Love, Drugs, & Hip Hop: Season 1 (Book 1)

Love, Drugs, & Hip Hop

Season 1 (Book 1)

Aaron Bebo

Published by Bad Apple Cru, 2016.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

LOVE, DRUGS, & HIP HOP

First edition. December 19, 2016.

Copyright © 2016 Aaron Bebo.

ISBN: 978-1386171492

Written by Aaron Bebo.

Bad Apple Publications

Love, Drugs, & Hip-Hop

Season 1

By

Aaron Bebo

Copyright

Copyright© 2016 Aaron Bebo all rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without prior written consent from both the author, and publisher Bad Apple Publications, except brief quotes used in reviews. This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to depict, portray or represent any particular real person.

All the characters, incidents, and dialogues are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any references or similarities to actual events, entities, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, entities, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author/publisher.

Amazon.com, Kindle, KDP, etc. are registered trademarks of Amazon.com This eBook is not written, published, or endorsed by Amazon.com or its affiliates or any other party mentioned.

Aaron Bebo~ Love, Drugs, & Hip-Hop/Season 1

Published by~ Bad Apple Publications, LLC

Editing by Blurred Lynes

Formatting by Blurred Lynes www.blurredlynes.com

Join our social networks like us on Facebook Bad Apple Publications Follow us on Twitter @badapplecru Visit our website www.badapplepublications.com

Bad Apple Publications, LLC

PO Box 2812

West Palm Beach, FL 33402-2812

Table of Contents

Opening

Prolouge

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

OPENING

LOVE, DRUGS, & HIP-HOP

As I sat and wrote this story. I thought about my growth with what has become known as hip-hop. I remember a time when the art was simply called rap. I watched this art grow from a stretch of poetry into an art that became its’ own. I remember the art was still growing, and the samples were heavy from the era of music that became before it. James Brown, Curtis Mayfield, Chi-Lites, The Manhattans. There were so many different artists that help spawn something so colorful from the spots left on the canvas from other artist.

I listened to the music extensively. Artist like Sugar Hill Gang to Public Enemy, Ultra Magnetic Mc’s, Mc Lyte, Shante’ (Roxanne), Queen Latifah, Big Daddy Kane, N.W.A., Too Short, Rakim (The God Emcee). I watch them all and I dreamed like many kids my age to just see The Fat Boys at a pizza parlor.

I watched this art produce a way for young African Americans to express themselves, and the conditions before them. Eventually the art made millionaires out of some. The torch has been carried and passed on from the ‘Bang Bang Boggie, up jump the boogie’. To the hustler who was still chasing lines from the Reagan era. The emergence of artist like Biggie, Jay-Z, and Nas was born and rap became hip-hop and became a No. 1 hit among American Pop Culture.

I still love hip-hop and I dedicate this book to the art. The music and culture has gotten me through so many different periods in my life. Whether it was a magazine when I was incarcerated, or a song at a party where I was having my first dance. Hip-hop was always there. Surrounding me and making me feel like someone else in the world may know what I’m going through.

Hip-hop saved young urban males and females from certain poverty. The artist was like our own personal news reporters. When Too Short talked about The Ghetto. We knew exactly what he was talking about. These stars lit up the sky for us at park jams. I brushed off my Adidas, Run DMC were proclaiming to be the Kings of Rock! 

The music business has changed over the years, but peoples love for music remains the same. The only difference between the music of today and the music of yesterday is, yesterday it was Peace, Love, and Soul. Today it is Love, Drugs, and Hip-Hop. 

Love, Drugs & Hip-hop

PROLOUGE

Trey fingered the scar on his cheek, as he looked out the screen of his 6 x 9 cell. Bright orange lights surrounded the Island prison. In a few hours he would be leaving to go to Manhattan – US District Court for the Southern District. Today was the day he would find out his fate.

For the last 15 months he had been locked in in a cell block that housed high security inmates. Most the inmates on the cell block with him were drug smugglers, traffickers, mob guys, hitmen, and just like him. They all had cases they earned primetime news coverage. He was a star. A real star. He sold millions of albums, toured the country. He was the greatest rapper alive!

