Smoke &C-Note
Smoke, or, Sean Styles, as the banker would call him in a few minutes, pulled his truck into a parking space at the Regions Bank in downtown Memphis. He turned off the engine and sat for a moment as he sprayed on extra cologne to cover the smell of the cigar he’d just smoke. He reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed the jacket to the new suit he’d brought just for the meeting. He then eased out of his truck, straightening out his slacks after he’d put the jacket on. After he was satisfied with his appearance he opened the rear passenger door, and grabbed the briefcase he’d gotten from C-Note as a gift for their new business venture.
After a month and a half of reading, research, and planning, Smoke was finally making his way to the bank. Along with C-Note, who’d mostly just skimmed through everything, Smoke had scoured the internet for information on bank loans and procedures, and also putting together solid business plans for new projects. They’d also researched lots of information on running an independent record label, not to mention talking to anyone they knew involved in the music industry in any kind of way.
Once inside, Smoke made his way to a receptionist’s desk where he asked for Thomas Geslack, the banker he’d spoken with a week ago. The meeting was really a favor set up by their late uncle’s oldest daughter, Patricia. She had spoken with the branch manager and explained to him how her father had an outstanding relationship with the back for over thirty-five years, and that her family wished to extend business with the bank through a business loan. The manager agreed that the bank had good history with her family since she and her two younger sisters also held accounts there. Considering those things, he said the bank would be happy to help with a new chapter for the family, if the business seemed sustainable. He’d personally have a meeting set up he’d told her, his main reason being that after looking through his computer files, he’d learned that the girls kept most of the two hundred thousand inheritance from their father’s life insurance at the bank. The bank manager had no intentions whatsoever of letting that much money walk out of his bank. He had set up the meeting with one of the best loan officers he claimed, but he’d also told her that he couldn’t make any promises, and that they’d have to make a good sales pitch.
After asking his name, the receptionist made a quick call and after hanging up informed Smoke that Geslack would be with him momentarily, also mentioning that he was the first scheduled meeting for the day. Moments later, middle aged, a medium built, white guy with horn rimmed glasses on approached Smoke with his hand extended.
"Mr. Styles, how are you this morning?" Geslack asked as his hand was swallowed by Smoke’s large palm.
"I'm okay," Smoke said in a cordial voice. "Thanks for asking and hopefully I'll be doing better before I leave. I have to apologize for my business associate, Mr. Ayers, being late. I just spoke with him and he got caught in traffic behind an accident."
"It's alright Mr. Styles, there's no reason to apologize. We could just have some coffee and talk; the meeting can wait a while."
"I appreciate the offer, but there is no reason to delay the meeting. I've spoken with my partner and we're on the same page. He'll pick up where he comes in and I'll fill him in on the rest myself."
The mild mannered banker nodded slowly. "Okay Mr. Styles, if that's what you think is best," he said and then led smoke back to his office.
After pouring two cups of coffee and handing one to Smoke, Geslack gave him a moment to finish what appeared to be him reading a text message. The banker looked over the large black man before him as he sat down behind his large oak desk. He'd already been instructed not to make it easy for them, but to let them down as gently as possible, and most importantly to make it look good.
"Thanks for your patience Mr. Geslack, and for the coffee," Smoke said with a nod. "I just sent an email letting my partner know we were beginning."
"Yes, yes, that's fine, and please, call me Thomas," Geslack said as he intertwined his hands and placed them on his desk. "So then Mr. Styles, let's get this meeting started. I' sure you brought along a business plan. So let’s look and see what we have."
Smoke pulled out two copies of the business plan, one for the banker, and another so that he could use it to answer questions as they went along. After reading the first few lines on the first page Geslack looked up at Smoke.
"Mr. Styles, I'll be honest enough to say that this isn't usually the type of thing we make loans for, but hey, business is business. I would like for you to tell me your vision and then we'll go through the plan as we go along. How's that sound?"
Even though Smoke had been preparing for what he'd say if asked a question like that, in the heat of the moment he couldn't get it out as good as he wanted it to sound and stumbled through his rehearsed lines.
