Dre grew disillusioned with the Wreckin‘ Cru’s style and teamed up with a teenage rapper named Ice Cube. They performed live at clubs and skating rinks. „We used to take people’s songs, you know, and change them and make them dirty. Like My Adidas‘ was-“ Dre laughs hard from the gut up. „Cube had this thing called My Penis.‘ We rocked it, and people would go crazy. So we just took that and started making records with it. And with me being a DJ, I used to sit in the club during the week and make up beats just to play in the club. I would take somebody else’s song and re-create it and make it an instrumental. So that’s how I basically got into producing.“

Eventually Dre decided to form a group, but he needed a financial backer. In 1986, he met Eric „Eazy-E“ Wright, a former drug dealer and fellow Compton resident looking to pump his money into something legal. Dre produced an Eazy single called „Boyz-N-the Hood,“ and it was on. „We hustled the record every day for eight months,“ says Dre, „riding around in a jeep, selling it from record store to record store ourselves.“

DJ Yella, an old Wreckin‘ Cru partner, joined Dre, Eazy, Cube, MC Ren, and short-term member Arabian Prince to form arguably the most influential rap act ever. N.W.A’s 1989 landmark, Straight Outta Compton, introduced an entire nation to urban blight, West Coast style. The album, produced largely by Dr. Dre and released on the underground label Ruthless Records, went double platinum with virtually no radio play. Dre says he and Eazy started Ruthless, although it was Eazy and Jerry Heller-a middle-aged white man who’d previously worked with Elton John and Pink Floyd-who gained credit for building America’s first multimillion-dollar hardcore rap label.

Despite his meteoric success, Dre grows bitter when describing the disintegration of Ruthless Records and his relationship with Eazy-E. „The split came when Jerry Heller got involved,“ he recalls. „He played the divide-and-conquer game. He picked one nigga to take care of, instead of taking care of everybody, and that was Eazy. And Eazy was just, like, Well, shit, I’m taken care of, so fuck it.‘ „

When I reach Heller later by telephone, he reluctantly admits that Dre „was probably right. You know, Dre was a producer and a member of the group,“ he says. „Eazy was interested in being Berry Gordy, so more of my time was spent with Eazy.„

During the production of N.W.A’s Efil4zaggin album, Dre decided he wanted out of his contract. He almost spits out the recollection: „I was gettin‘ like two points for my production on albums. I still have the contracts framed.“ Dre adjusts his Rolex. „I’m not no egotistical person. I just want what I’m supposed to get. Not a penny more, not a penny less.„

That’s where Knight came in. „Suge brought it to my attention that I was being cheated,“ he says. „I wanted to do my own thing anyway. I was going to do it with Ruthless, but there was some sheisty shit, so I had to get ghost.“ Exactly how Knight helped Dre „get ghost“ depends on whom you ask. When I mention to Jerry Heller that Knight maintains he’s never threatened or beaten up anyone to make a gain in the music business, Heller cracks an eerie laugh reminiscent of Vincent Price’s on Michael Jackson’s Thriller, then says, „I would say he’s taking poetic license.„

Dre gives Knight credit for coming up with the plan for Death Row in 1991. He assures me he and Knight are „fifty-fifty partners. You know, me and Suge, we like brothers and shit.“ These two buddies figured Dr. Dre’s name was bankable enough to start a record label and get a distribution deal, but unbelievably, there were no takers at first. Finally Interscope took a chance and Death Row (the label was going to be called Future Shock, after an old Curtis Mayfield single, until Dre and Knight purchased the more dramatic handle from one of Dre’s homeboys) has become the most profitable independently owned African-American hip hop label of the 1990s.

Death Row’s first release, The Chronic, dissed Eazy-E and Jerry Heller numerous times. But when conversation turns to Eazy’s death from AIDS last March, Dre grows solemn: „I didn’t believe it till I went to the hospital.“ He sighs, rubs his chin, and collects his thoughts. „He looked normal. That’s what makes the shit so fuckin‘ scary, man. But he was unconscious, so he didn’t even know I was there.“ Obviously, adds Dre, the ensuing battle over ownership of Ruthless Records will affect Eazy’s seven children. „That’s who’s really going to suffer from this. We were talking about doing an N.W.A album and giving Eazy’s share to his kids.„

Dre’s words stop suddenly. He’s looking off somewhere, palming the back of his neck, perhaps reliving all the years of his life, personal and public: the Wreckin‘ Cru, N.W.A, his run-ins with the law, Death Row, all the awards and accolades, the offers to produce superstars such as Madonna, his and Ice Cube’s long-awaited Helter Skelter album, Snoop’s trial&hellip.

I pull Dre back into conversation by asking, „Would Death Row exist without you?“ His expression becomes blank, then he begins to speak but stops himself and thinks for a moment. „Wherever I am, whatever I do is going to be the bomb shit. And people are going to benefit from it. I dunno, there might be another Dr. Dre out there somewhere.“ He laughs uneasily.

I ask him about his greatest fear. „I’m not afraid of anything at the moment,“ he replies. „Actually, I’m afraid of two things: God and the IRS.“ He laughs again. „That’s it. You know, I get butterflies every time a record comes out. I’m, like, I hope people like it. I hope people buy it. But it’s never no serious fear.“

What matters most to Dr. Dre is the digestion and creation of music: „A lot of times when I’m at home kickin‘ it, I don’t even listen to hip hop,“ he says. „I listen to all types of music.“ (He promises Death Row ventures into rock, reggae, and jazz.) Pushing forward in his chair, Dre, who’s recently taken up the trumpet, taps his fingers on his left knee excitedly. „My personal opinion is, the ’70s is when the best music was made. Some motherfuckers had orchestras! Had string sections and they’d have to sit there and orchestrate a song. And put some vocals to it. So they really got into it. Curtis Mayfield, that motherfucker was bad as shit. Isaac Hayes, Barry White, y’knowhumsayin‘? Them brothers was in there doing it.„

But in the crisp air of El Mirage Desert Dry Lake Bed (a grueling 100-mile trek north from Los Angeles) stands the $600,000 video set of „California Love,“ Tupac’s phat first single (corapped and produced by Dr. Dre) from All Eyes on Me. The video, directed by Hype Williams, is loosely based on the flick Mad Max: Helicopters fly overhead, dirt bikes kick up sand, and everyone in the shoot-including Tupac, Dre, comedian/actor Chris Tucker, and a plethora of male and female extras-is wearing black leather shirts, vests, gloves, hats, and pants with metal spikes. Desert dust coats their faces, hands, and arms.

