After three hours of busking, midnight rolled around, and the subway station crowd gradually thinned out.
Leon's hands were full of crumpled bills. Aside from the usual singles, there were even a few sporadic five-dollar notes.
A rough count totaled over 200 dollars—more than Bonnie made swinging on the pole.
This was the first time since crossing over that he had seen this much cash. Ignoring the smell of stale sweat clinging to the money, he brought the wad to his nose and inhaled greedily.
"God, I love the smell of filthy lucre!"
Leon was thrilled to have monetized his unexpected fame in such an unorthodox way.
Two hundred bucks wasn't a fortune, but it meant he could stand on his own two feet for a while. No more enduring Bonnie's eye-rolls and verbal abuse just to survive.
"Leon!"
"Who's there?"
Hearing his name echo in the dimly lit subway station, Leon tensed up immediately.
Given Brownsville's safety record, 200 dollars was more than enough reason for someone to get robbed.
"Davis?"
From the subway entrance, Davis slowly walked down the stairs, his head hanging low, looking utterly dejected.
This made Leon even more nervous.
A regular mugger would be easier to handle—they just wanted the money. Worst case, he'd hand over the 200 bucks and chalk it up to a wasted day as "Street Jesus."
But with Davis? Who knew what kind of crazy stunt he might pull?
This was a guy whose dream Leon had just stolen right out from under him.
"Fk!"
Leon's first instinct was to bolt, but Davis was blocking the exit. Running further into the station would just trap him.
"Relax. I've been thinking about what happened between us."
"What?"
Leon looked at Davis. The kid's face was serious; he didn't look like he was joking.
"You heard me. I figured it all out... That opportunity was meant for you. Even if you hadn't stepped up, T-Ray wouldn't have picked me."
Since when did this kid get so enlightened? Leon wondered.
Keeping a safe distance, Leon replied, "I didn't mean to do it like that. I honestly thought T-Ray had already left."
"Fk, save the explanations. We've known each other long enough—I know it wasn't an accident!" Davis paused, then continued, "But we're homies. And homies forgive each other. Homies support each other..."
If someone else heard this, they might have been moved to tears. But not Leon.
He actually wanted to laugh.
The capitalist world is a jungle, inhabited by only two kinds of creatures:
Wolves in sheep's clothing, and sheep trying desperately to act like wolves.
Even though he thought this, Leon kept a relieved smile on his face. "Man, I'm really glad you see it that way. I..."
Before he could finish, Davis waved his hand to cut him off. "Bro, I know you're gonna make it big. A cage like Brownsville can't hold you."
"Just... if you really do blow up, don't forget about me."
The words were spoken with such sincerity that Leon actually felt a pang of emotion.
The Black community had its issues, but one thing was commendable: when someone made it out, they rarely forgot their people back on the block.
Even if the money came from slinging dope, they'd bring their crew up with them without hesitation. Hell, even if it meant riding the electric chair together, they'd go out as a team.
To soothe Davis, Leon reassured him, "I won't, man. I definitely won't..."
Hearing this, Davis said no more. He turned and walked silently out of the subway station.
Just then, that strange, mechanical voice intruded into Leon's mind again.
[ Infamy Tag 'The Grifter' weakened. Consecutive weakening of a Tag will result in permanent deletion. ]
[ Inspiration Refresh will cease upon loss of the sole Tag. ]
[ Stay shameless! Good luck, scum! ]
"WTF?"
Leon froze in his tracks. He hadn't done anything, yet this bizarre notification popped up.
He still didn't know how to add new Tags, but one thing was certain: if he lost his only "Grifter" trait, he'd be back to being a bottom-feeder instantly.
---
The next day, Leon woke up early. Today was the big day T-Ray had set up.
Not only would the Bloods' Big Homie, George, be at the recording session, but some of T-Ray's old friends—established names in the New York music scene—would be there too.
In front of the row house, T-Ray's Escalade had been waiting for a while. His massive frame leaned against the car, puffing on a cigar and whistling at the asses of passing women.
"You ready, white boy? Big day for you."
"I'll bring my A-game."
T-Ray flashed a mouthful of pearly white teeth, laughed loudly, and ushered Leon into the car.
The recording studio was on Chester Street, not far from T-Ray's office.
From the flashy, tacky neon signs outside, you might mistake it for a cheap massage parlor, but the equipment inside was top-tier.
You could see traces of T-Ray's past glory in the expensive gear.
He had made a killing during the Golden Age of gangsta rap in the 90s, but his influence had waned as the genre shifted in the new millennium.
The rap market was only so big. Titans like Dr. Dre on the West Coast and Jay-Z on the East Coast had a stranglehold on almost all the promising new talent.
The fact that T-Ray was betting on Leon—and a rock song, no less—showed he was bowing to the market.
Inside, a Black man in sunglasses was sitting on the sofa by the mixing console, chatting and laughing with a middle-aged white man.
The Black man radiated aggression. His bald head was shiny and black, scarred with two deep gashes that looked like machete wounds.
The white man, on the other hand, was elegant, smiling, and incredibly refined.
The contrast between the two was so stark it made you wonder if they even belonged in the same universe.
"T-Ray, is this the talented white boy you were talking about?" The man in sunglasses stood up to greet T-Ray warmly.
"That's right. This young man is Leon Smith."
The man in sunglasses chuckled dismissively. "Aside from surviving in Brownsville as a white guy, I don't see anything magical about him."
"Just wait and see!" T-Ray shrugged, then turned to Leon. "Standing in front of you is 'Magnum' George. You've probably heard the name."
Leon nodded and stepped forward to shake hands with the Brownsville legend.
He didn't know much about gang politics, but living in Brownsville and not knowing "Magnum" George was impossible.
In this violent neighborhood that even the cops ignored, George's authority was as sacred and inviolable as a king's.
Having made his name in the 90s running the streets with legends like The Notorious B.I.G., George was a certified OG. Plenty of rappers still paid homage to him in their lyrics.
"You must be that 'Street Jesus.' I saw you online." The refined middle-aged white man suddenly stood up and approached Leon.
"And this is..."
"He's a big shot. We go way back, but getting him here wasn't easy. You better make the most of this opportunity. Let me introduce you..."
Before T-Ray could finish, the white man cut him off. "I'm Phil Bryan, former General Manager of Epic Records."
Epic Records?
Leon knew the name well. It was a massive label that had launched superstars like Avril Lavigne.
Even if the title "General Manager" was in the past tense, the credentials were intimidating enough.