Over the past few days, T-Ray had spared no effort in leveraging his connections. DJs from dozens of radio stations across New York, big and small, were hyping up Take Me to Church.
Leon's fame rose with the tide. Now, whenever he appeared on the street, he immediately attracted the attention of every hustler on the block.
These guys stared at him like he was a walking lottery ticket, oblivious to the fact that this "celebrity" whose song was on heavy rotation probably didn't have more than $4,000 to his name, assets included.
If it weren't for the fact that Magnum George of the Bloods stood behind him, Leon probably would have been a corpse on the street by now.
For safety's sake, Leon dragged his "homie" Davis along as a personal bodyguard.
Although they'd had some friction, Davis was, at the very least, one of the good ones among the local crew. He was loyal and had a certain amount of street cred.
Friday night at 8:00 PM, Leon rode in T-Ray's Escalade to Sheepshead Bay in southern Brooklyn.
In the early 2000s, this place was a chaotic mix of gang activity. But with a massive influx of Asian immigrants over the last decade, it had transformed into a middle-class neighborhood, and property values had flipped several times over.
There's an iron rule in America: where Asian gather, the crime rate usually drops, and property prices won't be low.
Today's Sheepshead Bay was nothing like before. Seeing sports cars worth over $100,000 on the street wasn't rare.
Starry Night Club was the most luxurious venue in Sheepshead Bay. Its owner was a mysterious Asian real estate developer, though rumors persisted that the real big boss behind the scenes was East Coast hip-hop mogul P. Diddy.
In New York, everyone knew P. Diddy had reached "god-tier" status when it came to partying.
Because of this, the club—famous for its incredibly high-quality models wearing incredibly little fabric—attracted countless wealthy scions and tycoons to spend big money. That included plenty of big shots from Manhattan.
"Look at this... so many familiar faces today. That white Lamborghini Murciélago belongs to Chris Brown."
"I've known that guy for a long time. Damn psychopath... I can't believe he was willing to break up with a cash cow like Rihanna."
When T-Ray mentioned Rihanna, his voice was full of regret, as if hating himself for not being Chris Brown.
"And that damn GTR belongs to Saburo Kitano, the head of Artist Management at Sony Music..."
"Damn Japanese... they just know how to wave cash around and buy, buy, buy. Nobody can stop Sony Music's expansion."
Leon found T-Ray's commentary hilarious. A washed-up producer from the slums acting like he was judging the titans of the industry.
However, the parking lot full of luxury cars and the number of big names present told Leon one thing: even though he wasn't the main act tonight, the fact that he was here meant Take Me to Church was truly blowing up.
Blinding neon lights, thick smoke mixed with the pungent smell of weed, and scantily clad models everywhere...
These elements sounded no different from a strip club in the hood.
But the sound system and decor were top-tier. You could stay here all night without your ears ringing.
Of course, those weren't the deciding factors of a club's class. The key was the quality of the models—they were simply on another level!
The guys in the ghetto had a specific aesthetic—they stubbornly believed that bigger was better when it came to ass, and weight was irrelevant.
Although Starry Night Club still catered to the American love for curves, the models here were significantly more toned and proportionate.
Their outfits were meticulously chosen—revealing everything except the three critical points.
If you ignored the fact that this was a nightclub, you could easily mistake it for a high-end fashion show.
Watching the blonde bombshells weaving through the dim light, shaking their hips, a question popped into Leon's head: Why doesn't Bonnie work here?
With her body and looks, she could easily handle this job, and the income would easily be triple what she made at the strip club.
"Hey~ You must be that Street Jesus guy~"
Inside the VIP booth, just as Leon was lost in thought watching the succubi on the dance floor, a voice came from behind him.
A stranger was waving at him in a friendly manner.
He was short, with eye-catching dreadlocks, dressed in oversized streetwear, and had a face that looked young and green.
He looked like the reincarnation of Eazy-E, the soul of N.W.A.
"You are..."
Leon extended his right hand. He didn't dislike this guy; he gave off a vibe of being somewhat educated.
"Kendrick Lamar, from Compton."
Compton?
Hearing the name, Leon's face showed genuine shock.
It wasn't that he was sheltered. Compton was just a poor Black community in the Greater Los Angeles area on the West Coast, but that city held a pivotal position in the history of hip-hop.
First, it was the birthplace of gang culture. Both the Crips and Bloods started there before spreading to Black communities across America.
Second, it birthed the greatest rap group in history: N.W.A!
With the release of Straight Outta Compton—arguably the most important album in gangsta rap history—the golden age of the genre officially began.
Leon had never set foot on the West Coast, but he was no stranger to the name Compton.
Word was it was a terrifying rat's nest where almost every Black male over the age of 12 was affiliated. The crime rate made Brownsville look like a playground.
So hearing that Kendrick Lamar was from there, Leon instantly felt a sense of respect.
Surviving there until your twenties meant this guy had luck on his side.
They chatted casually. Kendrick was full of compliments about Leon's talent, while Leon hadn't heard a single song of his.
He could only respond with "Oh, right, right" to avoid awkwardness.
At this point, T-Ray joined the conversation. He affectionately put his arm around Kendrick's shoulder and said to Leon, "Kendrick is a rookie just like you. He's a certified genius."
"He's left his mark on every major club in LA."
Then T-Ray leaned into Kendrick's ear and asked sneakily, "Has that nr Dr. Dre not given you an album deal yet?"
"Why don't you come to me? Look at Leon—we've known each other less than two weeks and he's already a recording artist."
Kendrick could only respond to T-Ray's pitch with an awkward smile.
You?
What do you have to compare with Dr. Dre, the icon of the post-gangsta rap era?
Like Jay-Z on the East Coast, Dre was not just a rap mogul but an investor in multiple fields, wielding immense power on the West Coast.
Compared to Jay-Z, who loved to scratch lottery tickets on anyone, Dre's attitude toward new talent was "quality over quantity."
Snoop Dogg, Eminem, 50 Cent—these heavyweights of hip-hop history all grew up under Dre's wing.
It was no exaggeration to say that once a rookie signed with Dre, their path to superstardom was already half-paved.