The

Grateful
Rhyme
by Daniel Whyte III
with Daniel Whyte IV
and Danyel Ezekiel Whyte
 Copyright 2016. Torch Legacy Publications. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner,
except for brief quotations included in a review of the book. This is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the
authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
 Chapter 1

As soon as he got the break-in alert on

his phone, Kevon Johnson ran outside
and jumped into his black and chrome
McLaren P1. He skidded out of the
driveway of his mansion in West
Hollywood and headed toward his
studio in Los Angeles.
It was night. Here on the outskirts of the big city, he could
see the stars, but as he got closer to downtown, they were
washed out by the city lights. Hours before, he had left a
Thanksgiving Eve party for music label executives and studio
heads in southern California. His partner, Marco Cceres,
had been absent from the gathering, raising Kevons
suspicions once again. Hed tried calling Marco, but he
hadnt picked up. For the past few hours, Kevon had been
holed up in his writing room, sipping a Bud Light and
working out the lyrics for his upcoming rap album.
It should have been his and Marcos album. But, recently, he
felt like Marco only wanted to show up for radio interviews,
concerts, and promotional events, leaving Kevon to do most
of the hard work. He and Marco had gone into business
together to develop KMarJay Records once theyd gotten out
of college.
The break-in alert on Kevons phone sounded again, bringing
him back to the present. He was five minutes out from the
studio. Without telling Marco, hed had a new security
system installed at their strip mall studio and new electronic
padlocks added to the safe where they kept all their cash. A
few shady looking characters had dropped by recently
inquiring about getting an album done, but they seemed
more interested in looking around the shop.
Kevon slammed on his brakes as a city bus slowed down in
front of him. He swerved around it and accelerated again,
glad that the alert also notified the local police. They were
likely already on the scene.
He jumped when his phone buzzed again, notifying him of an
incoming call. He snatched it up, thinking it was Marco. But
the picture on his screen belonged to his girlfriend, Myrian
Tate.
Kevon made a grumbling noise in his throat. He was
supposed to pick her up for dinner a half hour earlier. Now,
shed be upset, and his only excuse would be that hed gotten
lost in his writing. Again.
Kevon sighed and skidded to a stop in front of his studio.
Two squad cars, lights flashing, were parked partially on the
sidewalk. The glass front door stood open. An officer was
stretching another strip of yellow crime tape around the
front of the building. Two officers stood talking in the
doorway. The beam of a flashlight bounced inside.
The officer stretching the crime tape looked up as Kevon
approached holding his cell phone and ID. This is a crime
scene, sir. Please stay back.
I own the place, Kevon said, holding out his ID. I got
notified of the alarm.
The officer snipped the tape and tied it around a light pole.
We caught someone trying to rob the place, he said. He
had a key to get in.
Where? Who?
The officer motioned toward one of the squad cars and
Kevon took a step back. Another officer came out of the
studio carrying a plastic evidence bag with stacks of cash
bundled inside. He opened the front door of the car and
Kevon looked inside. At first, he just saw a man with his head
down, hidden beneath a hood. The suspect shifted in the
seat, trying to get comfortable with his hands in cuffs behind
him.
The light from the street lamp fell on a sliver of his face,
highlighting a familiar tear-shaped scar.
Marco? What are you doing, man? Kevon said.
Marco jerked his head away and his hood fell back an inch,
revealing his face. He looked scared and sleepless.
What are you doing? Kevon said again.
Marco just shook his head. You wouldnt understand.
 Chapter 2

Keeping raw cash around was a habit Marco and I had

picked up from our growing up days in Oakland. Where I
was from, there were a lot of dudes who had money but
didnt have jobs. They were drug dealers, and they didnt like
to answer questions about where or how they got their
greenbacks. They kept their cash close and their guns even
closer. One dude who went by the name of Cotton had a vault
built into his basement and hired some guys from the
community to watch it 24/7. One unfortunate and,
frankly, stupid soul tried to rob Cotton. He never made it
past the front door fell dead in Cottons front yard with at
least a dozen bullet holes in him.
Amazing, the things money will make people do.
I knew it was wrong, but growing up, I admired those drug
dealers. My family my mother, my sister, and I were dirt
poor and living in the projects. But Cotton and his ilk came
rolling by in Rolls Royces and Escalades, driving real slow
like they were in a presidential motorcade. Even though they
lived in the hood, they had brick houses and three-car
garages unlike the rest of us. It was only later on that I
figured out that the reason they didnt move to a better
neighborhood was because our cut was where their
customers were.
And the customers were, unfortunately, good for handing
over that cash.
Every now and then, my mother would give me some money
to buy basics at the E-Z Mart convenience store on the
corner. We rarely went to Walmart or Whole Foods. We lived
off of cereal, milk, bread, peanut butter, beef jerky, canned
vegetables, and dried fruit packages from the E-Z Mart. But I
didnt mind at least not back then. I got a good feeling
every time my mother gave me a few dollars and told me to
buy stuff and bring it back. Just the sight of those crumpled,
worn fives and tens made me feel good.
So, as I got older, and started to make a little cash on my
own, I adopted the mentality of the dealers. I kept my money
close at hand. I kept my roll of cash in the front pocket on my
favorite pair of cargo pants during the day. I was glad the
pockets zipped up. At night, whatever money I had was
rolled up in a glass jar underneath my pillow.
Sometimes, finance majors from Stanford and UC Berkeley
would come by the high school to lecture us on handling
money. They always told us that one of the most important
things to do was to get a bank account and start saving
money. I never believed that. Why would I give the money I
had to somebody else for safekeeping? I just didnt like the
idea. I could keep my money safe all by myself.
More than once I considered going into business for Cotton
or one of the other drug dealers. Word on the street was that
they were always looking for entrepreneurial-minded young
people. In other words, young people who wanted to make
money. It would have been easy. The only reason why I
didnt go for it was because Momma was constantly on me
about not hanging out with that crew. Im pretty certain that
one of the reasons why we were so broke all the time was
because she was hiring Sir Brody from the church to keep an
eye on us. On Friday nights, whenever Marco and I were
getting ready to go to a football game, Sir Brody would just
drop by and offer to drive us. The real reason was because
walking would have taken us right past Cottons house and
all the money-flush druggies who hung around him.
But I was determined that, as soon as possible, I would be
living like Cotton. Marco was too. When our first single
became Recording Industry Association of America certified
gold and the checks started rolling in from distributors, we
cashed them all and stored them in the safe at our first
studio. We looked at that stack of cash every day. It drove us
to make a bigger stack with our extended play, and then an
even bigger stack with our debut album. Only when we were
sure that our single and our EP werent flukes, and that fans
really did want to listen to a full album from KMarJay, did
we decide to open a bank account for the label and separate
accounts for ourselves.
But we still kept several thousand in cash at the studio. It
was a reminder and a motivation.
Marco, of all people, knew what that meant.
Thats why I didnt understand why he would steal from me.
From us.
 Chapter 3