I haven’t spoken with or seen Tupac Shakur since our Rikers Island interview last January. I make my way to his trailer and knock. The door swings open, releasing a powerful gust of chronic smoke. There he is, the big eyes shining brightly, the smile still childlike and broad as an ocean, his exposed muscles-probably due to his 11-month bid-bigger than ever.

As Shakur is whisked away to a TV interview, I ask, „What do you think about this whole East Coast vs. West Coast thing?“ Tupac smiles that wicked smile and says, „It’s gonna get deep.“

What is even deeper is the way the word family has been mentioned by everyone associated with Death Row, including newcomers like teenage R&B singer Danny Boy and rapper/producer Sam Sneed. In this often cruel and unjust world, it can’t be argued enough how important it is to have people who’ve got your back. To have, as we say, „fam with ya.“ Shakur’s journey-from Harlem and the Bronx to Baltimore to the Bay Area to Los Angeles to Atlanta and back to New York and now back to Los Angeles-has always been about that need for family.

A few weeks later I speak with Shakur via telephone [see „All Eyes on Him,“ right]. „The family part, to me-I’m not gonna be corny and be, like, Everybody on Death Row love each other,‘ “ he says. „It’s not like that. Nobody has beef internally. And if we do, we handle it internally.

„More than a family, Death Row to me is like a machine. The biggest, strongest superpower in the hip hop world. In order to do the things that I gotta do, we gotta have that superpower. Now we gotta expand and show exactly what a superpower is.

„At Death Row I don’t have to worry about embarrassing nobody or standing out or doing something they don’t want me to do. I’m still Tupac. At Death Row, I got my own shit. I’m independent. But this is the machine that I roll with.

„As for me and Suge, right now-as of today-we’re the perfect couple. I can see this is what I’ve been looking for, managementwise. He rides like I ride. With Suge as my manager, I gotta do less. ‚Cause before, niggas wasn’t scared of me. So I brought fear to them. Now I don’t have to do all that to get respect. ‚Cause motherfuckers is scared shitless of Suge. I don’t know why, cause Suge’s cool. A lot of cowards are trying to make it like Suge’s the scourge of the industry. All Suge’s doing is riding. Making it so rappers can get what they due.“

Can we talk about the rape case at all?

Okay. Nigel and Trevor took me to Nell’s. When we got there, I was immediately impressed, because it was different than any club I’d been in. It wasn’t crowded, there was lots of space, there were beautiful women there. I was meeting Ronnie Lott from the New York Jets and Derrick Coleman from the Nets. They were coming up to me, like, „Pac, we’re proud of you.“ I felt so tall that night, because they were people’s heroes and they saying I was their hero. I felt above and beyond, like I was glowing.

Soon as she finished that-just enough to get me solid, rock-hard-we got off the dance floor. I told Nigel, „I’ve got to get out of here. I’m about to take her to the hotel. I’ll see you all later.“ Nigel was, like, „No, no, no. I’m going to take you back.“ We drive to the hotel. We go upstairs and have sex, real quick. As soon as I came, that was it. I was tired, I was drunk, I knew I had to get up early in the morning, so I was, like, „What are you going to do? You can spend the night or you can leave.“ She left me her number, and everything was cool. Nigel was spending the night in my room all these nights. When he found out she sucked my dick on the floor and we had sex, he and Trevor were livid! Trevor is a big freak; he was going crazy. All he kept asking me was, „D-d-did you fuck in the ass?“ He was listening to every single detail. I thought, This is just some guy shit, it’s all good.

What happened on the night of the alleged rape?

We had a show to do in New Jersey at Club 88. This dude said, „I’ll be there with a limo to pick you up at midnight.“ We went shopping, we got dressed up, we were all ready. Nigel was saying, „Why don’t you give her a call?“ So we were all sitting in the hotel, drinking. I’m waiting for the show, and Nigel’s, like, „I called her. I mean, she called me, and she’s on her way.“ But I wasn’t thinking about her no second time. We were watching TV when the phone rings, and she’s downstairs. Nigel gave Man-man, my manager, some money to pay for the cab, and I was, like, „Let that bitch pay for her own cab.“ She came upstairs looking all nice, dressed all provocative and shit, like she was ready for a prom date.

When I went to the other suite, Man-man told me that Talibah, my publicist at the time, had been there for a while and was waiting in the bedroom of that suite. I went to see Talibah and we talked about what she had been doing during the day, then I went and laid down on the couch and went to sleep. When I woke up, Nigel was standing over me going, „Pac, Pac,“ and all the lights was on in both rooms. The whole mood had changed, you know what I’m saying? I felt like I was drugged. I didn’t know how much time had passed. So when I woke up, it was, like, „You’re going to the police, you’re going to the police.“ Nigel walks out the room, comes back with the girl. Her clothes is on; ain’t nothing tore. She just upset, crying hysterically. „Why you let them do this to me?“ She’s not making sense. „I came to see you. You let them do this to me.“ I’m, like, „I don’t got time for this shit right here. You got to chill out with that shit. Stop yelling at me and looking at me all crazy.“ She said, „This not the last time you’re going to hear from me,“ and slammed the door. And Nigel goes, „Don’t worry about it, Pac, don’t worry. I’ll handle it. She just tripping.“ I asked him what happened, and he was, like, „Too many niggas.“ You know, I ain’t even tripping no more, you know? Niggas start going downstairs, but nobody was coming back upstairs. I’m sitting upstairs smoking weed, like, Where the fuck is everybody at? Then I get a call from Talibah from the lobby saying, „The police is down here.“

And that’s what landed you in jail. But you’re saying that you never did anything?

