“Dawg, I think that bitch is home! She back. Dude, she back,” a panicked voice belted out.
“What? Why you say that? She shouldn’t be here for at least ten more good minutes.” No longer calm, Kalif held his cell back some from his face so he could check the time.
“Yo, dawg, I hear what you saying. But I’m telling you some white bitch just pulled up in the driveway. She in a dark blue BMW, a two-door.”
Kalif didn’t waste any more time arguing over whether the home owner’s wife was indeed outside. He had none to spare. His main and only concern was A, how he was going to get out of Dodge and not get caught. And B, how he was going to carry this big trunk filled with guns, get out of Dodge, and not get caught. Fuck! shit! White people always on time, Damn! He knew she would be coming through the door in mere minutes. Not knowing if it would be the front door or the rear door, the one he and his team had entered through, Kalif pushed the open trunk back alongside the wall. He could just chill midway between the doors and wait to see which one she chose, then quickly exit through the other.
Sure, he would be able to get away and would be happy with what they had already safely removed from the house and loaded in the truck. But then he would have to leave the surprise treasure he’d just discovered. Kalif promptly weighted his options as his palms began to sweat. Risk getting knocked and catching a case by being greedy. Or tiptoe in retreat, knowing full well he would not be able to sleep later, after seeing what he had seen. The thought of leaving those guns was too much. There were no ifs, ands, or buts. He had to have them. So the bottom line was no matter what way it went down, he and white-body Barbie would have to bump heads.
With his impromptu plan to secure the firearms ready to execute, Kalif remained motionless in the middle of the long hallway. Whichever way she entered the house, the obvious would rapidly become apparent. She’d immediately take notice that her once perfect home was in utter disarray. That could result in her maybe bolting back out the door, screaming bloody murder, or possibly pulling a gun on him. Considering what was in the trunk, someone in that household had a taste for weapons, high-powered ones. in fact. Praying to Allah to keep him out of harm’s way, he cracked his knuckles.
Seconds later, Kalif heard the wife on the front porch, ending a cell phone conversation. This dirty bitch stay on the phone, talking shit. Like a lion on the prowl, he rushed toward the front door. After tucking himself near the hinges, he took a deep breath, then quietly exhaled. If Kalif was having any second thoughts, all they could be was thoughts. That “leave while there was no risk of harm” train had already pulled out of the station.
Ready for what was going to happen after what came next, Kalif imagined himself already at the spot, with all the weapons laid out in a display. Staring down, he heard her keys rattling. Then he heard a key being inserted into a lock. After watching the top cylinder turn from one side to the other, he then focused on the doorknob. As it twisted, his eyes widened while his heart raced. He had to do this just right. There was no need for things to get out of control. It was not his intention to turn a simple B and E into a heinous murder. Up until now, young Kalif had never taken another human life. But today could easily be the day he did that for the first time if it meant that he would get that trunk and its contents. The stakes were high.
All right. Here the fuck we go. This is it. When the door cracked open, his soon-to-be prey placed one foot inside. From where he stood, he could see she had an armful of bags. She struggled to come all the way inside the house, and then the heels of her sandals clacked across the floor. She still had yet to turn around, mumbling something about the central air. Finally, she dropped the bags on the floor.
I can’t let this lady see me, ’cause if she do, I gotta kill her ass.
Off his meds for days now, Kalif emerged from his hiding place. After pushing the open door, he made his move before it shut completely. He rushed up behind her, and the next moments unspooled like a late-night movie. Latex gloves still on, he covered her mouth so she couldn’t scream. Part of him felt as if it was Christmas and attacking her was his present. As he pulled her in close, he felt her hot breath and trembling lips on his right hand. She tried to break free. Yet the more she squirmed, the tighter Kalif’s grip became. He had no more time to waste. Even though he knew her husband was out of town, there was no need to procrastinate. He could not be seen. Being identified was not an option. The consequences would be dire. Raising his left arm, Kalif clenched his fist, and then he brought it crashing down on the back of her skull. Half her attacker’s height and weight, she was done. Allowing her limp, plastic surgery–enhanced body fall to the floor next to her many packages, he thanked Allah for granting him the strength.
