But Kalif knew that if you were in a bloody war being played out in the city streets, there were no rules for either side. No regulations. And definitely no time-outs. If you were dumb enough to get caught slipping while shopping at CVS in Midtown, leaving the MGM with your grandmother, browsing at Greenfield Plaza or Eastland Center, or enjoying a comedy show at the Fox Theater, you deserved your fate. Just as Keys had had to meet his Maker by not staying focused, you had to face the possibility of joining him. Traveling in pairs, and even in groups, had become second nature to those involved in the deadly underground conflict. If you were out selling drugs or even buying them on some corner, your life was most certainly in jeopardy.
While the war was being waged, the only ones making steady money in Detroit were the undertakers. When Cantrell on Mack Avenue folded after infant remains were found stashed in the rafters, their low-income welfare funerals and cremations were split between Swanson, Stinson, and Cole, the “big three” funeral homes in Motown. Those places were making money hand over fist.
Eventually, clergy from one side of the crime-ridden city to the other came together to call for an end to the violence and bloodshed. Unified, they took their message of peace to the media, in hopes that their once great town would have a healing. Mothers had lost sons. Children had witnessed siblings being shot. Females had buried baby daddies, and all because of that jealous Willie Lynch mentality that had been instilled in the hood. If you didn’t have it, then tear down the next man that did, by any means. In most cases, in Detroit that meant open murder.
During the bloody war, Kalif was picked up and brought in for questioning about a few heinous killings. Knowing to keep his mouth shut, he made no statements and let his high-priced lawyer earn his fee. And that he did, as Kalif walked out the doors of the police station a free man not once, but twice. Knowing that his oldest son was deeply involved in several killings, the tight-knit families in the mosque asked Rasul if he could speak to his son about maybe arriving at some sort of truce with the other drug gangs that slaughtered people at will, including the BBM. Rasul had still not returned home to his wife and family, but he was making biweekly visits. He had promised Fatima years ago that he would always take care of her and provide for her. That word he would never break. During his visits, Rasul bonded with his twin daughters, who were growing up faster than any man wished his daughters to do.
However, his and Hakim’s relationship was completely severed, as was Hakim and Kalif’s. Hakim refused to speak to his father, even out of respect. Knowing he could beat the young man into showing him the respect he deserved and had earned, Rasul let it be. He still prayed daily that both his sons would be able to make amends with each other, as well as with him. The dedicated parent knew Kalif was headed in one of two directions, prison or death, so he hoped to intercede before either of those happened.
During one of Rasul’s visits, Hakim was in the kitchen ear hustling, which he’d been doing a lot of lately, and he overheard Rasul begging his older brother to meet him at an abandoned warehouse, a place where they used to purchase fruit when they were small children. It was down near Fort Street. Hakim tucked that information away.
Ever since Stacy’s condition had improved a little bit, she had refused to deal with Hakim, ultimately blaming him for the tragedy that had taken place, for which no one had yet been brought to justice. Hakim was heartbroken and devastated. So much so that he had refused to accept any of the out-of-state college scholarship offers. He had expressed to his mother that he needed to take a term off to get his head straight and to work on a few personal projects. Fatima knew her son had been stressed, all things considered, and she hadn’t pressed the issue.
Chapter 33
Rasul was the first to arrive at the deserted warehouse. Initially, he sat in his truck and thought. Despite his persistent efforts to get Kalif out of the game, he knew his oldest boy was correct when he called him out for being two-faced. How could he warn Kalif about the pitfalls of the game when he was still out in the streets, even if it was out of state, trying to avoid them himself? After he pondered that very fact, he made up his mind that after all this time of putting in work for his people, who operated according to a much different system of valor and loyalty than the new generation, Rasul placed a call. It was one he thought he’d never make. After a brief conversation, he made it clear that as of that moment in time, he’d no longer be handling business of any sort. He was officially retiring from the game so he could raise his daughters in peace and show his son a better way . . . both of his sons.
