Depleted by the heat, Shizuka takes to fiddling with the window control. The car she sits in is almost ten years old, and is not in terrific shape. The window, made of dirty glass, moves up and down in short jerks, in reaction to her pushing of the button. The rotor mechanism inside the door make dull mechanical noises.
Whr. Whrrr. Whr. Whr. Whrrrrrr…
Wr wr wr…
Whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
“Stop that,” says Kilo Staples, his hands gripped on the steering wheel. Immediately, she stops, and flings herself back into her seat. She crosses her arms and pouts, tapping her foot against the carpeted floor.
Ahead of them is a trail of other cars, belching out noxious fumes for almost a mile down the road. On either side of this crawling train, the stately homes of Beverly Hills glimmer between the tall tropical plants.
Shizuka ruffles her own hair in a sudden desperate flurry. “This is crazy!” she cries desperately, “why is this taking so long! It feels like we’ve been stuck here forever! It was one thing to get stuck in a jam on the 415 freeway. That’s normal. But this is a flipping residential area! A really nice one too! What is the deal with all this traffic?!”
“Welcome to LA”, Kilo replies, deadpan.
Groaning, Shizuka returns to her pouting position, arms crossed, and sighs. “Remind me who we’re going to see again.”
“A guy I know from a while back. He owes me a favor. He can help you find what you looking for.”
“This place seems pretty high class,” she says, pointing out of the window at the large homes.
“He been… pretty successful in life, I guess.”
Shizuka waits for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, she sighs once again and stares out the window again, the traffic continuing to crawl along.
At last they reach an exit and Kilo turns into a neighborhood that can only be described as ‘excessively swanky’. Glimpses of enormous mansions peek out from high walls and polished iron gates. Shizuka doesn’t pay much attention to them, muttering “tacky” under her breath. Kilo shoots a glance at her, but says nothing.
A few more minutes of driving lead them to park outside one such gated stronghold. There is an emblem emblazoned on the gates: a large capital letter C, encircled by a crown. Kilo gets out of the vehicle and approaches an intercom device the the side of the gate.
As Shizuka steps out of the car, she sees him pressing the button and hears a voice crackling over the intercom, asking, “Who is it? What’s your business here?”
“It’s Kilo.”
The intercom goes quiet. Then, a whole five minutes later, a buzzer sounds and the gate swing open. Kilo gets back into his beaten-up car and cruises up the driveway, contrasting against the lavish surroundings.
Ahead is an enormous, beautiful mansion, white-walled and seeming to glow in the afternoon light. The same crowned C is stamped on a golden plaque on the front door. Shizuka sees it and squints at it, confused. “That can’t be…” she mutters, as the pieces start to come together in her mind.
Kilo stops the car in the middle of the courtyard, then gets out and walks to the door. Shizuka follows him. Before either of them can reach it, the door swings inward and a small black man in an oversized black hoodie bounds out of the house with an enormous smile on his face, showing false teeth seemingly made of solid gold. He throws his arms out wide, the heavy chains around his neck jangling with each step. “KILO!” he shouts delightedly, stopping just short of the taller man, “What is UP, my mayn!”
“Hey Jerome,” says Kilo, keeping his hands in his pockets.
“It good to see you, brah! You ain’t been around in forever, how ya been?”
“It all good.”
“Hell yeah! I knew that shit I heard about you dying or some shit wasn’t nothing but shit! And who this?” he gestures to Shizuka, “Shiet, mayn, you ain’t never brought a girl here before! Right on, mayn! Nice to meet you, honey,” he says, taking her hand and shaking, beaming at her. He wears round, gold-plated sunglasses that cover his eyes and a brimless cap on his head, the kind known as a kufi. On top of his heavy looking jacket were heavy golden chains wrapped around his shoulders.
Before Shizuka can reply, he’s already gone back to Kilo, chattering excitedly.
Shizuka stares at him, eyes wide open in starstruck. “There’s no way,” she says under her breath, looking back and forth between the short man’s face and the golden crowned C on his front door.
“There’s no way,” she says again as Jerome leads them into his home, still chattering. Here, she sees the same emblem hung up everywhere, on the grand lobby stairway. Realization come to her slowly as he leads them into his living room, and she sees the Grammy awards and gold and platinum record adorning the walls alongside pictures of Jerome himself. “There’s no way there’s no way there’s no way there’s no way there’s no way THERE’S NO WAY~!!!”
Jerome looks back at the jittery girl. “Something wrong, girl?”