Many would look back and say he blew it all, if he was found guilty. People were already acting like he was guilty. They saw what happened to everyone that went before him. He was the last man whose future hadn’t been decided yet. Dana, Boogs, Bigga, Maze. They were all sent away. Their celebrity status cracked. No longer a headliner, simply a headline.

He couldn’t believe he fumbled this hard in his opening act. He really had become something. He could barely listen to dee-jays talking about him on the radio, or even playing his music. He would be forced to think about all he left on the outside world. His cars, his house, his lifestyle.

In here he was nobody. When he first arrived a few of the guards acknowledged who he was. But that was about it. After his first month on the unit even that slowed. Every once in a while they would walk the new recruits through and one of them may get wide eyed. The other inmates on the unit were just as rich as he was or richer, and the ones who weren’t didn’t care about money, and even less about who he was. There was one inmate he formed a friendship with. A drug kingpin whose younger brother was a fan. At the moment he felt like his only fan.

He always heard fame was fifteen minutes. He hadn’t bothered to keep track with all the expensive watches he owned. He knew when he walked in that courtroom in a few hours, if he was found guilty. The lights would go out on his stage, there would be no cheering for an encore! The crowd would just simply move to the beat of another drum. Right now the radio was still playing the music. When the dee jays talked about his situation they spoke of hope. Over the last 15 months he really started understanding the phrase; ‘Here today, gone tomorrow’.

What seemed like yesterday he was the biggest star in hip-hop. The savior of the genre of music. He wondered if this was God’s way of punishing him for taking his gift for granted. Maybe this was punishment for Tina the only other woman in his life who had loved him like his mother. She was still by his side now giving moral support. After all he put her through.

He couldn’t say exactly where he missed his stop. The ride happened so fast. He couldn’t even remember where he got picked up. All he knew was, he felt like how his grandfather looked. When he couldn’t get high on the heroin. He didn’t know how it felt. But he could remember his grandfather laying on the floor with the shakes begging for the drug. He felt like he was in that same helpless state currently. Screaming for a chance to be famous again. The Geek had been right. Fame was a drug. Once you’ve had a taste. You’d almost sell your soul for another dose.

He wanted to get down on his knees and promise God that if he was set free. He would walk away from it all. Trade his fame and fortune for his freedom. Never touch another cup of Lean. Never write another song. Never step on another stage. Never hold another mic. He couldn’t get down on his knees and make that promise, because music was all he knew. Hip-hop was like his mother, and before all this. He used to love her. 

Chapter One

A Teenage Love

Tina rolled out of bed when she heard her grandmother moving around the house. As she rose, she looked at the clock on the night stand and then at the shape beneath her comforter. Tina stepped out her room into the hallway just as her grandmother was coming out of her bedroom.

Hey, Grandma.

Mrs. Daniels cut her eyes at Tina and grunted before taking the few short steps into the kitchen. Her grandmother knew she had been sneaking Trey into the house at night. Tina stepped quickly behind her.

I think Mrs. Jackie upstairs hit that number she been telling you to play, that four zero five.

Mrs. Daniels turned the water on in the sink and rinsed out her coffee cup. The kitchen was a tight fit. All she had to do was turn and she could reach out to turn the flame on under the kettle. She put the cup in the middle of the cooker, reached up to the cabinet above the stove, and pulled down the Folgers. That was the only brand of coffee she would drink.

Mrs. Daniels had been sipping on the two seeded fruit since the age of five.  Her own grandmother would share cups of the steamy liquid with her like treats when she was a young girl. Mrs. Daniels drank a minimum of four cups a day.

Four zero five. I knew I should’ve put five dollars on it ‘stead of three. Mrs. Daniels said as spooned the instant crystals into her cup.

You hit the number, Grandma. How much do three dollars pay?

