Page 37 of Omar

"Put coverage on Rashid's studio, his apartment, and this venue for every show going forward. If Kyran shows up again, I want to know before he walks through the door. Photos of everyone he brings with him. Names, addresses, known affiliates."

"On it," Devon replied.

I got in the car. The parking lot was emptying out, the crowd spilling onto Myrtle Avenue in clusters, talking about the show, replaying their favorite tracks on their phones. Rashid's voice was coming from half a dozen speakers on the sidewalk, his bars mixing together into a chorus nobody had written.

The engine was running. Atlantic Records wanted a meeting with my little brother. A legitimate shot at the future Pops had wanted for his youngest son. A future that was possible only if Kyran stayed away from Rashid and the Baptiste name didn't follow him into the industry.

Meanwhile, Kyran was showing up at Rashid's performances with two men at the bar and his arms folded, making sure we knew he was watching.

The two things couldn't coexist. Rashid couldn't have his music career if people from the streets kept showing up at his venues with grudges and threats. That was my problem to solve and I was going to solve it.

I turned the key and pulled out of the lot. The city was quiet, the streets emptying out, the lights of Brooklyn passing through the windshield. Tomorrow I'd deal with Kyran. Tonight I'd let Rashid have his victory, his Atlantic Records business card, his forty-five minutes on a stage where nobody could touch him.

Chapter 14

Omar

Rashid's second night at The 4Q was bigger than the first. The venue had booked him for two shows after the Atlantic Records interest, and word had spread. The room was packed tighter than the night before, bodies pressed together under the stage lights, two hundred people crammed into a room built for one fifty.

I was on edge before I walked through the door. Devon had spotted Kyran in the crowd on the first night, scoping the venue, watching Rashid from the third row with two men positioned at the exits. That was reconnaissance. Tonight could be the follow-through.

Devon was already inside by the sound booth. Kadeem and Shanay were closer to the front, Shanay leaning into Kadeem's side in something dark and fitted that had him looking at her more than the stage. She caught him once and grinned. He put his hand on her lower back and left it there.

Rashid came out to a roar.

He took the stage like he owned the building. The set was tighter than the first night, sharper, the tracks landing harder because he'd already tested them on the same crowd twenty-four hours ago. He knew what worked and he leaned into it.

Stone caught my eye from across the room. He was near the bar, jacket on, no tie, a glass of something he wasn't drinking. He lifted it slightly toward the stage. I nodded. His face carried pride and something underneath the pride that was harder to read.

I couldn't enjoy it the way I had the night before. My eyes kept scanning the room, looking for Kyran's face in the crowd, checking the exits, watching for the two men Devon had photographed. I didn't see them. That made me more nervous, not less.

Rashid closed with his biggest track. The room erupted. When he disappeared backstage the energy stayed up, buzzing, electric.

Devon looked at me. "No sign of Kyran tonight."

"Maybe."

We pushed through toward backstage. The corridor behind the stage was tight and hot, Rashid's people filling the space, venue staff trying to get through with equipment. Kadeem and Shanay were already there. Stone came through from the crowd and nodded at us, one hand on Kadeem's shoulder, the other still holding that glass.

Rashid was backstage taking the towel someone handed him, grinning, running on the high of it, his crew around him laughing and talking over each other.

Then the side door banged open and Kyran walked through with two of his boys behind him.

I clocked him before he made it three steps. Mid-level artist who'd been running his mouth about Rashid online for months. Who owned what sound, who bit what flow. The usual bullshit. But he'd come here tonight, to Rashid's show, on Baptiste territory, and that wasn't online talk anymore.

I was in front of him before he reached the corridor. "You need to leave."

He looked at me and then past me like I was furniture. "Nah, I need to have a conversation with your brother about some shit he been saying."

"Not tonight."

"Fuck that." His voice carried down the corridor. Conversations stopped. "Yo, Rashi!" He tried to push past me but I caught his arm above the elbow and squeezed until he winced. "The fuck? Get off me!"

"Walk out or I walk you out. Your choice."

His boys shuffled behind him but they weren't stepping forward. Devon had moved to cover the back door. James materialized from somewhere near the equipment cases. Kadeem's hand dropped from Shanay's back and he ushered her away toward the door.

Kyran kept running his mouth. "Baptiste name don't mean what it used to, fam. Your whole family out here riding your daddy's reputation like he built something worth keeping. Rashid ain't nothing but an industry plant making studio music for streaming numbers."