Dog
"What's good, Memphis?" Arell called out, his voice booming through the speakers. The answering cheer was deafening, a wall of sound that hit him square in the chest.
For the next hour and a half, Arell poured his heart and soul into the performance. He could feel the crowd's energy feeding his own, pushing him to new heights. By the time he left the stage, drenched in sweat and riding high on adrenaline, he knew he'd left everything out there.
Backstage, his crew swarmed him, all whoops and high-fives.
"Yo, that was fire!" Cam exclaimed, clapping him on the back.
Rashad nodded in agreement. "For real, bro. You had them eating out of your hand."
As the adrenaline began to ebb, Arell grabbed a bottle of water, gulping it down greedily. That's when he noticed the envelope sitting on the dressing room table, his name scrawled across the front in elegant script.
"What's this?" he asked, picking it up.
Jamal grinned. "Your payout, man. Remember? Elena said it'd be waiting for you after the show."
Arell nodded, recalling the conversation from earlier in the week. He'd been so focused on the performance itself that the financial aspect had slipped his mind. Opening the envelope, he thumbed through the stack of bills inside. Twenty-three thousand dollars. Not bad for a night's work in a city where he was still building his name.
The payout was nice, sure, but it was more than that. It was validation, proof that his star was indeed on the rise.
The next day, with Geoffrey having arrived in Memphis, they all piled into two SUVs and headed to meet the breeder.
"So, we really doing this dog thing, huh?" Cam asked from the backseat, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Arell nodded, his eyes on the road ahead. "Yeah, man. After seeing Zeus at Dolph's place... I don't know, it just feels right, you know?"
The drive to the breeder's property took them out of the city, the urban landscape gradually giving way to rolling countryside. As they pulled up to a sprawling estate, Arell couldn't help but let out a low whistle.
"Damn, Dolph's connect's living large."
Geoffrey chuckled. "It's expected when you're dealing with dogs worth tens of thousands."
They were greeted at the door by a man in his mid-forties, dressed in crisp khakis and a polo shirt. His handshake was firm, his smile genuine.
"You must be Arell. I'm Jackson Reed. Welcome to my little slice of paradise." He said warmly before guiding them into his home.
As soon as they stepped into the air-conditioned interior of the house, the first thing Arell noticed was the silence. For a place supposedly full of dogs, it was eerily quiet.
"Don't worry," Jackson said, noticing Arell's puzzled expression. "The kennels are in a separate building. Soundproofed, climate-controlled... only the best for our dogs."
Geoffrey immediately began peppering Jackson with questions about his operation, his breeding practices, health guarantees. Jackson answered each query patiently, clearly used to dealing with discerning clients.
"I'm not just a breeder," he explained as he led them through the house and out to a beautifully landscaped backyard. "I'm what you might call a high-end broker. I work with top breeders across the country and even in Europe to ensure access to the best bloodlines."
As they approached a large, modern building at the far end of the property, Jackson turned to Arell. "Now, before we go in, I need to know what you're looking for. And, more importantly, what you're willing to invest. Our dogs range from $5,000 to... well, the sky's the limit, really."
Arell considered for a moment. The show's payout was burning a hole in his pocket and he also knew the best dogs wouldn't come at a cheap fee, and he wanted the best. "I'm thinking... maybe up to 30k? That sound reasonable?"
Jackson's eyebrows rose slightly, an approving smile spreading across his face. "That opens up some very interesting possibilities. Follow me."
Inside the kennel building, the atmosphere was entirely different from what Arell had expected. Instead of rows of cages, there were spacious, climate-controlled rooms, each housing a different breed or litter.
"We'll start with some of our premium lines," Jackson said, leading them to a room where several muscular, short-haired dogs lounged on plush beds.
"These are our American Bullies," he explained. "Exceptional bloodlines, champions in several..."
"Nah," Arell interrupted, shaking his head. "No offense, but I'm not really feeling the bully breeds. Had a pit before, and... well, just looking for something different this time."
