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thirty-one

. . .

Propped up on the side of the chauffeur-driven sprinter, the sight of the security towers and tall iron and cemented blocked gates of the prison transported him back to the feelings he had four years ago when he arrived.

Helpless. Angry. Betrayed. Alone. Along with the emotions, reminders of the logistics tackled his mind.

The biggest war Maximus fought hadn’t been on the streets but in his mind.

It wasn’t until now, with Eden, that he was raging war against himself and trying to calm it.

The anxiety that had been non-existent while he was wrapped in the peace Eden offered was back. A dull stabbing in his chest caused him to rub it and huff. He looked over to his right, where Keon stood.

“You aight?” Keon questioned, not looking at Maximus straight on. After all the nights they served curbs and lit up blocks, Keon knew what the subtle motion meant.

Maximus nodded his durag-covered head and cleared his throat. “I can’t ever go the fuck back.”

“You ain’t,” Keon stated with his chest. “And not because you got some motion but because you got the light and it can’t be trapped in there.”

“Heard you.”

“You better, nigga. The goal is for you to be sitting on the top of the charts and the game. It all starts with who you surround yourself with. This nigga Brody ain’t nothing to worry about, right?

You already a quiet storm type of nigga, we don’t need a loudmouth, too,” Keon stated, before finalizing.

“I don’t want to put this nigga down. Ain’t caught a body in a minute. ”

“Nah, he’s cool. We ain’t gon’ have no issues out of him. Not unless it’s behind a woman. Nigga is a lover boy,” Maximus said with a chuckle, recalling the days of Brody tripping over women and making plans for his future family.

“Aight, Keon muttered, checking his phone for a text from Staysha and smiling softly.

Maximus caught the glint, and his face mirrored Keon’s. “Yeah, Poppi’s girls something else, huh?”

“Something else. I was gon’ stick and move like I do everyone else. I’m stuck, nigga. The crazy shit is, I’m not trying to get up out of it either.”

“Yeah… heard that,” Maximus spoke, biting a grin as the buzzer to the gate sounded off.

Their attention turned to the gate, slowly gliding and clanking its way open.

Brody stood on the other side with a plastic bag of his belongings, his San Quentino prison-issued sweatsuit, and his sneakers without laces.

Brody took strides toward the pair with a crooked smirk on his face, a joke brewing on the tip of his tongue. “Nigga, don’t look at me like that. You looked like this too when you walked your Chewbacca ass out of here.”

Keon snickered and nodded in agreement.

“Here you niggas go,” Maximus chuckled, embracing Brody. “Welcome out, nigga.”

“It’s good to be out,” Brody stated, as he dapped up Keon. “Brody.”

“Keon. Brody your real shit or your street shit?”

Brody smirked. “Street shit. Always the youngest in the crew, so they dubbed me Brody.”

“What’s your real shit?” Keon asked.

“Bransheer Wallace III.”

Bransheer?” Maximus and Keon quipped together before laughing.

“Sound like a suit and tie nigga,” Keon cackled. That was the Staysha effect loosening him up.

“Ay, fuck y’all,” Brody laughed. “My momma was a creative.”

Keon quieted his laughter. “Yeah, she might’ve been something…creative, I don’t know. Either way I’m ain’t callin’ you no got damn Bransheer , nigga. Brody, it is. You affiliated?”

“Trae Way off of 90 th and Sequoia,” Brody replied.

“Still running with them niggas or you done?”

“No one from the set even looked after my moms while I was in here. Fuck them,” he answered.

Maximus looked over, waiting for Keon’s nod. “We straight or we gon’ stand here a little longer?”

Keon gave Brody a once over before turning to head back in the Sprinter. “Yeah, we good. Bring yo ass on, Bransheer .”

“He smile?” Brody questioned.

“Only at his lady. Nigga serious but he’s holding all this shit together. Trust him with my life. You know I'm finna trust you with that shit too. No bullshit behind pussy or no pussy ass niggas, heard me?”

“Heard you.”

“Aight let’s get yo big ass out them sweats and into some fly shit, nigga.”

Hours later, after Maximus and Keon helped reintroduce Brody back into the real world – haircut, new clothes, shoes, and a good meal. The trio was roaming through the thick crowd of Cypher 106.

“Damn, I know I’m here to work and shit, but the candy,” Brody muttered, making Maximus chuckle.

“Taste all the fuckin’ candy you want when you off the clock, nigga.”

One of the hottest nightclubs in the desert. Artists like Jesipi the Don, Jay Lucci, Zaim, and a host of others had graced the stage and the VIP at the beginning of their careers. It was a known fact that if you could get Cypher 106 to cosign you, you and your career were going up.

