The members of the nine-man crew, who had been handpicked to murder when need be, moved back toward the walls of the basement. Kalif slow strolled along the path they had made for him. He then focused on the man they had duct-taped to an old lawn chair, and the next play was obvious to everyone present. As he got closer to the visitor, Kalif’s grip tightened on the handle of the meat cleaver. When they were only two feet from each other, they locked eyes, the predator and his prey. A stone-faced Kalif was not bothered by the other man’s gaze. He knew the tortured BBM member wanted mercy in return for snitching. And even though he had ratted out his own people and had put Kalif and ’em up on game, unfortunately, there would be no mercy. Retaliation for being on the wrong team and for killing his homeboy, and others since the war had begun, would be swift.
They were working against the promise of daybreak. After thanking the BBM member for his service, Kalif raised the meat cleaver. There was no hesitation on his part. The future was now. With one strong swing of the blade, it was done. Kalif hit his mark. Blood splattered on Kalif’s face and forearm and on some parts of the wall. Kalif looked down. The man’s neck had a huge open wound, and his head was dangling to the side, much to his executioner’s delight. Kalif showed no remorse, and neither did the others in the basement, who’d been down this deadly road before. For them, it was business as usual. After watching the man’s body slump over, Kalif dropped the bloodied meat cleaver to the floor and proclaimed victory.
* * *
It was still rather dark outside, but that didn’t slow Kalif down. And the normal busy traffic on Davison was not a factor. Kalif looked over at the passenger seat, at his high-powered weapon and the 9 mm that was keeping it company. In true gangster fashion, he had filed the serial numbers off both weapons. Unlike his boys behind him, Kalif had opted to ride alone. Always in deep thought, he had tunnel vision for what was about to take place. Concentration was boss as he drove through the city, heading east. Since there was no music playing to distract him, his adoptive father’s final words before his untimely death ran through Kalif’s mind.
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.
He couldn’t come to terms with the fact that the man he had once looked upon as his hero was gone. The only man that Allah had put on this earth to believe in him was no more. Kalif would forever be plagued with guilt over Rasul’s ultimate sacrifice. From the moment he had witnessed his father take that fatal bullet to the head and had realized his life had been spared, Kalif had been no more than a shell of a man, one of the walking dead. But for what? Kalif knew he didn’t deserve having been conceived, let alone having a life. That thought haunted him and always would.
Navigating around countless potholes, he and his squad kept the vehicles tight, as if they were in a parade. As they jumped onto the Lodge Freeway, then connected with 94 East, it was almost “go time” for the band of would-be assassins. After they exited at Harper Avenue, the blue-colored metal K greeted them. They made a few right turns, passed a cluster of vacant lots, and then made a sharp left at a huge abandoned house. The clock was ticking.
When the ill-intentioned caravan reached their destination, Kalif’s heart raced. Not out of fear, but in anticipation of snatching the next man’s soul. After he came to a stop, Kalif flung the driver’s side door open. One foot on the ground, then the next, he took a deep breath, ready to do battle. His team did the same. Like a boss, Kalif was the one to lead the charge. And like a warrior, he was prepared to die first. As he let off a barrage of bullets, the street-ordained kingpin of Detroit mumbled his same earlier thoughts with each step he took.
“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.” Kalif prayed for the best but would bravely accept the worst. This madness was the world he had been born into and the life he embraced.
The battlefield was harsh. But this morning’s attack was written in the stars to happen. The bloody certainty of demise had been building not for days and weeks, but for months. And now especially, since Kalif, Li’l James, Pit Boy, and Amir had been told back in the basement by the rat that Cutt and Mutt, who were indeed the hired guns who had left Keys facedown, would be in the house. It was their hope that if nothing else, Cutt And Mutt would feel the pain of death this morning.
With bullets flying in every direction, bodies were dropping left and right on both sides. Minutes into the battle, Kalif took a slug in his upper shoulder. It burned. It was hot. But it didn’t slow him down. And when he saw his boy Li’l James take a direct hit to the chest, Kalif moved even faster to get the job done, fueled by the rage inside him. Ten minutes later, many inside the house lay dead on the floor. Only a handful off BBM members were out of the house and still firing shots at Kalif and his crew. But one by one, Kalif and his guys picked them off, and the gunfire slowed down, then ceased. Police sirens could be heard approaching.
Kalif was certain that cowardly members of the BBM had hidden themselves somewhere around the house, and he wanted to continue until every single one of them was dead and buried, but he knew he had to retreat if he hoped to remain free. Nursing his shoulder wound, he rushed to his truck while yelling out for the rest of his team to do the same. Glancing back, he instantly mourned for Li’l James, who had yet to move an inch since taking one in the chest. Whenever his people had the chance to claim their fallen comrade, Kalif would make sure he was buried as a G. He owed that much to his homeboy, who’d been rolling with him almost since day one.
The strong-willed, murderous caravan headed back to the West Side a few vehicles light. Just when Kalif thought no one else was badly injured, he looked in the rearview mirror and saw that Pit Boy was no longer behind him. He hit up Pit Boy’s cell, and one of the other loyal warriors answered the call and said they were pulling up at the emergency room entrance at Detroit Receiving Hospital. He informed his boss that Pit Bull had taken at least one in the stomach and two in the arm. And he needed medical treatment immediately. Kalif knew his wound could and would be treated at home. He couldn’t run the risk of being directly associated with the bloody mayhem that’d just gone down. Praying for Li’l James’s soul and Pit Boy’s recovery, he pushed on and headed home to regroup.
