[Note: The content portrays fictionalized characters based on real people and includes hate speech and discriminatory attitudes. ]
Chapter 145: Crash Pads and Drug Dens
After leaving the fundraising gala, Jack Wells and Aaron headed straight for the Viper Room in Hollywood.
"Did you know?" Jack grinned as they sank into the sofa, "Johnny Depp recently invested in this place."
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
"So this is where he's planning to set up his base of operations?"
"More like a headquarters," Jack laughed. "Or a den."
Crash pad… drug den… both descriptions seemed equally fitting.
"Pretty much," Jack said knowingly. He had a solid understanding of Depp's lifestyle.
---
Jack suddenly glanced toward a corner of the club, where two young Black men were sitting together—both already radiating fame despite their youth.
"See those two?" Jack leaned closer. "That's Sean Combs and Tupac Shakur—two of the most promising young figures in hip-hop right now."
"Combs is only twenty-three and he's already an executive at Uptown Records," Jack continued. "And Tupac's barely twenty-one, but he's already making waves."
Aaron gave them a brief glance, unimpressed.
---
"By the way," Jack added, "do you know that John Singleton has started shooting a new film?"
Aaron frowned slightly. "He has?"
"Yeah. Columbia Pictures is financing it—an urban romance called Poetic Justice. The female lead is Michael Jackson's sister, Janet Jackson."
"And the male lead?" Jack smirked. "That kid there—Tupac Shakur."
Jack knew these details well. Just the day before, he'd crossed paths with part of that very crew. He had far more exposure to the Black entertainment scene than Aaron ever bothered with.
It wasn't surprising that Aaron didn't recognize Combs or Tupac—they were still rising names, not icons yet.
And Aaron had never cared much for rap anyway.
---
He scoffed lightly.
"Columbia. I noticed last year that they've been sticking close to Singleton."
"Do they really think one Oscar nomination is enough to turn someone into Spielberg overnight?"
Jack could hear the irritation in Aaron's voice—and he understood why.
After all…
It had been Aaron Anderson who had funded and backed Boyz n the Hood in the first place.
Now Columbia was swooping in to reap the prestige.
John Singleton jumping straight into a new project with his former distributor, Columbia, didn't go unnoticed.
Jack Wells narrowed his eyes toward the far corner of the bar.
"Artists are loyal only to success," he said coldly.
Aaron took a slow sip of his drink. "And success has a way of changing friends into strangers."
---
After Aaron left, Jack didn't go home. He stepped outside and used a payphone to make a brief call. Not long after, an old acquaintance arrived. The two of them lingered near the club, watching two young musicians leave shortly after midnight, both visibly drunk.
"Let's move," Jack said.
In a dim side alley, the ambush was sudden and brutal. When it was over, the attackers fled, leaving the victims behind and disappearing into the night.
---
The next morning, authorities discovered one man dead and another critically injured near the club. Police initially treated the incident as a robbery gone wrong.
The injured musician was rushed into intensive care. The deceased, still young and far from famous, became just another name in a city that swallowed dreams and bodies alike.
The case made only a small splash in the news. In Los Angeles, violence against unknown artists rarely commanded attention.
Jack Wells, meanwhile, seemed unaware that a single reckless choice had erased a future career and permanently altered another.