“I knew I wasn’t going crazy. See? That is her,” Hakim said as he showed his mother his phone. They both didn’t know what to say.
Fatima went and put the baby down. When she returned, she had her phone in hand. Let me call Rasul and tell him what his “do no wrong” Kalif has done now!”
Hakim didn’t want to hear anything his father had to say. He already knew Rasul was going to defend Kalif, no matter what, so what was the sense of hearing it once more? “Mom, forget Dad. He abandoned you and the girls, and for what? For that murdering, lying Kalif, who should not have been in this house in the first place, not even when he was a baby! He’s no brother of mine and never will be. He’s poison. You think I don’t hear you crying every night over Dad being gone because of Kalif? Instead of Granny Erma being dead and Stacy being so messed up, Kalif should be in that hospital bed. Or, better yet, dead!” After removing from his back pocket a card a detective had given him last night, Hakim disappeared upstairs to make a call.
Fatima knew Hakim was correct, but she called her estranged husband just the same. She wanted to speak her piece, even if he didn’t want to hear it or accept it as the truth. When he picked up, she said, “Hello, Rasul. We need to talk.” The mother of his children wasted no time in telling Rasul about what had happened to Stacy and her grandmother and what part his adored Kalif had played in it.
“I’m not saying Kalif is an angel. I know he’s far from it. But burning down that girl’s house, acting like he’s public enemy number one? Come on now, Fatima. You reaching. You already made it clear you could care less about him, but don’t just start making up shit because you bitter. That’s not a good look for you.”
Just as Hakim had predicted, his father didn’t believe it. He promised to check into the incident, but it was obvious to Fatima that he had just chalked it up to rumor and gossip, not facts.
Chapter 25
After everyone had gathered on the block, they all went into the house. Eager and ready to put in work, Kalif placed a few of the boxes of tampons in the center of the table and asked everyone to take a seat. When he had one of his guys open a tampon, the crew was just as bewildered as Kalif had been when Nieem showed him. After all the jokes about which one of them had turned bitch and was on their period, Kalif revealed the play. When the count was done, Pit Boy, Li’l James, Keys, and even Amir had their package together, their ticket noted, and were ready to hit the streets and make money. Li’l James and Keys were the first out the door. Their cell phones were hot. They’d been ringing off the chain since yesterday. No sooner had they put the testers out, along with their numbers, than customers were at their heads, wanting to get more. Amir left shortly after them, as he had a class to get to. He had told Kalif he’d get on his grind later in the day. The one good thing about this hustle was these pills didn’t have expiration dates. So they were good as far as that was concerned.
Just as Pit Boy and Kalif were about to part ways as well, Kalif got a call from his pops. He’d been low key avoiding him for days. But now that he was completely plugged in and had the work in his possession, he had no problem picking up. Pit Boy fell back, giving his homeboy some privacy. He went outside to feed his dogs. Kalif picked up and greeted his father as every good Muslim should. Then they got right to it.
“Hey, Dad. What’s going on?”
“Damn, son. You a hard person to get up with.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been really busy.”
“I know. I heard you stopped by the house, looking for me.”
“Yeah, I did, but you probably already know how that turned out.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“But don’t worry, Dad. I promise I won’t go back over there, looking for you. It ain’t no thang.”
Rasul was silent for a few moments before he made his next statement. “Well, son, truth be told, there’s not a reason to. You see, your mother and I have parted ways. I’m no longer staying there.”
Kalif was at a loss for words. He hadn’t seen this coming in a million years. “Wow, Dad. I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, son, if it’s Allah’s will, things will work themselves out. But that’s not why I’m calling you now. And it’s not about the situation that you had going on with that kid Ibn. He already gave me his word he wouldn’t drag you into no mess. So I’m good with that.”
“Oh yeah, dig that.” Kalif let his father think whatever he wanted to think. And truth be told, Ibn hadn’t broken his word.
“See, your mother just called me, talking out the side of her neck about you.”