Never did nothing. Only thing I saw was all three of them in there and that nigga talking about how fat her ass was. I got up, because the nigga sounded sick. I don’t know if she’s with these niggas, or if she’s mad at me for not protecting her. But I know I feel ashamed-because I wanted to be accepted and because I didn’t want no harm done to me-I didn’t say nothing.

How did you feel about women during the trial, and how do you feel about women now?

When the charge first came up, I hated black women. I felt like I put my life on the line. At the time I made „Keep Ya Head Up,“ nobody had no songs about black women. I put out „Keep Ya Head Up“ from the bottom of my heart. It was real, and they didn’t defend it. I felt like it should have been women all over the country talking about, „Tupac couldn’t have did that.“ And people was actually asking me, „Did you do it?“

Then, going to trial, I started seeing the black women that was helping me. Now I’ve got a brand-new vision of them, because in here, it’s mostly black female guards. They don’t give me no extra favors, but they treat me with human respect. They’re telling me, „When you get out of here, you gotta change.“ They be putting me on the phone with they kids. You know what I’m saying? They just give me love.

What’s going to happen if you have to serve time?

If it happens, I got to serve it like a trooper. Of course, my heart will be broke. I be torn apart, but I have to serve it like a trooper.

I understand you recently completed a new album.

Rapping…I don’t even got the thrill to rap no more. I mean, in here I don’t even remember my lyrics.

But you’re putting out the album, right?

Yeah. It’s called Me Against the World. So that is my truth. That’s my best album yet. And because I already laid it down, I can be free. When you do rap albums, you got to train yourself. You got to constantly be in character. You used to see rappers talking all that hard shit, and then you see them in suits and shit at the American Music Awards. I didn’t want to be that type of nigga. I wanted to keep it real, and that’s what I thought I was doing. But now that shit is dead. That Thug Life shit…;I did it, I put in my work, I laid it down. But now that shit is dead.

For all the compassion I feel for Tupac, I keep asking myself a question that should be addressed by hip hop and rap fans who support Tupac: Would he be changing his thuglike ways if he weren’t facing the nest few years of his life behing bars? i hope that Tupac meant what he said in his interview and I wish him all the luck that I have to give, but something keeps telling me that if Tupac hadn’t taken his unfortunate fall, he’d still be out there smoking weed, insulting people, and carrying on like he was prior to his sentence. I’m a fan of Tupac’s, so I’m hoping that I’m wrong, but I’ve got feeling that I’m not.

For what I read, his so-called homies Nigel and Trevor set him up with the rape case, and they definitely had something to do with his getting shot. Yo, Pac, I’m not calling you stupid, I just think you should have been more cautious witht he people you choose to call your homies. You’ve been around! Without those two, you wouldn’t be in the situation you’re in now. It’s sad that black brothers can’t unite, that they must fight and destroy each other. If what you said in your interview about amking us all proud is tru, then more power to you, black brother. Remember, true friends are like diamonds, precious but rare; false friends are like autumn leaves, found everywhere. Keep ya head up, nigga! Still getting love from your sistas!

Day One, Saturday, September 7: Mike Tyson is a thug’s champion. Mighty but vulnerable, streetwise but naive, standing in a precarious place despite his wealth. The place is special in the hearts of hustlers. A Tyson fight is an unofficial gangsta party. It’s where the ghetto elite meet: rich niggas with nothing to lose, indulging their contradictions.

The anticipation builds as colorfully dressed folks file into the MGM Grand on this hot Las Vegas evening. Inside, playas like Stacey Augmon, New Edition, Gary Payton, Too Short, and Run-DMC settle in. Among the ‚bangers, ballers, dealers, and denizens in the VIP section are two of America’s most infamous: Marion „Suge“ Knight, the Death Row Records CEO who’s made no secret of his affiliation with the Bloods, and his quintuple-platinum superstar, Tupac Shakur.

The bell dings, and Mike Tyson makes quick work of a hapless Bruce Seldon. Too quick for the crowd’s taste. The mood after the 109-second fight is ugly, but Tupac is gleeful, jumping about like a little boy. „Did you see Tyson do it to ‚im? Tyson did it to ‚im! Did y’all see that?“ says ‚Pac, baiting a camera crew in the MGM lobby. He becomes more and more animated talking about Mike. „Did y’all see that? Fifty punches! I counted, 50 punches! I knew he was gon‘ take him out. We bad like that. Come out of prison and now we running shit.“ Suge, smiling at ‚Pac’s antics, grabs his arm and coaxes him away from the camera.

Tupac returns to his room at the nearby Luxor, a massive black pyramid with a brightly illuminated top. According to a close friend, he’s slightly upset because he couldn’t find his road dawgs, the Outlaws, who were supposed to be at the fight with him. „He complained of getting into a scrap with some Crips.“

Back outside the MGM, an amateur videographer catches ‚Pac and Suge waiting for their car, surrounded by a bevy of women. Tupac has changed from the brushed silk shirt he wore to the fight to a black basketball jersey that better exposes his tattooed biceps and the diamond-and-ruby-encrusted medallion hanging from his neck. On it is an angel in waiting, wings outspread, gun in hand.