Kevon went down to the police station to sign and put his
thumbprint on the paperwork for the stolen cash. Once the
police gave him the money, they asked if he wanted to press
charges.
I take it you two work together, the officer said.
I dont know. Id like to talk to him first, Kevon said.
The police officer went to the holding cell, but came back a
few moments later. He says he doesnt want to talk. He
wants to wait for a lawyer.
Okay, Kevon said. He had a lot to think about on the drive
home.
When he pulled up at his mansion, there were two cars out
front. He only recognized the one parked in the driveway.
Maybe the one parked on the street belonged to the
neighbors, but it was parked too close for comfort. He sighed
as the garage door rolled up and he parked his car alongside
the motorcycle. He had bought the motorcycle for fun, but
hadnt had time recently to drive it.
He locked the garage door behind him and walked down the
narrow hall to the living room. Myrian was sitting on the
couch in the darkened living room. She was holding a
cocktail glass, and an open Sprite can sat on the side table.
She didnt look up when Kevon came in.
You did it again, she said shaking her head, setting the
curls in her black hair bouncing against her face.
Come on, dont be like that, Kevon said. You know how it
is. Sometimes when I get to writing. I cant
You were writing in the garage? Myrian said, raising an
eyebrow at her glass.
No, um, something happened at the studio. There was a
break-in. I had to go check it out. How long have you been
here?
So, you drive all the way to the city at the drop of a hat, but
you cant remember that we had plans for tonight? You see
why I worry about us?
Look, theres nothing to worry about. Kevon walked over
and knelt down by the couch. He put his hands on Myrians
knees and looked up into her hazel eyes. Im trying to make
things better for the future for both of us. Thats what Im
trying to do. You gotta be patient. I gotta be patient. Once
this next album is done, Ill be able to spend all the time in
the world with you.
You sure you want to spend it with me?
What? Of course, baby?
Myrian picked up a small black box from between the
cushions on the couch. Then what is this?
Where did you get that? Kevon reached for the box, but she
kept it out of his reach.
I found it in the wine cabinet when I was getting this glass.
You werent supposed to find it, Kevon sighed.
Oh, I wasnt? Who were you going to give it to?
Its for you, baby, Kevon said.
You dont buy a ring for a girl without giving it to her,
Myrian said.
I was going to give it to you, but not yet. I told you, Im
planning for the future.
Myrian handed him the black box. Thats your problem.
Youre always thinking about the future. You dont know how
to live in the present, how to be grateful for today. She
spread out her hands. Right now is all we have. She got up
and headed for the front door.
Wait, where are you going? We can go out tomorrow. Ill set
aside my writing, Ill "
No, tomorrows Thanksgiving. You probably forgot that date
too. I have to be with my family.
Okay, well. After that, then.
Myrian opened the front door. And another thing. While
youre planning for the future, you might want to consider
the possibility of one without me.
 Chapter 4

I sat on the couch and held the ring after Myrian left. I had
gotten it from Goldsmiths in London when we were on tour
in January. I was high then, way up on cloud ninety-nine.
The four-month long tour had been a huge success much
greater than I had anticipated. I had no idea there were
people who listened to our music in England, but our tour
manager insisted that we add the date to our schedule. It was
the last event of the tour. We had a sold-out crowd.
I was excited about coming home and asking Myrian to
marry me. But as I got off the plane in Los Angeles and
searched for my McLaren P1 in the parking lot, I came down
to earth a little bit.
Someone had broken into my car. (I know, the tour manager
had offered to drive me and Marco to the airport. But I loved
my car; I went everywhere in my car. If anybody was going to
be giving rides it was me. Not that I liked to show off or
anything.)
The drivers side window was smashed open. Someone had
clearly rifled through the vehicle, probably thinking there
might be cash or valuables in it since it was such an
expensive car, but I wasnt stupid enough to leave stuff like
that lying around. My insurance papers, registration, and
title information were strewn on the passenger's seat.
I swept the glass out of the front seat and started putting the
papers back into the glove box. As I refolded each of the
papers, I kept feeling like something was missing. I scratched
my head and tried to think of what else I kept in the glove
box, but I came up empty. I piled my luggage in the trunk
and carefully put the ring for Myrian in a zippered pocket on
my jacket.
On the drive home, I passed by my old neighborhood. I liked
to do that every now and then to remind myself of how far I
had gotten away from the way things used to be for me. And
to remind myself of what I was never going back to.
As I passed my old house, I started to think about my
mother. (She didnt live there anymore; she had saved up
enough money to move to a better neighborhood when I was
in college.) Mostly, I was thinking about the fact that she had
never married and had raised me and my siblings by herself.
The only marriages I knew about were the ones I had seen on
TV, and I was pretty sure none of them were the real thing.
When I did get up the nerve to ask my mother about my
father (or our fathers I dont know if I shared the same
father with any of my siblings), my mother would just say,
He left us in the past and we left him in the past. Aint no
use going back there.
I didnt see how I could leave something I never had. I
remembered that as I was driving home.
What kind of man was my father? Why did he leave my
mother, his children? How does who he is (or was) affect
me? Am I the kind of person who would leave his wife, the
mother of his children?
Those kinds of thoughts shook me up as I drove home. Right
when I was starting to feel like I was getting a handle on life
on being independent, on being successful, on establishing
a better future for myself all these doubts came rushing in.
Thats why I put the ring in the wine cellar.
Thats why I didnt give it to Myrian.
 Chapter 5

Kevon jumped up when the doorbell rang a few minutes after

Myrian had left. He hadnt locked the door, so he wondered
why she didnt just come on in. He swung the door open,
another apology on his lips, but stopped at the form of a
different, but still familiar face. He looked out into the yard.
Myrians car was gone, but the other vehicle, a golden-brown
Lincoln town car, which had been parked on the street was
still there.
The vehicles colors coordinated with the tall, thin man
standing before him. He had a brown silk suit, a golden tie,
and a crisp sandcastle dress shirt. He twisted a dark brown
Panama hat in his hands.
Rev. Caldwell, Kevon said. What are you doing here?
Its your mother, son. You should come quickly.
What? Is she sick? Is she ? Is she ? Kevon backed away
from the door, unable to say the word.
Shes been sick, Rev. Caldwell said as he stepped inside. It
doesnt look good.
Shes been sick? Since when? Kevon asked.
We all thought it was just the cold or the flu. But it didnt go
away. Rev. Caldwell shook his head. She kept saying she
was going to get better, that she was feeling better. She told
us not to bother you. She doesnt know Im here right now.
Is she still at home?
No, shes in the hospital. Theyve been giving her medicine,
antibiotics. But the doctors cant figure out why shes not
improving.
You think shes going to die? Kevon said.
I hope for the best, Rev. Caldwell said, forcing a small
smile into his expression. Maybe all she needs is to see you.
I think its her spirit, not just her body, that needs a boost.
Ill get on my way up there now. Kevon jogged up the stairs
to his bedroom, intending to quickly pull together an
overnight bag and start the nearly six hour drive from Los
Angeles to Oakland. When he had come home only a short
while earlier, he had hoped to get some sleep after being up
all night and into the early morning. Now he grabbed an
overnight bag out of his walk-in closet last used on his
four-month long music tour and threw in an extra change
of clothes, dress shoes, hairbrush, toothbrush, phone
charger, iPad, and his favorite Air Jordan snapback. It
occurred to him that it was Thanksgiving morning. The
highway would be packed with people traveling to reunite
with family for the holiday, which would likely cause his own
drive to Oakland to turn out to be longer than the usual six
hours. Kevon chuckled at the irony of himself traveling home
at the same time thousands of other Californians would be
doing the same, albeit for different reasons.
Back downstairs, Rev. Caldwell was looking at his vinyl
record display which was in a glass case mounted on the wall
in the living room. Kevon had collected originals of, among
others, Michael Jacksons Thriller, MC Hammers Too Legit
to Quit, 2Pacs All Eyez On Me, and N.W.A.s Straight Outta
Compton.
Im leaving now, Kevon said. Im sorry you had to come all
this way. Why didnt you just call me?
Rev. Caldwell turned away from the display case. Because,
son, nobody seems to have your number. If your mother has
it, shes not giving it up. So, I asked around until I got this
address. Im just glad I didnt waste my time.
Kevon nodded and picked his keys up off the side table in the
living room.
Rev. Caldwell was still looking at the vinyls. He swayed a
little, from one side to the other. Kevon recognized that move
from the many Sundays hed spent with his mother in
church. It happened when the Spirit was speaking to Gods
man.
Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take
thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry, Rev. Caldwell said. He
turned, slowly, dramatically to face Kevon. But God said
unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of
thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast
provided? He stretched out one hand, indicating the entire
room with its rich furnishings. So is he that layeth up
treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God.
Like I said, Im leaving now. Kevon went to the front door
and held it open.
Thats the Good Book for you, Rev. Caldwell said as he
walked toward the entrance. At the door, he paused and
faced Kevon. 'Talk about money; all you see is struggle. Talk
about living large; Im telling you, its trouble. Even Tupac
knew that.
 CHAPTER 6

As I expected, the highway was crowded on my drive up to

Oakland. It seemed like everybody had waited till Thanksgiving
morning to travel to see their families. I could feel my car's engine
rumbling like a corralled stallion, ready to go but prevented from
doing so. It took me an hour to get out of the Los Angeles metro
area.