“Again? I mean, what else is new?”
“Well, this was about some girl that you brought by the house. Her name is Jada. And, by the way, I hope she’s Muslim.”
Kalif laughed at what his father was implying and then set him straight. “First of all, she’s not. But she’s just my homegirl. No one I’m trying to marry. And secondly, yeah? So what that she was with me? What’s your point?”
“Well, your mother and brother seem to think she has something to do with Hakim’s girlfriend’s house being set on fire. And get this. They think you put her up to it.”
“Say what? Are they both crazy? Are you talking about that lame girl that was over at the house the other day? The one that’s got Hakim’s nose wide open? Come on now!”
“Yes, I assume so. They say it’s all over the news and social media, but you know I don’t fool with that propaganda.”
Kalif had had enough of his mother’s and his little brother’s bullshit. If it wasn’t one thing with them, it was another. But this was over the top, even for them. “Man, them two be doing the most. Jada don’t even know that girl. Neither do I. And why in the hell would we care if her house was on fire, or anything else dealing with her pagan ass?”
Rasul and Kalif ended their conversation, with each promising to make time later in the week to sit down together and break bread. Rasul called Fatima back to tell her once again she was wrong about their son. And Kalif called Jada, but she did not answer. When Pit Boy returned to the basement, Kalif retold the story his father had just told him. Pit Boy then hit Jewels up, but she did not answer, either. Then he went on Facebook to see if there was any mention of some fire the night before. It didn’t take long before he, too, was staring at Jada’s picture. Dismayed, he showed it to Kalif.
Damn. I know that girl been acting crazy, but not that damn crazy. Kalif was perplexed. For now the streets would have to wait. They jumped into Kalif’s truck and headed over to his house, the one where the girls were staying. The drive was silent, as Pit Boy read all the Facebook comments bashing Jada to himself. Both Kalif and Pit Boy had been involved in all kinds of crimes. They had done and seen it all, but this shit—burning an old woman alive—was some kind of different.
When the astounded pair arrived at the house, it looked calm from the outside. Nothing seemed out of place, and the work crew had yet to arrive. Everything was everything. When they got on the porch, they were met by TayTay. She’d been smoking weed heavily and drinking shots of Rémy, and it was only a little after noon. Tears filled her eyes, and there was misery in her heart.
“Where she at?” Kalif blurted out, pushing past TayTay.
“Yeah, and where the fuck is Jewels? I been calling her ass!” Pit Boy snapped.
The trio stepped inside the house, and TayTay sadly brought them up to date. She informed them that they had just missed Jada and Jewels by minutes. She told them that they, too, had seen the news reports, as well as the stuff plastered on social media. And she revealed that Jada and Jewels were meeting with a lawyer so Jada could surrender herself for questioning at the Madison Heights Police Department. Pit Boy asked TayTay if Jada had really done what she was accused of doing. At that point what the fellas feared may be true was confirmed. Kalif was dumbfounded. None of Jada’s erratic actions the past few days made any sense to him. He was lost, and apparently, so was she.
Chapter 26
Li’l James
was in the streets, making a name for himself and their crew. When he returned to the same neighborhood he’d posted up in with the testers, he found that people were bragging about the high they had had. And the ones that had missed out were wondering how they could get on. No sooner had Li’l James parked his car around the corner and stepped into the drug-polluted area than he was mobbed. After letting everyone know that he was out of testers and that it was now a “cash and go” thing jumping off, not one person complained. The ones that had the money wasted no time paying the price. The misfortunate ones that didn’t rushed to get on their petty grind so that they could cop before the new hot pill CD was sold out and Li’l James was gone. Most weren’t new to the game of getting high. From experience, they knew a bag would be super strong and potent one day, then weak as baby aspirins the next. Getting on when the play was right was like a job to drug addicts.
