14. FULFILLING THE BOOK

By J.J. Colagrande

I found someone. A cat connected to these cats. Not anyone I knew personally, or even had met. But some cat who knew about a hotel party. He said there were a couple of private parties, in rooms, with hella nitrous tanks, and other things. This was it. How did I find out so fast? Laws of attraction. Junk knows junk. Like a bat uses sonar, I can find a party. My sonar is so advanced it allows me to fly into complete and utter darkness. Trust me. But if anyone knew what happened to Thelonious, this would be the crew. These dudes were straight up musical festival headie freaks. People who stayed over from Oracledang to catch Lollapalooza. This was who we wanted yet when I went to grab Teflon, the motherfucker blew me off. I was like huh, really? Really? I thought all he cared about was his boy, not mingling. First, he brushed me off like dandruff, forcing me to go look for thugs alone, and then he wouldn’t come out of the VIP area. I was half-tempted to drop that nigga like a bad habit, you know, just leave this whole scene, bail on him, bail on the bail, go score some shit for my head. Wouldn’t have been hard at that party. Then get my ass back home to the West Coast. But, you know me, I don’t drop bad habits, they grow on me. Besides, I felt guilty. I had something to do with this. I didn’t and wouldn’t tell Teflon, but I did feel guilty. I’m human. I have feelings. Shit. Maybe the reason why they popped me had to do with snitching on Thelonious. Maybe karma spun the wheel of fate because of my actions towards Thelonious and Sky also. Fuck–you know–these thoughts are not above my head. I can meditate, especially coming out of jail. And I do have light inside of me. It’s dim, but I can see it. I’m not a criminal. If there’s a chance at redemption, I want it to see it through. Plus I remembered the invocation, the promise I made to the Spirit. My pledge of desperation came in haste, but so far I’d been honorable. I don’t desire the darkness of Spirit. So, yeah, I had interest in sniffing out these leads. Except now, Teflon was acting like a buster. The anointed one. Ha! Momma Melody had to bake the righteous pie. I knew he cared. For some reason everybody plays the fool. So I got him. You think I can’t get into a VIP area. You never met my friends 36 and C. They’re pretty dang hot, certainly enough to get my Jamaican ass into this stupid VIP area. And it was stupid. Free massages, free tattoos, sponsored by microphone companies and Fuze. I broke up Teflon’s little MGMT party with my eyes. That’s all it took. That and two words: Let’s go.

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