A Music Love Affair (Sequel to DPF)

Chapter 33: The Luck of The Draw

Chapter 33

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August

I sat in the damn holding cell 'bout ready to loose my shit not only 'cause a nigga nervous, but because I'm pissed as fuck that this shit is happenin', right nah of all times. I'm pissed as fuck because I know there's only one fuckin' way that they tied that damn murder back to me and that's only if someone snitched. Nah if that's the case, it look like I'm gone have to put some money on another niggas head.

I looked around the cell just disgusted wit' it all. Rusty cold ass seats to sit on, piss smellin' ass toilet, and just a cold sad atmosphere up in this bitch in general. It's crazy being in confinement not only with this damn place, but shit, also in my mind. I'm confined in my damn mind wit' erry possible thought 'bout how shit finna go. Not just when they get to questionin' me and shit, but if they really got some shit on me and I get locked up. I mean, what the fuck is a nigga gone do? I got three kids on the way, takin' care of my family financially and then my whole career. This jus' too much to thank 'bout right nah.

I ain't get to be left wit' my thoughts for too long 'cause one of the detectives came over and called my name. "August Alsina!"

I stood up and came to the metal gate shit while the cop motioned for me to stick my hands through the slot so he could cuff me. After that I retracted them and he opened the door and grabbed my arm guidin' me out. He took me all the way down the hall to some lil questionin' room and made me sit in the cold metal chair at table made just like the chair. After that he flicked on the one light in the whole damn room and in came another detective. This one was a woman and she was tall and looked like she wasn't here for the shits so that already tells a nigga this ain't gone be an easy process.

She came and sat right in front of me with two folders in her hand. She looked right up at a nigga and put a lil smirk on her pale lil white-bitch face. "August Anthony Alsina, music moguel, Clark Atlanta alumni; sweet boy turned murderer. Who would've seen that coming."

"I ain't murder nobody."

"Oh you didn't?" She asked while raisin' her eyebrow and goin' through one of the files. "That's not what Marcus DeJeon told us."

"Who?" I asked.

She made a bored face at me and then slid some paper across the table for me to see. I got tight as soon as I seen the damn picture. Sho' enough she was showin' me a damn picture of the nigga I hired to kill Rah for me. This is a damn shame. This is a nigga I grew up wit' in the streets, kicked it wit' on a couple occasions and thought I could trust to handle this business for me wit' out bein' on no bullshit, but here he is droppin' names to the fuckin' FED's. He betta pray I don't get out and catch him on the streets.

I looked back up at the woman starin' dead in her eyes because she ain't gone shake me. She was tryin' real hard to get me to be nervous and I ain't gone lie, the coldness that was in her eyes did do somethin' to a nigga but I gotta be chill and not have them on to me.

She rolled her eyes and then stood up to pace across the concrete floor. "So he's familiar to you right?"

"Look here sweetheart, I ain't gotta answer to shit until my attorney gets in here."

"Oh you don't? Last I checked this is my room and you are under my custody so you're going to answer to what I'm asking." She stated while leanin' into my arm while she stood behind me.

"Naw I'm not, but you sho' about to get the fuck out my face. You dumb--"

"Move it Marissa." I heard someone speak up after the door to the room flew open.