' 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗘 𝗦𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗜𝗡 ' › D. SWING

25.

Suge.

Hearin' about the robbery and assault on DeVante had me feelin' uneasy, wonderin' who was responsible. I hadn't seen Kim in a while so I figured she was just upset that I had hit her the other day. I wasn't gonna' bother her, though. Givin' her space seemed to be beneficial for the both of us since she was always up under me, askin' for money like I was her legal guardian or some shit. If you want me to be honest with you, I never had intentions of payin' her any damn thing for gettin' me in with DeVante. One, I give money to no one. And two, she acted like a damn cokehead sometimes. The last thing I was gonna' do is support somebody's bad habit. Shit, I barely wanna' support my own. Fuck I look like havin' to take care of other peoples' shit? Not in this life, my nigga.

By the look of things, she wasn't gettin' the job done anyway. Had I been in with crew already, he wouldn't have even gotten robbed in the first place. Well, lemme not say that because I probably would've fucked around and robbed his ass, too.

But that's besides the point. The point is... I don't know the point. I just know that I had to figure out a way to gain his trust on my own because right now, he probably don't trust nobody. And neither would I if some shit like that happened to me—not that it would. I'm too smart to get robbed and pistol whipped like a lil' bitch.

I had to find a way to get them to join Death Row or at least hang with us. I felt as if my only ticket in was gonna' be Tupac's happy ass, since he was able to be cool with almost anybody. Niggas loved his music and women loved his... whatever-the-fuck-they-be-lookin'-at. I'm sure DeVante wouldn't have an issue makin' a few songs for H-Town, and once I got him in with them, I could easily get him to work with Snoop and Pac.

Manipulative? Definitely. But that's how you needed to be if you wanted things done right. That's how the game goes on the streets, and the same thing goes for the industry. White men play dirty all the time, so I don't take it as me bein' a bad guy or bully. I take it as me bein' a businessman.

I got out of my red 1993 Mazda Rx-7 which was parked outside of MCA records, adjusting my dark gray suit as I navigated through the parkin' lot and headin' toward the entrance of the large buildin', pushin' both of the doors open and walkin' inside, immediately gettin' stares from people who waited in the lobby. Many people heard how I get down when it comes to business, and many of the stories were true while others were exaggerated but I wasn't gonna' confirm or deny anything. I figured I'd just let them fear me and keep my respect. I smirked to myself as they gasped and whispered to each other, walkin' toward the front desk while reachin' into the inner-pocket of my suit jacket, discreetly pullin' out a one-hundred dollar bill and pushin' it across the counter at her, "Here to see Andre Harrell." She was about to protest but her eyes fell upon the money in front of her, quickly glancin' around to make sure nobody was lookin' before retrievin' the crisp bill, foldin' it in half and pushin' between the pad of her bra and her breast.

"Down the hall. Third door to your right", she answered.

I gave her nod and casually began to walk down the long hallway, passin' two offices before I had reached Andre's, overhearin' what seemed to be an argument between him and male artist. I chuckled lowly, decidin' to just wait it out and lean against the wall beside the door frame, eavesdroppin' on the conversion.

"You haven't even finished the album yet you wanna' focus on a girl group whom clearly doesn't have their shit in order. What's more important? Their career or yours? You allowed one of your hoochies to sign a contract under your label and now you wanna' come to me because she stole some music from you? This is why you don't mix business with pleasure, DeVante. Now I have to clean up your mess. Get this album done by December or you're done. I'm serious. And release a real fucking single already, for crying out loud!" Oh, shit. Andre in there talkin' to DeVante like that? I had to teach that nigga how to handle himself in situations like this. He was lettin' Andre say whatever he wanted to. If that was me, he would've been fallin' from the 11th floor of this buildin'. I shook my head, reachin' into my pocket to pull out a cigar and my lighter, wastin' no time to blaze it up, takin' a few pulls and exhalin' the smoke into the hallway as people walked past me with facial expressions of disgust. I ignored them, though. I was way too busy bein' nosy.