I had a lot to think about, though. Like what Rev. Caldwell had
said to me.

It was no secret: straight out of high school, my goal was to make

money. I had no problems with that, but other people did. My
mother wanted me to stay close to home, but I didn't want no parts
of the life we had growing up. Since I had been effectively banned
from selling drugs to make money, I started looking to cash in
elsewhere.

I know a lot of people think drug dealers are the worst kind of
people, but I don't judge nobody's hustle. When you grow up like
the kids do where I'm from, you learn to look for money and
respect wherever you can.

Most boys I knew when I was young wanted to be like Michael or

Kobe. (And no matter what Kobe says, he's not better than
Michael.) I played a little basketball in high school, but I didn't
have any special talent for it. And if you weren't on your way to
being a baller, the fastest way to get popular was to be a DJ or a
rapper.

Deejaying was fun, and if you were really good at it, you got
invited to all the best parties and girls paid attention to you. But, in
high school, you didn't get paid for deejaying -- not unless you got
permanently hired by a club (which was technically illegal) or
started getting gigs at fancy galas. It was primarily a way to boost
your social status.

I knew almost from the start that I wouldn't be a deejay forever.

But my time behind the mixing board was an education for me. I
studied the songs, the music, the lyrics. I wanted to know what
made people move, what spoke to people's hearts. I wanted to
understand why people identified with music and why they came
back to certain songs over and over again.

In the middle of a party, a DJ is almost like a god. (I know, there's

only one God; I'm just saying.) A DJ sets the tone for the night. He
knows which songs get the people moving, and which songs can
bring the room to a standstill. He and his audience are in a
communion; they share a vibe. I learned so much from the nights I
spent deejaying.

Seeing the power music had over people awakened my own desire
to write songs. I say awakened because I don't think songwriting
can be learned. Either you can do it or you can't. I would have been
a songwriter no matter what else I did in life.

When I started sharing my songs with my mother, she told me,

"Make sure you do it for the Lord, son. Only what you do for Him
matters."

I was fine with doing it for the Lord as long as the Lord would pay
me for it. I knew Rev. Caldwell's music director drove a beat-up
Volvo and lived down the street from us. His house was nothing
special either. He was a good man, but if that was how the Lord
paid him, I wanted no parts of it.
Rev. Caldwell was a different matter. Although I had seen him all
throughout my young life, he never seemed to age. When he
showed up at my front door on Thanksgiving morning, he looked
just the same as he did when I had last seen him about eight years
prior before I went off to college. From the way he dressed and the
car he drove, it seemed like he didn't want for anything either. I
had never seen his house, but I was sure it wasn't anywhere near
the neighborhood I grew up in.

Although my mother loved her pastor, and he seemed like a sincere

man, I wondered if preaching was just his hustle, if sermons were
just his songs.

But like I said, I don't judge nobody.

 CHAPTER 7

When Kevon reached the hospital in Oakland, he checked his

rearview mirror, half-expecting Rev. Caldwell to have
followed him all the way from Los Angeles. He drove around
the packed parking lot looking for a safe place to park a
place where no one could possibly hit his car by accident.
After a few laps around, he found a spot underneath a row of
trees at the edge of the property. It wasnt designated as a
parking space, but it wasnt part of the driving area either.
He tucked his car into the tight nook and jogged to the
Emergency Room entrance.

He asked for his mother, Keriah Johnson, at the front desk

and rode the elevator to the fourth floor. A few of the people
nurses and other visitors he passed in the halls slowed
down and gave him a second glance, like they had seen him
before. It happened more frequently nowadays. Kevon just
smiled and kept moving.

He reached the door to room 409 and took a breath before

entering.

The room was dark and he let the door close softly behind
him. He could hear beeping from behind a thin curtain, and
the shadows indicated a bed. He pulled the curtain aside and
saw his mother laying with her eyes closed. There was an IV
bag hooked up to her arm, dripping clear liquid into her
body. A black monitor by the window had green and white
lines tracking across it, monitoring her vital signs. The
monitor looked normal, but judging by his mothers face, it
was easy to see why Rev. Caldwell had felt the urge to come
and get him. Her cheeks were shallow, her eyes sunken in.
There was more gray in her hair than when he had last seen
her the week before he had went on tour. Even though she
was in a hospital gown, she still wore the silver cross around
her neck that she had worn for as long as Kevon could
remember. Her hands resting on the blanket were frail, the
bones showing through her skin.

Kevon eased himself into the chair by the bedside. Mama,

he whispered as he touched her hand unsure if he wanted to
wake her or not.

His mothers eyelids trembled and slowly opened. She looked

around and then over at him. Kevon, what are you doing
here? Her voice was dry, like her throat was coated with
desert sand.

What are you doing telling people not to let me know youre
in the hospital?

I aint sick. Its just the flu. Thats what the doctors say.
Theyre trying to figure out why it wont go away, Keriah
said.

Mama, people your age can die from simple things like the
flu.

If its the Lords time for me to go, Hell take me. He aint
got to use the flu to do it.

Kevon shook his head and smiled a little.

Which one of the kids told you I was here? Was it Shanice?
Keriah pointed with her finger. Shanice!
Kevon looked to where his mother had pointed and noticed
his sixteen-year-old sister curled under a blanket in a chair
by the window.

Mama, whats wrong? Shanice said, rubbing her eyes as

she uncurled herself from the chair. You know you shouldnt
be using your voice like that. You She broke off when she
saw Kevon sitting there and got up to give her brother a hug.

Hey, girl, Kevon said. It wasnt Shanice, Mama. It was

Rev. Caldwell.

Oh, well, that explains, Keriah said. Ive seen pictures of

you on tour. I thought you was too busy for me nowadays.

Never, Kevon said.

Well, now that youre here, we might as well make the most
of it. Girl, go on home and get Charlix and Rockaway. Tell
Rockaway to bring some of the turkey hes cooking. I gotta
make sure he does it right.

Mama, you know you probably shouldnt be eating any

turkey, Kevon said as Shanice picked up the keys from the
bedside table.

