Page 14

eleven

. . .

Maximus stood outside his mother’s house and scanned the block.

In the years he’d been gone, not much had changed.

The pavement was still cracked and in need of major repair, houses were falling apart, but somehow the hustlers still served curbs, and the fiends still bought.

Police only showed up when the arrest was worth public acknowledgement and when they were featured in newspaper articles that praised them for cleaning up the street and making Waynesville beautiful.

If everyone ever looked at Trae Way in its entirety, they would find the beauty, the history, the love that oozed even in the chaos.

He turned from the street and started up the three shabby steps to his mother’s home.

The porch obviously rotting with multiple soft spots.

He frowned. For a woman who kept a nigga laying up in her house, she never put them to work.

He tapped his knuckles against the rusty screen door and stepped back, gingerly awaiting her answer.

Almost two minutes later, she pulled the creaky front door open, squinting her eyes at the sight of her youngest child.

Nothing special, his large coils pulled into an untamed bun on top of his head, facial hair overgrown, his sandy brown skin in need of some sun and a deep cleanse, plain white tee and sweats, Keon had filled the duffle bag with.

“Maximus,” she stated as if she were surprised and frightened to see him. “Y-your home.”

“Yeah, I wrote you like seven letters telling you I was coming home. You gon’ let me in, or am I standing out here talking to you through a screen?”

She darted her eyes down the street as if someone was going to come and put a stop to her communicating with him. His thick brows met in the middle.

“The fuck you looking for?” he questioned.

“N-nobody,” she muttered, unlocking the screen door and stepping back for him to walk through.

The moment Maximus stepped inside, he realized Keon had definitely held some details back from him.

The pungent stench of rotten food and staleness filled the air.

Maximus couldn’t stand this shit. A representation of his childhood on a loop.

While in prison, the inmates teased him for how neat he kept his cell.

The reason was this shit right here. The further he roamed into the space, the more he was repulsed.

Empty liquor bottles scattered about, ash trays full of cigarette butts, roaches from blunts and whatever else he couldn’t make out.

“You didn’t even bother putting the fuckin’ groceries up?” Maximus muttered, turning around and looking at her. “You were doing so good…what the fuck happened?”

He studied her. Dry skin, sunken eyes, chapped lips, and her housecoat swallowing her up. If he was mistaken, he would have thought his mother was a junkie by the sight of her.

“Ain’t shit happened,” she responded in a defensive tone. “Where you get off coming in here and talking to me like you’re better than me?”

Maximus’ frown intensified. “What you on?”

He grabbed her arm, but she yanked away from him. “You ain’t no better than me. You a fucking murderer. Gang banger, drug dealing ass nigga. You ain’t shit and you gon’ come in here and talk to me like you’re saint Maximus.”

Parts of him had become numb to her while craving her approval at the same time. It was a sick cycle. Had he been looking at this from a different lens, he would have known his mother was trying to protect him, keep him out of jail, or being shipped back to prison.

The front door opened, and in strolled Augustus.

In the mess of the living space, Maximus spun around, finding his Judas.

“I got some shit, don’t fucking smoke all it up either,” Augustus said, his back turned to his brother and mother as he closed the door. “I got to make it back so Mama don’t fuck my ass up.”

Before the door could be closed completely, Maximus charged him, sending him and Augustus through the door and off the shifty porch.

Maximus, almost fifty pounds heavier than he was when he went to prison, easily overpowered his brother’s drug-riddled body.

Pound for pound, Maximus punched Augustus in his face before standing up and removing his dirtied shirt.

“Get the fuck up and fight me, nigga. You was bold then! Come on.”

Augustus straggled to his feet, spitting blood and his front tooth out.

Augustus didn’t care about fighting Maximus.

Not right now, at least. He was hours removed from a fentanyl high and wanted a boost. But later, Augustus was going to be on his ass.

The issue with that was Maximus would square up with him any day, anywhere, about his respect.

In his eyes, Augustus was no longer a brother but a foe.

And anyone associated with him was the enemy, too.

Augustus staggered up the steps, waving Maximus off. “Bitch ass nigga.”

The only thing that kept Maximus from putting his brother in the dirt was the vibrating of his phone in his pocket. Retreating from his mother’s spot, he started up the block where he parked Keon’s car.

“Yeah, I’m on my way back,” Maximus announced. “You should’ve fuckin’ warned me she was on that shit.”

Maximus snatched the door open to Keon’s Impala and slid in behind the wheel.

“I told you that you were going to have to see that shit for yourself. Gus was there?”

“Yeah, beat his ass too. But he’ll be popping up back around, I’m sure.”

“Try and shake that shit from your shoulders, we got that meeting with UVE in two hours.”

“I’m on the way. You got some gas?”