Well it’s time to ride / I’m ready to die right here tonight / And motherfuck they life / That’s what they screamin‘ as they drill me / But I’m hard to kill, so open fire.
-2Pac, „Ambitionz az a Ridah„

Eleven-fifteen p.m. finds Suge and ‚Pac turning off Las Vegas Boulevard onto Flamingo, heading east toward Suge’s Club 662 in a black BMW 750, presumably to get their party on. Several women in an Oldsmobile flash ‚Pac and Suge. Suge’s at the wheel and ‚Pac’s next to him, his window down. He’s all smiles, yelling to his fans, inviting them to join the party. Leading a convoy estimated at anywhere between six and 15 cars, the BMW stops at a red light in front of the Maxim Hotel-just beyond the Strip, where the neon and hubbub end and the darkness of a desert town begins.

A late-model white Cadillac with California plates pulls up to the right of the BMW. One of its four passengers takes out a high-caliber firearm. „I heard these sounds and thought it was someone shooting in the air,“ says an eyewitness who was idling three cars back, „but then I see sparks fly from the gun.“ Between 10 and 15 shots ring out. Lead pierces metal, glass, flesh. Two bullets tear through Tupac’s chest, one through a hand, one in a leg. Bullet fragments graze the top of Suge’s head. The Cadillac peels off to the right, heading south down Koval Street. With two tires blown out and the windshield shot through, Suge floors his Beemer, screeching into a wild U-turn against oncoming traffic as vehicles scatter.

Two policemen at the Maxim on an unrelated call hear the shots and see the commotion. They immediately give chase. According to a friend of Suge’s, who was told the details later, Tupac is now bleeding through his jersey. „Gotta keep your eyes open,“ ‚Pac says to himself. Suge stops the car and the police arrive. Tupac is stretched out in the back of the BMW bleeding profusely. Ambulance lights flash. „There was blood everywhere,“ says one witness.

„Get down!“ yells a policeman, pointing a shotgun at Suge.

„I gotta get my boy to the hospital,“ Suge says.

„Shut up. Get down!“ Suge bends his knees to the ground.

Across town, a white Cadillac slips quietly away into the night. „I’m dying, I’m dying,“ says Tupac as he’s being brought into University Medical Center’s intensive care unit. He’s lost a lot of blood. He undergoes the first of two complicated operations. Afterwards, Tupac’s mother, aunt, and friends-including Mike Tyson, Jasmine Guy, and Jesse Jackson-rush to his side.

Day Two: Within hours the shots have been heard ‚round the world. Two years after the last attempt on his life, hip hop’s Lazarus has caught bullets once again and no one knows what to think. Will he die? Will he return from this ordeal larger, more invincible? It’s difficult to imagine such a kinetic and volatile figure lying immobilized. This, after all, is the same man who got into a gun battle with cops on an Atlanta street and bopped out of the courtroom unscathed. The same man who survived five bullet wounds in a 1994 Times Square ambush. The same man who, though convicted of sexual abuse, left a New York jail richer and more popular than when he went in. “ ‚Pac will be all right,“ says a family member. „He’ll pull through.“

Predictably, the media jumps on the gangsta image, the court cases, the prison terms, and the thuggish lyrics Bob Dole denounced. But his friends recount other stories. „I’ve always known him to be gracious, humane,“ says hip hop mogul Russell Simmons. „All this gangsta stuff, I’ve never seen it. I remember him dancing with this woman in a wheelchair for four hours when everybody else was drinking and partying. That’s how I knew the man. He’s a total sophisticate: intelligent, articulate.„

„He looks like a sleeping black angel,“ says a close friend, after visiting Tupac in the hospital. „I talked to him, touched him. I told him to go to his light.„

The members of Suge’s Death Row entourage are questioned by police, but provide little information. Sergeant Kevin Manning of the Las Vegas Police Department says, „They were not quite candid,“ about the circumstances surrounding the shooting.

Day Three: Fearing gang-related violence, hospital authorities step up security. Between UMC security, LVPD, and Death Row bodyguards, the trauma unit is all badges, brawn, and walkie-talkies. Outside, a local Channel 3 news van backfires twice and everybody in earshot drops to the ground. At about 8 p.m. police and Tupac’s crew get into a shouting match that results in people getting handcuffed and detained by police. LVPD’s Gang Sergeant Cindi West calls it „a misunderstanding.„

Rumors abound. Depending on who you ask, Tupac is either on his way to the morgue or in intensive care puffing on a cigarette. In truth, he’s alive but experiencing respiratory trouble. Surgeons decide to go in a second time and remove ‚Pac’s shattered right lung. „You can live with one lung,“ says Dr. Jonathan Weissler, chief of pulmonary and critical care medicine at Southwestern Medical in Dallas. „And after a while you can live quite well with it.„

After hours of unconsciousness, Tupac momentarily opens his eyes. Hearts are lifted.

Day Four: The entire hip hop world is turned on its ear. Overzealous reporters suggest that the shooting is tied to the East Coast- West Coast rivalry. A few speculate that it may be gang-related. Among the names being thrown about are the Notor ious B.I.G. and Mobb Deep (who are both entangled in protracted lyric feuds with Tupac), Las Vegas Crips, Los Angeles Crips, even Death Row employees. At least one Bad Boy Entertainment staffer receives death threats, and the New York-based label cancels a scheduled appearance of some of their artists.

„That this is gang-related is still pure speculation,“ says Sergeant Manning. „We have to run by facts.“ The entire Death Row organization, according to one employee, has been put under a gag order by higher-ups. LVPD, frustrated by the lack of coopera tion from Tupac’s camp, complain to the press. „The problem is a lack of forthrightness,“ says Manning, barely concealing his disgust. „It amazes me when they have professional bodyguards who can’t even give an accurate description of the vehicle.“ Meanwh ile Suge, who was released from the hospital with minor head wounds, is nowhere to be found.

In the trauma unit there’s meditation and prayer. Tupac’s aunt, Yaasmyn Fula, a tall, regal woman, removes her glasses and wipes her puffy eyes. „I’m just really, really tired,“ she says quietly. Afeni Shakur, 50, a woman of small frame and formidable grace, looks about the same. The former Black Panther who ‚Pac calls Mama seems to carry the weight of the world upon her small shoulders. Visiting hours are almost over and she returns to the hotel for an hour or two of restless rest. ‚Pac is still in cr itical condition.