Dont worry about me, boy. Well-cooked turkey never hurt

nobody. Keriah reached over and patted her sons arm. Her
hands felt thin and light, too light, on his skin. Prop these
pillows up and tell me about England till she gets back.
 CHAPTER 8
I was glad to see that Mama still had some life in her. Rev.
Caldwells urgencyand Mamas insistence on not letting me
know that she was sickhad me worried. After Shanice left
to get my siblings, I spent the next hour or so catching my
mother up on what I had been doing since the last time we
had seen each other.
I told her about the release party last year, and the beginning
of our tour. From our first concert in Atlanta, we rolled up
the East Coast and then hopscotched across the central U.S.
before flying across the Atlantic. We did our shows in Berlin,
Stockholm, and London before flying east to reach the West
Coast where we did our final two concerts in San Diego and
Los Angeles.
Our time in England seemed to pique Mamas interest more
than anything.
Did you meet anybody interesting in London? she said.
No, I said. We didnt have time to meet anybody. London
was kind of squeezed in at the last minute. Should I have met
someone?
I know some people there, she said softly.
This, I did not know. Who? I asked.
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, Nobody now.
I was curious about this, but I let it go, as it seemed to be
making her sad. But I made a mental note to look into it.
When I told her about the situation with Marco, she just
shook her head and said, You cant trust nobody nowadays.
She was far more interested in how things were going with
Myrian. When I explained the reason why I hadnt given her
the ring and asked her to marry me, she said, You cant let
other peoples mistakes make you afraid of taking risks.
I nodded. I knew, deep down, the longer I waited to patch
things up with my girlfriend, the worse things would get
between us. I suddenly felt like running back to Los Angeles
to talk to her.
By this time, Shanice returned with Charlix and Rockaway.
Rockaway was the oldest next to me. He was in his second
year of college. When we were younger, he always wanted to
follow me to parties and stuff. I didnt want him to then. But,
I found out later that he was interested in deejaying like I
was at the time. He was also the first person I shared my
songwriting with. Since he listened to more music than I did
at the time, he turned into a great critique partner in the
early days. I think Ill always owe him a debt.
Charlix is the third-oldest. Shes eighteen, and graduated
from high school last year. She was on track to join the
medical program at UCLA in a few months.
Shanice, the youngest, still lived at home with my mother
and Charlix.
Rockaway was carrying a warm plate that smelled delicious.
After we greeted each other, we propped Mama up on her
pillows, and she scrutinized the meal my brother and sister
had cooked. After tasting the turkey, the collard greens, and
the macaroni-n-cheese, she proclaimed that they had made
her proud. Maybe this sickness is Gods way of letting me
know I dont need to do everything all the time anymore,
she said.
Weve been telling you that all along, Charlix said.
Its just hard to give up, Mama said. People think giving
up is the easy thing to do. Thats not true. Its harder to give
up, to let go.
Youre not really giving up, I said. Its not like youre going
to lose us. Youll just be holding on in a different way.
 Chapter 9: Call of Death
Kevon left the hospital room feeling a lot better about his
mothers condition. While he felt the diagnosis was serious,
his mothers spirit had not abated. He was glad for that, but
it didnt prevent him from feeling a little bit of guilt over not
being in touch more often. When he had moved to Los
Angeles after college, he had pretty much left his family
behind to pursue his goals, only checking in every few
months. As the elevator opened onto the first floor, he
determined to stay in better communication in the future.
Outside, a conspicuous group of people had clustered around
the hospitals entrance. Kevon walked out of the sliding
doors and was assaulted by people yelling questions
accompanied by the click and whir of cameras flashing.
Kevon hesitated a moment before setting his mouth in a grim
line and walking right into the middle of the crush of
photographers. They shoved back at first, but then let him
through.
This, Kevon had found, was the best way to deal with
paparazzi. Even after a five-month long tour, he hadnt
gotten used to the impromptu press parties that seemed to
pop-up with increasing frequency wherever he went. (He had
gotten his car checked twice for tracking devices, afraid that
somehow someone knew where he was going at any given
time.) It looked exciting on TV to have a cluster of reporters
following you around all the time; but in real life? Not so
much. On one hand, running away from them never worked;
that just made them more determined to follow you. On the
other hand, they loved people who played up to them; if you
drank up their attention, theyd never leave you alone. So,
Kevon tried to stay in the middle, never giving them too
much or too little.
He reached his car now and got in with the reporters
gaggling about, jostling for one last shot while at the same
time trying not to get hit as Kevon revved his engine and
sped away.
_______
Weary from being up all night and a nearly six-hour drive to
Oakland on top of having to deal with three highly emotional
situations involving people he deeply cared about, Kevon was
glad to finally rest. Once he got into his hotel room, he told
himself that he would work on some melodies before going
to sleep. But he was only able to tinker with a few chords on
his iPad before falling asleep, stretched out on a mattress
that, to his tired head, felt like it was stuffed with feathers of
heaven.
It seemed like it was only a few minutes later when he was
awakened by a tune playing close at hand. At first, he
thought it was something from the Garageband app hed left
open on his iPad, but the devices screen was black. He
fought past the fog of sleep until he found his phone and
answered it.
Myrian was on the other end, talking in a low, tear-laced
voice. Im so sorry, Kevon. I didnt know.
Kevon didnt know if he had dozed off once he had answered
the phone or what, but he was awake now. Sorry for what?
What are you talking about, Myrian?
There was confused silence on Myrians end. And then she
said, Your mom, I didnt
Yeah, shes sickHas the flu but it wont go away or
something, Kevon said. I didnt know either until today.
There was more silence on the other end of the phone before
Myrian slowly said, Kevon, where are you?
Im up here in Oakland in my hotel room. I came to see my
mom and
People have been calling me for the past half hour telling
me your mom died.
What? Kevon said. I just talked to her a few His voice
trailed off as he turned toward the window where a thin strip
of black showed between the curtains. It was in the middle of
the night. He must have been asleep for hours. The clock on
the bedside table confirmed it was two in the morning.
Kevon pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it,
ignoring Myrians raised voice. The screen indicated he had
missed three calls.
 Chapter 10: Shattered Jewel
I had missed two phone calls from Shaunice and one from
Rockawayall within five minutes of each other. I wanted to
believe that Myrian had just heard things wrong. But a few
minutes and a phone call to my family at the hospital proved
that she was indeed correct. Mama had passed in her sleep
that night.
_______

The funeral was held the next Saturday. Clouds rolled in over
Oakland, piled up on each other over the church building as
though jostling for the best seats in a football stadium. The
auditorium was packed with people, many of whom I
recognized as long-standing residents of the community I
had grown up in.
As stragglers filed in before the service began, I noticed the
absence of the chatter that I remembered from church
services as a child. Maybe theres something about death that
quiets people, calms them somehow, makes them consider
their own mortality.
I sat in the second row with my siblings, one arm around
Shaunice. Being the youngest, she had been taking Mamas
death really hard. She had cried every night since the coroner
removed Mamas body from the hospital and took it to the
funeral home.
If this is something to be thankful for, I dont know, but no
one close to me has ever died. We heard about kids who were
involved in gangs sometimes getting killed, but no outright
deaths. Its easier to take when you have someone to blame.
People talk about someone dying in their sleep as if its a
good thing, but that is more unnatural than anything.
By the time Rev. Caldwell takes to the podium, the choir has
sung three very upbeat but rather long songs. Its hard to tell
if were at a funeral or a rock concert.
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, Rev. Caldwell soothes the
crowd. Praise the Lord. We are gathered here today, not to
mourn, but to celebrate the life of Sister Belinda May
Johnson. A teacher, a pillar of our community, a faithful
member of this church. And, most importantly, she leaves
behind four wonderful young people whom she raised by
herself and who are well on their way to success.
_______

Getting out of the church after the service was a chore due to
the number of people who want to shake hands and wish me
well. I tried to be pleasant and warm with everyone, but I got
tired of people telling me how sorry they were. When I
looked back over my shoulder, I saw that my siblings were
strung out amidst the crush of other people slowly making
their way out of the sanctuary.
I was glad when I got outside. The sun was shining.
The car that would take us to the cemetery pulled up in front
of the church. I walked down the steps to wait for my
siblings.
As I stood by the open door, someone yelled my name. I
turned and saw a group of teenagers split off from the stream
of people leaving the church and head towards me. See, I
told you it was him, one of the boys bragged to his friends.
Show some respect, an elderly lady says as she crosses his
path.
Yo, man, sorry about your mom, the boy said as he came
up to me, holding out a copy of my album. But could I get
your autograph?
I wasnt sure about the appropriateness of granting his
request at a funeral, but I opened the inside of the album
cover as the boys friends gathered around him excitedly. A
girl raised her phone to take a picture.
My pen was bleeding black ink on the glossy album cover
paper when a crack ripped through the air, followed by
another and then another. Simultaneously, a warm, red
liquid splashed over my hand, the one that was holding the
album. My hand shook and the jewel case fell to the ground,
shattering into a dozen blood-slicked shards.
 Chapter 11: Why This?
Kevon spun around to face the direction from which the
gunfire had come. Around him, funeral-goers dropped to the
ground behind cars, covering their heads. A few dared to
peer over hoods to try to see what was happening. Those still
on the church steps hurried back inside, dragging children
with them.
Something warm and slick dripped from Kevons hand. He
looked down as a red drop splashed on his black shoes. For
the first time, he registered that it was blood. But it wasn't
his own, and he didn't feel any pain. He looked around, back
to the cluster of teenagers. The boy who had asked for his
autograph was clutching his right shoulder, blood seeping
out beneath his fingers, his face twisted into a grimace. The
girl beside him had dropped her phone and had her arms
around the boy, trying to keep him from falling down.
"Get inside," Kevon said. He glanced around, looking for his
siblings. He didn't see them outside. The church's front
doors were shut, and he assumed, gratefully, that meant they
were safe.
Kevon put one arm around the wounded boy. "Hey, man,
don't worry. You're going to be all right. Come on, let's get
you inside." He waved the boy's friends toward the church
doors.
Another crack of gunfire split the air.
Around them, the people who remained outside ducked and
scrambled for cover again. Kevon dragged the boy the rest of
the way up the front steps and thrust him beyond the safety
of the church doors. He stopped and looked for the source of
the gunfire.
On the side of the road in front of the church, he spotted a
man dressed in blacknot dress black like the funeral
attendees, but a loose black leather jacket, a black t-shirt
stretched taut across bulging muscles, and black jeans. The
mans eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. He had a huge,
linebacker-sized frame. He stood calmly by a black SUV with
heavily-tinted windows, apparently unconcerned that his life
might be in danger.
Kevon watched the man. Something about his posture made
Kevon think he had seen him before, but he couldnt recall a
name to match the person. As parishioners around them
cautiously rose from their sheltering positions, the man
slowly removed his sunglasses. Kevon couldnt stop himself
from thinking that the man was looking directly at him.