Brody followed close to Maximus, his eyes staying vigilant on the crowd. The DJ spun a record, mixing it with Maximus’ latest hit “Poppi’s Girl”, turning the club into a frenzy of whooping excitement. When the trio entered the VIP, Maximus was greeted by a raspy LO-tainted voice.

“Muthafuckin’ Trae Way MB!” Jay Lucci greeted, removing his Azul-wrapped blunt from his lips and holding his hands up.

Maximus played cool, but the fact that Jay Lucci knew him had him leaping inside. “Yo, Jay Lucci, what’s good, nigga?”

“Ain’t shit. You hear this shit?” Jay Lucci asked, nodding his head toward the crowd and pointing to the above speakers. “That’s you, nigga. What the fuck you finna do with it?”

Their respective crews fused into one, leaving the two to talk over the music in the middle of the section. Hell, Lucci could’ve pulled Maximus’s collar in the middle of the street, and he was going to stop to listen.

“I’m trying to dominate this shit. Put the album out, tour, buy back the hood,” Maximus rumbled off. “Businesses, all that.”

“That’s the shit I wanted to hear.” Jay Lucci took a draft of his blunt.

“Sounds good, but you got to stay out of your way then. Don’t let these pussy ass niggas play with you and keep yourself out the bullshit.

These niggas gon’ try and trip you out your bag.

Out there and in here.” Lucci pointed back to the crowd, then to his head.

“So, whatever the fuck you got going on that’s going to affect your head, keep that shit clear. ”

“Heard you.”

“What’s up with your label situation?” Jay Lucci asked, skipping past the bullshit small talk which Maximus appreciated.

“I mean it’s cool as far as I know.”

Julius smirked. “You want a whole lot of shit without knowing your label situation. Don’t let these fuckas fuck you. You and your management are green. No hate or nothing. All I’m saying is, I would hate to see your ass get stalled right before takeoff over some bad business bullshit.”

“Heard you.”

“Bet. Have your people reach out to my lady. She’ll make sure your shit is straight and help y’all navigate this industry. Owning your masters, your name, and everything else is the goal.”

Maximus was soaking up the game, forgetting they were in the middle of the VIP section. It wasn’t until the DJ shouted him out and called him down to the stage that he recalled.

“Ay, we got all night to chop it up. Go do your shit, nigga,” Jay Lucci encouraged.

The crowd chanted, “Trae Way, Trae Way, Trae Way!”

He felt the energy of the crowd swell in his chest as he made his way down to the stage. The DJ spun his stamped introduction, Eden’s voice. “Trae Way.”

“Heavy, heavy is the head. Hold that shit steady. Niggas want my soul that don’t know I’m protected already.

Swaggin’ through Trae Way, target on my back.

Head of a g gon’ cost them more than a rack!

” The moment the mic was in Maximus’ hand, he transformed into Trae Way MB, working the stage like he’d been doing this for years.

Ending the impromptu set with Poppi’s Girl, Maximus knew that his anxiety and glimpses of self-doubt could never exist in what he was destined to do.

The party continued to the studio where Lucci dropped more game on Maximus, Haddon was on the board mixing a beat, and Charlie and Brody were chatting it up about their roles in all of this. Maximus and Lucci were shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting for the beat to flood their headphones.

Maximus’s raspiness opened the song. “I told Lucci I was on some freestyle type shit.”

The beat dropped, prompting Maximus to lay down his bar effortlessly.

“Trae Way nigga go figga. That gangsta nigga just got a whole lot bigga. Chains on my neck got a whole lot thicka. Been lookin’ at my past in a rearview like damn nigga.

Look at the shit you escaped. Look at the shit you maintained.

Look at them snakes and them bitches trying to put dirt on your name.

No papers, no snitching, just a whole lot of Trae Way pimpin’.

Rolling through with a thorough chick mouth slick and won’t take a nigga shit. Just a Trae Way nigga go figga.”

“Go figga, Lucci still runnin’ the west. Whole LO on his chest. 50 th and Husten got the whole world trippin’.

Twisting my lady up like I throw my set up.

Still Azul. Still got heart. Still that same gangsta nigga from the start.

Been in the mud, been in the trenches, been shaking these niggas like I do these bitches.

Lucci untouchable. Lucci unfuckwithable.

Lucci big papa. Lucci still that LO nigga go figga. ”

“Go figga, go figga. Go figga. That Trae Way nigga winnin’ go figga.”

“Go figga, go figga, go figga. Big LO nigga still shakin’, go figga.”

“Nah drop that shit yesterday!” Haddon shouted from the board.

Maximus removed the headphones from his ears and roamed into the studio with everyone else.

“Nigga that shit fire!” Brody whooped.

A proud expression covered Keon’s face. “Drop that shit.”