Tina was relieved her grandmother had hit the number. She was more than sure her grandmother had heard Trey and her in the wee hours of the morning. Tina had seen the kitchen light come on just as Trey pushed deep causing her to whimper and the head board knocked against the door, the same door that would have opened to the kitchen had her bed not been positioned the way it was.

Tina had dug her nails into his arms and whispered, My grandmother’s in the kitchen.

Trey had looked up at the light creeping through the crack at the top of the door and continued to grind inside her slowly.

Mmm....

Tina couldn’t wait to get back into bed with her baby.

If it came straight that should be thirty-two hundred. I sure hope that young boy got that kinda money.

Grandma, he gonna have the money. He be writing for Mr. Jesse, Keisha’s granddaddy. You know Mr. Jesse, Tina said.

Tina’s grandmother always tried to pretend like she was naïve to anything outside of her favorite shows, Falcon Crest, Dynasty, and whatever was happening at her job at the hospital.

Oh... so you know that boy?

The boy to whom Mrs. Daniels was referring to was a neighborhood kid named Dennis. He lived in the same apartment complex they did, 840 Grand Concourse. Dennis had even been to their apartment a few times. He’d come to drink bottles of E & J brandy with Tina and her sister, Michelle. Dennis often ran to the grocery store behind the apartment building for Mrs. Daniels. Tina was sure her grandmother knew exactly who Dennis was because she wouldn’t pull out a nickel in front of a stranger. Mrs. Daniels had given him money to play the street number on several occasions.

Like most old folks who played the numbers in the neighborhood, she had hopes of getting an extra buck or two without seriously breaking the law. Although the street numbers were illegal, it was a tradition in the neighborhood. The numbers were not frowned on by most of the elders in the community that indulged in the poor man’s hustle. Hitting for the thirty-two hundred had spooked her grandma.

Mr. Jesse always paid out. Tina knew that. So did her grandmother. Mrs. Daniels was implying something else.

You want me to get the money from Dennis for you, Grandma? Tina asked.

Mrs. Daniels lifted the kettle from the fire just as it was about to scream and poured the hot water in her coffee cup.

You think you goin’ see him today? Mrs. Daniels asked.

Tina was feeling braver than she had when she first came into the kitchen and her nerves began to calm since she knew that her grandmother wasn’t going to go crazy about Trey being in her bed. She was pretty sure that her grandmother knew he was there, but Mrs. Daniels didn’t seem inclined to cause a ruckus about it today.

Even though Mrs. Daniels didn’t care for Trey, she did allow him to visit Tina in the house, in her room, as long as it was a decent hour. It was Tina who came up with the idea of pretending to walk him to the door farewell while he waited in her room.

Mrs. Daniels’ always closed her room door by 9 O’clock which was perfect for Tina’s scheme. Tina would never have been able to pull this off had her grandfather still been alive. Hell, Trey probably wouldn’t have been allowed into the house after 9 o’clock at night.

Grandma, give me the ticket and I’ll have the money for you by the time you get home from work.

Mrs. Daniels dipped her left hand into the pocket of the burgundy robe Tina given her for Christmas and pulled out a small, yellow slip. It was the type of memo paper used in offices. She handed the slip to Tina.

Tina looked at the slip. The number 405 was scribbled on it and the letters DEN appeared beneath the number.

If you get the money, I need you to take six fifty to the rent office. If that boy come over here today, see if he’ll run to the grocery store. I got the taste for some cabbage this weekend. And, grab a few other things.

A few other things! That was a joke! Tina cooked most of the meals anyway. She always did the shopping. The mention of ‘that boy’ reminded her that Trey was only a few yards away curled up under her blanket like a baby.

Tina was used to her grandmother referring to anyone younger than herself as ‘boy’ or ‘girl’. It was the way she said it when she referred to Trey that set her teeth on edge. Her grandmother couldn’t stand him and the tone of her voice when she referred to Trey let Tina know it.

Trey, the love of Tina’s life, was tall ‘6 1" with light-brown skin. He had a gorgeous smile, but Tina loved him for his mind. Trey was smart – really smart – and creative. His gift was the written word. Trey wanted to be a songwriter and a rapper. She understood his dream; and recognized his ambition. Other people didn’t understand but Tina did. Trey was going to be the best rapper alive.

