Carl Weber's Kingpins

by Treasure Hernandez

  When she found out her mother had started using the very same drugs her father sold, she had tried to convince her father that it was not his fault she had fallen in love with crack cocaine and heroin. When she graduated high school a year early, her father had informed her of her mother’s whereabouts and the conditions of her lifestyle. He had given her the opportunity to decide whether she wanted to be a part of her mother’s life or not for the first time since her mother left. Kafisa had chosen not to, not because of what her father had told her about her mother’s lifestyle, but because her mother had never asked about her only child’s whereabouts or sent word that she missed Kafisa or even wanted to see her.

  Kafisa had, however, seen to it that her mother knew she had graduated high school one year earlier than she was supposed to, due to skipping ninth grade. Kafisa had made a copy of her diploma and had mailed it to the address her father had given for her mother, not because she’d wanted her mother to be proud of her, but because she’d wanted to prove Camilla wrong. Kafisa had never forgotten the words her mother had spoken that day to her father about how their child was never going to be anything in life as long as he was raising her. It was Camilla’s words that had motivated Kafisa to excel in school and in life. They were the motivational fuel Kafisa had used to succeed in any and everything she set out to do. Now the woman who had given her a reason to strive for perfection was gone.

  When the graveside service was over, some people stood around, while others made their way to their respective vehicles. Kafisa lingered at her mother’s burial site. She had one last thing to do before she could leave. Just before the grave diggers began to toss dirt onto Camilla’s casket, Kafisa reached into her Gucci bag. She pulled out a folded-up sheet of paper. This will be the last time I prove anything to you, Kafisa said to herself. She tossed the sheet of paper onto the coffin, just as she had done the rose. She couldn’t help but think how ironic it was that the day of her mother’s funeral was the same day she received her college degree. I have turned out better than you thought I would, bitch, she thought to herself. With no thanks to you. Kafisa had a blank expression on her face.

  Everyone who was standing around was curious about what she had just thrown into her mother’s grave site. Kafisa paid the whispers and murmurs no mind. None of them knew her, and she didn’t know any of them, and that was the way she wanted to keep it. Kafisa left them all wondering as she hopped in her father’s limo and instructed the driver to take her home.

  A smile came across Kafisa’s face as soon as she saw the matching black Suburban and Mercedes-Benz CLS500 sitting in her father’s driveway. It had been nearly three years since she had last stepped foot in the all too familiar house. It had been just as long since she had seen her dad. Although she did not agree with his wishes for her to stay as far away as possible from New York, she understood. She knew the life her father lived, and for as long as she could remember, he had never told her anything that wasn’t the best for her.

  The thought of their reunion excited Kafisa as her limo pulled up behind the super-white Benz CLK at the curb, which was a graduation present from her father. He had been unable to attend the graduation ceremony, for reasons that he would not discuss with Kafisa over the phone. He didn’t have to, because she already knew why. It was the same reason he had ordered her to stay out of Brooklyn all these years. She could always tell by his tone when she spoke to him whether things were peaceful or turbulent.

  It saddened her that at the age of forty-eight, her father was still in the game. She had expressed her feelings about this to him on many occasions, with no results. She always received the “This is who I am” speech and the “This is all I know” answer whenever she suggested that he choose another profession or just retire as an OG. For now, she would let it go . . . or at least until the next time. She hoped that her words would one day seep in and that the bullheaded man she knew and loved as her father would make a change. She hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

  Kafisa knew how stubborn he was. There was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for her. It had been proven time and time again that Kafis Jackson would not only take a life but would also give his own to protect her, but getting him to give up the game was like asking him to commit suicide, if you let him tell it.

  Kafisa couldn’t help but think about the one incident she had thought would make her father give it all up. It was then that she had realized the power of the game. Back then she had been too young and had not been fully educated about the rules, laws, and codes of the streets. Knowing what she knew now, though, convinced her that if what happened that day had not been enough to cause her dad to give it up, then nothing else would. For the past four years, both the scar on her forehead and the scar on her left inner thigh had been a reminder of just how dangerous her father’s lifestyle was. Her thoughts began to slip into the past, and she traveled back in time to when she was just thirteen years old.

