Beep beep beep
“Maybe if you talk a lil nicer, we can get it back and a deal,” Al suggested. “You’ll attract more bees with honey than vinegar.”
“Fuck all that.” Logic waved him off.
“So, what we about to do?”
“Go get my fucking phone...the fuck you thought?”
Using Al’s phone, Logic called his little brother and told him to track his phone. Like Al, his brother talked cash money shit and even called their sisters into the room to get in on the fun. After threatening to cut off the WIFI, his siblings stoppedlaughing and tracked his phone to a club in downtown Detroit. Logic was all the way on the other side of town, and the thought of driving thirty minutes to retrieve his property pissed him the fuck off.
“Aye, I fucks with this.” Al changed the subject while removing a pre-rolled blunt from his pocket. “The shit sounds different. Like it’s a new vibe, none of that auto tune shit and the shit you do with your voice crazy as hell.”
“I fucks with it too. After we left Duce house that night, I had him on the phone for like two hours tweaking shit.”
“You’re a fucking perfectionist. It was right the first time.”
“I just want my shit to be A-1.”
“And it is! The fuck. Are you listening to this shit?” Al cut the radio up and started rapping.“Daddy ran the streets, and mama went wit’em, all alone in this world so the dollas I gotta get’em. Broke niggas and fake bitches, I don’t fuck wit’em and if her friends bad, I’m dropping dick in’em.”
Logic smirked. If there was one thing Al didn’t play about, it was his best friend. He’d go to war for him, behind him, and beside him. Their friendship formed in elementary school, where they bonded over chocolate milk, cheese pizza, and making beats on the cafeteria tables that had the entire lunchroom jumping. It was nothing for Logic to hop on the table and start rapping, which always resulted in him getting detention from the teachers and love notes from his classmates. Those days of rapping in front of people were easy, and at times, he wished he still had that courage.
“What do you think about Dex?” Al asked, cutting the radio down, extending the blunt.
Al couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something felt off. It was as if Dex was trying to throw his weight around by talking to people like shit and ogling every woman that walked by. After the awkward introduction, Al fell back and chopped it up with a couple of people that he knew, hoping that Logic would take the opportunity to make connections, but every time he looked up, Logic was on his phone. Whenever someone was talking to him, he seemed disinterested, and his standoffish demeanor didn’t help. Al didn’t want Logic to be a groupie, but making conversation would’ve sufficed. It would’ve gotten their foot in the door, but Logic wasn’t a small talk kind of nigga. Discussing bitches, money, and meaningless shit was never his forte, and he wasn’t about to fake the funk for a bunch of industry niggas that he could out-rap with or without a beat.
“Nothing.” Logic shifted in his seat. He inhaled a thick stream of smoke before releasing it. “I’m straight on him.”
Off first impression, Logic thought Dex was a trash ass person, and the nigga sucked as a rapper. Dex couldn’t find the beat to save his life, and he always tripped over his words. It was easy to tell he didn’t write the songs he was rapping because he was often caught mumbling his way through parts he didn’t know. On top of that, Dex was a little too cliché for his liking. His mannerisms gave off the impression of a nigga who never had anything before. As far as he was concerned, Dex couldn’t do shit to advance his career. The nigga couldn’t even help himself.
“You know I don’t fuck with his type, and I get the whole logic behind you setting up this situation, but I can’t rock with that nigga.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to rub shoulders with the nigga,” Al replied. “His label-
“His label is bullshit, bro. Oakwood be giving out them slave ass contracts, and I'm not with it. I’ll sign to Death Row before I fuck with them. They know that nigga can’t rap, but people will embarrass the fuck outta you while capitalizing off your name. It’s so many niggas that’s signed to shitty labels, and I don’t wanna be one of them. I’ll kill a nigga before I let’em play in my face.”
“I feel that shit.” Al nodded, dropping the subject. “Then we’ll find another way.” There was nothing else to be said. If Logic wasn’t fucking with Dex, then neither was he. While Logic did his music shit, Al would continue to hustle, waiting for the world to catch on to the fact that his best friend was pure fucking pressure.
“His girl though,” Logic whistled, recalling their brief encounter.
“Nigga, she so fucking fine!” Al agreed, “And that ass... shit look softer than melted butter.”
“Chill, that’s gone be mine.”
“This nigga,” Al chortled. “That girl not gone leave her man for you.”
“Fuck outta here. I’m the hood nigga of her dreams... she just doesn’t know it yet. Matter fact, unlock this phone for me.” Logic tossed the phone into his lap. “Call mine and save it under bestie.”
“Wow, so because I’m black, you think I can break into phones?”
“Nah, 'cause you a criminal nigga.”
“Sounds about right,” Al chuckled.
???
“Slurp me like a cup of tea while I roll and smoke my weed. I asked her why her circle small, she say she sucker free,” Tyler rapped, standing in front of Dex, who had his arm draped over her shoulder. She loved Money Bagg and never missed an opportunity to rap along with him. Tyler rolled her hips against Dex while he sipped from the neck of the liquor bottle. Lights flashed around them as the DJ shouted out their section. This is the type of shit Dex loved. There was something about being the center of attention that did something to his spirits. He had Detroit’s Princess of R&B under his arm, a section full of niggas who looked up to him, and a room full of bitches that wanted a piece of him. Between the attention and the way Tyler was rolling her hips into him, Dexter’s dick was on brick.
