Kalif’s best friend agreed, knowing there was no sense in arguing about this direct order, which was what most of them considered it. When they began this journey of mayhem, nonsense, and murder, Kalif had vowed that he and Amir would never go on missions together. Although he’d been ostracized by his family and by the majority of the Muslim community after his father’s disappearance, Kalif’s bond to his father mattered. If both he and Amir got knocked off, their fathers’ longstanding legacy in the game would run the risk of being nothing more than history and a cautionary tale warning others to leave that lifestyle alone.
“Yo, I got this down here. Y’all go do what ya do.” Amir nodded toward the deceased mess of a man in the corner.
Kalif had his squad’s undivided attention now, and they did as he requested and suited up for battle. After washing his victim’s blood off his face and hands, Kalif, the calculated master of slaughter, stood in the doorway, adjusting his vest. He knew his destiny was waiting.
“All right, y’all. We out,” he told his men as he grabbed his AR-15 from behind the door. Kalif, a tattoo-covered, tan-skinned menace, was mentally prepared for whatever was to follow. Today was that day.
It was still rather dark outside, but that didn’t slow down Kalif. And the normal busy traffic on Davison was not a factor, either. Kalif looked over at the passenger seat, at his high-powered weapon and the 9 mm that was keeping it company. In true gangster fashion, he had filed the serial numbers off both weapons. Unlike his boys behind him, Kalif had opted to ride alone. Always in deep thought, he had tunnel vision for what was about to take place. Concentration was boss as he drove through the city, heading east. Since there was no music playing to distract him, his adoptive father’s final words before his untimely death ran through Kalif’s mind.
Born to die. The angel of death is certain. Allah, spare me long dwelling on the threshold of final judgment. Take me quick. Do with my soul what you see fit. I’m not worthy.
He couldn’t come to terms with the fact that the man he had once looked upon as his hero was gone. The only man that Allah had put on this earth to believe in him was no more. Kalif would forever be plagued with guilt over Rasul’s ultimate sacrifice. From the moment he had witnessed his father take that fatal bullet to the head, and had realized his own life had been spared, Kalif had been no more than a shell of a man, one of the walking dead. But for what? Kalif knew he didn’t deserve having been conceived, let alone having a life. That thought haunted him and always would.
Navigating around countless potholes, he and his squad kept the vehicles tight, as if they were in a parade. As they jumped onto the Lodge Freeway, then connected with 94 East, it was almost “go time” for the band of would-be assassins. After they exited at Harper Avenue, the blue-colored metal K greeted them. They made a few right turns, passed a cluster of vacant lots, and then made a sharp left at a huge abandoned house. The clock was ticking.
When the ill-intentioned caravan reached their destination, Kalif’s heart raced. Not out of fear, but in anticipation of snatching the next man’s soul. After he came to a stop, Kalif flung the driver’s side door open. One foot on the ground, then the next, he took a deep breath, ready to do battle. His team did the same. Like a boss, Kalif was the one to lead the charge. And like a warrior, he was prepared to die first. As he let off a barrage of bullets, the street-ordained kingpin of Detroit mumbled his earlier thoughts with each step he took.
“Born to die. The angel of death is certain. Allah, spare me long dwelling on the threshold of final judgment. Take me quick. Do with my soul what you see fit. I’m not worthy.”
Kalif prayed for the best but would bravely accept the worst. This madness was the world he had been born into and the life he embraced.
Chapter 2
In the beginning God created chaos . . .
Brother Rasul was a proud black man. Tall in stature, his mind occupied by Islam, he was easy on the eyes. Any single woman or otherwise would be proud to claim him as her own. He was well known and extremely respected wherever he went, and his word was his bond. But now he stood speechless on many occasions. Now he felt defeated. Everything he had wanted to go right had in fact gone wrong, very wrong. His strong foundation had been shaken. The man who was sometimes loyal to the supreme word of God had been left fighting with his own demons.