  “Fee, you know you the only one I can trust, right, baby girl?”

  “Yeah, I know that, Daddy,” Kafisa answered, trying not to reveal just how nervous she actually was.

  Ever since her mother had left and gotten strung out on drugs at the hands of her new boyfriend, Kafis had been juggling being a parent and running an operation. More times than he would have liked, he had taken Kafisa along with him when he conducted his business. She remembered how on those occasions, he would pull up on the street corners. A bunch of guys, both young and old, and wearing the latest hip-hop fashion and flashy jewelry, would one by one come up to his car. Kafisa would watch Kafis hand them the wrapped-up packages she had seen him put together at home. Sometimes they would go to the same areas, and he wouldn’t give them anything. Instead, he would only collect money from them. He would always place it in the drawstring bag that Kafisa had become familiar with, then hand the bag to her once they had pulled off.

  Once she got a little older, her father always tried to handle most of his transporting affairs while she was in school. It didn’t always pan out that way. There were still times when he would have to take her along with him, like on this particular day. Normally, he would have taken care of the bulk of his weight sales by the time Kafisa’s private school let out at 2:45 p.m., but his last deal had been pushed ahead from 2:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m. With the way that Kafis handled business, being prompt was everything. Anyone who dealt with him knew that. At the same time, as a father, he also had an obligation to his daughter, so rather than neglect one or the other, he decided to kill two birds with one stone. He knew that killing those two birds came with many hidden consequences.

  It was twelve minutes to three by the time he pulled away from Kafisa’s school, and he explained the situation to her as he drove to his destination. From the private school, Kafis knew that it would take him only ten minutes to get to where he was going, so he was confident that he would make the scheduled time, providing he didn’t run into any traffic jams along the way. Out of force of habit, he checked to make sure that he had his driving credentials on him, and to his surprise, not only was he traveling without a license, but he also had no identification on him whatsoever. It dawned on him that back at the house he had changed his pants without transferring his wallet, which he was sure was lying on his nightstand.

  The thought of traveling illegally with both drugs and guns in his SUV made Kafis leery and unsure of his decision. He knew that if he was to get pulled over right about now, it would be over for him, and his daughter would be alone in this cruel world he lived in. He couldn’t take that chance. All he could think about was what would happen to his little girl if he were to go to jail. That alone was enough to convince him that he had to do the one thing that he thought was best at the time in order to safeguard both his and Kafisa’s future in the event that he was unlucky enough to get pulled over.

  He pulled over, reached in the backseat, and retrieved a duffel bag containing ten bricks of coke. He then reached up under the driver’s seat and pull
ed two . 40-caliber Glocks from under his seat.

  “Well, I know you trust me. That’s why I need you to take everything out of that duffel bag and put it in your book bag, and hold on to these for Daddy, okay?” he said, referring to the drugs in the bag and the guns he had just handed her. This was the first time that he had ever asked her to handle anything other than his money outside the house. Although she was not afraid, she was nervous about this particular exchange. No matter what, she knew that she would always have his back, not only because that was what she thought he expected, but because she loved him.

  Kafisa did as she was told. Moments later they were back on the road, en route to his destination. She rode shotgun as Kafis pulled his gold Denali into the Red Hook section of Brooklyn and drove to the designated meeting spot. He looked over at Kafisa, who now sat calmly across from him, despite what she held in her possession. For the average thirteen-year-old it might have been too much to endure, but Kafisa had been taught earlier on that she was not your average thirteen-year-old kid. While growing up, she had accumulated firsthand experience of the game through watching her father, so this was just another learning experience for her.