What happened to you? Rockaway said when Kevon made

his way back into the church. We were so worried.
Im fine, Kevon said. He looked around. The churchs lobby
was swarming with police officers taking pictures and
interviewing attendees. Half a dozen ambulances were
parked outside, and EMTs were treating the wounded.
Miraculously, no one had been killed.
Almost like old times back in the cut, Rockaway said. I
mean, for real, who would shoot up a funeral? He looked
toward the front of the church where their mothers closed
white casket and her still form lay undisturbed.
Yeah, Kevon said. Things could have been worse.
You know this isnt just some random shooting, Charlix
said, sitting down on the end of an empty pew.
I know, Kevon said, still trying to figure out why he felt the
man outside had been familiar. He tried to think of people
from his old neighborhood that he or someone in his family
may have offended. He didnt put it past the gangs to try to
settle a score in a manner such as this.
Mama didnt have any enemies, Shaunice said. Theres no
way.
Kevon was silent for a moment before answering quietly,
Maybe its not Mama they came here for.
Chapter 12: The World Must Go On
We buried Mama late that evening after the police got
through taking statements at the church. Standing in the
shade in a cemetery that seemed to have more trees than
tombstones, we said our final goodbyes. It was amazing to
me how quickly people seem to get back to their lives after
death and tragedy.
Death. Shootings. Injuries. I always felt like the world didnt
pause as often as it should to ponder the significance of loss
or the danger of the highwire that we walk called life.
But I didn't always feel that way. I remember my mother
crying for three days after Whitney Houston died. Even
though she only knew her through her music, she told us that
the world was emptier without her voice in it. At the time I
didnt understand how you could cry for someone you had
never met. Just live a little longer, Mama said. Youll see.
I think I was beginning to see now -- at least a little.
However the world must go on, and I had a couple of
problems to deal with on my own. But first, I went back to
the hospital to visit the kid who had been shot in the arm at
my mothers funeral. I felt bad about that; if I hadn't chosen
to sign his album, he probably wouldn't have been hurt. The
boys name was Jeremiah, and when I arrived, he was sitting
up in bed with a clean, white bandage wrapped around his
right hand and forearm. How is it going? I asked.
It's not as bad as it looks, Jeremiah said. The doctors
called it a flesh wound, but I call it a bullet wound but
anyway, I thought they would have to take my hand off or
something. It's not as bad as my foot was though. He kicked
his left leg out from under the blanket. A long scar ran from
midway up his shin down to his ankle, as if the skin had been
torn and then sewn back together.
Youve been shot before? I asked.
Yeah. The bullet went straight through the bone. They had
to replace it with metal or something.
Can you feel it? I said.
Only when it's raining or cold, it itches. But other times,
nah, I dont feel it.
Well, I brought a new album, signed and everything. I took
it out of my pocket and handed it to him. It occurred to me
that it was strange that he was in this room all by himself.
Where are your parents? I asked.
My dad had to go back to work. He told me I was pretty
stupid going to your mothers funeral just to get an
autograph, Jeremiah said, looking away in embarrassment.
But hell come back when he gets off. I could tell from the
way he said it that he either didn't know his mother or didnt
expect her to be there for him, which was worse.
All right then, I said. I hope your hand heals quickly. I left
my email address inside the album cover, so you can get in
touch if I can help you with anything.
Thanks, man. I appreciate you coming by.
I left Jeremiah's room glad that he would be okay, but a little
saddened that this was the second time he had become a
victim of violence in his short life. Even though I didnt like
some of the things Mama did to keep my siblings and I safe
when we were young, at least I had never been shot. For that,
I was grateful.
My high spirits were short-lived. The room door had hardly
clicked shut when I saw the same man I had seen outside the
church during the shooting leaning against the opposite wall.
He looked even bigger and more dangerous standing in the
quiet hospital hallway. I stopped, one hand still on the door
handle.
Mr. Johnson, I hope youre done playing compassionate
celebrity, he said. We have business to discuss. He opened
his jacket, exposing a leather gun holster beneath his arm.
And by now, you know we mean business.
 Chapter 13: Vex
Look, I dont know who you are or what you want with me,
Kevon said, moving away from the large man. Considering
his size, Kevon thought he could easily outrun him, but what
if he got shot in the back as he tried to escape?
Hmm, the man rubbed his chin with his palm, his nose
drawn up in a snarl. Thats funny. Marco said youd say
that.
Marco? What? Kevon said. Despite his confusion, he took a
step down the hall toward the elevator. Marcos in jail right
now.
I know, and thats your fault.
He was Kevon shook his head. Who are you even?
You know who I am.
Kevon was sure he had seen the man before, but he still
couldnt remember where or attach a name to his face. I
swear, I dont.
The man stepped across the hall and stuck his face in
Kevons. My name is Vex Lattimer. And you and your little
record company owes us money. His breath smelled like
hed just eaten a rotten egg.
Backed against the wall, Kevon actually began to laugh.
Clearly, thats a fake name, and your attempt to sound
threatening makes you less so.
I dont fool around making no threats, Vex said. He
reached in his pocket, pulled out a folded wad of papers, and
slapped them against Kevons chest. Lets take this outside
and see if we can give your memory a wake-up call.
Kevon looked at the folded papers as a nurse walked by,
giving them both a suspicious glance.
Lets go, Vex said, patting under his left arm where his gun
holster bulged. And dont try anything or youll get more
than a threat in your back.
Kevon started walking to the elevator, trying to think of how
he could give Vex the slip. He couldnt think of any possible
connection he or Marco could have had with this man. If he
could just get to his car, he could outrun anybody.
But Vex was right behind him as they approached the
elevator. The elevator doors slid open, and they got in alone.
They rode down in silence. At the hospital entrance, the
sliding doors opened and Kevon stepped out into the cool
breeze just as a nurse pushing a patient in a wheelchair was
coming in. Vex sidestepped to get out of her path, briefly
allowing the gap between him and Kevon to expand.
Seizing the reprieve, Kevon sprinted down the walkway and
ran toward the side of the building. He had parked out front,
but was trying to get out of a direct line of fire should Vex try
to shoot him. He darted around patients and visitors heading
into the building, glancing back over his shoulder to see if
Vex was following him. He didnt see him at first. At least he
had been right about being able to outrun him.
He kept going, circling around the parking lot and crossing
the street before heading for his car. His heart beat faster as
he jogged up to it. He glanced around one last time, got in,
tossed the papers Vex had given him into the passengers
seat, and started the engine before he slammed the door
shut.
A low chuckle sounded from behind him and Kevon snapped
his head around so fast, his neck cracked.
Vex was sitting in the back seat looking amused. You just
dont watch any movies, do you? he said. He held up his
gun. Drive, boy.
 Chapter 14: Around the Corner
My heart beat rapidly as I slowly pulled out of the hospital
parking lot. I looked around for police carssecurity
somethingbut I saw nothing.
Drive faster, Vex said from the backseat.
Where? I said.
Ill tell you when to stop.
I kept driving, as slow as possible. My mind was working in
overdrive, conjuring thoughts of being forced to drive to
some abandoned plot of land on the outskirts of town where
I would be executed and my body disposed of. I would never
be heard from again and no one would ever find out what
happened. Every corner we passed was an opportunity to die.
I was reminded of some of Tupacs lyrics.
I see death around the corner, any day
Trying to keep it together,
no one lives forever anyway
Strugglin and strivin,
my destiny's to die
In the end, we only drove a couple of miles.
Pull over here, Vex said as I passed a park. I pulled into
one of the empty parking spaces, and immediately noticed
two big black SUVs like the one Vex had been standing in
front of at the church parked in front of us. It was early
afternoon and parents watched as young children scampered
around the playground. Joggers jogged. Some people were
fishing in the artificial lake. I put the car in park.
Are you going to tell me what these papers are for? I said as
I picked up the folded wad Vex had given me at the hospital.
I was appreciating the fact that he didnt seem to be in a
hurry to kill me. He wanted something.
That is the contract you signed guaranteeing us a forty-
percent cut of the record companys profits off of its first
album.
Look, Im telling you: I didnt sign anything with you or
whoever the hell you really are.
Well, technically, you didnt sign it, Vex said. But since
Mr. Cceres is in jail right now, I thought you would honor
our agreement.
I didnt I started to say again. And then it hit me. Marco
and I had set up the record company as a legal partnership
which meant that either of us could enter into a contract that
was binding on the whole company. Whatever Marco had
done in the name of KMarJay Records, it was as if I had
done it too. But I couldnt think of a reason why he would
make some kind of deal regarding the company without
discussing it with me firstand certainly not a deal with Vex
and his gangsters (or whoever they were). Thats not how we
did things. We always made decisions regarding the
company together. Now I know why Marco had tried to steal
from the company. He was trying to cover his tracks. Look,
I said. I know you dont believe me, but I had no idea about
any of this. Marco did this totally on his own.
We dont care, Vex said. We just want our slice of the pie,
and well leave you alone.
I had a feeling that that was not entirely true. But I cant
give it to you now, I said. Id have to write a check and
No. No checks, Vex said. Just cash.
Well, Id have to go to the bank to get out that much cash.
Vex seemed to think about this for a moment. Well, you
better do that. He opened the back door. I looked around
slowly, hoping not to show too much excitement over the fact
that he was getting out of my car. Dont try anything funny,
Vex said, stooping down to face me. One of my boys will be
watching you at all times. Well be in touch once youve got
the cash. And if you try anything His words hung in the
air as he slammed the door.
Okay. I was free.
Now I needed to find out what on earth Marco had done.
 Chapter 15: Last Will & Testament