Sensing his uneasiness, Geslack began to bomb Smoke with rapid questions as he seemed to randomly flip through the pages of the business plan. Smoke could feel where the banker's decision was leaning by his mildly belligerent tone and his questioning, along with little sly remarks. He could see that the banker was attempting to exploit any and every reason to reject them.
"Mr. Styles, one of the larger hurdles is repayment resources, and what you have listed...," Geslack began before he was interrupted by the ringing of the phone on his desk. "Excuse me one moment Mr. Styles, that's the receptionist," he said and sat the business plan down. "She knows I'm in a meeting, so most likely it's your business partner."
Geslack picked up the phone and listened briefly. "Yes Betty we're still in. Bring him back here if you don't mind..., lunch on me," he said bribing her.
A few moments later there was a light tap at the door. Geslack stood to greet the man he knew was about to enter, but stopped dead in his tracks once the door swung open. "Excuse me sir, can I help you?" he asked the strange looking man walking into his office.
"I'm here for the meetin' mane," C-Note drawled out.
"Meeting?" questioned Geslack, still not sure of the situation at hand.
"Yeah, the meetin'," C-Note said then stepped in the office and extended his hand to the banker. "That's my partna, Mr. Styles."
Geslack looked to Smoke then turned back to C-Note with his brow furrowed. "You're Mr. Ayers?" he asked incredulously, then looked over the man again, his black jeans and t-shirt with a picture of Scarface a stark contrast to the man he'd been in the meeting with.
"Yeah, that's me," C-Note said with a knowing smile.
After finally shaking off the stupor that had fell on him, the banker hesitantly met C-Note's hand with his own. "I'm Geslack, Thomas Geslack," he said solemnly then offered C-Note a seat and coffee, the latter which he refused.
The banker's response had been exactly what they hoped it would be. C-Note had showed up late, as planned, so that the meeting would already be underway. Smoke was the one who was good with the details, so he'd started the meeting with the banker to feel him out. C-Note's trump car on the other hand was spontaneousness, and together they felt like there weren't too many situations that they couldn't walk away from in a favorable position.
Now undeniably certain that he'd refuse them, Geslack picked the business plan back up and cleared his throat.
"Well Mr. Ayers, Mr. Styles has informed me that you two already have an arrangement concerning anything discussed prior to your arrival, so I'll continue where I left off. Mr. Styles and I were just discussing your ability to satisfy a loan repayment in the event of its approval. Mr. Ayers, your current employer at," Geslack paused as he glanced at the papers in his hands. "Techni-color, and your current wages, not to mention Mr. Styles' current unemployment, leaves us looking at a huge risk with little to cover them with. Yes, both of your credit scores are outstanding, but as I explained to Mr. Styles, loans the size of the one you seek aren't usually given for a start-up hip-hop label. Guys it would take a more than sound plan, an optimistic view for chances of success, and repayment and also a lot of luck to get this passed through."
"So you don't want to give us the loan," C-Note stated more than asked. "We got money, our family got money, and all our shit together, but we can’t get a loan?" he said with his voice now low and menacing.
Clearly stunned Geslack stuttered out a response. "It's not that we don't want to, there are just too many unknowns," he said trying to regain his composure. "Neither of you have any industry experience, not to mention surety for the down payment, as well as other things."
"Thomas, as I said earlier, the house is collateral for the down payment and we have an acquaintance, who currently owns a label, who's promised to help us out. He's listed in the appendix," Smoke spoke up.
"Okay, the house covers the down payment, but what happens afterwards?" Geslack asked looking at C-Note for a response.
C-Note’s response was him staring at Geslack, then standing up to stretch, which exposed the handle of the pistol in his pocket. He stayed that way until he was sure the banker saw it, and then he sat back down and reached over to the desk, where he picked up a picture.
"Nice family," C-Note said. "Yo' son 'might' grow up to look like you."
On cue Smoke chimed in. "Thomas, the house's equity covers double the down payment and by the time another payment is due we’ll be making money, trust me. All we want is a chance, that’s all."
The banker nervously looked at C-Note, who still had this family photo and now his own cell phone in hand, wiped his now sweaty palms on his slacks, and began to go through the business plan again.
"The...the amount, two hundred thousand," Geslack stuttered out a few minutes later. "I can't justify this much with what you guys have as resources. My supervisor will just change the loan once he reviews it."
