Prologue
Carrie Fisher and Eazy-E proved themselves journalism dynamos even though I couldn’t understand Eazy. If I could learn his language, the Final Testament might run even better.
Chapter 1. Soul Park
“What is it, Scoop?” I looked up from my desk.
Carrie Fisher leaned in the office door jamb. “Boss, I got a great story, but you need to go to earth.”
“What’s the story?”
Scoop stepped into the office and threw a piece of paper with an address on the desk. “Nicki Minaj built something she claims will end all racism on earth. It’s a secret, and I got the location, but you need to go there and investigate.”
“Dammit, Scoop, can’t Eazy go? He has the six-four, and I’m drowning in work.”
“Eazy and I are still working on the Dr. Peebody case. It’s all on you, boss.” Scoop laughed, racing out of the office.
I leaned back and pulled my hair, frustrated with the hectic nature of the job, but Scoop was correct: the story needed reporting. Grabbing my keys and the address, I headed to the car and soon drove the tunnel of light to earth. On the drive, I debated names for my car, but nothing seemed to work. Scoop told me God would give me the answer and to wait for a sign; perhaps she was right.
The exit from the light tunnel bounced the Camaro on an empty highway headed to northern California. Curiosity grew as I turned off the main road and approached a high fence with a sign: “Soul Park.” Stopping in front of the gate brought a guard from a small shack, “Can I help you?”
I rolled down the window. “May I see the owner, Nicki Minaj? I am a reporter.”
The guard frowned in annoyance, leaned into the shack, and used the phone. “Yeah, there’s some cracker ass reporter here to see Nicki…okay…right.”
