Nasty by Dr. Xyz Read Free Book Online Page B

throughout his college days he had interned at the university radio station and at Mega Hits, an independent record company. By the time he graduated with a major in marketing and finance, he knew all the music industry’s VIPs on a personal level. The label had hired him and madehim their VP of Marketing. Two months after Pops died, the company went belly-up and Carlos, still grieving, now had another cross to bear.
    It was a blessing, though. Not even in disguise. Instead of trying to get another job in the industry, he and Tarik had cashed in their sizeable inheritance from Pops and started their own record company, Infinity. Besides pushing Tarik’s act, they had a few other up-and-coming artists that looked real good. Omara, a rapper with a unique style. Everlasting, a teenaged boy group that had tight harmonies and looks guaranteed to charm the teenybopper crowd. Most recently signed to their label was Katrell, a male vocalist destined to fill the void left by Luther Vandross.
    But for now, it was Tarik and his piano playing and Bob Marley-like persona that had their new company on the verge of a big distribution deal with one of the majors. In an industry where the technology was so cheap anybody and their mama could cut a CD and call themselves a record company, it was your distributor’s clout that separated little fish from the king whale.
    As far as Carlos and Tarik were concerned, their record company, Infinity, was going all the way up the food chain next to Diddy, Jay-Z and his hero, the big granddaddy of them all, Berry Gordy of Motown.
    Carlos put the new suit in the back of his car next to a box of fliers advertising Tarik’s big show in Prospect Park. He looked at his watch and decided to give out a few at Washington Square Park.
    He had made a good decision. It was lunchtime and the park was packed with folks. He noticed an older, distinguished, somewhat frail-looking man sitting on the bench feeding pigeons.Knowing that he probably wouldn’t be interested in the show, Carlos handed the man his last flier anyway and then quickly walked out the park.
    Something made Carlos turn around to look back at the man. He was clapping, laughing, talking to himself, and dancing a less than vigorous jig. He looked nuts. Carlos decided he probably was. He shook his head, got into his car, and headed for the airport.

CHAPTER NINE
     
    E
xhausted from jumping up and down and acting like a complete fool, Eli collapsed back onto the park bench. He was ecstatic. It had been three months since his release from prison. He had spent most of the time hospitalized at Bellevue Hospital in Manhattan for treatment of AID-Srelated complications. He could not believe that he was now holding in his hands a flier that revealed the whereabouts of his son, Tarik. In three weeks he was scheduled to perform at Prospect Park in Brooklyn.
    Even the bad news doctors at Bellevue had given him earlier that day about the failure of an experimental drug regimen he had initiated during his last hospitalization could not deflate his balloon. No, that couldn’t drag him down from the high he was feeling. He would turn down the best dope in the known world just for the information he now had.
    Printed on the flier, for all to see, was a picture of his son, Tarik Singleton. He laughed out loud when he realized that the system’s inability to place him in a Manhattan shelter was to his benefit. His new residence in Brooklyn was not far from Prospect Park. On a good day…that is if he had any more good days, Eli could walk there. That’s what the social worker had told him the day he was given his placement.
    He thought about his latest lab results. So what if his CD-4 count was low or his viral load was off the charts. Nothing could interfere with his joy. Three weeks couldn’t come soon enough for him; especially since doctors advised him that the end of the road in terms of his disease was just around the bend. They continued to give him