Free Animal by K'wan Foye Page B

trusting Don B., but they were getting money together, so Animal let him live. Now Animal was gone, leaving his musical legacy to Don B. and Ashanti unanswered questions. A few times he’d thought about getting at Don B. on some extortion shit, but he learned that you could catch more flies with honey than you could with vinegar, so he played the game.
    “What’s goodie, my nigga?” Don B. greeted Ashanti with a warm smile.
    Ashanti’s face remained unchanged. “I took care of that thing for you.” He pulled an envelope from his back pocket and handed it to Don B.
    Don B. opened the envelope and reviewed the papers stuffed inside. It was a waiver signed by a popular music producer. He was suing Don B. for illegally using his beats on mix tapes. Don B. had tried everything from throwing money at him to threatening him, but the producer wouldn’t budge . . . until Ashanti paid him a visit.
    “Damn, I been trying to get this for months. How did you get him to sign off on it?” Don B. asked.
    Ashanti gave him a look. “Do you really wanna know?”
    “Nah, I guess I don’t. I just hope you left him whole enough to still work.”
    “His hands are good money, but his jaw is another story.”
    “Fuck it, he ain’t no vocalist; he’s just a producer. His hands are the only things that matter anyway, right?”
    Ashanti didn’t answer.
    “Anyhow,” Don B. continued, “I appreciate you taking care of that for me. I keep telling these dudes they don’t make cats like you and Animal anymore. If I had ten of y’all on my squad I’d be good. What do you think about coming to work for Big Dawg?”
    “Nah, I’m a street nigga. I ain’t off punching no clock, and to keep it one hundred, I don’t too much care for rappers.”
    “You like bitches, don’t you? At Big Dawg, we specialize in three things: good music, money, and pussy.”
    “So I’m told,” Ashanti said unenthusiastically.
    “Why don’t you kick back for a minute and enjoy the party? We gonna get into some gangsta shit with some of these hoes, then roll out to get some food in Brooklyn before we hit the club. Hang with us tonight, my nigga,” Don B. urged him.
    “If it’s all the same, I’ll take what you owe me and bounce,” Ashanti told him.
    “Right. I got some paper for you, don’t I? Check, why don’t you come by tomorrow and pick it up from the office? I don’t know if I got that kinda paper on me right now.”
    Ashanti’s face soured. “Blood, don’t even try to play me. Services rendered, services paid for. Now, if you ain’t got my bread, then I’d be more than happy to take it in trade.” Ashanti let his eyes roam over Don B.’s jewelry.
    Don B. smiled. “My nigga, you know I was just playing with you. Come with me to the back room. I got you.” He draped his arm around Ashanti and led him across the room.
    “This is quite the party you got going on,” Ashanti said.
    “Every day is a party at Big Dawg, my nigga. It’s the life of the young and rich. You need to get up on it,” Don B. boasted.
    “I’m working my way up. But check, since you getting it like that, I’m gonna need you to put something on top of that paper you owe me. I wanna drop it on Gucci’s people.”
    Don B. frowned. “Gucci’s people? Animal’s royalties go into an account, and I know for a fact his lawyer breaks her off every so often so I know the broad ain’t hurting for no cheese.”
    Ashanti wanted to slap Don B. in the mouth for his reckless talk, but he kept it cool. “Blood, it ain’t for Gucci. It’s for her peoples. You know she all twisted up in the hospital, and her moms and Tionna been taking off work and shit to hold her down, so I know things gotta be a li’l tight. They ain’t asked me for nothing, but I figure they could use it.”
    “Tionna? Man, fuck that bitch! She could be sitting at Jesus’ bedside, and I wouldn’t put a dollar in that tramp’s hand,” Don B. spat.
    A few years ago he and Tionna had a thing