As she lay unconscious on the foyer floor, Kalif towered over her. Licking his lips, he bent down on one knee. Yeah, you don’t need this right here. You and old boy can just add this to the list for the fat insurance check y’all gonna get. He removed each diamond ring from her fingers and a tennis bracelet from her wrist, then gathered the surrounding shopping bags, which had designer names on them. After tossing them into the trunk with the firearms, Kalif walked back over to his victim. He picked up her converted cell phone, then went to her text messages. When he came to the name Hubby, he grinned. He wrote the words “Divorcing your limp-dick ass” and then pushed send with satisfaction. With malice, Kalif then slammed the phone against the marble floor. Wanting to make sure it was good and broken, he stomped on it twice for good measure.
“Well, looks like my job here is done. Good luck, you rich, insulated bitch,” he mumbled, then headed back to the trunk he had to have so badly. After closing it up, he bent down and then used his legs to lift it up. Using both handles, Kalif carried the trunk out the same door they’d come in through, with a huge smile on his face and mischief on his mind. Much to his homeboys’ surprise, he came over to the vehicle like he lived on the block. He had the driver open the rear hatch, and then he stuffed the trunk inside the already crowded rear of the vehicle.
“Yo, let’s roll. We good this way!” he said after he closed the rear hatch.
Before long they hit East Warren and headed toward downtown, on their way back west. Popping bottles would definitely be next on the agenda.
Chapter 7
It was unseasonably warm. Yet the air-conditioning system had yet to be turned on at the semi-crowded mall. Without a care in the world, the infamous crew made their way through the glass doors, Kalif leading the way, as usual. They were doing what they always did after hitting a lick: going shopping, hitting the park with a few bottles, and putting something up in the air. They were ready to live extra large, as each man’s cut was higher than normal. Kalif’s play at that mini mansion would have them all the way off scraps for some time to come. After pawning what they could, they had sold the rest of the stolen goods on the streets. Except for the guns, which Kalif had rightfully claimed as his own. Thirty-nine hundred dollars a piece was the final tally. That illegally earned income was burning a hole in the young guys’ pockets. So some gathered around the Sprint kiosk and inspected the new iPhone, while the others locked eyes with a few females passing by. In true Detroit fashion, they got on the random females.
“Yeah, what up, doe?” Li’l James called out as the flock of girls slid by.
Checking out the loudmouthed guy, the leader of the pack could easily see he and his boys had money. After all, he was dressed from head to toe in designer wear, and so her spidey senses flared up. This was going to be the lick the females needed. In the game of getting money by hook or by crook, their luck had hit a dry spell. They needed a come up, and these guys could be just that. After all of them crewed up from the other side of the kiosk, she raised her eyebrow, then answered Li’l James. “We good this way. Just out here chilling,” she cooed back, messing with her braids.
“So why don’t y’all slow down? Pump y’all’s brakes and chill with us,” Pit Boy said, trying to coax the situation to jump off
. Placing his hand on Li’l James’s shoulder, he went into straight stunt mode. “Me and my homeboys about to get off into some serious spending and whatnot.”
“Oh yeah?” a girl named Jewels replied, looking him up and down as her cousin stood over to the side, still twirling her braids.
“Yeah, we is. And we need some females’ opinions on what looks good. So you got us or what?” Pit Boy waited eagerly for a response, although he knew what the answer would be.
Now the group of eight—what Fairlane Town Center security would consider a small mob ready to take over the free world—made their way first into Foot Locker. With the ratio of three females to five guys, two of the guys would be left ass out. Kalif, who was not into tricking off his money on some “just because” bullshit, was good. While the others had the salespeople running back and forth, bringing out this and that, Kalif kept his face in his phone’s screen. It was obvious he was plotting their next move, so Amir made sure the others gave his best friend space. He, Li’l James, and Pit Boy would be the lucky ones with the girls.
