The Pinnacle Record Label

By Leon Jay Lee

The information about the book is not available as of this time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669815129

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Copyright © 2022 by Leon Jay Lee.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/10/2022

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

824835

This is a work of art.

All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Special Thanks

First of all, I’d like to thank God for making me. I’d like to thank my mother and father, Karen and Leon Lee; my grandmother, Venora Wilson; my grandfather, Russel Wilson; my aunts Janine Wilson, Eve Hayes, Carlisa Wilson, and Anita Wilson; my uncles Rickey Smith and Byron.

I’d like to thank all my teachers that taught me well; I was listening even when you thought I wasn’t.

To my brothers and sister, Micheal Lee, Deron Long, and Solette Long, thank you for being you and the motivation you guys give me. To all my nieces and nephews, you guys are my motivation. My children, Jordan Webb, Leon Lee III, and Ta’Leona Lee, I love you all dearly.

To Felicia Webb and Taneka Washington, thank you for having my beautiful children. To Adrian Allen, Gerald Two Blowit, Tamia Washington Gaylen Geno Blowit, and Janet Sugar Blewette, Rickey Wilson, Seyvon Edmundson, Nathaniel Hayes, Janesse Wilson, Tina Wilson, and Byron Wilson, and the rest of my cousins big and little, much love.

To the whole Wilson, Wotten, Hayes, Smith, Long, and Lee families, thanks for all the support.

To all my homies locked down in Leavenworth, Pekin, Oxford, and Rochester. All my homies in the rest of the federal lockdowns across the states. To all my guys doing state time. Thanks to Kareem Ramos for all your help. Anthony and Mich Randell.

Anybody I forgot, it’s all love. I got you next time.

Coming soon:

Young Boys

II

Grown Men

By Leon Jay Lee

Also

Coming Soon:

The Label II -

The Legacy Continues

By Leon Jay Lee

also

Street Money

By Leon Jay Lee

also

Ka$h City

By Leon Jay Lee

Contents

Chapter 1     New Drop-Top Benzes

Chapter 2     In the Listening Room

Chapter 3     Homicide

Chapter 4     Detective Morgan and Thomas

Chapter 5     HOT 99.7

Chapter 6     Shopping Spree

Chapter 7     Back West

Chapter 8     B.E.T. Awards

Chapter 9     Death

Chapter 10   Revenge

Chapter 11   The Celebration

Chapter 12   Back to Business

Chapter 13   Royalty Checks

Chapter 14   The Good Life

Chapter 15   Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 16   Smoke in the City

Chapter 17   Trial

Chapter 18   Back to Business

Chapter 19   B-Smooth

Chapter 20   Back on the Grind

Chapter 21   The New Artist

Chapter 22   Staying or Going

Chapter 23   Back at Headquarters

Chapter 24   Jail Time

Chapter 25   From Bad to Worse

Chapter 26   The Two State Cases

Chapter 27   Boss-B

Chapter 28   Necii

Chapter 29   Business and Relations

Chapter 30   Love

Chapter 31   Time to Money Up

Chapter 32   He’s Back

Chapter 33   Drama

Epilogue

Chapter One

New Drop-Top Benzes

Millions, millions, and millions! said Pinnacle Records CEO and founder Big Heist during a meeting of the minds in his main conference room on the top floor of a building he refers to as his headquarters. Surrounded by his moneymakers and shakers, artists, underboss, lieutenant, and captain, Big Heist was in a very good mood! Unusually good!

All we do is make money, tons and tons of money. Check it. I got the biggest and the best heavy hitters in the industry, every genre. You name it, I got it! I’m stunting more than Baby and Cash Money! I got more top-selling artists than Master P ever had! Gloated Big Heist.

The CEO and his underlings gathered around a massive imported mahogany and rosewood table handcrafted by the finest European artisans more than a hundred-fifty years ago. Polished to a shine, Big Heist could see his reflection in the mirror like finish; he liked what he saw.

The building, a.k.a. headquarters, is a massive iridescent block-wide black skyscraper with floor to ceiling windows; an iridescent masterpiece with sixty floors situated on prime real estate smack-dab in the center of Los Angeles.