“I got them CDs. I got them CDs on deck,” Li’l James repeated damn near until his voice grew hoarse. As he sold one pill there and then two, three, and four the next go-around, he watched not only the amount of pills he’d had on him get depleted, but then the stash he had left in his car as well. Exhausted, but with pockets on bump, Li’l James decided that this was one of most lucrative licks, if not the most lucrative one, that Kalif had put him and the rest of the fellas onto.
The next day was the same in terms of the amount of business Li’l James did, and so was the day after that. Though he tried to be on time, even if Li’l James was a few minutes late to the corner, the customers would be lined up and waiting for the old-school, “back in the eighties” way.
“Yo, young blood, you gotta know you got the best thing going over this way. You done shut the whole neighborhood down, from Woodward all the way over damn near to the Motor City, with this right here,” a customer with a runny nose told Li’l James that third day on the corner. He was in need of a haircut, and when he grinned, he showed all five of his rotten teeth. “If you let me get one or two of them thangs on credit, I can run ’em your way. Put me on the payroll. Them other guys from the East Side with them Percs and even five-one-twos from last week was garbage. They down the way, getting no money! You killin’ out here, young blood. You killin’ ’em.”
Li’l James told the man he’d think about it, but for the time being, if he didn’t have cash, he needed to push on. If he started that “I’ma owe you” bullshit with him, he ran the risk of the rest of the heads thinking he was some sort of sucker or was green to the game. A few hours later, after putting in work, he was headed home. He had to get some rest if he wanted to stay alert in the days to follow. The streets was no place for a dude who was hustling not to be on point.
* * *
Keys was a morning person. It was nothing for him to hit the block before 8:00 a.m. So being posted, ready to take care of business, before the next man was second nature to him. When it came down to handling anything, Keys was the first person you’d want on your team. He was loyal and had no problem being the fall guy, if need be. He was the only one out of the crew that had been to prison. Not the Wayne County Jail or over on Dickerson, where lames acted like they were doing hard-ass time when they were doing only sixty days, but prison, the penitentiary. Keys was no ho. He had stood tall and had served his time. When he’d been released, he had linked back up with Kalif, and now he was down for whatever.
Keys didn’t mind one bit all the small-time capers his homeboy had been putting them up to. They were keeping money in his pocket, but just like he’d been locked up for real, Keys had a whole kid he had to take care of. And that meant he needed extra dough. The baby mama had not pressed the issue when it came to trying to get him to pay child support. Not because she was a good girl, but because she was the complete opposite. The rumor around the way was that Keys’s infant daughter was no more than a toss-up hood baby. And if the shady female allowed him to get a blood test, her scam would be discovered. Rumors meant nothing to Keys. He was a stand-up dude and had bonded with the child. So in his eyes, it was what it was. She was his daughter, his pride and joy, and no one could tell him differently.
Having spent half the day on the Mile, near Van Dyke Avenue, he’d made more money off this new product than he ever had when selling crack or Ecstasy or any other illegal substance. In Keys’s eyes, Captagon would be the thing that would help him to move his mother out of the hood and make sure his child stayed in baby Jordans. At one thirty in the afternoon, he closed shop in that location and headed even deeper east. Although he’d been born near Canfield and McDougall, he hadn’t lived on that side of town since he was three years old. His hood was Linwood, and he claimed nothing else. After he pulled up on his old block, he parked his late-model blue minivan in front of the vacant lot where his birth home used to stand. On foot, he headed up the block. In a span of a few hours, Keys had covered a good two miles or so up and down the busy streets, getting his package off. There was definitely not a shortage of interested buyers looking for a new blast.
Throughout the day he had been met with a few hard stares from the neighborhood drug dealers. That part was to be expected. After all, he had appeared out of nowhere and was putting a serious squeeze on their cash flow. He knew if some random snowball nigga popped up in his hood, he and his boys would be on that same tip. But Keys was in his own world and was staying focused. His job was to make money, not friends. He minded the business that paid him. Nothing more and nothing less.
