Carl Weber's Kingpins

by Ms. Michel Moore

  However, since he hadn’t taken his meds consistently for well over a month, Kalif was struggling to stay sane. Suffering from headaches, nighttime shivers, and delusions, he was getting worse as the days went by. He was completely paranoid and watched everyone, believing they were out to get him. He was even suspicious of waitresses at restaurants and the housekeepers at the various hotels he transferred to weekly. If Kalif was deep into his zone, everyone was suspect. The only thing that gave him peace was prayer. Sometimes he’d be on his prayer rug for hours. It didn’t matter the time or the place. If Kalif felt the need to pray, he’d shut it all down at the drop of a dime and do so.

  Since Jada was not there to help him manage that part of his life, he was lost. He had never realized how major a role she played in keeping his eye on the prize. Since Kalif had been off the mind-altering prescriptions for so long on a consistent basis, when he attempted to take a few, he would feel much worse physically. It was as if his bloodstream was rejecting the chemical. Doing that would put him on his ass for days, something he couldn’t afford to do if he wanted to keep up his financial bargain with Nieem. Even with his mental illness, he knew maintaining that pipeline of product was the only way he could stay cranking in the streets. His name was ringing in the underground, and being young and naïve, he thought that was a good thing. A more seasoned vet in the game knew quiet money always spent better. But Kalif would learn that in time on his own. If not, the Feds certainly would teach him.

  Chapter 28

  The request for news interviews kept coming. Advised by her lawyer not to speak to anyone without him by her side, Jada happily stayed quiet. Since walking into the police station nearly a month ago, she had been treated like pure filth. The detectives had video of her in the gas station, with a gas can in hand. Of course, that station was located only blocks from Stacy’s home. So that definitely put Jada in the area at the time the fire was started. But her lawyer had argued that although she had met the victim briefly—of course a furious Hakim had called the police to confirm that meeting—she had had no reasonable motive to commit such a heinous act of violence. It made no sense. Jada claimed that it was just a coincidence that she’d run out of gas in that neighborhood.

  Hesitant witnesses had corroborated her story, saying that she had indeed run out of gas and stood out in front of the station, with a gas can in hand, asking for assistance. The white man’s wife had even given a statement, saying that Jada asked her husband if he could take her back to her car and have a look at it. The clerk at the gas station had confirmed that he sold her three dollars’ worth of gas, because she had only that much money in her pocket. And he’d added that Jada had asked him if he could maybe take money off of her EBT card in trade for some gas or maybe a tow truck. Taking all those things into consideration, the district attorney was having a hard time connecting a person who had been so adamant about needing assistance with an act of arson that had resulted in murder.

  During one meeting with the police, Jada’s lawyer had been emphatic about this point. “Come on now. This is becoming a witch hunt of sorts. Although my client was in the general area, that does not make her guilty. Yes, you have her on video at the gas station. So what? You also have her on there practically begging people to help her. She was even trying to use her own personal government assistance card to get help. What kind of dumb criminal would beg people to help her burn down a house? I guess she was going to get that woman’s husband to help her light the match!”

  The prosecutors’ office knew they couldn’t make a solid case with the evidence they had so far. So they put the word out that they wanted to speak with any of the neighbors that might have security cameras. But fortunately for Jada, the residents out there felt safe and secure enough not to need such cameras. And she had also been wise enough to drive a few miles, pull into another gas station, and tell the clerk that she had only three dollars of gas from down the way to make it this far. Closer to the hood, more people were generous, and then and only then was she able to get at least nine dollars’ worth of gas. By the time that was happening, Stacy’s house was already in full blaze mode. Even though they couldn’t make felony charges stick at the moment, police still came to pick her up, because she had an outstanding warrant for two shoplifting charges, which she’d have to serve time on. So now Jada was behind bars.

  “Have you seen Kalif lately?” Jada asked her cousin solemnly through the thick plastic divider separating the two of them.