Pinnacle owns the two top floors which houses ten hi-tech recording studios, sampling rooms, three conference rooms of various sizes, a gym worthy of world-class athletes, and Big Heist’s apartment-sized offices, one on each floor; add to that an enormous listening room which is often reserved for exclusive parties. Big Heist has it all!

The world is ours, ladies and gentlemen! yelled the CEO cheerfully. I got MacGee selling multiplatinum, Dawg Paws is multiplatinum, B-Smooth is MP, my new reggae artist Todd Barkly’s album just released, and guess what? It has already gone multiplatinum! Shalonda, my pop sensation has gone MP, and I just acquired two new country artists to the label, Mark Jeans and Mira Stacy . . . welcome to the family! Big Heist said, extending a powerful hand to the new artists.

I still have RLS selling close to platinum. They aren’t MP yet, but I’m confident we’ll add them to the list soon.

Big Heist stood and walked slowly around the table with his hands held firmly behind his back. So I ask you this . . . what’s next? Anyone? You can’t turn on a television without seeing us, a radio without hearing us, so where do we go from here? he asked, gazing around the table at his loyal subjects. No suggestions? I know what’s next!

With a grin on his face, Big Heist slowly made his way around the table, then stopped in front of a large painting of his father displayed proudly near the head of the table. Big Heist gently took hold of the gold frame and slid the painting to the left, revealing a small wall safe from which he pulled out a large manila envelope that jingled as he walked.

With a mischievous smile, Big Heist returned to the table and sat down. There were looks of confusion all around as he opened the 9 x 12 envelope. Inside were keys with the names of his artists attached to them.

New drop-top Benzes for all of my top-selling artists. For all you new guys and any slackers, consider this motivation to get off your ass and get to work, bring me hits, and I give you a house, I give you money, free cars . . . you name it. Motioning toward the door, Big Heist said, Exit left, people. Meeting’s over. Call me later, or better yet go for a drive, listen to the purr of the motor of your new car, then get back in the studio and produce something. Not just anything, though. Nothing less than a hit. That’s why we have ten studios so we can make hits . . . ten at a time!

Inspired and perhaps slightly confused, the group got up and headed for the elevator, then onto the garage to check out their new rides.

He could have kept the car and given me a check! said Dawg Paws to MacGee as soon as they were out of earshot. You feel me?

MacGee nodded. I could get my own whip!

Stepping out of the elevator on sub-level two, the group discovered a row of brand-new Mercedes Benz convertible sedans waiting to be claimed. They were all the same model, but no two colors were the same.

How do we know whose is whose? asked Dawg Paws without really putting too much thought into it.

Mira Stacy used her key fob to figure out which one was hers; when the horn sounded and the lights flashed, she smiled and walked with attitude toward her new ride. The rest followed suit. Seconds later, they exited the underground parking garage at breakneck speeds, all going their separate ways.

Boss, you know they don’t go to their studios much during the daytime. They say their creative juices flow best at night when they can concentrate on the music and not their cell phones, said Hitman when everyone but Murda, Savage, and Big Heist had left the room.

Big Heist nodded, then said, Yeah, I know! But, hey, freshly motivated, we might come in and find someone, maybe one of our new country artists hard at work . . . during the daylight hours.

You’re an ace at motivation, Boss, I’m sure they’ll step up their game! said Savage.

That’s what I do, Savage, I encourage people to do their best! Chuckled Big Heist, as he pulled out a Cuban cigar freshly rolled just this morning at a stand down the street. He reached into the breast pocket of his Armani suit for a lighter, but before he could pull it out, Savage produced a wooden match and lit his cigar for him. We on top of the world, boys! he said, as he puffed on the cigar until it let off a sweet cherry and vanilla aroma.

Let’s talk about Big Heist for a second. To say Big Heist is big is a major understatement. At six foot four, two hundred ninety pounds, powerful chest, and blocky shoulders, Big could have been in the NFL had he not chosen a thug’s life.

He was barely in his teens when guys in organized crime began calling upon him to help with various . . . shall we say, shady chores. At fifteen, he was as big as any man he knew.

The bigger he got the more opposing he became. So much so that the older guys in the neighborhood, which was in Watts, recruited him as an enforcer; you know, knock the daylights out of some no-good bum, break an arm of a rival, or collect from someone who thought they could get away without paying.