Family members silently get into a plain blue Chrysler. An older man wraps his arms around Afeni, and she leans in heavily as the car drives away.

Day Five: The morning brings news of a murder in Los Angeles. A Compton bodyguard, who police say is connected with the Southside Crips, has been shot in his car and pronounced dead at Martin Luther King Jr. General Hospital at 9:53 a.m. The rum or is that the homicide was payback for Tupac being shot. „Someone just drove up alongside and blasted him,“ says LAPD homicide detective Mike Pariz. „This is only the beginning,“ says a Compton resident. „The gang shit is about to be on.„

Suge makes himself available to the LVPD for questioning. Investigators review a videotape from the MGM taken the night of the Tyson fight, which reportedly shows Tupac and others in a confrontation with an unknown black man dressed in jeans and a T-sh irt. „This happened at approximately 8:45 p.m.,“ says Sergeant Manning. „Kicking and punching were involved.“ Authorities won’t reveal whether Tupac or Suge personally assaulted the man. Once police officers arrived at the scene they asked if the victim w anted to file a complaint. He said „Forget it“ and walked away. Officers never got a name. „There is no reason to believe that these incidents are at all connected,“ says Manning.

Day Six: Tupac, his eyes closed and his remaining lung inflamed, („Ready to Die,“ cont.) struggles for his life. He’s connected to a respirator, his body convulsing violently at times. Doctors induce paralysis for fear of ‚Pac hurting himself. D r. John Fildes, chairman of the hospital’s trauma center, gives him a 20 percent chance of survival. „It’s a very fatal injury,“ he says. „A patient may die from lack of oxygen or may bleed to death.“ Despite newspaper headlines like WOUNDED TUPAC IS UNLIKELY TO LIVE, family members hold out hope.

Day Seven: „This is Dale Pugh, marketing and public relations director for the University Medical Center,“ says a hospital hotline answering machine. „This message is being recorded at approximately 5:15 p.m. on Friday, September 13. Tupac Shaku r has passed away at UMC at approximately 4:03 p.m. Physicians have listed the cause of death as respiratory failure and cardiopulmonary arrest.„

At the hospital there’s a stillness, a surreal calm. The contradictions of Tupac’s many worlds are converging. More than 150 people are gathered out front: dark young girls and their mothers, lanky young men with combs in their uncombed heads; others w earing do-rags, professional women, young Native-American ‚bangers and children-dozens and dozens of children. Detached reporters wait with the teary-eyed. A blond, blue-eyed cop stands next to a white boy with dollar signs tattooed on his neck.

Surrounded by family, Afeni dashes out of the trauma unit, quiet determination etched on her face. „She is an extremely spiritual person,“ says a family friend. „I think she knew. She had given her only son to God long before this day.“

A member of Tupac’s crew leaves the trauma room soon after. He stares down a hospital staffer and screams: „Why the fuck you let him die, yo?! Why the fuck you let him die?„

Behind him, Yaki, Tupac’s cousin, who’s been at ‚Pac’s side since forever, walks out, red in the face. Death Row artist Danny Boy comes in tube socks and slippers, tears falling from behind half-and-half glasses. He bends down on one knee as if in pra yer.

There’s a trace of crimson in the clouds. Suddenly three shining cars appear and Suge Knight steps out of a black Lexus in a Phoenix Suns T-shirt, the wound up top his head barely noticeable. His massive figure quiets the crowd. He enters the trauma ce nter hugging Danny Boy around the neck and talking quietly with members of Tupac’s family. Without his running mate Tupac, Suge seems more solitary. After a few minutes he turns to leave, taking pulls on a barely lit cigar and leaving whispers in his wake .

As the minutes go by, an almost festive atmosphere develops outside. Cars roll up bumping Tupac songs. Children begin running beyond their mothers‘ reach. One little boy in naps and slippers lies down between two parked cars, glancing up mischievously to check if anyone sees him.

The press packs it up. The crowd begins to disperse. A black Humvee circles the hospital, blaring „If I Die Tonight.“

„I’ll live eternal / Who shall I fear / Don’t shed a tear for me nigga / I ain’t happy here.“ The resoluteness in ‚Pac’s voice is cathartic. „I hope they bury me and send me to my rest / Headlines readin‘ murdered to death / My last breath….

Such eerily prophetic lines were not unusual for Tupac, who seemed to be rehearsing his death from early on. For him, it was valor over violence, destiny over death. But if his listeners were forewarned, they were still unprepared. „Now it’s real,“ say s Vibe writer Robert Morales. „This scene has lost its cherry. All the shit people have been talking in the past five years, all the dissing and posturing, has led to this. Hip hop has crossed a line, and it’s gonna be hard to cross back.“

What are your plans after prison?

I’m going to team up with Mike Tyson when we get out. Team up with Monster Kody [now known as Sanyika Shakur] from California. I’m going to start an organization called Us First. I’m going to save these young niggas, because nobody else want to save them. Nobody ever came to save me. They just watch what happen to you. That’s why Thug Life to me is dead. If it’s real, then let somebody else represent it, because I’m tired of it. I represented it too much. I was Thug Life. I was the only nigga out there putting my life on the line.

Has anybody else been there for you?

Since I’ve been in here I got about 40 letters. I got little girls sending me money. Everybody telling me that God is with me. People telling me they hate the dudes that shot me, they’re going to pray for me. I did get one letter, this dude telling me he wished I was dead. But then I got people looking out for me, like Jada Pinkett, Jasmine Guy, Treach, Mickey Rourke. My label, Interscope Records, has been extremely supportive. Even Madonna.

Can you talk about your relationship with Madonna and Mickey Rourke?

