he Hannibal Lecter of hip-hop is holed up in his North Sacramento studio. It's a former typewriter repair shop that is obscured from the 5 p.m. sun, and it's as dark in here as the beats from a Brotha Lynch Hung song.
This is the second home to Lynch, the mouth of south Sacramento's 24th Street and one of the most infamous names in underground rap. His late-model Mercedes is parked outside, and he's just stuffed a few hundred dollars in his pocket to buy a new iPod.
And now Brotha Lynch is downstairs, lounging next to a coffee table that's littered with Bud Ice tall cans and Newport cigarette butts. He's remembering the late 1980s, way before he'd sold nearly 2 million records, when his rap career meant rhyme battles, trading one-liners at high schools around town.
"McClatchy, Johnson, Sac High, Kennedy," he says, listing the old high school circuit. "What I used to do was go around the high schools and battle anybody that thought they were the tightest rapper. That's where my name comes from. My brother gave me my name from lynching rappers.'"
Now he's a king of Sacramento hip-hop, even without mainstream radio and video exposure. Lynch has sold more than 1.4 million albums, according to music sales tracker Nielsen SoundScan. He also is estimated to have sold another 600,000 through underground means that aren't tabulated by SoundScan, including Web sites and at concerts. That includes 1997's "Loaded," which debuted at No. 9 on Billboard's R&B chart and sold 43,000 copies in its first week.
Lynch started this year by releasing a collaboration with MC Eiht, the gangsta rap icon from Compton. He also celebrated the 10th anniversary of his record company, Siccmade Muzicc, home to such local underground hip-hop exports as Zigg Zagg, COS and Tall Cann G.
And then there were recording sessions in Hollywood with Snoop Dogg over the summer. They're part of a Snoop Dogg supergroup called the Warzone, a roll call of West Coast rappers.
"It was like a dream," says Lynch, his eyes widening. "(Snoop) was like, 'Man, you are like one of the Northern California artists I felt needed to have his due, (especially) being from Sacramento.' "
To south Sac's hard-core rappers, Lynch already is a godfather. They talk about Lynch's role in Sacramento's music scene like this:
"He's the most important Sac figure," says rapper Michael Colen (a.k.a. First Degree the D.E.). "He's the one person that no matter where I go, people know who he is. He's the face of Sacramento rap."
"He's the big homey," says rapper Brandon "G-Macc" Elston. "(He) started Garden Blocc music, period."
Lynch is best known, infamous really, for such mid-1990s tracks as "Return of Da Baby Killa," which paint scenes of cannibalism and gore to rival any horror movie.
Your repulsion is Brotha Lynch's satisfaction. The rapper with the long pinky nail mines serial killer documentaries such as "The Iceman and the Psychiatrist" for material.
"I try and get in their heads and get my ideas like that," says Lynch. "In my later years, I never really encouraged any kids to do anything crazy, but they know me from the early years doing 'Baby Killa.' Everywhere I go, I get sweated; fans (are) like, 'Why are you talking about killing babies?' They can't read between the lines."
Hint: The song's about abortion.
Fans such as Timika and Jeffery Harris of Tacoma will drive to a neighboring state to see him perform. He's mellowed, Timika says at a concert in Portland, Ore., as she shows off pictures of the cartoon character Strawberry Shortcake that her 7-year-old daughter, Tatiyana, colored for Lynch.
"Her favorite song is (Brotha Lynch's) 'Spydaman,' " says Timika. "She says that Brotha Lynch came up with that movie. I like his music because I've watched him mature. He talked about baby guts at first, but he's not as vulgar as before."
Brotha Lynch now has four kids of his own, including a teenage daughter with a rap act called Triple Figgaz. He says he also thinks about the youngsters back on 24th Street. Lynch, born Kevin Mann, grew up there. He lived hard like the current generation of 24th Street Crips, gangbanging and getting shot once.
"Brotha Lynch, I remember the first time I met him," says Sgt. D.T. Martin, who supervises the Sacramento Police Department's gang suppression unit. "He was doing a concert on Mack Road (and) a big fight broke out. Folks are running into cars, we probably confiscated guns. I ended up stopping Brotha Lynch in front of his home. It was his concert, after all. He told me, 'I'm not gonna quit until I make it.' "
Lynch nods to some trouble with the law in his past, including an arrest for a misdemeanor DUI in 2005. Court records also show that he was ordered to pay off state and federal tax liens that stretch to 2001.
The bullet that's still lodged near his lower rib cage is like a reality check. He was shot near Arden Fair mall not long after "Season of da Siccness" was released, back when he was still gangbanging.
Lynch realized he wasn't willing to surrender his rap career to a thug's bullet. He later wrote a rap about leaving the gangsta life behind, on the album "Lynch by Inch: Suicide Note."
"I had to slow down, do more music these days than be out in the streets," he says.
Now he has money and little interest in the limelight. Even though his Sidekick cell phone rings constantly -- one minute he's confirming a studio session, the next he's coordinating the cake for his godson's birthday party -- Lynch is rather shy.
"I had no brothers," says Lynch. "I had really no friends, but a couple. And when they weren't around, I'd just sit in my room, do anything. That's where I first started writing, right on my bed."
He's a self-described homebody who writes two to three days a week and likes to go fishing with his family. Lynch discovered over the past year how much he likes camping near Colfax. ("It's beautiful up there," he says.)
But right now, Brotha Lynch spends most days at this Siccmade Muzicc studio, where a Swisher Sweets cigar poster hangs on the wall and a broken clock reads "7:35." He's working on a new album called "Dinner and a Movie," a macabre feast that deals with two of his favorite topics: horror movies and eating meat.
Lynch is 38, the past-sell date for many rappers, but says he's not hung up on that. He used to say, "I'll do three more albums and then retire," but not anymore.
"These little kids are looking up to us," he says of the upcoming rappers on 24th Street, "so we want to give them some type of hope."