"But you gon' make sho' that don't happen though right?" C-Note asked from behind his phone, which kept Geslack from seeing his face completely.
Geslack shifted in his seat and then repositioned his glasses. Though he could hear and see the menace from the man, Mr. Ayers, he could also sense it in the calmer Styles but still wanted to feel as though he had a grip on the situation. He then sat back in his chair and crossed his hands.
"Well gentlemen, as I'm sure you know the financial system isn’t what it used to be, and like I said it before, this loan would be hard to justify as is. With that said the most I can do is a hundred thousand, seventy in credit and thirty in cash."
"What?" C-Note bellowed. "We asked for two hundred, so you offer us one. It ain't like we came in here with guns and robbed this mothafucka. We tryin' to do business. But you know what, if we can't get the two hundred, we ain't taking no less than one seventy-five."
"Please Mr. Ayers, let's be reasonable, you asked for my help, and I'm trying to give it to you," Geslack pleaded and then looked over at Smoke. "One fifty, c'mon guys, meet me in the middle at least."
Smoke and C-Note exchanged glances and C-Note began to shake his head.
"Naw mane that ain't what we came here for. We put a plan together and we need to stick to it," C-Note said.
"Calm down,” Smoke said then looked back at the banker then to his cousin, “Thomas doing all he can to help us out, right? We can at least meet the man in the middle like he asked, but T, we gon' need one hundred in credit and fifty in cash."
The banker quickly agreed, feeling as though he'd taken a small victory since he'd talked them down by fifty- thousand. After hastily and uneasily getting all the paperwork together and handled, Geslack stood to usher the two racketeers from his office. He still couldn't fully believe they'd had the audacity to do what they had, but he wasn’t willing to find out if they were as serious as they looked and sounded.
On his way out behind his cousin, C-Note turned back to the banker and placed his Ieft hand on his shoulder while extending his right for a farewell shake. "Thomas, you looked out for us today, and I'mma personally make sho' you don't regret it," he said and walked away leaving the banker even more perplexed.
A few days later, the funds were made available and the first thing the cousins did was meet a contractor to have their studio built from the ground up. Since the site was near in the hood, the property and labor had only set them back eighty thousand. The fact that the contractor was a friend of their uncle’s had helped them get a rock bottom price. Once that meeting was over, they both went out car shopping. After arguing for over thirty minutes, Smoke got C-Note to look at the situation as business instead of personal convincing him to get a truck instead of the Ford Mustang GT he wanted. C-Note ended up agreeing with Smoke’s logic of using the trucks as rolling billboards, but he also wanted to fulfill his need for speed so he got a white Dodge Durango SRT8. Smoke on the other hand got a black GMC Yukon Denali. Since they were only leasing the trucks at the time it had only cost them ten thousand for both, which they had delivered to a customization shop to be fitted with custom rims. The trucks would also be lettered with the name they agreed on for their label the day they’d left the bank with the loan approval papers, M’Famous Entertainment. They also brought a used Chevy Avalanche along with an H2 and H3 Hummer to help lure their potential artists, and they had the additional trucks customized and lettered as well.
They spent the next two weeks figuring out everything they would need once their doors opened for business and ordered and returned everything from microphones to staplers trying to find the perfect fit for their tastes. Due to constant monitoring, pressing, and subtle legal threats from Thomas Geslack, the contractors finished building in eight short weeks. The electricians and interior carpenters took another three weeks to do their work and afterward all of the studio equipment and office supplies were installed within the next seven days. All told they had a record label built from the ground up in less than twelve weeks.
Even though they didn’t yet have an artists or had sold one album, both men felt a sense of accomplishment as they walked into the building together both with their custom M’Famous Ent. Chains dangling from their necks. Their building had four levels; one basement, and three floors above it. The basement held four recording booths, the first floor held two more booths and a receptionist area, while the second floor had meeting rooms and an executive lounge. The top floor was solely offices for all the positions they’d have to fill with their own two offices positioned at opposite ends of the hallway. The entire building was wired with a state of the art telecommunications and intercom systems.
C-Note lit the first of many blunts that would be smoked in the building as they sat in the largest meeting room for their first official meeting.