  “Yeah, actually, I saw him the other day. He stopped by the house to give me the money to pay the water bill. He said next week he’d drop off the money for DTE. And, girl, he wasn’t looking right. He looked like just not hisself, I guess.”

  Jada already knew what that meant. No stranger to Kalif and his mood changes, she could only assume he was all the way off his meds, and that was never good. She wished she could talk to him or lay eyes on him. But she knew that was out of the question. Kalif wasn’t coming nowhere near anybody’s jail. And taking her calls was out of the question as well. They both knew those calls were being recorded. So for the time being, Jada would have to be content with the money he was giving to Jewels to put on her books. When she got out, if she ever got out, Jada knew she would have to explain why she did what she did. Maybe he’d accept her weak explanation for snapping, or maybe not. But for now her beloved Kalif had not left her for dead, and that was all that mattered.

  * * *

  Hakim was beyond pissed. He’d placed call after call, trying to ensure that his brother’s girlfriend was brought to justice for what she had done. Even though there were no eyewitnesses who had actually seen her start the fire that killed Stacy’s grandmother and left Stacy with permanent scars, he knew Jada was guilty. Just as he knew his brother had definitely been the mastermind behind the crime. For years Hakim had believed his sick-in-the-head brother had been jealous of him. He reasoned that because their mother had put Kalif out in the streets for jumping on him, Kalif wanted revenge. A normal person would just talk shit or want to throw hands again. But Rasul and Fatima’s youngest son had found out long ago that nothing was normal about Kalif. They all had. He had been born pure evil, and putting Jada up to the work of the devil was more of his black-hearted handiwork.

  During his latest phone conversation with a detective who was working the case, Hakim could not hide his frustration over the fact that Jada had yet to pay for what she had done to Stacy and her family. “Detective, how can you tell me she is going to get away with this? You just telling me somebody can come out to your city, burn down a house, burn someone’s grandmother to death and damn near kill the next person, and she’s gonna be free,” Hakim seethed, ready to tear something up. “What kind of system is that? I don’t understand. She didn’t even have a reason to be out that way. Y’all just gonna let her and my brother get away with murder? ’Cause even though he wasn’t actually there, I know he put that girl up to it. He thinks everybody his puppet. I’m telling you, it’s both of them. They both need to be locked up or dead too!”

  Regretfully, the detective told the irate young man that sometimes bad things happened to good people. And in most instances, given enough time, criminals who thought they had got away with committing a crime would get bolder and would commit another, and then they would get caught. But for Hakim, that time could not come soon enough. He wanted justice and would get it one way or another. He made up in his mind he’d have satisfaction in the long run.

  After hanging up from that call, he eagerly placed another. And after ending that conversation, he was now hopeful Kalif would finally pay. With a sneer of contentment, he went back into the hospital waiting room to rejoin Stacy’s family. His girlfriend was having her second round of skin grafts, in an attempt to recover her once normal life. When they got a chance to speak, Hakim wanted to be able to tell Stacy that the people responsible for ruining their senior year, causing her so much pain, and taking her grandmother’s life would be held accountable soon.r />
  Chapter 29

  With racks upon racks being made daily, Kalif was hiding money not only in the rafters of his attic but also in the rear part of the storage lockers he would rent and fill with old furniture and clothes from the Salvation Army as a play off. He was also careful not to dress in anything other than paint-covered overalls, so as not to attract any unwanted attention. Knowing people would steal if given the opportunity of a come up, he didn’t want or need any of the storage facility workers to get any wise ideas. He wasn’t a murderer, but when you dealt in the street life, that could easily change if you were pushed.

  The more money he made, the more unhinged Kalif seemed to become. One minute he was in good spirits; the next he was bouncing off the walls. At one point he spent three days and nights straight in a mosque out near Inkster, reciting the Holy Koran cover to cover from memory. The only break Kalif would take was to use the bathroom and maybe drink a bottle of water. And that brief interruption came at the urging of the imam. During those times when Kalif was bouncing off the walls, Amir would step in and step up. He made sure that everyone had their packages and that the money was straight. Low-key Amir was happy to take on that responsibility, because he had discovered that the streets were just not for him.