I was letting people dictate who should be my friends. I felt like because I was this big Black Panther type of nigga, I couldn’t be friends with Madonna. And so I dissed her, even though she showed me nothing but love. I felt bad, because when I went to jail, I called her and she was the only person that was willing to help me. Of that stature. Same thing with Mickey Rourke-he just befriended me. Not like black and white, just like friend to friend. And from now on, it’s not going to be a strictly black thing with me. I even apologized to Quincy Jones for all the stuff I said about him and his wives. I’m apologizing to the Hughes Brothers…but not John Singleton. He’s inspiring me to write screenplays, because I want to be his competition. He fired me from Higher Learning and gave my idea to the next actor.

Do you worry about your safety now?

I don’t have no fear of death. My only fear is coming back reincarnated. I’m not trying to make people think I’m in here faking it, but my whole life is going to be about saving somebody. I got to represent life. If you saying you going to be real, that’s how you be real-be physically fit, be mentally fit. And I want niggas to be educated. You know, I was steering people away from school. You gotta be in school, because through school you can get a job. And if you got a job, then that’s how they can’t do us like this.

Do you think rap music is going to come under more attack, given what’s happened to you?

Oh, definitely. That’s why they’re doing me like this. Because if they can stop me, they can stop 30 more rappers before they even born. But there’s something else I understand now: If we really are saying rap is an art form, then we got to be true to it and be more responsible for our lyrics. If you see everybody dying because of what you saying, it don’t matter that you didn’t make them die, it just matters that you didn’t save them.

You mentioned Marvin Gaye in „Keep Ya Head Up.“ A lot of people have compared you to him, in terms of your personal conflicts.

That’s how I feel. I feel close to Marvin Gaye, Vincent van Gogh.

Why van Gogh?

Because nobody appreciated his work until he was dead. Now it’s worth millions. I feel close to him, how tormented he was. Him and Marvin too. That’s how I was out there. I’m in jail now, but I’m free. My mind is free. The only time I have problems is when I sleep.

So you’re grateful to be where you are now?

It’s a gift-straight-up. This is God’s will. And everybody that said I wasn’t nothing…my whole goal is to just make them ashamed that they wrote me off like that. Because I’m 23 years old. And I might just be my mother’s child, but in all reality, I’m everybody’s child. You know what I’m saying? Nobody raised me; I was raised in this society. But I’m not going to use that as an excuse no more. I’m going to pull myself up by my bootstraps, and I’m going to make a change. And my change is going to make a change through the community. And through that, they gonna see what type of person I truly was. Where my heart was. This Thug Life stuff, it was just ignorance. My intentions was always in the right place. I never killed anybody, I never raped anybody, I never committed no crimes that weren’t honorable-that weren’t to defend myself. So that’s what I’m going to show them. I’m going to show people my true intentions, and my true heart. I’m going to show them the man that my mother raised. I’m going to make them all proud.

I am the young woman that was sexually assaulted by Tupac Shakur and his thugs. I’ve read Kevin Powell’s interview with Tupac [„Ready to Live,“ April], in which I was misrepresented. Up until this point I have only told my story under oath in court; nobody has heard my story, only his side, which is much different than what Tupac stated is the true story.

A friend of mine took me to Nell’s, where he introduced me to [the men VIBE identified as] Nigel and Trevor, who later introduced me to their friend Tupac. When I first met Tupac, he kissed me on my cheek and made small talk with me. After a while, I excused myself and started to walk to the dance floor. When I felt someone slide their hands into the back pocket of my jeans, I turned around, assuming it was my friend, but was shocked when I discovered it was Tupac. We danced for a while, and he touched my face and his body brushed mine. Due to the small dance floor and the large number of people, we were shoved into a dark corner. Tupac pulled up his shirt, took my hand, traced it down his chest, and sat it on top of his erect penis. He then kissed me and pushed my head down on his penis, and in a brief three-second encounter, my lips touched the head of his penis. This happened so suddenly that once I realized what he was trying to do, I swiftly brought my head up. I must reiterate that I did not suck his penis on the dance floor. He pulled his shirt back down and asked me what I was doing later. I told him that I was going home because I had to go to work that day. Then, as people started surrounding him again, he grabbed my arm and said, „Let’s get out of here, I’m tired of people stressing me.“ We exited Nell’s, got into a white BMW, pulled up at the Parker Meridien, and went to his suite. We conversed, and he rolled up some blunts. We started kissing, and then we had oral and vaginal sexual intercourse several times.

He called my house a couple nights later and gave me his SkyPager number and told me he wanted to see me tomorrow. That evening after work, I paged him, and his road manager called me back and informed me that Pac really wanted to see me but he had a show to do in Jersey, so I should call a car service and take it to the Meridien and he would pay for the cab. Once I got to the hotel, I met Charles Fuller for the first time; he paid for the cab and led me upstairs. Inside the suite, Tupac, Nigel, and Trevor were seated in the living room, smoking weed and drinking Absolut. Tupac told me to come in and pointed to the arm of the sofa near him, and I sat down. After about 20 minutes, Tupac took my hand and led me into a bedroom in the suite. He fell onto the bed and asked me to give him a massage. So I massaged his back, he turned around, and I started massaging his chest.

Just as we began kissing, the door opened and I heard people entering. As I started to turn to see who it was, Tupac grabbed my head and told me, „Don’t move.“ I looked down at him and he said, „Don’t worry, baby, these are my brothers and they ain’t going to hurt you. We do everything together.“ I started to shake my head, „No, no, Pac, I came here to be with you. I came here to see you. I don’t want to do this.“ I started to rise up off the bed but he brutally slammed my head down. My lips and face came crashing down hard onto his penis, he squeezed the back of my neck, and I started to gag. Tupac and Nigel held me down while Trevor forced his penis into my mouth. I felt hands tearing my shoes off, ripping my stockings and panties off. I couldn’t move; I felt paralyzed, trapped, and I started to black out. They leered at my body. „This bitch got a fat ass, she’s fine.“ While they laughed and joked to one another, Nigel, Trevor, and Fuller held me in the room, trying to calm me down. They would not allow me to leave.