Kevon arrived late at his mothers house for the reading of

her will.
What took you so long? Shanice asked.
I got held up, Kevon said as he pulled up a chair to the
small dining table in the kitchen. He glanced out the window,
feeling unease at the sight of the gray Jaguar with heavily
tinted windows parked across the street. It had pulled up
earlier but he hadnt seen anyone getting out of it. He figured
Vex hadnt been joking when he said someone would be
watching him.
He sighed and turned his attention back to what was
happening inside the house.
By the time Kevon had been ready to start college, his
mother had saved enough money from her daycare center
business to buy herself a new house in a quiet, tree-lined
neighborhood. All together, Kevon had only spent a few days
in the new house, so it didnt feel like home to him, but he
was glad that his younger siblings could spent their
formative years in a better environment than he had.
The flowered yellow wallpaper cast a cheerful glow over the
somber group gathered in the kitchen. Charlix sat at one
edge of the table with Rockaway who had his elbows on the
table and his chin in his hands. His apron was smeared with
some kind of brown sauceor maybe it was gravy. He had
been trying to cook something, but based on the lingering
smell of burnt food that hung in the air, he had failed.
The lawyer, Andrew Adamson, who had been a friend of the
Johnson family for years, sat at the corner table quietly
shuffling papers in a dark green folder. Kevon cleared his
throat. Adamson jumped. Right, okay, lets begin, he said.
Again, I am deeply sorry over the death of Keriah Johnson.
She was a great friend, an admiral woman, and a fine
mother. He clasped his hands on the table, and then
immediately unclasped them to open the green folder and
then the letter-sized envelope that was inside.
The testatrix, your mother, has appointed me as the
executor of her will. So, I will read it in your hearing. I have
and I will continue to take the necessary steps to see that her
desires are carried out to the best of my ability. He cleared
his throat.
Shanice raised her hand. Um, shouldnt we have all of the
family here for this? Aunt Tinny? Uncle Wayne? Cousins
Adamson shook his head. Your mother only named you four
as beneficiaries in her will. Other family members will
receive a copy of the will in the mail. He smoothed the
creases from the folded paper in front of him. Okay Lets
see here. Mrs. Johnson leaves all of her clothes and personal
possession to the care of her children who will decide
collectively what to do with them. She would like for some of
her possessions to be distributed to appropriate charities for
the benefit of others. All of Mrs. Johnsons monetary savings,
totaling over nine thousand dollars, will be divided evenly
between accounts for each of her children who have yet to
graduate from college. The funds are to go toward their
college education. Adamson paused and noted something
on a tablet. That will be three of you, correct? So...three
accounts. He nodded before continuing. The daycare
center, Golden Rays Childrens House, will be under the joint
supervision of Charlix Johnson and Shanice Johnson once
they graduate from college. They will be trained by Assistant
Manager Marie Ono, who will serve as acting director of the
day care center until Charlixs and Shanices graduation.
Ownership of Mrs. Johnsons car will pass to Rockaway
Johnson. Ownership of the house will also pass to Rockaway
who will continue to live there and act as guardian of his
younger siblings until they graduate from college, marry, or
are able to leave home and live sufficiently on their own.
Charlix folded her arms and pretended to frown. That
doesnt mean you can boss us around, she said.
Oh, Im sure thats exactly what it means, little sister,
Rockaway smiled as he leaned back in his seat. I will have
plenty of chores for both of you to do. His smiled vanished
as he suddenly sobered. Now that I think about it, its a big
responsibility.
Kevon put his hand on his brothers shoulder. You can do it.
Mom wouldnt leave you in charge unless she thought so too.
Ill help you any way that I can.
Adamson made more notes on his tablet. Ill have the
papers for legal guardianship drawn up by tomorrow and we
can discuss further what your responsibilities will be, he
said. He began to read the will again. Mrs. Johnsons
beloved ceramic cooking and cutlery set which has been
passed down for four generations in her family will be passed
to the care of Rockaway Johnson for continued preservation
and for use on special occasions.
Adamson paused and looked at Kevon before continuing.
Mrs. Johnson desires for each of her children to know
themselves fully. In order to do that, they must know their
past and the full story of their mothers life. It is her desire
that her diaries be given to her oldest son, Kevon, who will
share their contents with his siblings as he sees fit.
Kevon frowned. I didnt know Mom kept a diary.
I did, Shanice said.
I think she said theyre in her bottom dresser drawer,
Adamson said. Okay, heres the last section, he continued.
It is Mrs. Johnsons desire that, upon her death, the father
of her oldest son be contacted and, if he is in agreement, a
meeting be arranged between the two.
Rockaway sat up straight and looked at Kevon.
Shanice and Charlix leaned forward, their mouths open.
What? Kevon said.
Adamson didnt look at them. Umyour mothers wishes,
he said. He fumbled with his phone and then put it to his ear.
After a second, he said, Mr. Barrett, you can come in now.
Kevon looked out the window as the door on the gray Jaguar
opened and a man stepped out.
 Chapter 16: Thy Father
We all sat with our eyes fixed on the entrance to the kitchen
as we heard the front door open and close, and then
footsteps in the hall, getting louder and louder, until we
could feel the slight vibration in the wooden floorboards
beneath our feet. A shadow passed over the doorway, and
then a tall man stepped in.
At first, it was like looking at an aged version of myselfme
with more weight and muscle. He removed a black fedora,
like the one the former Nigerian president always wore,
revealing a bald head. He had deep brown skin and black
eyes. He wore a buttoned-up black overcoat even though the
day was warm. I noticed that he looked nervous, but I did not
feel sympathy for him. He clutched the rim of his hat tightly.
Hello, he said. Im Roland Barrett III. He looked directly
at me. Im, uh, your father. He spoke with an accent that I
had heard before. It took me a moment before I could place
it. England.
Then it hit me. When my mother was in the hospital, she had
asked if I had met anyone in England. She said she knew
people who lived there, but didnt tell me who they were.
This must be one of those people.
Attorney Adamson had his head down, shuffling papers on
the table.
My siblings looked from me to this man, Roland Barrett III,
who apparently was my father.
I was unsure of what to say.
All the feels just came up here, Charlix said, raising her
hand to her forehead.
I was not sure what I was feeling or what I was supposed to
feel. What did Mama mean dropping this on uson melike
this right after her own death? It didnt make any sense. I
felt more than a little angry. But I wasnt sure if it was anger
at her or at this strange man who now stood in her kitchen. I
wanted to believe that she had good reasons for doing this.
And I didnt want to dishonor her by saying or doing the
wrong thing from the jump.
More than anything, I wanted to get out of that kitchen. I
scooted my chair back from the table.
Adamson looked up, worry (and fear?) flashing across his
face, like he was the one who had just met a man whom he
had never seen for two decades of life claiming to be his
father.
I need a minute, I mumbled, and walked out into the living
room where the air felt less charged.
I stood in front of the window facing the street, where I could
see Mr. Barretts Jaguar parked along the curb. I tried to
think of all the kids I had grown up with who didnt know
their fathers or whose fathers had died in gang violence. I
tried to think of what one of them would do if their absent
parent suddenly walked into their house. I suppose I should
have felt grateful. But I mostly felt confused.
Fathered he is, and yet hes fatherless. He had followed me
into the living room.
I turned and glanced at him, still confused.
Shakespeare Macbeth, he shrugged, still clutching his hat
nervously. Im a theater actor in the UK.
I nodded, looking at him askance.
He took a step closer to me. What Im saying is, I know how
you feel. I didnt meet my father until I was a couple years
older than you are now. His head bowed, and a solemn look
crossed his features. He was on his deathbed when we
finally met. And the thing Im most sorry about is that I
messed up in the same way he did.
 Chapter 17: Discoveries

