King's Disease (a Nas Story)

THREE

Cormega | Date Unknown

"See, Nas was a smart nigga. Always has been. Always will be."

I said to Nasir's baby girl as she jotted down what I was saying on her notepad. She looked just like that nigga. It was mind blowing just sitting in front of her. The same intelligence Nasir had was staring right back at me.

It was eery as fuck.

And here, I thought Des was more Nas than anything.

"Riya gave him some work at the Indian joint, busting tables and shit. But he would stack that money up to rent three hours at the studio in Manhattan. We'd hop the meter and take the train from Queensbridge to record tapes." If I remembered correctly. I'm sure my history wasn't that far off.

"Now, Will on the other hand, he was helping a mom and pop record store, stocking shelves and crates. He was making more money than Nas. But little did they know, I was making more money than both of them niggas combined." I said with that devilish grin that Bridge's father couldn't stand since we were kids.

"I was selling dope in Harlem, but the Harlem niggas didn't want a Queens nigga like me running through their shit. So, one of the Harlem niggas that was working for this man named Rome put me on with a nigga named Preme."

"Rome being your grandfather, of course. You can keep that off the record." I said in a low tone that I'm pretty sure the microphone above my head had picked up.

I looked at Bridge with a deep apology hidden behind my gaze and sighed.

"Once Preme put me on, I introduced him to Nas."

Nasir | January 1987

"Who this little nigga you got in my stash house?"

I don't think my head was on straight as it should've been. My reaction was so delayed that I just turned my neck and froze on the tall man in front of me.

Everyone in Queens knew who he was. His hair was cut precisely and brushed into shiny ripples along his scalp. His gray sable complemented his white Adidas track suit with his matching shell toes.

Whomever was in the kitchen cooking the rocks were blasting Schoolly D's P.S.K. record from down the hall.

"This is my nigga, Nas. He's good people." Mega vouched. Supreme looked me up and down, scoping me out and shit. Maybe he had x-ray vision that would spot the bitch in me, but if he was looking for anything of that—he wouldn't find shit.

Riya treated me like family at the spot, don't get me wrong. But I needed more money and fast. Studio sessions won't pay for themselves and I have to keep the lights on. It's the least I can do since I dropped out.

"Is that right?" Supreme smiled at how straightened up Mega had become the moment he entered the crack house. Three of Supreme's men kept guard by the front door windows to look out for one time.

"Your whole name Nasir like in the Holy Quran?" Supreme asked as he slowly stepped around the empty living room.

"Yeah." I answered.

"That's dope. Your parents know their history." Supreme said as he reached into his beeping pocket to pull out a pager.

"One second." He said to both Mega and I as he proceeded to make way to where the landline was. He punched the numbers in a hurry and stood there with the phone pressed against his studded ear.

"Rome, what's the word, God?" Supreme exasperated over the line.

"Ain't shit, man. Just checking on the investment." He said in code. "Everything's good. How's the family?"