“Yo, my nigga. He right on time,” Mutt told Cutt.
“Yeah, I see. This shit gonna be easy as a motherfucker.”
“You think so?” Mutt moved his wild dreads out of his face.
“Nigga, I know so. He ain’t gonna know what hit his ass. He gonna go running back to the West Side and never, ever come back this way. Not even if bitches giving away free pussy all day and night to whoever pulls up,” Cutt said, reaffirming how easily they would be earning their bread.
Watching Keys park his minivan, Cutt took out his gun. Although using it was not the plan, he still put one up top. Mutt then followed suit. After laying on Keys for days, the crazed, pill-polluted pair had quickly discerned that their soon-to-be target was a creature of habit. He’d pull up down at the end of the block and drink a coffee. One by one, his always late crew members would show up and cop their package from him and exchange a few words. Once he’d touched base with all of them, then Keys would leave for a couple of hours. After following him three or four times, Cutt and Mutt had discovered that he would always go park a few miles away, on various side streets off of Mt. Elliott. There, it seemed to them, he would count money, talk on his cell, and take a piss in the alley if need be.
Now, as Cutt and Mutt watched, one by one, Keys’s crew members showed up. They all followed their regular routine, and after Keys had put his people in full motion, he pulled off the block. Cutt and Mutt quickly jumped in their beater and followed, but not close enough to be noticed. Keys, a true creature of habit, bent a few corners. This time he parked on Theodore. After giving Keys no more than five minutes to get started on his customary way of doing things, the bloodthirsty duo made their move. Undetected, guns drawn, each man crept up on the sides of the van. Preoccupied by the conversation he was having on his cell, Keys was caught off guard. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. Cutt was at the driver’s side. Mutt was at the passenger’s side. Both had their weapons pointed at Keys’s head.
* * *
“Look, girl. Damn! Stop fucking stressing me the hell out,” Keys yelled. “I already told you I got the shit covered. All you gotta do is bring li’l mama and her friends to the place. Grab whatever tables you want, and we good. Just make sure you get enough space, because all my homeboys coming to.”
Keys was getting pissed as he reached for a half-eaten bag of hot Better Made Potato Chips. He was aggravated. It was bad enough he felt his daughter was too young to be having a birthday party at expensive-ass Chuck E. Cheese’s in the first place, but since early this morning, his worrisome, greedy baby moms had been on him. He’d already bought all his baby’s gifts. They were wrapped and in the rear of his van. He’d gotten her not one, but two outfits to wear on her big day. And when he shut down for the day, which would be earlier than usual, he’d then swing by and pick up her over-the-top custom cake, which her mother had insisted on. Keys didn’t care. Not really. He’d do anything for his princess. However, his baby moms was doing beyond the most. Now she was pestering him to bring her a couple more dollars so she could get her hair done.
“All right. Damn, girl. Just hold up and let me figure some shit out. I’ma get back with you in a few. But don’t forget what I said about grabbing enough tables for later.” Having developed a severe migraine, thanks to that nonstop nagging he’d endured, Keys ended the call and briefly closed his eyes, regretting he’d even fucked with her in the first place.
When he reopened his eyes, he was shocked. Oh shit! What the fuck? His eyes widened, and his migraine immediately grew worse.
The doors to the older-model van were already unlocked. After opening the passenger’s side door, Mutt got in the van and ordered Keys to drive. There was no way Keys could not do as he was told. He had got caught slipping when he was arguing with that rotten-mouthed bitch. His boys had always said she was bad luck for him. And this proved just that. After putting the van in motion, he did as instructed. Cutt was trailing behind. The game plan was to go to a more secluded area and rough Keys up. Maybe break both his legs, putting him out of commission for some time to come. Or maybe even severely pistol-whipping him. They’d decide that when the time came.
