I had this column all ready earlier in the week. I was going to compare the recent feud between the artists on Death Row records and Bad Boy entertainment to fights and spats that took place between rock bands in the early nineties (Guns N' Roses vs. the world, including Motley Crue, Poison & others). I was going to explain that the extent of the issue was money and ego--nothing to do with the actual music at all. Tupac Shakur's shooting was the reason for my examination. This was a new development. The whole musical bully phenomenon had escalated from taunts, threats and posturing into something totally different. People were actually getting hurt. At the time, I thought Tupac was going to pull through. Needless to say, I was wrong.

Back when Eazy-E died, I was a little harsh on the boy. I said, "One small step for mankind, one big blow for misogynistic bastards everywhere." Actually, I wrote that before he died, but it ended up being printed afterwards. So it looked like I was kicking the boy when he was already out of the ring. And I do realize that I'm calling a grown man a boy. When you father as many children by as many different mothers as Eazy-E did, there has to be a question as to how much a person has actually grown up. I understand that he was responsible for creating new types of music (no matter how incremental the difference is), but a misogynistic bastard is still a misogynistic bastard. As he might have said, a bitch is a bitch is a bitch--and I'm bitching. Wow, that wasn't much of an apology, was it?

There were many things about Tupac that contradicted his most public images (in and out of jails and arrests, his rape charge, his first shooting), so I had trouble condemning him as easily as I passed of Eazy-E. He was an effective actor, his roles were not one dimensional gangster characters in stupid action flicks. Many of his songs glorified black women and their plights. In interviews he was very articulate and opinionated--and then conversely in the next sentence he could fall right down the gutter. It was as if an internal struggle was being played out right on the page.

I think it was the contradictions, the possibility that there was a nice guy struggling to get out of an accused rapist's body. The rape charge itself was strange. The woman wanted to have sex with Tupac--but when his friends decided to join in, she was not as happy about it. This is understandable, but everyone has to realize something about groupies. They are wanting to have sex with a famous person to feel important about themselves. When they realize how insignificant the entire experience is (to the famous person), they get mad. These are not women, they are girls.

Putting all of this aside, we have to deal with the death of Tupac. In my original column for this week, I said that if he died the feud would be over between Death Row and Bad Boy. I'm not sure if I'd go that far now. The actions of Suge Knight (CEO of Death Row) and Tupac's security guards, who were present at the shooting, give me pause. They aren't saying anything that would help the police. While this may be from a hysterical temporary amnesia, I think it stems from something less ephemeral: No one trusts the police to do the right thing in this incident. I could give detailed information about this, but I think you know what I'm talking about. If you have ever been questioned by a cop, been pulled over for no reason whatsoever, or even asked a cop for help, you know what I'm talking about. There is a prevailing attitude that they are above you and whatever your problem is. There is a sense that they believe everyone is guilty--and they will figure out what it is exactly you are guilty of. There is a feeling that this person--who is supposed to protect and serve--is more interested in getting the paycheck and ticket bonus to worry about either of those things.

And this is where I feel more for Tupac than many, if not most, celebrity deaths that have happened lately. There was nothing anyone could do for him. His life was looked after and protected to the highest extent his record company could pay for. Everyone was aware of his situation and the possible forces that were working against him. And as everyone watched, he was gunned down. No one could do anything for him--not his family, his business partners or, especially, the police.

So why should his bodyguards say anything? Are the cops really going to be able to do anything? And does it really matter anymore? Is someone going to avenge this man's death? Will that make everything better? Other questions linger, but one fact remains true for me. Tupac was born three weeks before I was. In three weeks or so, I will have been alive longer than him. I have a long way to go, but, then again, so do the rest of us.

Lisa Black has a rotating bullseye picture on her punching bag. She won't tell us who is on it this week.