“NO WAY!!!!” she says, staring at the short man’s face. She has seen this man before, on television interviews and bombastic music videos. She knew who he was, she knew whose house she was in.
“You’re… you’re… C-King?!!” She finally exclaims. Her voice echoes around the house.
Jerome stops talking immediately and pivots to face her, clicking his fingers and pointing at her. “Yoyo?” he says, smiling his golden smile.
Speechless, Shizuka storms over to Kilo and grabs his arm.
“C-King??” she eventually says, after stammering and stuttering, “Your friend was the C-King?? The world renowned, superstar rapper/producer C-King?? The multi-platinum record selling, won-2-Grammy-awards-at-age-19 C-King?? THAT C-KING???”
“Oh…” says Kilo, surprised at her reaction, “Yeah. I wasn’t sure you’d heard of him.”
“HEARD OF- !!?? I’ve been, like, his biggest fan since I was 15!! I-I am in C-King’s house…” she releases Kilo’s arm and seems to drift away from him.
“Just call him Jerome,” Kilo says, not sure if she can even hear him right now, “He’s got connections that can help you. I helped him out with a problem he was having when he first showed up in town. He owes me. Big time.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you…” says Jerome, also known as C-King. He humbly bows her, as Shizuka freezes at the sound of his voice and his gestire, shuffles behind Kilo. She hides her face from the short man, too nervous to come out. The C-King stands dubiously, unsure of the conversations direction. Ultimately, he chooses to smile. “Yo, Kilo, you didn’t tell me you was bringing a fan.”
“Nah, I didn’t,” Kilo replies. “Not that I knew, anyways.”
“Well, shit, mayn, if ya said, I coulda arranged something more comfortable. You really gotta call before you visit, a know? I just assumin’ she was with you…”
“It ain’t like that. Her name is Shizuka. She lookin’ for somebody. Her old lady. She’s here somewhere, in the city. Jerome, you know every muthafucka in LA. And if you don’t, you know somebody who knows everybody. I want you to help her out.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” says Jerome, approaching them and stepping around Kilo to face the tanned girl, who was trying not to hyperventilate. “It’s nice to meet you, Shizuka. Fo’ real this time.”
He removes his sunglasses and extends a softly gripped fist. Shizuka’s eyes nearly gauge out of her head. Shaking, she raises her own fist and bumps it against his. At this, her expression melts into one of high elation.
“Uh, you ok?” Jerome asks, concerned at this point.
Immediately, she snaps out of it. “I’M BETTER THAN OK!! I’ve always wanted to meet you, Mr. C-King! It’s such an honor OH MY GOD I’ve been listening to you for years now you’ve always been an inspiration to me whenever I felt down AND out I always just put on Dreamers Gone you have such a voice AND you’re so much more than those other rappers AND you just bring so much beauty to rap AND!–” Her stream is interrupted by Kilo prodding her in the face.
“Hey hey hey, relax,” he says sternly, “we’re actually here for a reason, remember?”
“I know!” she replies, “I know, but I…”
“Ey, it’s no big deal,” Jerome says, “it’s awesome meeting a fan this enthusiastic!”
“OH GOD, I’m sorry!” Shizuka cries, covering her face with her hands, “I’m sorry if I’m being really pushy and hyper fangirling and-!!”
“It’s ok, I’d be the same way if I was meeting Biggie, you feel me?”
“You’re so niiiiiice!!!” she squeals from behind her hands.
“Hey, so is Shizuka, uh, a Chinese name or something?”
“Japanese,” she says, uncovering her face, “but I was raised in New York City! You said in some interview that you grew up in upper Brooklyn, right?”
“That right.”
“Did you ever go to Aunt Sarah’s NY Style Pizza?”
“Holy shit, is that place still open?!” Jerome asks in amazement.
“I go there every second Wednesday!”
“Right on! Kilo! Kilo, sorry mayn, this girl’s my new best friend! I wish you’da–”
“Jerome!” Kilo shouts over him, clearly irritated.
“Whoa… sorry, mayn, I didn’t mean nothing, I was just–”
“We got more important things to deal with. I told her that you know some boys who could find who she lookin’ for. We both know you got connections.”
“Hey, mayn, come on, don’t talk like I’m some kind of fuckin’ Crip in front of a fan–”
“I’m cashing in my favor,” Kilo says, looming over Jerome, “do you hear what I’m saying?”