Keys never said a word. His mind was working overtime. Far from being a ho, he knew he was gonna make a move. But it was only a matter of picking the right opportunity to do so. Keys was not too familiar with the East Side; however, like every other Detroiter, Keys did recognize where he was when his dreadlocked captor had him pull over. The old Packard Automotive Plant had been shut down for decades, but it still stood as an iconic city landmark. The walls that were still intact had been covered in multicolored graffiti and gang signs. And litter covered the broken-up floors. Remains of steel rails and cinder blocks were everywhere in the once well-constructed building, as were illegally dumped old tires.
“Kill the engine and get your big, goofy punk ass out of this van,” Mutt demanded, holding his gun as steady as he could, knowing he was still buzzing strong from the few pills he’d popped earlier.
Keys did as he was told, still not saying a word. Then the unannounced passenger’s partner joined them. Now with two guns on him, Keys knew getting away would be twice as difficult, but he wasn’t going out like nobody’s little bitch. He wasn’t cut like that, period. Standing more than a few inches taller than both of the other men, Keys knew if they didn’t have weapons, he’d beat a few pints of blood outta both they weird-looking asses. But the fact was, they did have those guns, so his next play would definitely have to be his best if he wished to survive.
“All right, homeboy. It’s like this. You and your people can’t be coming over here on our side of town, stepping on niggas’ toes like shit’s a joke,” Mutt growled. He mean mugged Keys as Cutt cosigned.
“Yeah, we ain’t no lames this way. We let your bitch ass get a li’l money, but you done went too far with the bullshit. You got our peoples screaming on us, so yeah, nigga, we at you!”
“So this is how this right here about to go. First, start your ass to walking up in this motherfucker.” Mutt waved his gun, motioning to a huge area in the building where a wall had collapsed. “You gonna go on a little sightseeing tour with me and my boy. We wanna show you some shit.”
Cutt laughed, still high as hell, thinking shit was funny. “Yeah, West Side bitch, come get some of this East Side hospitality.”
Keys was no fool, far from it. He knew if he allowed these funny-style idiots to march him up inside this building, it’d be lights out for him. If he wanted to come out of this hole and see his baby girl’s face once more, he knew now would be his time to react. Catching the overconfident Cutt and Mutt slipping, arguing about who was going to get Keys’s watch and diamond stud earring, the West Side warrior made his move and bolted. Not knowing which way was which, Keys ran down a short side street, made a quick left, then another left, and then a right. The more he ran for his life, the more his heart rate increased. He was out of breath and confused. He felt turned around, as if he was going in circles. This way was wrong. This way was blocked. And the other way would take him right back to Mutt and Cutt, or so he believed. And sadly for him, he was correct. If you had not grown up in this neighborhood, you’d have no way of knowing which blocks were dead ends and which streets would lead you right back to the automotive plant’s perimeters.
Staring down the barrels of both guns, Keys ended up inside the back area of the building. This was a better location than Cutt and Mutt had originally wanted to be in. After being told more of the same about why the pair was on a mission to do him harm, Keys had a chance to catch his breath a bit. When the father of one did catch his breath, he did not utter a word. He did not ask for mercy. He wasted no more time. He swiftly bum-rushed the bigger of the two men, which was Cutt, and tried his luck. Having totally caught Cutt off guard, Keys was successful. He knocked the gun from Cutt’s hand. Mutt saw his boy being manhandled, and of course, he reacted automatically by pulling the trigger. The sound of the single gunshot seemed
to echo throughout the deserted structure. Cutt stumbled backward, trying to catch his balance, as Keys fell to his knees.
With blood gushing from a gaping hole in the rear of his skull, Keys struggled to keep life in his body. He wanted nothing more than to pick up that over-the-top cake and make it to the party. However, the angel of death cruelly appeared. Keys tragically succumbed to the gunshot wound, and his upper body slumped over. Showing no signs of remorse, the pair of murderers removed Keys’s watch and earring, the ones they’d already argued about. After running through his pockets for any cash and his new iPhone, they left him facedown in a pile of garbage.