Jackson nodded understanding. "Of course. Perhaps something a bit more... regal? Follow me."
They moved through several more rooms, Jackson explaining the merits of each breed they encountered. Arell listened politely, but none of the dogs really caught his eye. That is, until they entered a room near the back of the building.
The moment they stepped inside, Arell felt a shift in the energy. The dogs in this room were powerfully built but with an air of quiet dignity. One in particular caught his eye - a fawn-colored puppy with a blue mask, sitting alert near the back of the room.
"Ah," Jackson said, noticing Arell's interest. "I see Ares has caught your attention. He's one of our most promising Cane Corso puppies."
As if on cue, the puppy - Ares - stood and padded over to Arell, his gait already showing hints of the powerful adult he would become. Arell crouched down, letting Ares sniff his hand.
"He's beautiful," Arell murmured, gently scratching behind the puppy's ears. "How old is he?"
"Ten weeks," Jackson replied. "And he comes from an exceptional lineage. His sire, Bel Monte's Maximilian, is an Italian Grand Champion and Working Dog of the Year. His dam, Scandifio's Bella Donna, is an American Champion and Best of Breed winner."
As Ares settled contentedly at Arell's feet, Jackson launched into a detailed explanation of the puppy's pedigree, health certifications, and included training package. Geoffrey listened intently, asking pointed questions about health guarantees and the specifics of the training program.
"And the training," Arell interjected. "That can be done in Atlanta, right? That's where I'm based."
Jackson nodded. "Absolutely. We have connections with top trainers across the country. We can easily arrange for the training to be conducted in Atlanta."
As the conversation continued, Arell found his attention continually drawn back to Ares. The puppy hadn't left his side, looking up at him with intelligent, trusting eyes.
"So," Arell said finally, his decision made. "What's the damage for a pup like this?"
Jackson hesitated for a moment. "Well, given Ares' exceptional bloodline and the included training package, he's priced at $27,000."
Arell's eyebrows shot up. "Damn, that's right at the top of my budget. What's the most expensive dog you've ever sold?"
"We once had a dog go for $40,000," Jackson admitted. "But that was an exceptional case."
Arell nodded slowly, his mind working. He looked down at Ares, who was now contentedly chewing on the lace of his sneaker. Despite the hefty price tag, Arell couldn't shake the feeling that this was right.
"You know what?" he said, looking up at Jackson with a grin. "Let's do it. Ares here is coming home with me."
Jackson's face lit up with a broad smile. "Excellent choice, Mr. Arell. I assure you, Ares will make an exceptional companion. Let's get the paperwork sorted, shall we?"
As Jackson led them to his office, Arell felt excitement churning in his gut. Twenty-seven grand was no small sum, but as he glanced back at Ares padding along behind them, tail wagging, he knew he'd made the right call.
The office was all rich mahogany and leather, with framed show ribbons and trophies lining the walls. Jackson settled behind an imposing desk, pulling out a sheaf of papers.
"Now," he began, his tone shifting to all business, "we'll need to go over the contract, health guarantees, and training arrangements. I understand you'll be heading to LA before returning to Atlanta?"
Arell nodded, leaning forward. "Yeah, that's right. How's that gonna work with Ares? Can he fly?"
Jackson's brow furrowed slightly. "At ten weeks, air travel isn't ideal for Ares. The stress could be detrimental to his development. I'd recommend having him transported directly to Atlanta once you're settled there. We can arrange for a professional pet transport service."
"Makes sense," Arell agreed, though he couldn't help feeling a twinge of disappointment. He'd been looking forward to showing off his new pup to India.
As they worked through the paperwork, Ares explored the office, his curious snuffling providing a soundtrack to their discussion. Occasionally, he'd return to Arell's side, resting his head on Arell's knee as if to remind him of his presence.
"Now, about the training," Jackson continued. "We'll start furthering his basic obedience and socialization. Then, when Ares arrives in Atlanta, we'll connect you with our associate there for more advanced work. We're talking protection training, advanced obedience, the works."