Stunned at the bizarre, deadly turn of events, Brother Rasul had to remain on point. He had no choice. He now had an extended family and one on the way. He knew they were counting on him to make things right, even if it hurt to do so. This was the game he had chosen. This was the lifestyle he’d embraced. Though he was recognized by his peers as a ruthless street soldier, ironically, his daily fate had become a routine of cold sweats, paranoid thoughts, headaches, and sleepless nights. Repeatedly, he had tried to reason with himself that he’d made the correct choices in the months prior. Yet this hadn’t absolved him of guilt. The pain of his past mistakes was still present.
As much as he’d attempted to hide his true feelings, the love he had for his friend couldn’t be denied. Discovering Kenya James bleeding to death in the rear of his truck replayed in his mind. The vivid flashbacks were a constant. Days, weeks, and months had gone by, but to Brother Rasul, it was as if the callous murder had just occurred. As he had held Kenya in his arms, begging Allah to spare her life, his prayers had been denied. Just like that, she had slipped away. His longtime secret love was gone. He wanted to believe they’d meet again in paradise, but her sinful actions had definitely dictated that hellfire would be her final resting place. Brother Rasul was caught up in his emotions. Reminiscing on the bullshit he was now facing and how it had jumped off, all he could do was shake his head. With chills running down his spine, he stared out the window. It was like it was just yesterday.
* * *
“Oh my God! I made it. I finally fucking made it back home.” Hysterical, Kenya turned the car engine off. In haste, she flung the driver’s side door open and exhaled. After slamming the door behind her, she ran up onto the porch of the small framed bungalow. Tears now streaming down her cheeks, she practically collapsed in Brother Rasul’s arms.
Sensing whatever it was she was going through was deeper than he had first imagined, he held her tightly. Then he took a good look at her, and seeing that she looked a mess, he reached back and twisted the knob on the steel security gate. Knowing he had nosy neighbors, Brother Rasul led her inside the house so they could have some privacy.
“Damn, Kenya. What is it?” he asked her once they were inside. “What’s wrong? What has you so spooked? And why you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”
Kenya grabbed ahold of his arm. Cautiously, she peeked around the corner of the living room. “Wait a minute. Who here with you? Is anybody else here?”
Brother Rasul raised an eyebrow and sighed. He was trying to be calm but was running out of patience. As he led her into the living room, he said, “Look, I told you nobody was here when you called earlier. Now sit down and tell me what the deal is. What’s so urgent that you drove damn near across the country to get here?”
Paranoid, she continued her impromptu quiz as she took a seat on the couch. “Well, first off, did ole boy call you? Have you talked to him in the past twenty-four hours?”
“Kenya.” Still standing, Brother Rasul towered over her. He placed his hand reassuringly on her left shoulder. He was done with the games. “Real talk. You can miss me with all this secret-squirrel bullshit you taking me through. You acting like the damn police. Now, what the fuck done jumped off? Why you here? And don’t leave shit out.”
Burying her face in both hands, Kenya was silent for the first time since she arrived. Seconds later she slowly lifted her head. After taking a deep breath, the self-proclaimed drama queen started in on her rambling, tear-filled confession. Brother Rasul tried to follow the chain of events she described the best he could. The part about her suffering a miscarriage was indeed sad. He sympathized by nodding his head. That revelation
was followed by another. Storm had gone behind her back and had got life insurance policies that named her twin as the beneficiary. Sure that was odd to Brother Rasul, but that didn’t elicit much of a response from him.
However, when Kenya disclosed the next item on her growing list of reasons why she’d fled her home, he was shocked. Her scattered details of hearing gunfire right outside the front window of her condo made normally even-tempered Brother Rasul take a seat. Rubbing his beard, he could easily tell that Kenya was not even halfway finished with her wild tales.
“It all happened so fast. One minute I was coming down the stairs to tell that snake London to leave my house, and the next minute . . . bam. I swear, I just wanted her to leave, that’s all.”
Confused, Brother Rasul wasted no time flipping the script. It was now his turn to ask more questions. He leaped back up to his feet and said, “Hold up. What your sister got to do with somebody outside your crib shooting? I don’t get it. Was London shot? Please don’t tell me she hurt. What in the fuck! Stop playing with me.”