Smoke walked over to one of the floor to ceiling windows and looked down to the streets below. “We got us a brand new record label, now all we need is some records coming out this mothafucka,” he said.
“Mmm,” C-Note mouthed before swallowing and then exhaling the smoke in his mouth. “Aye look, I got this demo from this young nigga I bumped into the other day, he rapping ova mixed beats. The lil nigga go in on damn near everything. Call his self Triggamane.”
“Triggamane?” Smoke repeated. “He cut like that?”
“Naw, he just on some rap shit, but look, let’s go downstairs. I’ll go get his demo out my car. I actually been listening to the mothafucka. I got a few mo’ demos from some niggas and bitches, but this nigga probably sound the best.”
“I got a few in my truck out there too. It’s 'bout four of ‘em in the center console, grab them joints too. I’m gon’ be downstairs waiting.”
C-Note met Smoke in the engineering booth a few minutes later with seven different demos, and they messed with the equipment until they figured out how to get the c.d.s playing. After smoking more blunts and listening to all the demos they began to make decisions.
“I like that Shay the Shocka broad; she got that old Gangsta Boo sound. She did ai’ight, but she went in for real on that first song,” C-Note said rubbing his hands together.
“That’s what I thought, she sound like Boo on ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’ on that first song, but the rest was only okay,” Smoke said in agreement. “Shit we probably need to find Gangsta Boo and let her groom her ass.
“So what you think 'bout that Triggamane nigga? You like that shit?”
“Hell yeah. We gotta hurry up and sign that lil nigga before him and somebody else figure out this lil mothafucka can really rap,” Smoke said enthusiastically. “Catch up with that lil nigga tonight if you can. Give ‘em the keys to the H2 and a chain, tell ‘em we got some cash when he sign a contract. I’mma put that part together tonight, so bring him through tomorrow around one.”
“Shit, we doing all that we might as well put the nigga right to work. Look, I’mma holla at Larry later on and tell ‘em to hook us up wit’ a producer and shit. Since the nigga rap so good on other nigga’s beats we might as well do a mixtape. We just add two or three original cuts and push that shit like that. Save time and money.”
“Bet,” Smoke said fully agreeing with his cousin. “Well start with five thousand copies and sell ‘em ten bucks a pop. We’ll get a few people to sell ’em at clubs and salons or whatever. You get the nigga up here, I’mma pull all this other shit together, and tomorrow we gon’ be selling records.”
They gave each other dap to a plan coming together and then headed out, locking up the building as they left.
Around twelve thirty the next day C-Note pulled into the parking lot of M’Famous Ent. riding shotgun with their first artist, Triggamane, in his Hummer. He talked to the young rapper the night before, but had decided to wait until they were headed to the studio to give him the truck and chain. He figured he’d cut out any chance for bullshit coming from giving a young nigga a chain and a car, then having to track him down.
Since they’d spent most of their credit line having the building constructed, they only had one recording booth on the first floor operating, which was where the pair headed. Smoke and the sound engineer Larry had hooked them up with were already there listening to Triggamane’s demo. One C-Note had explained what they were trying to do, Larry had told them that they didn’t really need a producer yet, just the engineer and a c.d. with some beats. After Triggamane had eagerly signed a contract and they had talked for a while, they started to pick beats from current hit records and a few originals from the c.d. the engineer had brought. Triggamane went into the recording booth with five large notebooks and began to flow over other rappers’ beats like they were his own, but when he began to rap a song called ‘Thugs in Here’ on one of the original beats, Smoke and C-Note looked at each other and nodded, both knowing they had a real club banger. No one left for five hours until the entire mixtape called ‘Creep to This’ Vol. 1’s fourteen songs were done.
After they gave Triggamane five thousand in cash and watched his eyes light up like a Christmas tree before he hurried off, the cousins addressed their next issue, which was to have five thousand copies of the mixtape made. They made a few calls and after some small bribes, they were told that if they only put words on the front cover and delivered the c.d. in the next thirty minutes that they would be able to pick up the albums by eight forty-five that night. Smoke hauled ass with the c.d. and stayed at the distribution company until the copies were done. In the meantime C-Note had the members of their six man street team get together at the label.
At nine twenty one Smoke showed up with the records and ten minutes later the street team was headed out and their first record was on its way to the streets.