Trey stirred in the queen sized bed before his eyes popped open to the darkness of the room. He blinked a few times before the sliver of light from the kitchen allowed him to make out the familiar shadows in the bedroom.

He heard the muffled voices in the kitchen and realized that Mrs. Daniels was awake. It had to be at least 6:30 a.m. on Tuesday morning. He had to meet Boogs around four o’clock to go to a meeting with Fogg, their producer.

One of the A&R’s at the Global Entertainment Group who was handling the Annie Oakley project heard their demo and wanted to meet them. He’d chosen one of Fogg’s beats to be on Annie’s follow up. They were set to meet her for a studio session later that evening.

Trey reached toward the nightstand on the left side of the bed. He felt the pack of Newport’s just as the bed creaked from his movements. He pulled his fingers back quickly thinking again about his early morning craving for nicotine. He would have to wait, at least until after Mrs. Daniels left for work.

Tina wanted him to quit smoking anyway. Maybe I should quit¸ he thought and then stretched his hand out to pick up his Styrofoam cup from the nightstand. he leaned up on one arm and tilted the cup to his lips draining it of its syrupy contents. Then, he laid still trying to hear the conversation going on in the next room.

The lights on the stereo across the room started to blur before his eyes, the sound from the speakers were inaudible, the voices sounded like paper being crumpled in his ears. He drifted away on the Promethazine and codeine mixture.

Did you ever get those boots you were telling me about? Mrs. Daniels asked stirring her coffee.

She was referring to the riding boots Tina had been talking about for the last week. She had first seen the boots in a small shoe shop on Chambers street.  Tina was on her way home from school, the Borough of Manhattan Community College when she saw the boots in the shop window. She couldn’t resist walking into the small shop where she was greeted by the smell of leather and an older white man with snow white hair. The man peered over top of the wire-rimmed glasses with thick lenses that obscured his pupils.  The man approached Tina with a bright smile and extended his right hand which was shaking.

How are you young lady? What can I help you with today?

Hey, I was interested in the boots right there.

Tina pointed to the riding boots in the window with her left hand and took the frail hand the old man was offering with her right.

The old man seemed to stumble forward a few feet gracefully to look at the boots she pointed out. He looked back over his left shoulder at her and glanced at the white Reebok Classics on her feet.

What are you? About a seven in boys? The old man said, as he stepped back and curled his index finger over his shoulder.  Come. I’ll get the boots for you so you can try them on.

She followed the old man protesting weakly, No, I don’t want to buy them now. I was just wondering if my size was available. I really like them but I can’t afford them today.

The clumsily arranged displays mad made it hard for her to maneuver around the shop. She spotted a cute pair of red pair of pumps as she finally stepped into an open aisle. The old man had stopped in the aisle as well.

Have a seat, young lady. How can you know if your size is available if you don’t try on the boot?  He directed Tina to a short stool about three feet wide with a black cushion on top.

Take off your shoes. I will bring back an eight. You see, these boots have a funny arch, ahh, never mind, the old man continued pushing his palms out in front of him at the air, I’ll bring the right boot for you. Just have a seat.

Tina watched him walk away. She set her Jan Sport next to the stool and sat down. She unlaced her tennis shoes and slid her feet out of the comfortable leather of the Classic. She looked down at her feet and wiggled her toes in the fabric of her yellow socks. Tina thought about the day she and Jarod had gone out to Coney Island. They walked through the sand sharing their thoughts.

The old man seemed to appear out of nowhere holding a large box with the top open. He offered her the box with a smile and a nod. Tina took the box, removed one of the boots, and set the box next to her book bag. She examined the boot.

There’s no zipper? She said.

This boot is fixed with an elastic sheet stitched on the inside of the leather around the mid calve area. So you only need to worry if your foot is comfortable.

The leather felt good in her hands.  It was definitely of high quality, not the