Arell nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. "What about air travel in the future? Once he's trained up and all?"
"Absolutely," Jackson assured him. "Part of his training will include desensitization to various environments, including air travel. By the time he's fully grown and trained, Ares will be able to accompany you just about anywhere."
As soon as they wrapped up the paperwork, they made their way back to the SUV's.
Cam was the first to speak as they pulled away from the breeder's property. "So, you really dropped 27k on a dog, huh?"
Arell grinned, still riding the high of his decision. "Not just a dog, man. An investment. You'll see."
"Speaking of investments," Geoffrey interjected from the driver's seat, "we need to discuss our next move. I've been in touch with some contacts in Louisiana. We'll be able to meet with NBA YoungBoy today."
The mood in the car shifted, becoming more serious. Arell leaned forward, his mind switching gears from puppies to business.
"For real? Run me through his story again?" Arell asked, his tone cautious but intrigued.
Geoffrey's grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "Kentrell Gaulden, goes by NBA YoungBoy. He's only 15, but he's already making waves in Baton Rouge. Raw talent, no doubt. But he's got a troubled background. Multiple arrests, gang affiliations. It's a risky proposition."
Arell nodded slowly, weighing the possibilities. "But if he's reaching out to us..."
"It means he sees an opportunity," Geoffrey finished. "And so do I. But we need to be smart about this. We need to meet him, get a real sense of where his head's at."
As they cruised down the highway, the lush Tennessee countryside giving way to the flatter landscapes of Mississippi, Arell found his mind racing with thoughts of YoungBoy's potential.
"So, what's the plan?" Rashad piped up from the backseat. "We heading straight to Louisiana?"
Geoffrey shook his head. "Not quite. I've arranged for us to meet in Natchez, Mississippi. It's neutral ground, close enough to Baton Rouge for YoungBoy, but not so deep in his territory that we'd be at a disadvantage."
Arell nodded approvingly. "Smart move. When's this going down?"
"Tomorrow noon," Geoffrey replied. "At a local diner. Casual setting, but public enough to keep things civil."
As the miles ticked by, Arell found himself scrolling through his phone, pulling up videos of YoungBoy's performances. The raw talent was undeniable - the kid had a flow that could cut through steel, and an intensity that practically leapt out of the screen.
"Yo, check this out," Arell said, passing his phone to Cam. "Tell me he ain't got something special."
Cam watched for a moment, his eyebrows rising. "Damn. He's got that fire, for sure. But can we work with that? He seems... wild."
"That's the million-dollar question," Geoffrey said from the front. "Can we channel that energy, that raw talent, into something sustainable? Or is it a powder keg waiting to explode?"
The next day, as they entered the nondescript diner on the outskirts of town, Arell's hand unconsciously brushed against the concealed glock at his hip. Better safe than sorry.
They spotted YoungBoy immediately, huddled in a back booth with a group of his people. Despite being only 15, there was a hardness to his features.
"Y'all must be Arell and them," Kentrell called out, his voice carrying a hint of eagerness beneath a facade of nonchalance.
Arell nodded, sliding into the opposite booth with Geoffrey. Jamal, Cam and Rashad took up positions at nearby tables, alert but trying to appear casual.
"Appreciate you reaching out, Kentrell," Arell said, keeping his tone neutral. "What made you decide to hit me up?"
Kentrell leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Look, I ain't gonna front. I been watching your moves. You got two joints on Billboard right now. You really out here doing it. And I'm tryna get to that level, you feel me? I got heat, real heat. But I need somebody who can take it to the next level."
Geoffrey nodded, his expression thoughtful. "We've been impressed by what we've seen, Kentrell. But we need to know - are you ready for what it takes to make it in this industry? It's not just about talent. It's about discipline, about making smart choices."
Kentrell's jaw tightened slightly. "I know y'all probably heard some shit about me. But that's the past, you feel me? I'm focused now. Music is my way out, and I'm ready to put in that work."
