Kafisa watched as the officer held the door for her father. Her mind was racing a million miles a minute. It took everything in her power not to break down in tears and scream for her father to return. She fought all those feelings off. It wasn’t until she heard the officer on her side of the Plexiglas announce that visiting time was over that she snapped back to reality.
After visiting her father, Kafisa hopped back on the road. She played her father’s words back in her head over and over as she cruised up the Pennsylvania Turnpike, heading back to New York. If you gonna play it, play it to the fullest, replayed over and over in her mind, but what stood out the most was something else he had said. Believe none of what you hear and less than half of what you see. She had no clue what that statement meant, but she had a funny feeling she would find out soon enough once she returned to New York.
Chapter Seven
Kafisa awakened suddenly. She had managed to fall asleep a couple of hours ago. She instinctively reached under her pillow and grabbed her .380 caliber handgun. Explosive knocks on the door to her hotel suite had broken her sleep, and they rang out again now. Kafisa hopped out of bed and cocked her weapon. She scurried out of the bedroom and made her way over to the suite’s double doors. She wondered who could be at the door. Only one person knew where she was, and that was Uncle Fran. She had told no one else where she was staying.
All types of thoughts raced through her mind. After all, her father had told her not to trust anybody. Her thoughts were interrupted by the rapid knocks again. She jumped back as the thunderous knocks echoed in her ears. Kafisa’s heart rate rose as her pointer finger rested on the trigger of the chrome semiautomatic. Her jaw clenched. She took a deep breath, then exhaled. She tiptoed closer toward the door to look through the peephole. She was all too ready to use her weapon if she had to. Her gun was now pointed chest level at the door. Better them than me, she thought, remembering what her father had taught her about enemies and beef. Kafisa eased up and peered through the peephole. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw who it was.
Kafisa flung the door open just as Francine Costillo was about to continue her assault on it with her pale white knuckles. She was met with a smile as soon as her childhood friend looked up and noticed her standing in the doorway.
“Girl, you scared the hell out of me!” Kafisa exclaimed.
“Yeah, right!” Francine let out a light chuckle. She stepped toward Kafisa and threw her arms around her. “You’re not scared of anything,” she added. She kissed Kafisa on both cheeks.
Kafisa welcomed her embrace. It was her turn to laugh at Francine’s comment. She broke free of Francine’s hug. “Come in.” Francine accepted the invitation. Kafisa stood there and held the door open as Francine strutted into the room like a supermodel. “How did you know I was here?” Kafisa asked, letting the door to the suite close.
“Do you really have to ask that?” A twisted look appeared on Francine’s face.
Kafisa let out another chuckle. “You’re absolutely right. You are your father’s child.”
Francine beamed. “I missed you!” she bellowed.
“Me too,” Kafisa returned.
The two exchanged another hug.
Francine broke the hug this time. “I heard about Uncle Kafis.” Her mood turned serious.
Kafisa batted her eyes and nodded.
“That’s one of the reasons why I’m here,” Francine continued.
“What’s wrong? Has something happened?” Kafisa now had a concerned look on her face.
“No. No. I’m sorry for making you think that,” Francine offered apologetically. “Everything’s fine. At least as fine as can be expected,” she added.
Kafisa gave a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry for even thinking the worst,” she said, apologizing for jumping to conclusions.
Francine waved the apology off. “It’s okay.” She walked across the suite to the bedroom and sat on the bed. “My father sent me.” Francine got down to why she hadn’t taken no for an answer at Kafisa’s hotel room door. “He wanted me to come and tell you that your dad wrote him a letter, and that from this day forward you are a daughter to him, as well as a sister to me. He was instructed by your father to see to it that you returned to school and got your law degree. These are the keys to the CLK your father bought you.” Francine removed the Mercedes-Benz keys from her Louis clutch, along with a stub from the parking garage where the car was located. “It was the only thing my father could get back for your dad without jeopardizing the family.”
Kafisa nodded repeatedly. “Give Uncle Fran my deepest love and appreciation. Let him know I totally understand.”
Francine smiled. “He knows.”
“You said that was one of the reasons you tracked me down. What are the others?” Kafisa wanted to know.
“Yes, but everything ties in with my initial reason for coming,” Francine announced. “According to your father’s letter, once you are finished with school, he has given you his blessing to enter into his business affairs as a representative of the Jackson family, and he asks that my father vouch for you.”
Kafisa could not believe her ears. Even now, from behind bars, her father was protecting her and had her back. Never in a million years would she have thought that he would even consider letting her in the game, let alone try to put her in the position he was once in. She had had no idea he even thought she was capable of playing the game on his level. The conversation was starting to make a little bit more sense now. In two days Kafis had managed to surprise her with his actions. She was still trying to take it all in.
“I remember when my dad first asked me to join him at the table.” Francine gave her a confident look. She had an idea what was going on in Kafisa’s mind.
Kafisa stared at her oddly. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean, silly?” Francine chuckled. “Don’t let the business suit and the big office fool you. I, too, am my father’s daughter, just as you are Uncle Kafis’s.” She smiled.
“Wow!” was all Kafisa could conjure up.
“Wow is right. And that’s the final reason why I am here.”
A look of confusion appeared on Kafisa’s face. “I don’t understand,” she admitted.