  Kalif’s entire crew had been observing Kalif go through changes. He was talking to himself and would often speak in tongues. All of them were worried, but they knew not to step to their boy. Kalif’s temper had been explosive from the beginning, but now with the CDs taking the city by storm, he was under more pressure than ever before. Although he dreamed about being important and garnering the respect of other legendary players who were in the streets, banging, this life was far from easy. Whenever he stepped on the block, he would be surrounded. People wanted this and that. Begged for credit. Cried about their past-due bills. And complained that their checks were short. Kalif was overwhelmed. But it was too late to put the genie back in the bottle.

  No longer in the shadow of Rasul, Kalif was nearing kingpin status in the eyes of the task force that had been assembled to curtail Detroit’s crime, which had catapulted to epidemic proportions. The task force had zeroed in on a few different organizations that were making more noise than all the other mom-and-pop wannabe drug dealers. Kalif and his crew were now neck and neck with the BBM, aka the Black Bottom Mafia, which had been a problem on the East Side of the Motor City for a few years strong now. The task force captain and his men all were amazed at how this CD pill had seemingly taken over the town in such a short time frame. Unfortunately, the leader of the BBM was wondering the same exact thing, as his workers’ money grew shorter each week.

  * * *

  There was nothing much in the way of homes still left standing in the neighborhood. Mack and Manistique was almost a ghost town. However, Brutus made sure that the house his grandmother owned still stood tall. He didn’t care that there were at least five vacant lots on one side of the house. He was in the neighborhood now because he had ordered all the fellas of the BBM to appear at a mandatory meeting in his grandmother’s living room. Normally, the big man himself would not drive down from his home out in Clawson. But this situation with the CDs was getting out of hand. He’d put both his crew leaders on top of making sure the “new kids on the block” failed, but they kept coming up short. It didn’t matter to the drug addicts who they spent their money with. They were loyal to the high and nothing else. So even if the BBM threatened them, intimidated them, and promised to have a better and stronger product the following week, it didn’t matter. The addicts were in the business of getting high right then and there.

  “Okay, so yeah. Y’all got me down here on some bullshit,” Brutus remarked as he stood near the fireplace. “Y’all motherfuckers let some young lames from the West Side come and run y’all off from getting that money. A nigga like me can’t even watch Netflix and chill, because y’all acting straight pussy. If you or you or you”—Brutus pointed at several different workers—“ain’t about that life no more, let me know. Ain’t no hard feelings, but just get the fuck on and stop making the team look bad. We get money over here on the East Side.”

  Brutus went on. “Back in the day, I wish a nigga or bitch would step foot on our shit we done pumped up, thinking they gonna sell jack shit. Naw, we was some soldiers back then. But y’all don’t know how to stand tall with it. Dressing in them old gay-ass tight pants, which are sagging all off y’all asses. What about when the police get on y’all? You stupid young niggas can’t even run when y’all dressed like that.”

  The crew captains stood over in a corner. Arms folded, they snarled while nodding their heads in agreement with Brutus. Equally disappointed in the workers’ sales, or lack thereof, each one was called up to explain why they thought their ticket money was short. They cited the same reason repeatedly, no matter which sector of the city they were speaking of. With a heavy concentration on the East Side of Detroit, that was where the BBM made the bulk of their money. And to the boss man’s surprise, that was the area that was taking the biggest hit from the competition. Infuriated with what he was hearing, he knew something drastic had to be done if he wanted to continue living the carefree lifestyle he’d been enjoying for the past few years.