Nearly twenty minutes had passed, and Kalif had yet to show up. Not ready to throw in the towel, Rasul got out of his vehicle and went inside the cold building through the side door, which hadn’t had any locks on it for years. The sun shining through the broken glass was the only light the building had to offer. Walking around, the still proud father reminisced about all the wonderful times he’d shared there with his sons. They would pick out fresh produce, then go slaughter a lamb for special Islamic occasions. Just as Rasul decided that Kalif had stood him up, he heard the side door swing open, then closed. Kalif had come. He was a little late, and Rasul could easily see he had not been on his medication for quite some time, but he had shown up just the same. Rasul opened his arms to welcome his boy. Mentally drained, but still willing to stand and fight on principle, Kalif embraced his father in return.
Their heartfelt talk went on for ten minutes before the father and son heard the warehouse’s side door swing open and closed once more. Rasul and Kalif didn’t have to say a word. Their eyes spoke for them both. Simultaneously, they pulled out their guns, ready to team up and prepared to do battle. With guns drawn and aimed at the door, they waited. But they quickly lowered those guns when Hakim emerged from the shadows. His father and older brother were not expecting to see him, and they wondered why he was there. That much was apparent from their expressions.
“So I guess, as always, this is a private party with just you and Kalif. The way you always wanted it to be. Just you two,” Hakim snapped.
Not in the mood for the younger boy’s “cry me a river” antics, Rasul tried to calm Hakim down before Kalif reacted and did what he always did when feeling attacked, which was to attack back, but with no rules, rhyme, or reason. But it was too late. His sons had locked eyes, indicating both were ready to take it to another level. First, came the hatred, followed by the accusations, then, of course, by the blame. Years of animosity spilled out on the warehouse floor. Trying his best to bring an end to the brothers’ furious name-calling and threats of violence, Rasul stepped in between his irate, emotional sons, one adopted, one biological, but loved equally. Just when he thought he had them calmed down, Kalif asked the most explosive question he could.
“So yeah, where’s that li’l bitch the devil himself couldn’t burn the fuck up at? She still got you being a sucker or what?”
It was as if the next few minutes moved in slow motion, bringing the impromptu family reunion to a close. Suddenly, Hakim produced a handgun, which he had tucked in the waistband at small of his back. Rasul recognized it as one he had stashed back at the house. He knew it had a hairline trigger, and he had stopped carrying it years ago. He warned Hakim to put the gun down, but his youngest son was defiant, as he had been for close to a year. He raised his arm and pointed the jankey firearm in his brother’s direction. Kalif had been out in the streets for months, at war with hustlers and real, official killers. So he was quick on the draw and ready to put in work, brother or not.
“Yeah, all right, nigga. What your bitch ass gonna do? You produced that motherfucker, so don’t just stand there being straight pussy. Be on it,” Kalif taunted.
Hakim was fed up with Kalif thinking he was the only one that could act crazy and lash out. He had no real intention to use the gun, but once again, Kalif had pushed his buttons, and he resented that. “Look, just admit you was the one that put Jada White up to setting Stacy’s house on fire. Just say you did it
!”
“Nigga, what? Is this what this bullshit about?” Kalif hissed with rage. “Man, like I said months ago, fuck you, fuck her, and oh yeah, fuck her dead granny too!”
Rasul had had enough as he shoved each son back. He wanted peace. Purposely or not, the gun Hakim was holding went off. One fatal shot rang out. The earsplitting sound seemed to repeat itself as the bullet found a new home in Rasul’s left temple.
“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,” the dedicated father slowly muttered before being welcomed home to paradise.
The person each boy had idolized at one point or another as the greatest man to ever live was now dead. Hakim dropped the gun in his hand, but not before Kalif deliberately let off one round himself and robbed his father’s killer of his life too. If ever there was a time Kalif needed to be medicated, it was now. Kneeling down, Kalif used his hand to close his father’s eyes, which were wide open, with tears running out of them. He then started to cry himself.