Kevon sat down on the couch in front of the window in the

living room. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his
knees and pressed his fingers together. So, do you have any
idea why my mother wanted us to meet now?
No, Roland said. He sat on the edge of the easy chair across
from his son. I was in contact with her a few times in the
past regarding us meeting. She always said that you were on
a good path and that she didnt want anything to mess that
up. It seems she was right. You have become very successful
of late. Youve blown up as the young people say.
Kevon nodded. Why did you and my mother separate in the
first place?
Things didntwork out between us back then, Roland
said. But Im here now.
You dont get to do that, Kevon said, shaking his head.
You dont get to come here after all this time and say, things
didnt work out. At the very least, Mama wanted you to come
back to give some answers.
Youre right, Roland nodded. He rubbed his palms
together. So, your first questions?
Kevon thought about saying I asked one already, but decided
he would get around to it again. Are you the father of all of
us? he said.
At first, Roland looked momentarily confused by the odd
phrasing. He turned and glanced at the entrance to the
kitchen. No, just you. After me, your mother His voice
trailed off and he looked away.
Do you know him? Kevon asked. Their father? Fathers?
Roland must have seen the unspoken question on his face.
They all have the same father, he said. Hes
Nevermind, Kevon interrupted. Dont tell me. He didnt
think he could take anymore revelations for one day. Besides,
his mother may have already planned for his siblingshalf-
siblingsto meet their father at another time. The silence
stretched between father and son. Briefly, while Roland was
looking at the pictures on the wall, Kevon studied his profile.
If he were an objective judge of character, he would say that
Roland Barrett was at least a good man. Or maybe he just
wanted him to be a good man because it was his father.
Roland turned around and caught him staring. So? Kevon
said as he looked away.
Yeah. So, Roland said. About me and Keriah
Wait, youre from England right? Kevon said.
Roland nodded. Born and raised.
So, why were you in Americawhat?twenty-five years
ago?
Yes. I was getting to that, Roland said. I came to America
to pursue my dream of becoming an actor. I started in
London at Italia Conti. My mother put up a lot of money for
me to attend there, but I was not a good boy, and I was
expelled. Now, my mother has extreme agoraphobia; she
cant stand being observed by other people. But, oddly, she
had invested herself heavily in my dream. She used to make
me stand up every night before bed and recite and act out
long passages from Shakespeare or George Calderon or
David Rudkin. So she was extremely disappointed when I
was kicked out of Italia Conti and she told me never to come
home again. I knew then that she was just in a mood and
would come to regret her words, but I used it as an excuse to
take the allowance my mother had given to me, get on a
plane, and, uh, hop across the pond.
Kevon thought Rolands motherhis grandmothermust
have given her son a very large allowance if he had money for
a plane ticket.
Anyway, I arrived in New York and immediately tried to get
a ticket to Los Angeles. I wanted to go to Hollywood. But my
mother had reported my card as stolen, and I narrowly
escaped being arrested by the police. I went into the city and
made my way to Stella Adler. Of course, I couldnt be
accepted without proper legal documents, so I called my
mother and begged her to give her permission. She wanted
me to come home, but her desire to see my dream come true
outweighed that. She sent over the documents necessary for
me to begin attendance there. I worked at a restaurant to
make money, and that is where I met Keriah.
 Chapter 18: Wait No More

I never imagined that my fathers life could have been so

different from my own, I told Myrian over dinner. Back in
Los Angeles, after spending far more time back home than I
had planned, I had decided to do some catching up with my
girlfriend-slash-woman-who-told-me-to-plan-for-the-future-
without-her.
I shared with her about my mothers funeral and how she
had set things up for me to meet my father after her death. I
related how they had met at a restaurant in New York, and
shortly afterward, Roland had transferred to the Stella Adler
school in Los Angeles so he could be close to my mother.
During that time, I was conceived. Unfortunately, according
to Roland, he wasnt able to find work after graduating from
acting school. Apparently, he was too early to catch the wave
that would see Paterson Joseph, Idris Elba, and David
Oyelowo cast by American studios. So, he went back to
England to seek better opportunities, promising to return to
California to help my mother raise me. Well, he never did.
His own mother died and his acting career didnt take off
until years later. He kept telling himself that he would get in
touch with my mother when he was sure he could provide for
a family. But, when he finally did so, my mother had moved
on and was involved with another man. She didnt want to
complicate things, so she told him to stay away. They
communicated via e-mail a few times over the years.
Wow. That is, um, interesting, Myrian said as she speared
a cut of barbecued ribs. I mean, I guess most people would
say that about their family background. But, you had to learn
this all at once.
Yeah, I said. Have you heard from Marco? I hadnt told
her about the other very interesting part of my time back in
Oakland.
No. Why? You two not speaking again?
Hes having some problems, I said. But well work it out.
Speaking of working things out, Myrian said, I hope you
know Im not mad at you anymore.
Really?
Yes.
How do I know youre not just feeling sorry for me? I said.
Im not. I think youre right about wanting to make sure
youre ready for marriage. Especially considering your
fathers story. Myrian shrugged and dropped her gaze to the
table between us. Its good to be sure.
Something about her expression bothered me. Its good for
both of us, right? I said. Youll wait with me?
She shrugged again. I want to. But what if I cant wait
anymore?
After I dropped Myrian off at her house, I drove slowly
around her block. She had refused to tell me what she meant
by not being able to wait anymore. The only thing I could
think was that she was hinting that she wanted to breakup
with me altogether.
I drove in circles around her block a few times trying to
figure out if Vex and his crew were still following me. I hadnt
noticed anything out of the ordinary since I left Oakland. But
I needed to handle business with Marco as quickly as
possible.
 Chapter 19: Not Strictly Legal