Finally, I got to the elevators, which had a panel of mirrors. Once I caught sight of myself, I sank down on the floor and started to cry. They came out, picked me up, and brought me back into the suite. Tupac was lying on the couch. In my mind I’m thinking, „This motherfucker just raped me, and he’s lying up here like a king acting as if nothing happened.“ So I began crying hysterically and shouting, „How could you do this to me? I came here to see you. I can’t believe you did this to me.“ Tupac replied, „I don’t have time for this shit. Get this bitch out of here.„

The aforementioned is the true story. It was not a setup, and I never knew any of the thugs he was hanging with. Tupac knows exactly what he did to me. I admit I did not make the wisest decisions, but I did not deserve to be gang-raped.

Back at the video shoot, as another TV crew tapes him, a hyper Tupac spreads out a stack of $100 bills just handed him by Knight, who stands in the background talking on a cellular phone. „This is why I signed to Death Row,“ says Pac to the cameras, „right here.“

Shakur’s antics hit me as poignant because-perhaps unwittingly-he’s playing right into the hands of people who view rappers as foulmouthed, money-sex-and-violence-crazed lowlifes who are poisoning America’s youth. Of course, one of the beauties of the hip hop generation is that we really don’t give a fuck what „outsiders“ think about us. But in not giving a fuck, in having no agenda but our own selfish needs, are we ultimately fucking all the people (family, real friends, ardent supporters) who see us as representative of dreams so often deferred?

I’m still pondering this a week later at the Los Angeles County Criminal Court Building. The washed-out, gray 19-story structure looks as intimidating as any other courthouse, but this one is notable for its famous defendants: O.J. Simpson, Heidi Fleiss, Michael Jackson. I’m here to witness the People vs. Calvin Broadus (a.k.a. Snoop Doggy Dogg) murder trial.

On the ninth floor, in department 110, room No. 9-302, Judge Paul G. Flynn is presiding over jury selection. Some 500 prospective jurors have been interviewed, and 11 have tentatively been agreed upon by the prosecution and defense. While the search for No. 12 continues, my eyes are on Snoop and his codefendant McKinley Lee-the accused triggerman-a dark-skinned young man with a shiny bald head and a thin goatee. In the interviews, Rodney King and O.J. Simpson come up often, as does the issue of race. While Lee pays close attention, especially to questions about potential jurors‘ views on rap music, Snoop, his permed hair pulled back into a bun, hunches over a legal pad, scribbling, looking up only when his lawyer David Kenner whispers into his ear.

During the lunch break, Snoop leaves the building with his bodyguard and friends (he’s free to walk the streets because Knight bailed him out). Meanwhile, Kenner, a short, cock-diesel man with jet black hair, offers that Lee and Snoop acted in self-defense in the fatal shooting of Philip Woldemariam in August 1993. If convicted, both men face life imprisonment.

Kenner, who represents Death Row on both entertainment and criminal matters, insists that „Snoop Doggy Dogg is not on trial here; Calvin Broadus is. When you reach to a performer’s interviews or their songs,“ Kenner says, „and try to extrapolate from that perceptions that you want to draw about the real person, to me it would be no different than saying Arnold Schwarzenegger is a cold-blooded murderer because of his last movie.“

That point aside, Kenner expects the prosecution to bring Snoop’s lyrics, videos, and interviews into evidence. Several people who have had contact with Snoop over the past three years, including this writer, have been subpoenaed as material witnesses. Just a few days earlier, charges against a third codefendant, Sean Abrams, were dropped. Kenner also asserts that serious questions of missing evidence have yet to be answered.

Returning just before proceedings resume, Snoop, as rawboned as ever in a dark green double-breasted suit, pauses to speak with me. „I’m straight, you know,“ he says, picking at the strands of hair cupping his chin. „Everybody’s praying for me, and I want them to continue to pray for me.“

I ask Snoop if he feels rap music is on trial. His eyes meet mine and narrow. „Yeah, it is. I can’t really speak about it, but listen to me, it is.“

What about critics who say this trial shows what rap music is all about-violence?

„It’s God, giving us obstacles to get through,“ he replies. „He puts everybody that’s successful through obstacles to see if they’ll maintain and become successful years down the line. So I’m ready for whatever.„

„What do you say to people who look up to you as a hero?“ I ask him.

„Keep God first. Visualize a goal and try to reach it, and if you can’t reach it, find something else other than the negative. Because that negative is a long stretch behind the wall-trust me.“

There’s no ignoring the violence pervading hip hop culture. Particularly when it seems to be reaching up to executive levels. In my interview with Suge Knight, I ask him about the murder in Atlanta of his close friend. Does he really believe Puffy Combs, the biggest hitmaker on the East Coast, actually had something to do with it? Unnerved by the question, Knight changes the subject, and it isn’t brought up again. However, when it’s clear the interview is over, he says he has some things he wants to discuss with me.

For the first time that evening, Damu the dog raises up off the red carpet and turns in my direction. „I didn’t like them questions you was asking me about the dead,“ Knight says, anger curling the corners of his mouth. „You mean the questions about Eazy-E?“ I ask cautiously.

„Nah, that was my homeboy that was killed down there in Atlanta. I felt you was being disrespectful, and I don’t forget things like that,“ Knight says matter-of-factly, his eyes boring into mine.

As Knight lectures me, the possible seeds of this supposed feud between Knight and Combs come to mind: Tupac Shakur wondering in VIBE last year whether Combs and Biggie Smalls may have known something about his being shot; rumors (strongly denied) that Shakur was raped in jail; Knight publicly dissing Combs-„You don’t need no executive producer who’s all over your record and in the videos„-at last year’s televised Source Awards in New York; and finally, the murder of Knight’s buddy in Atlanta.