Jerome holds his gaze. Shizuka is taken aback by the darkness in her newfound ally’s tone. Eventually, the short man puts his hand up in a gesture of surrender. “Of course, mayn. You got it. I know how much I owe you, betta than anybody.”
“Good,” the taller man says after a moment, withdrawing to lean against the wall, arms crossed. To Shizuka, he says, “Go ahead and ask.”
Swallowing, she addresses the C-King. “I’m looking for my mom. We got separated a long time ago, but I have reason to believe she’s living in LA. If not, then maybe I can find someone who knew her.”
Jerome nods sympathetically, leading her over to sit down on the living room couch. “Yo momma, huh? That’s some serious shit right there. My momma ran out on me too. Anyway, shouldn’t be too hard. You just gotta tell me what she looks like.”
“Oh, uh, I don’t know. I was really young when we got separated.”
“Ah, that’s too bad. No big deal, though. Just tell me her name, and we can get get going–”
“I… don’t know her name. Not her real name, anyway… I was really young when we got separated.”
Kilo, incredulous, asks, “How young?”
“Uh… six… mmmonths? …Maybe?”
There is silence in C-King’s living room.
“Holy shit…” says Kilo, breaking that silence.
“Oh! I do know one thing!” Shizuka chirps, poking her face just below her right eye, “She has a scar on her face, right here, shaped like a fish-hook! There can’t be that many people like that, right?”
Kilo and Jerome exchange a look, then Jerome smiles. “Uh, right…” he says, pulling out his smartphone and typing the information into a memo, “it narrows it down at least. Lessee… Lady, Asian, with a scar on her face, old enough to have a– how old are you, honey?– a eighteen-year-old kid. Hmmm… Sure, I think I can find someone who know something about that. It might take a while, though. Why don’t you crash here until I get something concrete?”
Shizuka is taken aback by the offer. “Wha– wait, really?”
“Fo’ sure. It’s not like you going anywhere until I find something, right? I can tell you the stubborn sort. Like a certain someone else…” Jerome smiles, glancing at Kilo leaning against the wall.
“I-I wouldn’t want to impose…”
“There six bedrooms in this house, girl. You ain’t no imposition. How ‘bout you, Kilo? You wanna hang for a while, too?”
“…Yeah, sure,” Kilo responds, reluctantly.
Shizuka brushes her hair out of her face. “I-I don’t how to thank you, Mr. C-King…”
“Ain’t no thing. And since you hanging here, call me Jerome. That cool with you?” he says this, raising his soft fist before her again.
Smiling wide enough to split her face, Shizuka replies “Yes. Yes that is absolutely coo with me!” she says, bumping her fist against his.
(5 HOURS LATER)
Hard bass pumps out every wall, as enormous speakers belt out club and house tunes louder than the end of the world. A hundred people or more, in various stages of undress and inebriation, cavort and dance in C-King’s living room as lights paint the room pink and gold.
Shizuka was nowhere to be seen, as Jerome had given her some money to go shopping for herself. While the party raged on, Kilo and Jerome stand to the side of it, overseeing the proceedings.
“Jerome,” Kilo says.
“Yeah, mayn?”
“The fuck is this?”
“This here is my method,” Jerome replies, stretching his fingers in front of him, “This is how you hear shit in LA. You play the music loud enough and keep the booze flowing, people be talking like they in confession. And the C-King is the preacher man sitting on the other side of the box hearing all they got to say, feel me?”
Kilo grunts. “Sure, you can get ‘em talking, but half the shit come spilling is probably bullshit. Whatever. Just keep your end, don’t get distracted. If I catch you messing with some bitch here, I’mma be–”
“Man, why do you always gotta be like that?” Jerome says, sounding frustrated and somewhat hurt, “I said I’d help you, and I will? Why do you always have to be up in here, so hostile? I thought we were friends–”
“I don’t need to hear this shit… Just do this thing for me already. And we’ll be done…” With that, he storms away, leaving Jerome behind, dejected in the club lights like a whipped dog.
when i say “unfollow me if you support trump” im not saying it ironically. no, seriously, if you support trump then i dont want your disgraceful ass to be in any way associated with my blog. get out.
If I lose followers because of this, good riddance.
I don’t think networks realize the power of the gays, like yeah, they know they fucked up with clexa big time, but do they realize that actors who play queer characters will literally always have a following?
My favorite actors, I will 100% watch in anything they do, despite genre, despite whether it is “good” or “bad”, I’m watching that shit. And they are automatically my favorite actors when they treat queer characters with the respect they deserve.
Harvest Guardian 