Chapter 36
The leader of the police task force was heated. This crime scene was worse than any of the others he’d worked since he’d gotten on the task force. The faces of some of the deceased and badly injured looked familiar to him, but others didn’t. But one thing was for sure: the Wayne County Morgue would be full today. One by one, the leader had his second-in-command take pictures of each victim. He was immediately alerted when one of the deceased stood out from the others. As two cops stood over Li’l James, the task force leader looked down at him and easily recognized him as one of the infamous Kalif’s top-tier men.
Just to make sure, the task force leader took out his cell phone and placed a call. There was no answer. He hung up and called again. The response was the same. For months on end, he’d been receiving countless calls, texts, pictures, and other valuable information from Hakim Akbar, who had been attempting to build a solid case against his older brother. But now, just as had been the deal for a while, the brother turned rat-snitch informant was not picking up.
“No answer. Look, we’ll get back with that guy later,” the task force leader told his second-in-command. “Besides, we have enough to do now. Especially after all this bloodshed and bullshit! I want you to call down to the prosecutors’ office. Tell them to have the judge sign an emergency warrant for everyone in both the BBM and that crazy, insane Kalif’s crew. If they ain’t dead, I want them all locked up by the time the sun goes down!” After giving that direct order, the task force leader felt elated. In a matter of hours, he’d have both Brutus and Kalif behind bars. Maybe
sharing a jail cell, for his own amusement.
* * *
Distraught and in undeniable pain, Kalif grimaced while getting down out of his bullet hole–ridden truck at the house. Besides the physical pain he was in, his mental state was all the way gone. Even he knew he needed to be institutionalized to get some much-needed help. But Kalif was a proud black man and was now considered on kingpin status. He knew that getting help would never take place. He wouldn’t allow it. Way too many people were counting and depending on him. As he headed up to the porch, his shoulder dripped blood. But he felt that if he took a hot shower, it would ease the pain and clean the wound out. Then he would simply bandage up the wound and figure out his next move for the days to follow. Not naïve, Kalif realized the streets were going to be hot, which meant that sales would be down. He knew that would sadden Nieem, but taking a loss from time to time was all part of the game.
Once inside the house, Kalif took each stair slowly. TayTay, who very pregnant and ready to deliver, was no doubt still in her bedroom, sleeping. Even though Kalif was living there now full-time, this was for the sake of his unborn child, nothing more, nothing less. With the pain intensifying, he decided he’d have to wake her up to assist him in getting undressed and into the shower. He knocked on the bedroom door twice and then entered the dark room. Just as he had thought, his soon-to-be child’s mother was still in the bed, sleeping, which was all she had been doing lately, as she got closer to her due date.
Kalif spoke her name a few times but received no reply. With his good arm, he reached over and hit the light switch. He was shocked. He was stunned. He was at a total loss for words and didn’t know what to make of what he was seeing. What in the entire hell? TayTay was lying faceup, with her eyes wide open. Kalif had seen this look before. As a matter of fact, he’d seen it on his father. She was dead. Not knowing how or why she had died, he snatched the sheet back. The lower part of the sheet was soaked in what appeared to be blood and mucus. Oh. hell naw. What the fuck! TayTay’s protruding belly was now visibly flatter, and there was a huge cut across it. Kalif was about to lose his mind completely. None of this madness made any sense to him. Who would have done some old, foul shit like this? And where was his seed?
I swear, this is gonna be war until the day I die behind this bullshit!
When Kalif leaned over to close TayTay’s eyes, as he’d done Rasul’s, he heard a deafening sound and simultaneously felt a strong surge of pain and pressure in the back part of his skull. No longer in control of himself or others, Kalif fell onto the bed and landed on top of TayTay’s corpse. He struggled to breathe for a few seconds before it was over. Just like that, Kalif Akbar, who had been born in crazed turmoil and had lived his life in utter chaos, left the land of the living.
With the smoking gun now lowered to her side, Jada smirked with satisfaction. For months on end, she had waited to get released so she could teach TayTay and, most certainly, Kalif about loyalty to those who were good to you. Now they both would know. Lesson learned. She still had her house keys, so she had let herself in and had tried to come to terms with the betrayal she endured, but she hadn’t been able. She wanted justice, and when she was cutting the baby out of TayTay’s polluted womb, she received it. TayTay didn’t deserve Kalif’s baby, and truthfully speaking, neither did he. They were both rotten to the core for doing what they had done to her, and everyone knew that God didn’t bless no mess.
After going over to the closet, Jada happily opened the door. She bent over and picked up the clothes basket and smiled. If only in her twisted mind, Jada felt her baby boy was smiling back at her. Leaving the house by the front door, baby in tow, the new mother promised Baby Kalif that he would live a good life and would maybe one day grow up to be just like his daddy had been: kingpin of Detroit!
The End for Now . . . ?
Only Time Will Tell!
Carl Weber's Kingpins Page 22