QR Code Murders: Model of Exactitude

“Who’s is this?”

No one said a word for a moment. Their eyes watched for the signal.

“I guess it’s no one’s!” The leader of the gang hollered. He was Thornton Patton. He was six-feet-two inches and snarled as he talked. He was the executive producer of the records but never rapped. He had a slight build but a mean gaze that stretched into the soul if he glanced too long.

They all had their right biceps exposed.

“Tell me whose this is and you’ll get a million followers on your social media accounts.”

A cacophony of voices soon filled the studio space.

“Alright, alright. One at a time. You Delaware Dollars. What’s your take on this footage?”

“I was interviewed. Sexy black chick. Blue black and holding a camera in my face. I just told her what happened. She promised she would alter my image and voice.”

“She did do that. But you gave up vital secrets pertaining to this organization. Sure not one of us could tell until you spoke up, but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Light God, show Dollars what happens to people who tell on camera.”

Delaware Dollars was dragged into an adjacent room where music was cranked up to mask the screams of terror.

“Now, if anyone wants to cooperate with the police or anyone connected to the cops, let me remind you of the consequences.”

Dollars was brought back in the studio room bloodied and breathing heavily.

“Let this serve as a lesson that we don’t make statements even if we can’t immediately make out who is doing the talking. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!” The clique of rappers said resoundingly.

Patton dismissed the rappers. They scurried out of his presence. He internalized his hot headedness. I felt almost ashamed he got that angry. He considered his team he looked down at Dollars. He threw down a towel and a stack of $5000.

“Here, clean yourself up. That’s for telling the truth. Don’t let the other ones in on this. They’ll be begging to get their asses kicked.” Patton helped dollars to his feet.

Dollars wiped off his mouth and looked at Patton incredulously.

“But why?”

“Don’t question it. Just process it.”

Dollars left the studio with the money and grabbed some ice from the machine in the lobby.

Patton walked around and folded his hands. In his mind, he had to set a strict punishment/reward regimen with his rappers or he would lose them. He would lose their trust, their minds, their very souls. He felt as if could command them like a modern day Mussolini. He just didn’t want to be strung up by his heels like the brutal dictator.

In his mind, he considered the rap deals and the publishing contracts. He owned ninety percent of the licensing rights to the rappers’ music. He coveted the crown of best record executive around. Diamond State Music Group had been the brainchild of his older brother and cousin.

They set the plan in motion and granted no one the opportunity to step on their plans to make the best label around. He thought about how he could be the ruling owner. The essence of his wonderment guaranteed him a place amongst the best to ever do it.

Patton brought down the hammer but made scarce his malice when it came to keeping the rappers in line. His way of thinking pushed him to be a model of exactitude. His mind led him to see visions of great mansions and European, limited production, exotic cars.

Of course he would throw in philanthropy to make it all look better. For the families he would do more than hand out turkeys, he would buy the farms and provide for families all year round.