Despite everything tragic and solemn he’d been through, it’d been years since he’d shed real tears. Even when he’d found out Keys was gone, no tears had dropped. But this was his father. This was his hero. This was the one person that believed in him when no one else did. This was the man that had saved his life when he was an infant and had never stopped embracing him. He was gone. Rasul was gone, and now Kalif was officially alone in the world. Praying over his father’s deceased body, Kalif knew what he had to do next to ensure he wasn’t implicated in any wrongdoing.
He called Nieem. Almost immediately, making good on his second huge favor, Nieem sent over a few men who were dressed as painters and drove a white van. When they entered the building, they found Kalif in tears, praying over his father one last time.
“Hello. Nieem sent us,” said the older of the two men.
“Yes, I know.” Kalif reluctantly stood to his feet, wiping his face. “Listen, this is my father. Treat his body with respect and dignity. Nieem reassured me that although he will have to be buried in an unmarked grave, he will at least be properly prepared to enter paradise.”
The men, both Muslims, gave Kalif their word that their Muslim brother would receive the highest reverence.
“Okay, what about this body here? Nieem said this is your brother. Should we bury them each the same?” said the man who had first spoken.
On his way out the door, Kalif looked over at Hakim with disgust before replying. “Naw, that ain’t my damn brother. Never was. That’s just my father’s son. And he’s a nonbeliever. You can just toss him into the Detroit River. He’ll be good there.”
Chapter 34
It was a sad day. Kalif had been driving around all day. He had not eaten and had not had a clear thought since seeing the white van leave with his father inside. Not in the mood to speak to anyone, he had been avoiding all calls. But when Pit Boy kept calling back to back, Kalif knew something must have popped off. When he finally picked up, Pit Boy told him he may need to swing by his crib as soon as possible. Jewels was there, straight clowning. Pit Boy said he’d already laid hands on her twice, but the bitch was like her cousin Jada, relentless.
Getting himself as together as possible, Kalif headed in that direction. When he pulled up, it was just as Pit Boy had said. Even from out in the street, Jewels could be heard going ham. He was in mourning but could not share that information. So he kept it to himself and just tried to boss up the best he could. He climbed out of his truck and started walking toward the front door. When he was just a few feet from the truck, Jewels came bolting out the door, making all sorts of accusations. Pit Boy was behind her, ready to smack the fire outta her mouth once more if she didn’t shut the fuck up.
“So you fucked that stanking, loose pussy bitch? My cousin sitting in jail behind you, and you out here fucking her girl like it ain’t shit!” Jewels raged.
Kalif was drained and not in the mood for this. “Look, girl.”
“Naw, ‘look, girl,’ my ass. Everybody be running around here, scared of your ass, but I ain’t. You need to keep shit real and just admit you fucked TayTay and that’s your baby!”
Kalif was even more confused now, as was Pit Boy. This was the first time during Jewels’s ongoing rant that she had revealed that part. “Who having a baby? And what the hell you mean, mine?”
“Stop playing games and fronting. Did you put your dick up in her or what?” Jewels got extra bossy, as if this was her house and she was running shit, not the other way around.
Not one to lie about his dick, Kalif finally said he did and asked Jewels why she cared so much. He then reminded her that when her Jada went to jail, they were no longer cool. She’d left him. Lastly, he had to put her in her place and remind her that just because he and Jada was tight like that, they had never been physical and he was free to put his dick anywhere he wanted to, even up in TayTay’s stanking, loose pussy, as she’d stated.
Before things got further out of hand, Jewels took another huge garbage bag of her belongings out of the house and stuffed it in her car. She and the other girls had used that house for quite some time now, selling stolen goods out of it. Before driving away, she threw her set of house keys into the bushes out of spite. Pit Boy retrieved them as Kalif went inside and then upstairs to speak to TayTay. Up until now what had happened between them had been left unspoken. So, of course, Kalif wanted to know why she had revealed it now. And, of course, he wanted to know about this baby thing.