“Yeah, already rolled,” Keon replied. “Get here.”

Ending the call, Maximus left his old hood and headed across the neighborhood to Keon’s place, where he’d been crashing on the couch since getting home. He had more than enough money to rent a spot, but this meeting today would determine where he decided to lay his head.

Maximus didn’t utter a word as he walked through the small, one-bedroom apartment shirtless. He grabbed his stuff and headed straight back to the shower. Washing, dressing, and making himself look like something, he met Keon in the living room.

Keon handed him a blunt. “Go in there with all this off your shoulders.”

Maximus scoffed as he sparked up. “Easier said than fucking done.”

“You right. Just look at it this way, after today, you’ll have enough money not to fucking care.”

That was false. The more money he had, the more he’d care.

Especially about his mom. Regardless of whether she was a stellar parent or not, she was his mother.

After the smoke session and grabbing some food from Rodney’s, the pair headed into Downtown Waynesville, to the Urban View Entertainment building.

Standing in the lobby were Maximus’s criminal lawyer and another woman.

“Maximus, it’s good to see you on this side,” Randell spoke as they got closer.

He greeted him with a pat to the back before turning to the woman to his left.

“This is Rita, she’s an entertainment lawyer.

She knows more about contracts than I do, so she’s on board with helping us navigate through today’s meeting and if you move forward, everything thereafter. ”

“How do the contracts look?” Maximus questioned.

“Y’all put that clause in there about his royalties and owning his shit once his portfolio is built up?” Keon questioned.

Rita nodded. “The contract looks good. One of the best recording contracts I’ve seen in a long time. Four albums, an opportunity for masters returns. A hefty advance on the first two albums and a review of sales. A marketing package and everything.”

Maximus nodded. “Aight, well if y’all trust it, I can too.”

He felt out of place. A fish out of water as he led his long legs through the lobby.

When they made it to the official office, they were greeted by a busty receptionist. Maximus observed her – pretentious.

He wasn’t going to end his prison-forced celibacy with a woman who looked at him with dollar signs in her eyes.

“Water, tea, muffin?” she offered, her eyes trained on Maximus while Keon helped himself to the spread.

“Nah, I’m good. ‘Preciate it,” Maximus rumbled, taking a seat.

His attention was back on his phone again, aimlessly scrolling through what the algorithm thought he wanted to see.

Oddly enough, though, no posts from Eden.

That had been the only reason he joined this shit.

Well, that and to see what buzz his name was making.

Minutes later, another woman appeared, waving the men back.

Keon, Rita, and Randell floated into the space behind him.

They roamed into a sizable glass-encased conference room.

Images of their successes and AI-generated images of Maximus on stage and world tours, selling out arenas.

They were trying to play to his ego. While part of it was working, Maximus saw the bigger picture.

“Trae Way MB,” an older woman’s voice called out, as she and a team of executives filled the space.

Maximus and his team stood to their feet to greet them.

“Anzel Ellis,” she greeted, shaking his hand. “I’ve heard many great things from you and about you.”

Again, he didn’t show his excitement. He smiled kindly. “Appreciate it.”

“I hope you had time to review the contract,” Anzel said, as she took her seat at the head of the table and looked at him.

She exuded power. It wasn’t easy to obtain, nor had it been easy to keep.

She had her own set of grievances weighing on her shoulders and eating at her spirit.

Hopefully, if her plan worked, she’d have less guilt following her through what was left of her life.

“Yeah, it seems cool. I’m just curious about my creative control,” Maximus shared with the room. “I’m Trae Way through and through. I’m a Trae Way Gangsta, I’m a known drug dealer, a convicted felon. I’m all of those things but I don’t plan on rapping about that shit all the time.”

“We don’t expect you to. We expect you to make good art. Timeless art. We expect you to be great. So, if you’re willing to be great, then this is the home for you,” Anzel spoke.

Maximus looked at his team, and they gave him the nod of approval. “Aight then, let’s move forward.”

The contracts were handed out, and Rita compared each one to the copy she was provided. After the contracts were signed, Anzel approved the release of funds into the account Keon had set up for him.

“A few things as a requirement just to generate buzz online. Get you a nice house, rent it, lease it, buy it, whatever. Host a party. Not too big or wild but fill it with the who’s who. If you don’t know who that is, contact Staysha Sage. She’ll assist.”

Maximus took in Anzel’s words, shook her hand, and walked out of her conference room five million dollars richer. Once he was alone with Keon, riding down the street, he spoke.

“No more hustling. I transferred something to get you started. Every deal I cut from here on out, you get twenty off the top.”

“Hell nah, nigga. I ain’t going for it.”

“You are. Let’s hit up a realtor office or something, your couch is hard as fuck.”