After Mutt and Cutt emerged victorious from the rear of the Packard Plant, one drove Keys’s van a few blocks away, and the other followed. They then casually abandoned the vehicle, just as they had Keys’s lifeless body, but not before stealing his remaining re-up of CDs and all his daughter’s birthday presents, which were wrapped and ready to go in the rear hatch, just waiting to put a smile on her innocent face.
Chapter 31
Four o’clock came. Then five, then six. There was still no sign of Keys. Which meant there were no presents on the gift table, other than the few his baby mom’s trifling friends had brought. And there was no birthday cake. The child’s mother was livid, to say the least. As she placed call after call, her voicemails became more and more disrespectful. The text messages were also off the chain. She had no idea that Keys no longer had possession of his cell. His killers did, and they were sitting back, getting high off the extra-potent CDs, laughing, and reading all her messages to their deceased victim. Time and time again, she walked up to Kalif, Pit Boy, Amir, and Li’l James and bombarded them with questions about whether they’d heard from their homeboy, but they had not. Even though they would lie for Keys if he asked them to, he had not. They were being honest. Keys was ghost.
By six o’clock, the crew had started to worry. They had gathered over on one side of the large table. Not showing up to some birthday party was one thing, even if it was his daughter’s. Yet Keys had not returned one call since that morning. Kalif had texted him the emergency code after a few of Keys’s workers said he hadn’t come back to drop off more product or collect the ticket money.
At 6:10 p.m. the crew left the birthday and piled into their cars. As a caravan, the worried friends pulled out of the parking lot and headed east. En route, Kalif called the police station’s main number for inmate booking and even a few hospitals to see if they had Keys. He came up empty on both fronts. When the guys got to the area that Keys held down, they were met by his workers. Kalif collected the money from them and told them to go ahead to the crib. He’d call them the next day if there was work. Heads lowered, confused, the workers parted ways. Then the guys in the crew got back on the road. On the way home, they drove down Mt. Elliott, heading to I-94. When they went past East Grand Boulevard, Kalif turned his head to the right and looked over at the shut-down El Capri Bar, which his father used to talk about. He had no idea his missing friend lay dead right down the street. Days later, the world would know.
* * *
Kalif was beside himself when he got the news that Keys’s body had been found, as was everyone who knew Keys. It was if their lives were moving in slow motion. Keys had been through various trials, hardships, and tribulations. But Keys was strong. He was a fighter. If there was a way for him to come out on top, he always found that way. But this time had been different. This time someone had got the drop on him. Everyone knew there was no good reason for Keys to be inside that old, dilapidated eyesore of a building. After his van was located a few blocks away, it took no brain surgeon or private eye to figure out he had been forced inside the Packard Plant in some sort of fashion. And with the fatal shot being delivered to the back of his head, it was also discern that whoever Keys’s final executioner was, the person had feared Keys to some degree.
Everyone was grieving in their own way, and Kalif was no different. Completely off his meds, he’d gone to a dark place in his mind, seemingly never to return. He could not be reasoned with. He was becoming more reckless and more deliberate with his rage. A few days after Keys was found, Kalif went back to his house where the girls were staying and sat on the couch. For some time now, Jada had been crossing his mind. He never did find out why she had just up and left him, but one day maybe he might.
Hearing noise in the living room, TayTay came down the stairs, clutching a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in her hand. She was still in bad shape mentally. Having liquor courage, she dared Kalif to take a swig of her magic potion, something she’d never do when in her right mind. Kalif was gone. He was having delusions as he thought about his life in general. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if both his parents hadn’t been murdered in cold blood, much like Keys had been. The next thing he knew, not only had he snatched the bottle out of TayTay’s hands, but he was turning it up. Even though he’d broken almost every rule set forth in Islam, drinking was not one of them, until now.