Keys was good with not jacking off his cash on some rats on the prowl. Some rats that hadn’t even given up the pussy. He opted to stay close to his boy’s side. He stood well over a foot taller than the others and had grown a full beard by the age of sixteen. More serious minded than the rest, Keys had learned early on that most females didn’t find him attractive. Amir, Li’l James, Pit Boy, and even Kalif, when he wanted to be bothered, were first, and Keys was last on the totem pole. With arms folded, he watched and shook his head as the other guys tricked their funds away.
With no clear picture of who was with whom, they all gathered all their bags and happily headed to another store, one that sold Gators exclusively. Twenty minutes later, they were footwear ready for flossing at the park and being VIP at the club. It was like Christmas in July or income-tax time all rolled into one. Heads held high, the entourage marched through the mall as if they were hood royalty. And to most other random shoppers, they appeared to be. Next stop Macy’s. They created head-to-toe havoc in that place, as well, and the three females, Jewels, TayTay, and Jada, were glad they’d slowed down and linked up. When the fellas blessed themselves, they showboated by showering the girls with gifts. Judging by the way they were dressed, the girls were no strangers to the finer things in life, so being treated like queens was what they wanted and expected from any men they dealt with. The leader of the trio of females made sure she kept her eye on Kalif. She hoped he took notice of her, but he didn’t. To him, they were just some sack chasers that were in the right place at the right time.
Next, they headed to Lids and Jimmy Jazz, and it was as if the fellas’ funds could not be tapped out, which kept the girls entertained. After checking the time, Kalif instructed his crew and their female companions to follow him to the upper level of the mall. Still very much deep in thought, he had yet to buy a single item. But he was not in the mood to spend money. His focus was on making more. It had to be that way. That was the difference between being a good leader and a great one. The group received a few cold, hard stares from the security guards, but it was hard for those guards to approach the young black adults and perform their regular bullshit routine of fucking with people. That was because all of them, except Kalif, had numerous shopping bags in their possession. With no legitimate reason to harass them and order them to vacate the premises for loitering, all the weak rent-a-cops could do was fall back and hate from afar.
By now TayTay had latched on to Li’l James’s arm. Jewels and Pit Boy were making googly eyes at each other, both eager to take their newfound friendship to the next level. Amir was trying his best to get close to the third girl, Jada, but she seemed to be more focused on Kalif than on him. After buying her items in the first couple of stores, he had fallen back from spending on her.
After finally making his first purchase of the day, Kalif left GNC with several bottles of vitamins and a detox cleanse. Making sure he stayed in great physical shape was important to him. Although he didn’t mind using a firearm if need be, a man should always be good with his hands and ready to throw them if need be. His father had taught him that years ago, and Kalif still swore by the lesson. Two doors down from the vitamin shop was another hip-hop fashion store, and Kalif led them all there. This store was owned and operated by someone he knew. Ibn Abood attended the same mosque as Kalif and his family. Though Ibn was least fourteen years older than Kalif and of Arabic descent, he treated Kalif as an equal. After the small gang of Kalif’s followers filed into the clothing store, they immediately went from rack to rack, picking out this and that. Kalif shook his head, knowing they would all be broke, their pockets back on craps, before the next daybreak. Nodding his head, he greeted his friend Ibn, who’d stepped out from behind the showcase.
“As-salamu alaykum, my young friend,” Ibn said happily, extending his hand.
“Wa alaykumu as-salam,” Kalif replied, taking his hand.
After speaking to the employees who were hurrying to assist Kalif’s boisterous crew, Ibn said, “Everything is good with you?”
“Yes, Ibn, everything is everything.”
“I see, I see. Your friends have plenty of bags in their hands. Making money, pretty girls. You are all out here living your best life, as you young people say.” He smiled, and Kalif did the same. Not beating around the bush, Ibn cut straight to the chase. “So, yeah, I haven’t seen you around lately. Where you been? I’ve seen your father, but not you or, as a matter of fact, Hakim, either.”