By the time he was twenty-one he had a rep and was the main enforcer-for-hire in his neighborhood. Before long, he graduated from brass knuckles and bats to Glock 9s and .45’s.

At twenty-four, Big Heist began selling drugs. Everyone knew who he was, including the cops who chose to leave him alone rather than try to bust him. Everyone was afraid of him!

Big Heist’s second-in-charge was the underboss, Murda. He was a big boy too. Six foot four, two hundred ten pounds, and all muscle; the name says it all. If Big Heist had any problems, his underboss would do whatever was necessary to show his loyalty.

It was unusual for an underboss to get his hands dirty, that’s why they had other people in the organization for the dirty work. Not Hitman! Him and Death had a working relationship; they were old friends. Hit was a man with his own money; dirty deeds were his pastime, what he did for fun. No matter how much wealth or material goods he possessed, he would still do whatever Big required of him.

Big’s captain was called Murda for a reason. He was a short fellow at five-foot-eight, but what he lacks in size he makes up for with speed and agility. He served fifteen years for murder but walked scot-free on two others. Can’t be a murder if their ain’t no body! he said in court. The man is a walking nightmare, for sure!

The lieutenant in Big Heist’s organization is a man named Savage. He’s five-foot-ten and a little over two hundred twenty pounds, depending on whether or not he ate with Big Heist or at home by himself. Savage had a solid body, but it was his mind one had to worry about. He was inventive and, well, savage! He learned early in the business how to cut corners and run all the illegal scams. Anything Big Heist needed done, all he had to do is say the word, Savage would get it done; if he couldn’t, he knew people who could. No one in the business could navigate the underworld better than he could; his connections were vast and loyal.

In theory, Big Heist kept these guys around so if something came down, he would be clean. But he’d usually wind up choking the life out of some disrespectful reject, anyway.

Big H, what kind of Benz did you get those guys? C-class? asked Savage.

Cs are for people who work at Walmart. No, they got CL500 drop-tops, every color in the rainbow, same make and model, though, said Big Heist.

Cl-500s, Boss, they ain’t cheap! said Murda.

Hey, I got a deal, okay. The owner of the dealership owed me, anyway. It’s important to maintain our image. To do that, we need all the current whips. That’s what people see when they look at us! So, we do what is necessary to keep looking good! It’s all part of the game! said Big Heist.

The men headed to the lower-level garage for their usual schedule—make an appearance wherever business has been slow; show face, so to speak.

Big Heist was dressed in a newly-acquired double-breasted Armani suit, dressing the part of the music mogul for the press, TMZ and the like. Even though they make major bank, Big Heist’s men typically dressed down to let the big guy have all the attention; they usually wore jogging pants, t-shirts, and tennis shoes. If it weren’t for the solid gold chains and fifty-thousand-dollar watches on their wrists, they’d never pass for millionaires. Tonight was different; tonight they all fit the part.

So where are we tonight? Murda asked with excitement in his voice. Strip joint? Night club? Casino, maybe. We should bring some babes over to the listening room and have them take turns on the pole, he said animatedly.

Big Heist thought about it for a minute, then said, How ’bout all three! The tone of his voice was reminiscent of Barry White—all he had to do was speak, and women would follow him anywhere.

Murda nodded and gave his boss a friendly pat on the back. Sounds good to me!

First, we go to the club, then we hit the casino, and finally, we bring some chick back here and panty and introduce them to the label for real in the listening room. Big Heist stopped for a second, then continued. And while we’re here, we can check on the studios to see who’s stepped up to the plate and are making some more hits. Hits, hits, and more hits, baby! He then squeezed Savage’s shoulder hard enough to make his head go numb.

Later that night . . .

Big Heist pulled up to his favorite hangout, a nightclub called Club Rain. He was instantly the center of attention arriving in a metallic black Lamborghini Huracan, listening to a song called Oasis, written and performed by his very own B-Smooth. Savage, Murda, and Hitman were close behind.

Entering through the VIP entrance, the four men bypassed a waiting line of about a hundred patiently waiting customers; no one asked any questions or gave any attitude. As honored guests, the DJ announced their presence as soon as