TayTay was locked in her bedroom, where she spent the majority of her time. When Kalif knocked, she immediately swung the door open and apologized. She was nursing a black eye courtesy of Jewels’s fist making contact with her face. One other thing that Kalif couldn’t miss was TayTay’s protruding belly. Now in tears, she confessed that she must’ve gotten pregnant that day the two of them messed around. She swore she’d been with no one else, and it was true. She was carrying his baby. TayTay then lowered her head in shame, awaiting the verbal and maybe physical fallout from Kalif. But there was none. In fact, the only thing he wanted to know was when she was due. When he found out, he did the math.
He was going to be a father. In his mind, Kalif could not help but believe Allah had blessed him with a seed to replace the love of Rasul. It was God’s will, so he would embrace it. On that very day, the father to be moved all the way into the house he owned and had been paying the bills on for someone else to live in.
Chapter 35
Even though Kalif had endured more than his share of bumps, bruises, and hardships along the way, he was finally a true force to be reckoned with in the streets. His crew was back on their CD grind, and money was back to coming in heavy and regular. But make no mistake. The beef with the BBM was going on stronger than ever. And in Kalif’s eyes, there would always be a murder waiting to jump off where they were concerned.
Still, Allah had been blessing him. And this time he felt the blessing was better than ever. Li’l James had been in a dice game the evening prior. Sadly, he had lost his money. But what made it a blessing was the fact that Li’l James had caught one of the BBM fellas slipping. Kalif’s homeboy had quickly spotted him because of the gaudy chain he was rocking, with the letters BBM sprinkled in diamond dust. Thinking it was all good, because it was early morning, the guy had dropped some female off at the Amtrak station. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t strapped. Li’l James, however, had stayed with a gun ever since the war started. When the man attempted to return to his car, he was cut off, a gun was shoved in his dental, and he was ordered to get inside the rental Li’l James was pushing. Like Keys months and months ago, the man had been ambushed. He would soon become another statistic in the beef of all beefs. But not before Kalif and company asked a few questions and demanded a few answers.
* * *
With several of his anxious crew members gathered together and passing around a gallon of Hennessy, Kalif, ce
ll in hand, waited patiently to receive an text. He’d sent a throwaway worker to the other side of town. Having gotten word that their sworn enemies were posted at a certain stash house located near the old Kettering High School, the often deranged leader had to make sure the information was indeed correct. Not trying to tip his hand, he couldn’t run the risk of being made. And even though everyone that worked for him was capable, Kalif didn’t have to take or ask for volunteers for this job. This time around, the man’s task was fairly simple: creep on the address he was given and take pictures of all the vehicles in the driveway and parked out in front of the house. All he had to do then was text them to the Obama burnout, nothing more and nothing less.
It was 5:23 a.m. and still no word from old boy. If they wanted to make an early morning move, he’d have to get at them sooner rather than later. Yet while the others remained restless as they finished their community bottle, Kalif was patient. The crew had been down at Greektown Casino all night, keeping their “go time” energy up. But Kalif’s energy had been up for trouble ever since Keys’s murder. But now he continued to be calm. He’d prayed this morning to be protected from all his enemies and to be granted grace. So of course, he moved differently than the nonbelievers that surrounded him. His need for revenge and his taste for blood would come on Allah’s time, not on his own.
Seconds soon turned to minutes, and then Kalif received the notification he had been waiting for. He downloaded each picture, and the reality of the situation quickly became evident. The informant was telling the truth, but still hard to die on point and principle.
“Before daybreak, it’s gonna be some dead BBM bitches,” Kalif vowed with certainty before stepping over to the washing machine. Ready to put in even more work, he snatched up the dark brown handle of the meat cleaver. With it down at his side, he felt like the angel of death was speaking to him. Fear not being in the land of the living. But fear the painful scorch of hellfire that awaits you.
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