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“A few ofL.I.T. Music’s earlier artists: B-City, Power-Grip, Liza Moon—”
“Oh, that crew,” Zebedee observed. “That was their first, first.”
“Yup,” Sadik agreed. “The earlier class.”
“B-City ain’t put out nothing in a minute. My cousin said something about the lead singer with the blond hair working atB-Way Burgeror something.”
Zeb laughed one of those “knowing” chuckles. “Or something. They’ve been shelved, Sin. Contract trashed and future grim.”
“Yeah, but like…maybe two of their singles made me a bag. Licensing them for movies and shit like that,” Sadik explained. “That’s the trick of owning them.”
“I learned from Raj how you never know when a newer artist will reach out and ask to sample even something as small as the chord sequences or melodies,” Zebedee shared. “It’s insane.”
Sadik nodded, pulling from his cigar. My phones kept pinging with mostly birthday messages. Even Chelsea, who was here, busy in the house, sent a link from her birthday post to me onFacebook. There were hundreds of likes and dozens of well-wishing comments beneath. It was sweet. She was sweet. I’d have to remember to read through them later.
“You still got them?” Jug asked. “The masters?”
“Most of them.” Sadik nodded. “Yeah. I’m trying to buy Wally’s.”
“Word?”
“Lord ain’t trying to give it to me, though.” Sadik laughed.
“Why would he?” Zebedee asked rhetorically.
Wally had been one of the few new hip-hop heads constantly putting out hits. To be honest, the nigga couldn’t be considered new after being out for around seven years. He was a wild one with arrests, DUI’s, and public beefs, but that had seemed to fuel his music and following.
“Lord making money off his own,” Jug surmised jokingly. “He shouldn’t be selfish. Shit.”
“Nah.” Zeb shook his head.
“No, he’s not.” Sadik explained, “Lord don’t own his masters yet. He’s waiting out his term, but he’ll get them fromL.I.T. Music. He’s good, though, because he’s got the bread once the time comes. But he’s also retained his publishing rights, so the nigga has never been a fool.”
“Oh, damn,” Jug breathed.
He and Man, on the low, always wanted to be in the music industry. Neither of their asses had a talent past Man’s wack flow over Jug’s human beatboxes. But both of them were hella curious about industry happenings.
“Time to cut the cake, fellas!” I turned from the water to find Corinne at the door of the deck. “Chelsea’s calling.” She smiled before taking off.
“Damn!” Roberto waited for her to leave. “That’s the type of company you keep, Sinclair?” Luis, the guy he brought with him today, cracked the hell up, grabbing his sack with one hand and dabbing up Roberto with the other.
“Yup,” Jug wheezed. “And that pussy worth every pound she weigh.”
Man’s head shot back, and he hooted hard enough for me to follow behind him. Jug was shot out. That was his way of telling Roberto to back the fuck off, which was hilarious because he and Corinne hadn’t fucked around in a couple of years, from what I understood.
“My bad,” Roberto offered humbly, understanding the play.
Zeb sat up from his seat on the sofa to dump his cigar. “Let’s get in there before we’re told again. I’ve been married for forty-five years and learned never to make her call me twice.”
Sadik was the first to laugh. “That’s a hard skill to explain to men who aren’t married at this age.”
“Shiiiit,” Jug grumbled while everyone else laughed.
Zebedee and I were the last two to leave the patio, almost hitting the double doorway at the same time.
“Thanks for coming today, man.”
“My pleasure! Are you kidding me? I get to celebrate with you and see my girls at the same time. I can’t believe how big that little one is getting.”