Arell studied the young rapper, noting the mix of determination and vulnerability in his eyes. "What about your crew?" he asked, nodding towards Kentrell's friends. "They part of this deal too?"
"They my family," Kentrell said firmly. "I ain't leaving them behind. If I eat, we all eat."
Arell and Geoffrey exchanged a glance. That loyalty was admirable.
"Alright, let's talk specifics," Arell said. "What are you looking for in a deal?"
Kentrell's eyes lit up. "I need that paper, you feel me? I'm thinking like 30k upfront. And I want to get some of my boys signed too."
Arell couldn't help but chuckle at the young rapper's boldness. "I feel you, bro. But let's be real - 30k upfront is steep for an unproven artist, even one with your potential."
Geoffrey leaned in, his voice calm and reasonable. "How about this - we can do 20k upfront, with another 20k tied to performance benchmarks. Hit a million streams, chart positions, things like that. We'll take an all encompassing 30% stake, which is a lot less than most labels would demand given your current status."
Kentrell's eyebrows shot up. "For real? That's... that's more than I thought y'all would offer."
"We believe in investing in talent," Arell explained. "But it's not just about the money. We're talking a five-year deal here. Vocal coaches, a publicist, regular studio time. We want to develop you, help you reach your full potential."
As they continued to hash out the details, Arell could see the excitement building in Kentrell's eyes. But there was something else there too - a wariness, a hard-earned skepticism.
"Look," Kentrell said finally, his voice low and intense. "I appreciate all this. For real. But y'all gotta understand something. Where I'm from, ain't nobody ever gave a fuck about us. We had to take what we wanted, cause ain't nobody ever gonna give it to us. So when y'all come in here talking about investment and development and all that... it sound good, but it sound too good, you feel me?"
Arell nodded slowly, feeling a deep resonance with Kentrell's words. "I hear you, bro. I really do. That's why we ain't asking you to decide right now. Take some time, talk it over with your people. We'll give you a direct way to contact us, and you hit us up when you're ready."
Kentrell leaned back, a mix of relief and wariness on his face. "Aight, I can respect that. How long I got to think it over?"
"Take a week," Geoffrey replied. "We understand this is a big decision. But just remember, opportunities like this don't come around often."
As they stood to leave, Arell reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He scribbled a number on the back before sliding it across the table to Kentrell.
"That's my personal line," Arell said. "You got any questions, any concerns, just hit me up."
Kentrell nodded, pocketing the card. "Appreciate that."
With the shake of a hand they exited the diner and climbed back into the SUV, the tension of the meeting slowly dissolved into a more relaxed atmosphere. Arell leaned back against the cool leather, his mind, however, was still on the deal they had just proposed to Kentrell.
"Yo, Geoff," Arell said, breaking the silence. "Real talk—how exactly are we paying for all this? We got studio time for the three boys in Florida, coaches for everyone and we're talking about signing NBA YoungBoy now… and we got other plans for that million… what's the situation?"
Geoffrey, seated up front, glanced back at Arell, his expression calm but calculating. He was always meticulous when it came to finances.
"Good question," Geoffrey began, shifting slightly in his seat to address everyone. "Let me break it down for you. Right now, we're covering studio time for Jahseh, Jarad, and Stokely but its the same studio. That's where most of our ongoing expenses are going in regards to the label, and while it's not dirt cheap but its still not exactly a pocket hurter."
He paused, allowing the words to sink in before continuing. "As for the coaches—those are shared expenses. Cochise, Jahseh, Jarad, and Stokely have the same coach and Becalis and Post share the same."
"So, we're good?" Cam chimed in from the backseat, a note of concern in his voice. "I mean, we're taking on a lot."
"We're… extremely good," Geoffrey reassured, though his tone carried the weight of someone who never stopped thinking about the bottom line. "Yet still, YoungBoy would have to be our last signing until September at the earliest. We can't stretch ourselves thin. Right now, we're balancing growth and sustainability. We need to make sure our income is far above our expenses before we take on more."
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Slow updates: because I've been binge watching Snowfall, on S4 now