  “Most of you motherfuckers lay y’all’s heads this way, and y’all letting this go down. Some lames from off Linwood and Dexter. I’m ashamed for you,” Brutus said. He stood to his feet, tired of holding court and school with the modern-day, new-breed, lean fiends he had so-called hustling for him. “It’s like this here. The shit with them youngins and that CD bullshit stops today. Cutt and Mutt, y’all true savage warriors? Y’all ready to step in and step up?”

  Out of the shadows of the room, the deranged pair moved toward Brutus. Since they had been down with the BBM since damn near day one, their drastic services were needed and called upon only when there were no other options and when words or negotiations were no longer effective. Cutt had been given that nickname because a bullet had grazed his head during a shoot-out, leaving a long and very visible raised wound. Hair had ceased growing on that part of his head, so he got stares no matter where he went.

  His counterpart and partner in mayhem, Mutt, earned his name daily. Tragically, he had been born a mutant, since he had only three fingers and half of a thumb on one hand. Despite his bright skin, he always looked dingy, and the sandy-colored locks he’d been growing since grade school were matted and oftentimes gave off an unflattering smell. One thing was for sure, and two things were certain: if that pair of the worst Detroit had to offer was on your head, you might as well say your prayers, because the angel of death was not far behind.

  Brutus had a small-size duffel bag brought from his truck. After opening it, he set a few racks on the mantel of the fireplace. “This right here is a bonus for any of y’all that can get our money back right over near Midtown and the Cass Corridor. Get some runners and run a few two-for-one specials. If you have to get physical with a few motherfuckers trying to go against the grain, then so be it. Make that shit profitable again, or y’all done working for me.” Then he took out more than double the amount of racks he had removed, and handed them directly to Cutt and Mutt. “Look, them other areas of the city is just extra, like it’s whatever. But over this way? East? The Black Bottom? This us all day! So do what y’all need to do. I don’t wanna have to come back down here because we getting punked where we made the streets famous. Handle that!”

  As a frustrated Brutus stormed out of the house and drove off, each worker knew he had a job to do. And if they wanted to keep drinking lean, popping Percs, Xany and—though they kept quiet about it—CDs, and tricking with the hoes, then they’d step their game up. Period. Cutt and Mutt went off on their own to devise a plan of action that would earn them those racks.

  Chapter 30

  Kalif was temporarily in his right state of mind. As he and his main-tier people sat around the table, they all discussed their plans for the day. The re-up had just come in from an elated Ni
eem, and the guys were all in great spirits overall. Amir had received his final grades. Pit Boy’s dog had just delivered her litter. Li’l James had added more money to his stash to get his mother out of the hood. And today was Key’s daughter’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese’s, which he definitely was looking forward to. And Keys hoped his friends would show up and show love, despite their dislike for his no-good baby mama.

  After opening several boxes of the tampons, Amir did the honors of separating their portions into huge piles. After the final count of the infamous, highly addictive pills was complete, all the fellas knew what their tickets were. They varied depending on how each area of town had been buying the week prior. Whereas Li’l James and his crew were doing much better than Pit Boy and his, Keys and his boys posted up on East Side were bringing in more revenue than them both. Keys had earned those bragging rights by always being first on the scene, before most of his workers, and by always being the last to leave.

  With several other workers added to the original group of friends, Kalif’s workforce had grown not only in numbers but also in popularity in the streets. Whenever one of them would step foot on any set, the crowd of drug addicts would follow, leaving in the dust other playas attempting to get their hustle on.

  Ready to face the day, the group of close-knit friends parted ways, each headed in a different direction.

  * * *

  The sun had barely come up. The streets had yet to get busy. But shear madness never rested or slept. Cutt and Mutt had been up all night. Popping pills and drinking lean was their normal activity, whether they were on the clock or not. Both new-age, modern-day drug addicts, the two of them had been plotting their hunt for days. Extra high and feeling invincible, they knew that this morning they would execute their plan to earn the money Brutus had blessed them with. If their scheme went as intended, they’d be back at the trap house they laid their heads at, celebrating by getting even higher.