talent
than me, and I can't say that about a lot of people. If I could rap
like you could sing, I'd be a billionaire by now."
"Thank you, Mark."
"Don't quit, mami. I felt like
quitting rapping too at one point but I'm still pushing. You gotta
keep pushing if you know you're good at something."
I sort of admired Mark. He was a terrible
rapper but he had the confidence of a skilled lyricist. I used to
have that spirit inside of me. I wanted to tell him that people
like us weren't meant for the limelight, that we were born and bred
for street hustling—but I couldn't form the words because there was
still a tiny light inside of me that was clinging to the music
illusion. I wanted it to die.
"If I was living here in LA, maybe I'd still
be pursuing it," I told him. "But in Kansas City it's too hard to
get noticed. The music scene is dim compared to everywhere
else."
"That just means you have to work harder. Or
move to another city."
Archie chimed in. "That's enough, homie," he
said, nudging Mark with his elbow playfully. "It took me forever to
convince Kirbie to leave that music alone. I don't need you to
plant no more ideas in her head."
Mark ignored him, and instead of looking at
me through the rearview, Mark actually turned around and looked at
me directly with eyes of the deepest brown hue I'd ever seen on a
Mexican man. "Chase your dreams, mami ," he said earnestly.
"Fuck what Archie is talking about. He's a hater. He don't
understand music souls like us."
It was right now that I noticed how handsome
and kind-hearted Mark was. I felt really bad for not liking his
music in return.
Archie tapped him. "Green light, nigga.
Go."
Mark turned back around, piloting the Porsche
through the intersection and onward through the tight LA traffic.
His eyes caught mine in the rearview again. "I'm serious. Chase
your dreams."
But my dreams have changed , I thought
as I leaned back into the leather seat. I adopted Archie's dreams.
We were here in LA to cop some kilos of cocaine that would make us
the biggest hustlers in the Midwest.
Then my phone chimed. I looked down and saw I
had a notification from The Site. The link indicated that it was an
inbox from a woman named Sundi Ashworth. Sundi Ashworth? That name
rang a bell, but I couldn't remember off the top of my head why it
sounded familiar. I started to tap the link to read her message
when I heard Mark mention something about the Beltrán cartel.
I looked up.
"They're family and they don't play," Mark
said. "I told them I was bringing two people that I trusted with my
life and they're still making me take all the necessary
precautions."
"Did you say Beltrán cartel?" I asked.
"Yes. That's who we're meeting up with.
They're family."
I had heard of the Beltrán cartel. They were
rumored to have a monopoly on all the drugs flowing through
Hollywood. Some of the biggest conspiracies surrounding suspicious
celebrity deaths were tied to Beltrán.
"You're related to members of the Beltrán
mafia family?" I asked in disbelief.
Archie gave me a warning: "You're asking too
many questions, Kirbie. I told you about that."
But Mark was smiling at me through the
rearview, happy to share. "It's not obvious, mami ? My last
name is Beltrán. What, you just thought it was a rap name?"
Yes, I did.
"Those are my people on my daddy's side.
They're blood. They got connections to the music industry but even
I can't get in through them. I tried to get my uncle Julian Beltrán
to hand my demo to somebody, anybody , but he threw my
disc on the ground and smashed it with the heel of his
boot. Pinche culero, disrespectful as fuck. Their
tight-lipped on that Hollywood shit. And that makes sense because
they're probably making billions off of them rich famous people.
That side of my family only fucks with me as a street dealer. But I
guess I'm cool with that. I'll break into the music industry on my
own."
A thought occurred to me. Maybe if I
gave them my music and told them about
than me, and I can't say that about a lot of people. If I could rap
like you could sing, I'd be a billionaire by now."
"Thank you, Mark."
"Don't quit, mami. I felt like
quitting rapping too at one point but I'm still pushing. You gotta
keep pushing if you know you're good at something."
I sort of admired Mark. He was a terrible
rapper but he had the confidence of a skilled lyricist. I used to
have that spirit inside of me. I wanted to tell him that people
like us weren't meant for the limelight, that we were born and bred
for street hustling—but I couldn't form the words because there was
still a tiny light inside of me that was clinging to the music
illusion. I wanted it to die.
"If I was living here in LA, maybe I'd still
be pursuing it," I told him. "But in Kansas City it's too hard to
get noticed. The music scene is dim compared to everywhere
else."
"That just means you have to work harder. Or
move to another city."
Archie chimed in. "That's enough, homie," he
said, nudging Mark with his elbow playfully. "It took me forever to
convince Kirbie to leave that music alone. I don't need you to
plant no more ideas in her head."
Mark ignored him, and instead of looking at
me through the rearview, Mark actually turned around and looked at
me directly with eyes of the deepest brown hue I'd ever seen on a
Mexican man. "Chase your dreams, mami ," he said earnestly.
"Fuck what Archie is talking about. He's a hater. He don't
understand music souls like us."
It was right now that I noticed how handsome
and kind-hearted Mark was. I felt really bad for not liking his
music in return.
Archie tapped him. "Green light, nigga.
Go."
Mark turned back around, piloting the Porsche
through the intersection and onward through the tight LA traffic.
His eyes caught mine in the rearview again. "I'm serious. Chase
your dreams."
But my dreams have changed , I thought
as I leaned back into the leather seat. I adopted Archie's dreams.
We were here in LA to cop some kilos of cocaine that would make us
the biggest hustlers in the Midwest.
Then my phone chimed. I looked down and saw I
had a notification from The Site. The link indicated that it was an
inbox from a woman named Sundi Ashworth. Sundi Ashworth? That name
rang a bell, but I couldn't remember off the top of my head why it
sounded familiar. I started to tap the link to read her message
when I heard Mark mention something about the Beltrán cartel.
I looked up.
"They're family and they don't play," Mark
said. "I told them I was bringing two people that I trusted with my
life and they're still making me take all the necessary
precautions."
"Did you say Beltrán cartel?" I asked.
"Yes. That's who we're meeting up with.
They're family."
I had heard of the Beltrán cartel. They were
rumored to have a monopoly on all the drugs flowing through
Hollywood. Some of the biggest conspiracies surrounding suspicious
celebrity deaths were tied to Beltrán.
"You're related to members of the Beltrán
mafia family?" I asked in disbelief.
Archie gave me a warning: "You're asking too
many questions, Kirbie. I told you about that."
But Mark was smiling at me through the
rearview, happy to share. "It's not obvious, mami ? My last
name is Beltrán. What, you just thought it was a rap name?"
Yes, I did.
"Those are my people on my daddy's side.
They're blood. They got connections to the music industry but even
I can't get in through them. I tried to get my uncle Julian Beltrán
to hand my demo to somebody, anybody , but he threw my
disc on the ground and smashed it with the heel of his
boot. Pinche culero, disrespectful as fuck. Their
tight-lipped on that Hollywood shit. And that makes sense because
they're probably making billions off of them rich famous people.
That side of my family only fucks with me as a street dealer. But I
guess I'm cool with that. I'll break into the music industry on my
own."
A thought occurred to me. Maybe if I
gave them my music and told them about
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