick marring my wall, I said, “Well?”

Sadé opened her mouth wide as she yawned. She wasn’t fussing with me. She lazily looked elsewhere, paying me no further mind. If that tuxedo cat was gonna do anything, she was gonna remain unbothered.

I wasn’t even mad. It would be a bitch getting someone in my condo to paint over the stain if it wouldn’t just wipe off, but I wasn’t stressing the break-in.

My condo was located on the tenth floor of The Millennial. This was no easy feat, no, someone must have finagled their way in with a key or picked the lock. A glance at my front door found it securely closed.

Patting myself down, I found all parts unharmed. Whoever had broken in just wanted to send a petty message.

I got it.

I ran through a quick list of women I’d encountered within the past few weeks, sifting through memorized faces to pinpoint who I’d had a falling out with, who would’ve been pissed enough at me to fuck up my wall. With my track record, the list could go on for a while.

One could say I had a slight problem with women.

I chased, I succeeded, and I left. Relationships and commitment weren’t my interest. I fucked.

A lot. And sometimes, they got sprung off the pipe.

I wasn’t a bad guy, either. Good company and great dick were a deadly combo to possess, because more often than not, a meaningless hookup turned into someone—them—catching feelings and getting pissy with me.

Did I lie? Sometimes, when necessary, but I always kept it a hundred during my approach. To avoid situations where my shit got wrecked. I had a nice condo in uptown Belmont, Georgia. I drove a nice-ass truck. And I was otherwise a healthy person. I didn’t need this level of unhinged in my life.

Sadé was lounging underneath the dining room table, unmoved at what had taken place.

“See, this is why I should’ve gotten a damn dog. I rescue you, and this is how you repay me?” I remarked as I walked by her to go into the kitchen to grab something to clean the wall with.

She ignored me. Of course.

I grabbed some cleanser and was quick to salvage my wall. My cell phone went off just as I finished. A look at the contact flashing across my screen let me know my boy, Cesar James, was calling.

I put in my earbuds as I answered the phone and went over to my pull-up bar above my guest bedroom door. “What up?”

“Man, you know,” Cesar responded. “You just gettin’ up?”

“A little behind, but yeah.” I pulled my chin above the bar and lowered myself back down as I crossed my ankles. On a good day, I could do a set of a fifty. “Woke up to a little present on my living room wall.”

“What?”

“Someone broke in and wrote ‘asshole’ on it in some lipstick.”

Cesar snickered. “No tellin’ who that could be.”

I chuckled. “Fuck you.”

“Still, could’ve been worse. Could’ve been your furniture, equipment, or you.”

I blew out a breath and nearly shivered. “Don’t put that thought in my head.”

“Listen, I may be late gettin’ to the gym today if you wanna link around noon.”

“What’s up?”

“Uh, Gush needed help with something.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, y’all talking again?”

“I mean… We ran into each other the other week. She just needed some stuff moved around her crib, that’s all.”

Clicking my tongue, I turned and glared at my phone where it lay on my coffee table. “Man, you been fuckin’ Gusher again.”

Cesar released his unique laugh, a cross between a snort and a cackle. “Chill, chill, it ain’t even like all’at.”

Cesar was just like me, but when it came to Gusher, she was the closest I’d seen to him having a steady fling. It was casual, but it wasn’t usually like him to hit the block more than once.

“You just make sure yo’ ass show up. I’m about to hop in the shower in a few. I got a meeting with Pops, and there’s only one way that needs to go.”

“Oh, you think it’s Chaining Day?” Cesar quipped.

Blowing out a breath, I lifted myself up. “That’s the only thing I need Friday.”

“Sheesh. I don’t know why he won’t just give you the keys to the kingdom. You’ve earned it.”

I squeezed my bar in my palms, damn near snapping it from the wall with my irritation. “I fucking made BLVCKJVCK.”

After my tenth pull-up, I came down on the floor and walked it off. BLVCKJVCK was the nightclub my father owned, where I mostly ran it as co-manager to his senior manager, and Cesar was our promoter, and partial co-manager. My father had the place in name, but BLVCKJVCK was all me, and Cesar.

Come Friday, July first, I’d be turning twenty-eight, and there was nothing I wanted more than for my pops to gift me ownership of BLVCKJVCK.

He owned two other clubs, one in LA, and another down in Miami, both lucrative ventures for him to keep him afloat.

BLVCKJVCK was located over thirty minutes away in Atlanta, the hub for young Black entertainment.

His club out in LA, Escape, did great business, but BLVCKJVCK was probably his most popular project—because of me.

A few years ago in hip-hop, when New York rappers and Atlanta rappers were beefing, the whole ATL had become a no-fly zone for anyone affiliated with the state, and no club would entertain a New York rapper.

Cease and I’d taken a risk, wanting to book our favorite New York emcee, and it wasn’t that we were disloyal, but we both agreed the feud was stupid.

Against warnings from my father, we booked an act, Cesar promoted the hell out of the event, resulting in a packed club. Even if folks were loyal to the city, the nosiest of people still came out to see if shit would pop off.

When word got out to the local rappers, they came through BLVCKJVCK.

Crews ran deep into the club, but no weapon was pulled.

Instead, the music was cut and a cypher emerged on stage, and the beef was ended by the end of the night.

It was a great moment for hip-hop, but a historic moment for us.

Shit like that put us on the map. It was then that I knew to always trust my gut, and to always consult Cesar, and vice versa.

If you came through Atlanta you had to hit up BLVCKJVCK.

We had the best drinks, the best entertainers stopping by and performing, and all the who’s who of Atlanta and Georgia could often be seen making appearances.

I had so many candid shots standing with the fucking Migos, some used to joke I was the fourth one.

I wasn’t even thirty, but I was already king. Or, I would be, if Pops would just ease up off the goddamn throne.

“Well, I don’t know about no owner positions, but I’m still wrapping the present for your birthday as we speak,” Cesar teased. “How you like Dymonds?”

Outside of a Rolex I’d received as a college graduation present from my pops, I didn’t get caught up in the flashy flare of jewelry too much. But I appreciated the effort from my boy. “Ice me out, king.”

Cesar chuckled. “Heard you.”

A glance at the clock on the wall in my dining room told me I had to go. “Listen, I’ll hit you later to tell you how things go. Make sure your ass is at the gym.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cesar groaned before hanging up.

I put my cell on the charger and hopped in the shower.

It wasn’t often my father invited me out to eat.

I grew up here in Belmont. My parents’ crib was on the east side and I still got invited over for dinner frequently.

To be asked out, just one-on-one with my pops, meant something.

I just hoped it meant what I wanted: power.

After my shower I got dressed and made sure Sadé had food and water in her bowls, as well as treats in her treat dish. She was only four years old, and she had me wrapped around her paw since day one.

Down in the lobby I hit the concierge desk where security and management were.

I slapped the counter on my way by. “Ay, Deuce, do me a solid and change the lock on my door? Woke up to new ‘artwork’ on my wall.”

Deuce leaned back in his plush chair, grinning at me. “Better art than ya nuts.”

I cracked a smile. “Could be worse.”

Deuce was security and maintenance for the property, a jack of all trades.

He also witnessed quite a few instances where women tried to come to my spot and cuss me out.

I guessed it was my fault, sometimes when I handed out VIP passes to the club paired with a smile, some women acted like I was handing out passes to my heart. Never that.

I got into my ride, turned on the radio, and hit the road for the place Pops had us meeting at.