The Atlanta story, according to eyewitnesses, goes a little something like this: SoSoDef Records CEO Jermaine Dupri had a birthday party, which Knight and Combs attended. Later, both showed up at an after-party at the Platinum House. An argument started outside the club, and Knight’s friend was killed. According to Combs, Knight turned to him after the shooting and said, „You had to have something to do with this.“ Given the high profiles of both Knight and Combs, it’s ironic that there was barely any mention of the incident in the media.

Interestingly enough, both Knight and Combs are on record denying there’s a beef. Knight: „For what? I’m a man. How does that look for me to go and have a beef with another person who’s not a threat to me?“ Combs: „I’m not a gangsta, and I don’t have no rivalry with no person in the industry whatsoever. The whole shit is stupid-tryin‘ to make an East Coast/West Coast war. East Coast, West Coast, Death Row, Def Jam, or Uptown, I feel nothing but proud for anybody young and black and making money. [Some people] want us to be at each other, at war with each other. Acting like a bunch of ignorant niggas, y’know what I’m sayin‘?„

But there’s no denying that tension’s in the air. Some folks say it’s the start of a hip hop civil war. I remember Dr. Dre saying, „If it keeps going this way, pretty soon niggaz from the East Coast ain’t gonna be able to come out here and be safe. And vice versa.„

Back in the office, when Knight feels he’s gotten his point across, he and Damu turn and head over to his desk. I rise slowly, then exit.

Out in the night air, I sigh hard. This has not been an easy article to deal with. Too many people have warned me about what to say and what not to say, and that, to me, is not what hip hop is about. But then again, it’s 1996 and shit is thick for black folks. When a people feel like social, political, or economic outcasts, it gets easier to consider taking one another out-even over the pettiest beefs-in the name of survival. Not even journalists are immune to this logic.

The tragedy here is that two of the most successful young black entrepreneurs ever could possibly end up hurt or dead over God only knows what. As VIBE went to press, there was talk of involving people such as Minister Louis Farrakhan or Ben Chavis in an effort to get both sides to make peace. The future of hip hop may ultimately depend on such a meeting.

How long Death Row Records will live remains to be seen. But like a true player setting his rules for the game, Knight predicts, perhaps not recognizing the double meaning of his words, „Death Row’s going to be here forever.“

Me and Pac have been down from day one. Before he did Juice, before his first album. That’s my man. So the interview he did in VIBE bugged me out. But I know him. He likes to talk a lot. Especially when he’s upset, he’ll say shit that he won’t even mean. And then he’ll think about it later and be, like, „Damn, why the fuck did I say that?„

We was kinda skeptical when we was going to the studio. We was, like, Shit don’t seem right, something gonna happen. But when the four of us got to the studio and seen Little Caesar and them up in the window, it kinda threw us off. So we get around the corner and we see this nigga standing in front of the studio with an army fatigue jacket on. He sees us, looks at his watch, then looks down. There’s somebody sitting inside by the elevators lookin‘ at his newspaper. We not really paying them no mind. So they buzz us in, and the kid that was standing in front of the building comes in behind us.

We wasn’t rushing to the elevator. They had the iron out immediately. They had the drop on us real quick, and they was, like, „Y’all niggas lay down.“ We just looked at each other like we was not laying down for shit. ‚Cause when niggas tell you to lay down, you automatically think you ain’t gonna get up no more.

So Pac turns around like he about to go for his joint, ‚cause Pac was strapped. Then a shot went off, and it was, like, Oh shit. Niggas is not playing. After the shot, boom, Pac hit the floor. Me personally, I only heard one shot. I didn’t hear four, five, six shots. And he was saying that he got shot three, four times. None of us remember hearing four, five shots. When the shot went off, that’s when we went down.

Pac’s saying all this shit in the interview, like, „I thought that Stretch was gonna fight. He was towering over them.“ Now, that nigga know I ain’t never going out like no bitch. But I ain’t dumb. I ain’t got no gun, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I might be towering over niggas, but I ain’t towerin‘ over no slugs.

Tupac got shot trying to go for his shit. He tried to go for his gun, and he made a mistake on his own. But I’ll let him tell the world that. I ain’t even going to get into it all like that. Pac’s talking about niggas „dropping like a sack of potatoes.“ How the fuck is he going to know if niggas dropped like a sack of potatoes if he was turned around to get his joint? He tried to turn around and pull the joint out real quick, but niggas caught him. Grabbed his hand when it was by his waist.

When Pac was on the floor, his head was bleeding and his eyes was closed. Your man gets dropped and he falls right next to you‹that shit bug you the fuck out. The other nigga kept the joint on me and Zane, and the kid with the army fatigue jacket started takin‘ off Pac’s jewels and shit. He was calling Pac a bitch-ass nigga, kickin‘ him and shit.

After they finished robbing, they stepped out, walking backward and pointing the guns at us. I was looking at Pac, and all of a sudden his eyes opened and he said, „Yo, I’m hit.“ And Fred’s saying he’s hit too. So, boom, we go outside and Pac starts screaming for the police. We see a cop outside, rolling up real slow, but Zane got the other gun that Pac had, and we out on Times Square. So we ran back inside and got on the elevator and went upstairs. My man Fred stayed down there in front of the building, ‚cause he was hit.

In that interview, Pac was talking all that shit about Thug Life is ignorance and telling niggas‘ names and all that shit. I don’t even understand why he went there. I’ve seen Pac mad times after the shooting and he never kicked none of that shit to me. You know how he feels about the media, so why would he go and do an interview like that? He’s supposed to be a street nigga; he should’ve kept it in the street. I mean, niggas had to go and get their names changed. I want him to get a reality check. Recognize what the fuck he’s doing. Niggas on the street live by rules, man. And that rule right there, that’s a rule that’s never to be broken.