  As they drove, Kafis’s words resonated in her mind. “You’re a brave girl. I know niggas in this game that would have been sweatin’ bullets and shittin’ bricks, being in the truck with all of this. You definitely got my blood in you. You a born thoroughbred Jackson, and I wouldn’t trade my baby girl for nothing or no one in the world.”

  With one minute remaining before the meeting, Kafisa noticed the parked vehicle as her father turned into a parking lot by a tennis court. He pulled alongside the gold, four-door Acura Legend. Kafisa noticed the funny-colored front license plate on the Acura. The license was blue. Kafis saw that one of the individuals he intended to do business with was from out of town. This would be the fourth time he was selling them something after meeting them at the Black Expo at the Jacob Javits Center in Manhattan. They were from New Jersey, but from the Brick City, which had triggered their conversation.

  One thing had led to another, and before they knew it, they were doing business together. Their first buy was a key, and then they bought two, then two and a half. Each time their money was correct, and they left as satisfied customers. Kafis had no problem with conducting business with the two individuals, other than the fact that they toted their guns whenever they copped from him, which was understandable, being that they were out-of-towners. Kafis had been in the game a long time, and the two Newark dwellers seemed more like stickup kids than actual ballers, but he knew that looks could be deceiving, so he brushed the notion off, especially since they had money to cop bricks. As long as their money was correct and there was no funny business, there was no reason to be leery.

  After Kafis parked next to the Legend, the dark-skinned kid who called himself Bo hopped out of the driver’s side, but the brown-skinned one, who went by the name of Hub, was nowhere in sight. That was the first sign that something was fishy, and it should have made Kafis cautious. Bo came over to the driver’s side of Kafis’s Denali.

  “What’s up, Dinero?” he said, greeting Kafis with a pound and calling him by his street name.

  “Where ya man at?” asked Kafis, wondering whether Bo had come alone.

  “He up in this bathroom. He should be out in a minute,” replied Bo. “Who this?” he asked in reference to Kafisa.

  “This my daughter,” Kafis stated firmly, seeing the lust in Bo’s eyes. He couldn’t believe this young nigga had the audacity to blatantly disrespect him by checking out his teenage daughter right in front of his face. He had killed people for less, but apparently, this little nigga was not aware of that, judging by the way he was looking at Kafisa. What little respect Kafis had had for the kid was now gone and had been replaced with dislike. Were it not for all he had to go through to see to it that he made it to the checkpoint with the material he was traveling with, he would have called off the deal, but despite his personal feelings, business was business, so he changed his mind about reneging. He knew that this would be the last time he did business with these two Newark cats.

  “Yo, go get ya manz so we can do this,” Kafis told him, putting emphasis on his words, and the kid named Bo smirked.

  “He already here,” replied Bo.

  “Where at?” asked Kafis, not seeing his partner, Hub.

  “I’m right here, motherfucka!” barked Hub.

  He revealed himself on the passenger’s side of the Denali, where Kafisa sat. Startled by his sudden presence, Kafisa jumped. Before Kafis could react, Bo got the drop on him.

  “You know what it is, nigga!” Bo yelled, with his .38 revolver drawn. He had it aimed at Kafis’s head.

  “Please don’t hurt my dad,” Kafisa pleaded.

  “Shut the fuck up, you little bitch,” Hub spit out, with no remorse.

  Instant rage swept across Kafis’s body, and he lashed out at Hub, despite the gun that was being held to his head. “You punk-ass muthafucka, don’t talk to my daughter like that!”

  “Nigga, fuck all that! Where that shit at!” Bo yelled. He delivered a blow upside Kafis’s head with his pistol to show how serious he was.

  Unfazed by the blow and more mad about it than anything, Kafis refused to cooperate, knowing that he was not dealing with professionals. He disregarded the blood trickling down the side of his face. He himself had robbed enough dudes when he was on his grind to know that when you were dealing with someone who posed a threat, you had to make an example out of them first before you did anything else, to show them you meant business. Knowing that these two individuals were amateurs, he intended to stall them for as long as he could, until he could figure out a way for him and Kafisa to come up out of this situation alive. Then he realized there was no way that he could predict their next move. He cursed himself for not cooperating sooner, knowing that this could all turn out badly.