* * *
It was mid-afternoon when Amir got out of class. With his final grade depending on one more test, he hadn’t put slanging these new pills high on his list of things to do. He’d been involved in most, if not all, the various crimes the crew had committed, but selling drugs had never been his thing. He’d heard enough horror stories from his old man and Rasul to scare him straight ten times over and keep him from getting off into that line of work. And up until now, Kalif hadn’t been on that tip, either. Countless times they’d both turned down making runs with their fathers. At the end of the day, getting money was all good and well. Amir loved going shopping and loved the hoes that came along with stuntin’. However, being an accountant was his endgame, and he was determined to avoid getting knocked for dumb shit if he could help it.
Working smart, Amir picked up his little cousin on his mother’s side. His cousin was always bugging him, trying to get put on, so he jumped at the opportunity when he got Amir’s call. Once on Manchester, Derek got out of the car as his big cousin parked in the lot near Captain Jay’s Fish & Chicken. Derek had a plastic sandwich bag filled with CDs in his hand, and the same dudes from the homeless shelter that Amir had blessed the day before recognized Derek by the Michigan State hoodie he was wearing and the U of M fitted cap. They told Derek they rooted for both teams, as well, and that was the code that they wanted to get served.
Amir ate chicken wings with lemon pepper and watched his money grow from afar. If Derek got arrested, then that was on him. He wanted to be down so bad and in the game, and sometimes spending the night on a hard bench with a bunch of other niggas was the price you had to pay.
Chapter 27
Kalif had a huge ticket pending with Nieem. This being their first venture, he wanted to make sure he paid him in a timely fashion. Each of them knew that out of the gate, things would go slow. Building a strong clientele or even an empire took time. Nieem was not the type to be pushy, but he wanted to see how hard his young associate would work to make some initial payment for the fronted Captagon. The older man kept his ear to the ground and made it his business to keep up with the goings-on in the hood. He and his Middle Eastern friends would laugh that black people’s lives and their daily over-the-top drama were better than television.
As Nieem was watching an episode of Hood TV, he came upon some news that even he found disturbing. A young woman had deliberately set a house on fire, knowing that an old woman was inside. That was far from the truth, but it still sounded awful. From some of his sources, he discovered that the y
oung killer had been closely affiliated with Kalif. Of course, Nieem found that to be troubling. However, he didn’t want to drop his hand that he had people keeping tabs on Kalif. In his culture, as well as in his religion, they respected their elderly. They did not burn them up before their time. But the girl who had set the fire was in jail, and Kalif still owed him money. Those payments were what were most important to him, not who Kalif had been sleeping with. Nieem would just sit back and see how everything played out.
Weeks flew by, and each Thursday, like clockwork, Kalif would drop off the prearranged amount at the gas station. With Pit Boy doubling up the amount of CDs he was moving in Southwest Detroit and Downriver, he had brought someone else, a guy named Juan, into the fold, just as Amir had done. Juan had worked in a restaurant in Mexicantown, and he had bought pills for some of the white customers that often stopped by. He’d been doubling up on the price he got. Not one person had complained about the Captagon Dip being too expensive, because the explosive high was well worth triple to them. One day Juan had gotten caught serving a white boy out in the parking lot, and his manager had fired him. Ironically, Pit Boy had been there with Juan’s re-up. Instead of advising him to beg for his job, he had offered Juan an alternative: grab a new territory and set up shop.
Juan had taken him up on the offer, and soon he had added Delray to their roster of areas of Detroit they covered. Now Juan made more money going balls to the wall with CDs than he had when he was sneaking around. Kalif liked Juan and his determination to go hard. So even though he had a strong hold on the Brightmoor area, he gave that part of the city to Juan to handle. Doing that freed Kalif up to keep the count up and the money right, and to drop off the product anytime Li’l James, Pit Boy, Keys, or Amir was running low. That part of Kalif’s quest for power was going better than planned.
Carl Weber's Kingpins Page 18