Kenya knew he was fed up with her reluctance to divulge the truth. There would be no more stalling. She felt a lump develop in her throat. She knew her sister had not been fatally struck by one of those random bullets. It was a lie, a major one at that. However, London’s fate had still been the same—death. Exhausted from the long trip, Kenya just wanted to blurt out what she’d done. Although the thought had been tormenting her for hours on end on that highway, she couldn’t speak the truth. Once tough as nails, Kenya could not seem to get the words out and bring herself to confess just yet. “Naw, the major shooting outside the crib was just that, outside. I mean, a few bullets did come through the walls, I guess. And one of them did kinda hit London.”
“Kinda hit her? What in the hell that mean, kinda? I mean, was she grazed or took one?”
Kenya cleared her throat before she continued. “Yeah, she got shot in the shoulder. But O.T. took the rest of it.”
Brother Rasul, always wise beyond his years, was confused by the twisted tale Kenya was laying out. “So wait a damn minute. O.T., Storm’s brother, got shot too? Fuck. Is he alive or what?”
“I guess he is. Well, yeah. That’s what Storm told me.”
“Wasn’t you there? You said it was just outside y’all condo, if I heard that part correctly.”
“It was, but I didn’t go outside.” Kenya wiped her tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t. I just didn’t go.”
Brother Rasul paced the living-room floor as the story he was hearing got stranger and stranger. He tried to make sense of the twisted tale. Finally, he stood still. “So hold up. Your pregnant sister got shot. Your man’s brother got set down too, and you bugged out that bad? I mean, what in the entire hell! That made you get in the car and leave your own house and drive across the country? I mean, I’m sorry, sis, but I don’t get it. You gotta break this bullshit down a little better.”
Kenya stood up. Walking over toward the window, she tried to gather her composure. Her mind was racing. However, remorse was not a thought. It was too late for all that. Besides, remorse wasn’t in Kenya’s heart, as she felt she was blameless. After moving the curtain slightly, she peeked out the window. She wanted to check on her vehicle, which just so happened to be where her innocent nephew was sleeping. “Listen, Rasul, I don’t know why I did it. It just popped off before I knew it. I was so fucking mad at how they had played me. Not just mad, but mad!”
“Come on, girl. Don’t start on that again. Mad at what or who exactly?”
“What the fuck? London and Storm, that’s who. They pushed me into all this bullshit!” Kenya replied in an even harsher tone. Balling up her fist, she marched over to the other side of the room.
“So let me get this straight. Your sister got shot. Storm’s brother got shot. And you just up and left both of them and came back to Detroit, just like that? Kenya, don’t you think Storm probably needs you to hold him down? And isn’t your sister, no matter how angry you are at her, ready to deliver?”
“Please, Rasul, you gotta know I didn’t mean it. You right. She was my sister.” Her expression started to change. Reality was starting to set in. Now in a panicked, remorseful state, Kenya walked up to Brother Rasul. She dropped her head in shame.
He knew Kenya. He knew her when she was calm, but he was also no stranger to her other side. To her “act a fool” alter ego, Tastey, who used to dance at the strip club where he was once a bouncer. Those days seemed so long ago, Brother Rasul often forgot. But as he stood face-to-face with Kenya now, he knew she had definitely done some irreversible bullshit. He roughly grabbed both her shoulders and shook Kenya. It seemed to him that the room and the space between them started to get smaller, but he wouldn’t stop until he got answers. “What in the hell you mean, was my sister? Why you say, was? Kenya, sis . . . where is London at? What did you do?”
Kenya pulled away from his strong grip and gave him an evil stare. “Bottom line, I did what I had to do. She’s back in Dallas.”
“Okay. And?” He raised one of his eyebrows.
“She’s at the condo, in the walk-in freezer.”
A weird silence filled the room as he tried to absorb what she’d just said and what she possibly meant. “Kenya, I’m confused. The freezer? What in the hell is you trying to say?”
“Man, you from the streets, like me. You know what it means. I let London die. I watched my sister have that damn bastard baby, then let her selfish ass bleed out.”