Satisfied that Vex and his crew werent lurking around

Myrians neighborhood, Kevon drove to the prison, putting
the doubts about his relationship with his girlfriend in the
back of his mind for now.
He was seated on one side of the glass in the visitation booth
when the door opened on the other side and Marco burst in,
looking sleepless and worried. He shook off the prison
guards restraining grip, threw himself into the chair, and
snatched up the receiver. The guard approached him from
behind, slowly, one hand on his baton.
Kevon waved him off as he picked up the receiver. Yo, man,
calm down, he said.
Wheres my mother? Have you talked to her? My sister? My
dad? Marco rushed the questions out.
What? No, Kevon said.
Theyre going to do something. My moms going to die,
Marco said frantically. You have to get to them.
Calm down, Kevon said. They who? What are you talking
about?
Im not playing. Im not making this up.
Okay. I believe you. But I dont know about any of this. You
have to tell me. Who is going to do something to your
family?
Marco swallowed hard. They said if I dont get them the
money, theyre going to do something to my dad and my
sister.
Vex?
Yes. Who else? Marco glared at his friend through the glass
like he should have known all along.
But, why? Kevon said. What were you doing with them
anyway? And who is he?
You know my mom got sick, right?
Yeah. Kevon remembered the day Marco had told him that
his mothers kidneys had failed and that she would need a
transplant. I thought your family was dealing with it. You
said she was getting treatment.
Yeah, she was. Marco ran his hand through his black hair,
rendering it unkempt. But her kidneys failed and now shes
laid up in the hospital.
I didnt know, Kevon said. Why didnt you say
something?
Because she needs a transplant that costs almost eighty
thousand dollarsand thats if they can find a match.
Well, are they looking? Kevon said.
Marco glared at him again like he was stupid. Of course,
theyre looking, but even if they found a match, we dont have
that kind of money.
We dont have that kind of money, Kevon said, gesturing
between him and his friend. So, you decided to steal it from
our company.
Thats not the point, Marco said.
That seems like the point to me, Kevon said, hating that he
sounded insensitive.
Marco let out a sigh. The point is: I went looking for a
transplant. He held up his hand as Kevon started to
interrupt. And I found one.
You found a transplant?
Marco nodded, his face serious.
Where? How?
Marco looked over his shoulder at the guard standing by the
door. I cant really say in here, he whispered through the
phone.
Kevon raised a hand in exasperation. Why not?
Marco looked over his shoulder again before whispering
through clenched teeth. Its not strictly legal.
Is there an illegal way to get a kidney transplant? Kevon
wondered as he motioned for Marco to continue.
But its cheap, Marco whispered. And it works.
Sowhat am I supposed to do? Kevon said.
You have to get them the money and everything will be
over.
Get who the money?
Marco reached into his orange jumpsuit and pulled out a
folded piece of paper. On the paper he had written a name
Charles Constable, MDand an address on the outskirts of
Oakland.
 Chapter 22: Helping People
So, drugs werent good enough for you. You had to upgrade
to killing people too? I said.
Dont jump to conclusions, Cotton said, putting the cap
back on his fountain pen. I havent killed anybody.
Right. Im sure you get somebody else to do it for you. I
remembered the guards Cotton hired to watch his mansion
years ago.
Mistaken again. Cotton chuckled and rubbed a palm
against his bald head. Look, I know youre upset because
Marco came to me to save his mother. He gave us certain
guarantees that he couldnt keep that have now dragged you
into this. But all of it can go away if you keep the deal he
made with uswhich, as you know, is legally binding.
Marcos mother can get her kidney. Marco can get out of jail.
And you can go back to making your music. He spread his
hands wide.
And if I refuse?
Well, there are payment plans available. Many of our clients
take advantage of them. Cotton crossed his arms over his
stomach and tilted back in his leather seat.
I was still trying to wrap my head around the body parts in
the freezer. Who are they?
What? Cotton said, raising his eyebrows.
How did you get those body parts? Who did they come
from?
Approximately eighty people will be killed in this city this
year, Cotton said. Many of them will be people who come
from our side of the tracksyoung, bad neighborhood, no
hope for the future, life wasted, nothing left behind.
You ever think about how many of those lives youre
responsible for wasting? I said.
Cotton held up his hand. As a matter of fact, I do. He
paused, took off his glasses and polished them on a silk
handkerchief. There comes a time in every mans life that he
stops to think about the mark hes left on the world. What
hes done for others. That time came for me not too long
ago. He turned away from me, facing the bank of computer
screens, focusing on the one that showed the 3D image of the
human body spinning slowly. When I was young, I swore I
would leave poverty behind. I imagine you thought the same
thing. And I did. Selling drugs was good for me. It was good
for the brothers who helped me. But, yeah, we sold poison.
And some people didnt know how to handle it. They got
addicted. Wasted. He rubbed his head again. Recently, Ive
been trying to turn over a new leaf as they say; trying to do
something positive with my life. All those murder victims I
told you about? Thats where the organs come from.
I felt my face twisting inSurprise? Horror? I didnt know
how to feel. Do the families know?
Cotton shook his head. I have deals with some of the local
funeral homes. Once they get the body from the morgue, they
call my doctors, and we take what we need. The bodies are
sewn back up, prepared for the funeral. The families never
know.
You have doctors? I asked.
Cotton smiled a little. Of course I do. Real doctors. They get
paid and they keep quiet. A line appeared between his eyes
as he became serious again. Lots of our people are sick
kidney disease, heart disease, lung problems. But they dont
have the money for treatment or transplantsand thats if
they can get matched for a transplant, which takes forever.
Here, we provide a good service for a price they can afford.
I glared at him skeptically, trying to find some malice in his
logic.
Im not gonna lie, Cotton said. I am doing it for me.
Everybody dont live forever, and Im trying to do something
positive before I check out of here. Im just trying to help
people, Kevon. You gonna try and stop me?
 Chapter 23: My Position
Kevon tried to reconcile Cottons claim that he was just
trying to help people. He pulled out one of the chairs in
front of Cottons desk and slowly sat down, resting his
forehead against the heels of his hands, trying to figure out a
way to get himself out of the mess he was in. Can you really
save Marcos mom? he asked.
I believe we can, Cotton said. We have an eighty-seven
percent success rate. And our policy is that if the transplant
fails, we return all money to the patients family.
And where does the surgery take place?
Cotton hesitated. At independent doctors offices across the
city.
Kevon stood up. Im going to take some time to think this
over.
Cotton held up his hand. Now, I cant just let you leave. Not
until I have some guarantees, considering that you know all
about our little operation here.
Kevon shrugged. How do you know Marco wont tell? He
could sell you out to get off. Plus, he told me.
He wouldnt tell me off just to get out of jail, Cotton said.
He knows you wont press charges. Besides, I have
safeguards.
Safeguards?
Cotton nodded slowly. A man on the inside. Someone whos
been watching over people who are locked up but who still
have influence on the outside. If your partner talks, the
prison will soon be explaining how little Marco had been
placed on suicide watch.
Kevon glared at him angrily. If youre trying to convince me
that youve really changed, that youre just trying to help
people, maybe you should consider actually letting go of your
old ways.
Cotton spread his palms apart as if to say, It is what it is.
Look, boy, you and I are more alike than you care to admit.
We all are trying to move on up in life. And right now, you
think that moving up is more money, more fancy cars, more
women running after you, more success. But thats not all
there is. You gotta move on up in here too. He slapped his
palm against his chest. You gotta do whats good, not just
for your body but for your soul. Thats all Im trying to do.
Really? Kevon asked skeptically. Thats all?
But Cotton went on as if he hadnt heard. I spent so many
years fighting for what I thought was good for me only to
find out that what you get is what you give and whats good
for you is what you do thats good for others. And Ill be
damned if I let you stand in the way of whats good for me.
When you put it that way Kevon said. He was trying to
reconcile what his producer David Kelson had told him only
an hour before. You gotta do what you gotta do. Keep your
eye on the ball. Dont let anything distract you from
pursuing your own success.
Go on; spend your time chasing success just for yourself,
Cotton continued. I guarantee youll be right here in my
position thirty years from now.

To be continued...