Dizzy and dazed, Kalif then pulled the equally buzzed TayTay to him. Dick rock hard, he ripped at her booty shorts and moved them to the side. Sticking his tongue down her throat, Kalif roughly shoved his manhood deep inside of her. Their bodies were locked together. It was the first time either one of them had felt raw passion in some time. Hours later, the two would awaken, embarrassed and ashamed over what had taken place. TayTay ran upstairs to take a shower, hoping to wash off the guilt she felt from betraying Jada. And Kalif went out the door, headed to the mosque. Just as he was pulling out of the driveway, Jewels pulled up. She waved at Kalif, but either he didn’t see her or he was ignoring her. Either way something seemed strange. When she went in the house, TayTay was still in the shower. Jewels rolled her eyes, hoping TayTay had not broken the girl code.
* * *
After ensuring Keys had a proper burial, his friends, all pallbearers, swore they’d avenge Keys’s death someway, someday. Back on the grind in other areas of the city, Kalif let Keys’s sector fall for the time being. He shifted his workers toward the west. But as the days went by, nothing else weighed heavily on Kalif’s troubled soul but retaliation. Knowing the streets had a habit of revealing the truth; Kalif sent Jewels, who was still suspicious of him, and Nia and Euri on a mission. He knew that the crews on that side of town that were getting money would be instantly drawn to the girls at the club. In a matter of days, he had his answer: the BBM, aka the Black Bottom Mafia. Taking the vital information back to his team, Kalif announced that they were going to war. He warned them that anyone that wasn’t built for the shit that was about to jump off needed to bow out now. The room grew silent. Keys was all they manz, and the BBM would pay much sooner than later. Eye for an eye, blood for blood.
With murder on his mind, Kalif went to speak to Nieem. Not expecting to see him so soon, the older man still welcomed his top moneymaker with open arms. He had heard through the “hood news grapevine” what had happened to Kalif’s people, and offered his condolences. Kalif excepted Nieem’s heartfelt words, but then he told him his true agenda for the unscheduled visit.
“I need to put my hands on some more guns. We ain’t holding enough for what I need to handle.”
“More guns?” Nieem asked, puzzled, as he rubbed his hands together.
“Yeah, more guns. There’s no way in hell I’ma let them motherfuckers get away with doing my boy like that. They started it, so fuck all that. I’m good with finishing it. I want they asses to feel this shit coming they way!”
Nieem was silent as he considered how to put what he wanted to say next in a way that did not give the impression that didn’t care about the boy’s death. Kalif looked and sounded as if he was losing it, but who was Nieem to pass judgment. That was God’s job. He could only give advice. “Listen, my young friend. I understand your desire for revenge. And I cannot lie and say I felt otherwise when in my youth. But now I have to think. I have to calculate my steps and actions. You, too, will learn this in time.
”
“Yeah, well, when that time comes, maybe I’ll learn that lesson. But right about now, I need to put my hands on some guns. Some of that off the chain rebels fighting in the bush type of shit y’all be having in the desert. That shit a guy can easily modify, and with it, he can kill an entire mob if he need to.”
Nieem had linked up with Kalif to make money. Not to sponsor a mini war in the city. With Keys’s death, Kalif’s money flow had slowed down, and Nieem understood that was to be expected, as Kalif and the others were mourning their loss. But selfishly, he wanted them to be grown-ass men, shake that shit off, and get back to business as usual, which was moving product and making money. Yet he could see and hear that Kalif had other plans to execute before that could take place: he wanted to wage an all-out war with the BBM. With the pressure on him to deliver and do this favor, Nieem reluctantly arranged for a small shipment of unmarked firearms to be made available to Kalif. When his young visitor left, Nieem could do nothing but ask Allah to protect Kalif and guide his actions.
Chapter 32
During the next few months, the streets of Detroit ran bloodred. They were on fire and were not in line to get extinguished no time soon. In direct retaliation for Keys’s untimely death, Kalif made sure two members of the BBM felt the pain of burying their own. The BBM was a long-established organization, with members posted not only on the East Side, where most of the third-generation crew hailed from, but also scattered here and there on the West Side. Kalif had been doing his homework. With the aid of some of his young brothers at the mosque, Kalif had been able to reach out and touch those members of the BBM who felt they were untouchable or were living under the radar.
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