“What?” he yelled, praying to Allah that he’d heard her wrong.
“Yeah, then, after I told her about herself, about her thinking it was all good to have a baby by my man, I grabbed her feet. I dragged her across the living-room floor into the kitchen.” Kenya’s lips quivered slightly as she recounted out loud the horrible act she’d committed, supposedly in the name of love. “Then I hid her body in the rear walk-in freezer. So, um, yeah, that’s about it. Yup, that’s what happened and what I did. London is back at my condo.”
Holding his head with both hands, Brother Rasul couldn’t believe what he’d definitely just heard. Did she just say what I think she said? As he moved erratically from one side of the room to the other side, his heart raced. No stranger to murder and mayhem, he normally brushed the grisly parts off. He’d been around death plenty of times, had even put in work to send a few niggas to the upper room, but this right here was some kind of different. This right here, what he’d just heard Kenya cop to, was beyond sinister and twisted, to say the least. Stunned almost to the point of denial, Brother Rasul was hesitant to ask any further questions, in fear of what she would say next.
But he had to speak. “Kenya, sis, please tell me you lying. Please tell me you didn’t. Where is your damn sister at, Kenya?”
Kenya was motionless. Her face was blank. She did not answer him.
“Naw! Naw, sis. Naw!” Brother Rasul pounded his fist against the wall, causing it to shake.
That loud sound seemed to bring Kenya out of her silent trance. Hysterical, Kenya dropped to her knees. Tears poured from her eyes as she screamed for God to help her and forgive her sins. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she shouted, having an all-out hyperventilating fit. “Please, please bring her back. Please. Oh God. Oh God. I’m sorry. Please.”
Brother Rasul, although still in disbelief, regained possession of his thought process. He went over to Kenya, and then he crouched down on the floor. He grabbed her forearm and tried to pull her back up on her feet. “Listen, Kenya, listen to what I’m telling you right now. You gotta tell me what all went down so I can try to make some sense outta this madness. Damn. First off, where is Storm at? What did he say? I know it can’t be good. I mean, that girl was carrying his seed.”
Hearing her man’s name instantly made her infuriated. The repentance and the tears stopped. “Fuck Storm’s no-good, cheating ass. She thought it was all good to have a baby by my man. And before you start judging me some more, let
me tell you what all happened. Let me tell you how they both played me.” Kenya wiped her face, then gave him a rundown of what had made her go what could only be called crazy. “So it was like this . . .”
* * *
After making sure the gunfire had ceased, Kenya peeked her head out, in total disbelief. She was in shock that this type of madness was happening in her always quiet community. Normally, if there was any type of small disturbance going on, it involved her and her household. But this chaos seemed to be a couple of houses down. While still holding some smoking-gun paperwork and her cell phone, Kenya tiptoed down the staircase. It wasn’t hard to hear all the commotion people outside were making. When she got to the front door, she opened it a crack and peeked out, but Kenya didn’t dare go outside. She didn’t want to get involved, considering all the illegal firearms they had stashed throughout the condo, so she being extra nosy would have to wait.
Damn. I wonder what in the hell he did.
Then, as she peeked some more, she saw the legs of a man who was facedown in the driveway of her neighbors’ house. Several landscaping workers, who were obviously quite rattled, had gathered around him. Kenya shook her head. She had been raised in the heart of the hood in Detroit. The coldhearted diva had learned early on that if shit didn’t concern you, you didn’t let it concern you. Especially gunshots. Since her brother-in-law, O.T., had parked several houses farther down the block, Kenya couldn’t see his car from where she stood. That being said, Kenya had no way to know that it was Storm’s little brother who was badly injured or, worse, dead.
“Help me. Please help me.” Kenya heard the faint cry coming from her living-room area.
Kenya had forgotten about her sister, who was the main reason she had started coming down the stairs in the first place. She followed the sound. When she reached her sister, who was lying on the living-room floor, she said, “Girl, is you still pretending like you in pain or what? With ya good punk, fake ass. I’m about tired of all this showboating you always doing.”
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