  “Get the fuck out of the truck!” Hub shouted through clenched teeth. He snatched open the Denali door and grabbed Kafisa roughly by the arm.

  “No! Get off me! Get off me!” Kafisa screamed as she resisted.

  Hub silenced Kafisa with a smack upside the head with his pistol. Her body went limp. He pulled her out of the SUV.

  Kafis made an attempt to rise up in his seat, but Bo pointed his .38 at his head just as Kafis was about to launch himself at him. He gave him his best Dirty Harry impression. “Go ahead. Make my day, motherfucka!” he said with a grin on his face. “Yo, we ain’t gonna ask you twice, nigga. Where them motherfuckin’ bricks at?”

  Kafis told them that they were in the backseat. Hub sprang into action, leaning into the back of the car in search of them.

  “Where at? I don’t see ’em. Oh! This nigga think it’s a game!” shouted Hub. “That’s what you think? Huh?” he growled at Kafis. He cocked his revolver back, threatening to pull the trigger.

  Kafis said nothing.

  Bo nodded. He cocked the hammer on his revolver. “See if we motherfuckin’ playing when I blow ya fuckin’ brains out, bitch, before I give your daughter her first taste of dick!”

  The three shots came out of nowhere. Boom! Boom! Boom!

  “Ah, fuck!” Hub screamed.

  “What the fuck! Oh, shit! Hub . . . Hub!” Bo yelled out.

  That was the opportunity Kafis had needed. He opened the door to his Denali and banged it into Bo’s midsection. Those unexpected shots that rang out had caught Kafis by surprise as well. The blow from the door caused Bo’s gun to go off before he went crashing to the ground. Kafis hopped out of his truck and snatched up Bo’s .38 before he could fully regain his composure and retrieve his gun. When Bo looked up, he saw Kafis standing over him, with his own pistol pointed in his face.

  “Yo, Big Fis . . . man! Please! We wasn’t gonna hurt you or your kid! You know the game, man!” Bo said with pleading eyes, trying to reason with Kafis.

  “I don’t want to hear that shit, muthafucka. You tried to play me like I’m some j
oke! Nigga, you should’ve played lotto. You would’ve had a better chance of winning! Now your greedy ass will never know how good you had it, muthafucka!”

  Kafis emptied the revolver into Bo’s face with no remorse.

  In the midst of all the commotion, he didn’t realize until the shots had ceased ringing in his ears that Kafisa had been calling him. Kafis ran over to the passenger’s side of the Denali, where she lay on the ground. Blood dripped from her inner thigh. She still had the .40-caliber gun in her hand that she had just used to kill Hub.

  “Daddy, he shot me!” Kafisa cried out. Tears rolled down her face. One of the wild shots Bo had fired when the car door hit him had struck Kafisa.

  “Don’t worry, baby girl. You gonna be a’ight,” Kafis assured his daughter. He got up and began pulling Hub out of his truck. Once he had thrown Hub’s lifeless body on the ground, he picked Kafisa up. She was shaking uncontrollably.

  “Daddy, it burns!” she told him.

  “I know, baby girl. Just hold on. I got you,” Kafis told her as he too began to shed tears.

  He could not believe what had just happened. He and his pride and joy had just escaped death. Had it not been for Kafisa and her instincts, he knew that it could have easily been the two of them who were laid out in the park, instead of Bo and Hub. He knew he had to get up out of the area before the police arrived, and he had to get his daughter medical attention immediately, because she was losing a lot of blood. Kafis jumped in the driver’s seat after placing Kafisa on the backseat of his truck and headed to the house of a friend who was an ex-army veteran and specialized in gunshot wounds, because a hospital was out of the question.