“Well, I can’t speak for my little brother, but I’ve been somewhere else, praying. I ain’t missed a beat. Real talk.” Kalif glanced down at his cell, hoping to change the subject. “That’s why I stopped what I was doing and came through. It’s time to pray, and I know you got a place for me.”
Ibn obliged by showing his young Muslim brother to the rear storeroom. After taking not one, but two prayer rugs down off the shelf, he laid them down. They cleansed themselves, and the elder, Ibn, then made the call to prayer. As soon as they were finished, Ibn took up right where he’d left off, asking questions. There had been quiet whispers among the brothers of faith at the mosque about a crime possibly involving Rasul’s oldest son. And some had even made loud accusations of certain guilt. Kalif’s abrupt absence from the mosque made his innocence seem questionable, to say the least. Not wanting to disrespect Rasul at all, Ibn chose his next words carefully. He knew it might be hard for the wayward youth to open up and confess his wrongdoings to his father, so Ibn was giving him a pathway to repentance.
“So, look, I’m not trying to be in your business.”
Kalif remained silent, sensing what was coming next. Then seeking to shut down the conversation, he said, “Good. Then don’t.”
“Okay, okay, Kalif. Relax. Don’t get all upset. I was just trying to help you out, my young brother.” Ibn placed both his hands up, trying not to come off as aggressive. “You are a smart guy. You always have been since just a kid. And I see all your people out there look up to you.” Ibn nodded his head toward the front area of the store. “You are getting money and making big moves. But you gotta know the streets are talking.”
“The streets are talking, huh?” Kalif said sarcastically. “And just what are these streets saying?”
“Kalif, look, outta respect for your father, I want to offer you advice. I don’t want you out here getting into big trouble for small things.”
Digging into his pocket, Kalif pulled out two medium-size knots. One with all hundred-dollar bills. And the other with twenties mixed with a few fifties. Feeling like he was some sort of John Gotti, he held each wad of bills in his hands. “Yo, Ibn, nigga. Do this look like some sort of small thing right here? Do this look like I’m out here playing around?”
Ibn watched Kalif perform. He allowed him to go through all his theatrics to try to show how smart he was and how he was on the come up. Finally, Ibn spoke, but not before placing his hand in his own pocket. Opening his wallet, read
y to teach life lessons, Ibn snarled, “Okay, so you think you’re a big man, huh? You think because you betray your Muslim brother who trusted you with a job, embarrass your father, and bring shame to his name, that makes you a man?”
“Say what!” Kalif wasn’t used to being spoken to like this. He wanted to lash out, but he had to control himself.
“Yeah, you think everyone is stupid. You think robbing a house and hitting a woman in the head makes you a boss? That is bullshit. Do you really think we all don’t know it was you? And then you have the nerve to be out here spending that dirty money so quick. All that you have in your hands and all that money your friends have spent today means nothing in the great scheme of things. It all doesn’t add up to the limit on this here.” After slamming a black credit card down on a box, Ibn took a step back and laughed. “Yeah, you see that right there. That plastic can get me more cash in five minutes than you can get by doing all the petty stuff you been doing. That’s a Centurion Card, a Black Card! It cost five K plus to even have one.”
Kalif wanted to deny the accusations. He wanted to call Ibn an outright liar. But he’d just finished praying side by side with his Muslim brother, and he couldn’t do it. Allah wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he heard him out. Kalif was more than intrigued. Whereas he normally felt like he was on top of the world with all the money he was making, now he felt out of his league. He might have not liked being knocked down a few pegs, but he definitely had to respect it. Ibn was schooling him up on that real white-collar gangster game.
“Five K. Are you serious?”
Ibn now knew he had his attention. It was now time for him to hold class. “Yeah, I’m dead-ass serious. And you can be just like me. But you have to move smart and smooth. You can’t be reckless in everything you do. You have to do wrong as right as possible, and hitting a woman and robbing her blind is not where it’s at.”
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