“Your father started his legacy in Brooklyn,” Francine began. “Based on what my father told me, Uncle Kafis built an empire that was invincible and indestructible, up until recently. Our fathers’ relationship was built on trust, love, respect, and loyalty. Our fathers will still have that same relationship built on the same principles until time ends. Even from the inside, your father has proven to be the man that my father has always admired and respected on the highest level. Although a weak link has jeopardized your father’s empire, your dad has done everything in his power to maintain his reputation and credibility. Because of that, you will receive the same courtesy and will be offered the opportunity to rebuild and reclaim what Uncle Kafis once governed.”
Kafisa asked Francine a dumb question. “Brooklyn?” She was still trying to put it all together.
Francine could tell Kafisa needed a clearer picture. “Yes, Brooklyn,” Francine replied. “But there are some conditions to it, and you have to be fully committed to restoring your legacy,” Francine added.
“It doesn’t matter! Whatever it takes, I will be fully dedicated,” Kafisa asserted. A new burst of energy seemed to enter her body.
Francine smiled. “Your father said you’d say that in the letter he wrote to my dad, which is why he specifically told my father to let you find your own way in your own familiar territory before we offer any assistance.”
This was the third time in two days that Kafisa was surprised by something her father had said or done. She couldn’t help but laugh. It reminded her of something her father used to say. “Help the bear,” were the words he would spew whenever someone asked if he needed help with anything. Still teaching me lessons, huh, ole man? she said to herself silently.
“So, he wants me to set
up shop in Brooklyn if I get in this game?” Kafisa asked, making sure she was clear about what Francine was saying her father had requested.
“No. His specific words were, ‘I want her to make everybody in Brooklyn respect her. Let her figure out how.’”
Kafisa nodded her head. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Good. Then once you achieve that, the doors will be open, and you will have access to an unlimited supply of Colombia’s purest cocaine and China’s purest heroin.” Francine rose from the bed. “I will be your connect.” She handed Kafisa a business card with a number handwritten on the back. “This is the only number you should ever use to reach me at concerning this conversation. Please rip it up after you store the number in your phone, under something only you can remember, other than my name, and flush it down the toilet.” Francine leaned in to Kafisa and hugged her. “It was great seeing you, my sister. I look forward to what the future holds for us. Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you.” Kafisa returned the hug.
Francine looked down at her gold, limited edition, female Presidential Rolex. “Well, I have to run. I’m meeting a client in this area.” Francine made a proud face and then made her way toward the door to the suite. Kafisa trailed behind her and then opened the door.
Francine paused in the doorway. “By the way, this conversation never took place,” she said. Then she made a beeline for the elevators.
Kafisa let the suite door close behind her. Francine had just given her some food for thought, and now she was hungry. She had no clue how she intended to capitalize on the position her father had put her in. What she did know was that she had a few years to think about it. You haven’t heard the last of the Jacksons, she thought to herself as she made her way back to the bedroom. She was going to make her father proud. She would come back with the force of a true scholar to get the family’s empire back.
Chapter Eight
Kafisa went to bed early that night. Between her father being locked up, her switching hotels every day for her own safety, and her thinking about being the head of the table, a position she was destined for, Kafisa was mentally and physically drained. It had been a long and tiring day, but at the end of the day, things were looking up for her. Fortunately for her, she had been cleared of all charges and her probation was suspended, thanks to the help of an attorney friend of her uncle Fran. They continued to show that they had her back.
Now that she was free of all charges, she was finally going to get out of New York and return to South Carolina, as promised. After her visit with Francine, she was more than motivated to return to South Carolina. Kafisa had contacted her and her father’s travel agent and had had her book her on the earliest flight possible out of JFK tomorrow. She was all too eager to put distance between herself and the Big Apple. After she had finished up her packing, exhaustion had finally caught up to her and settled in. Kafisa had peeled off her clothes and had made her way to the shower. After showering and grooming herself, she’d lain across the king-size bed. In no time she’d slipped into a deep sleep. She started dreaming about being in the car with her father on the highway.
They were being chased. Not only by state troopers, but by the DEA, the ATF, the county police, and the Feds. There were helicopters hovering overhead.
Kafisa peered over at her father, who was driving and mumbling to himself at the same time. She could hear him saying, “The game is dead,” over and over again. Kafisa became nervous from her father’s crazy New York driving. She tried to tell him to slow down, but he wouldn’t listen. The more she asked him to slow down, the faster he drove.
Kafisa began to perspire profusely. For the first time, her father was scaring her. Then, out of nowhere, they hit a divider. Kafisa cried out as the truck started flipping. As it flipped, she looked over at her father. Blood was dripping from his head on down to his face.
Kafisa’s eyes immediately shot open. She was breathing uncontrollably and wheezing. Goose bumps covered her arms from the chills she had. She had soaked her sheets and pillows with sweat, and the dampness, combined with the cold air from the air conditioner in the hotel room, had her nearly freezing. She peered over at the digital radio alarm clock. It was a little after six in the morning. She realized she had slept for seven hours.
She climbed out of bed and made her way back into the bathroom. When she looked in the mirror, she noticed that her eyes were bloodshot. The nightmare she had awakened from had freaked her out. She turned on the shower. Only this time, instead of taking a hot, steamy shower, Kafisa adjusted the water so that the temperature was cool. Still nude from her previous shower, she stepped under the cool spray. She placed her head under the showerhead and let the cool water blanket her entire body. Images from her nightmare tried to invade her thoughts each time she closed her eyes. She shook them off and sided against closing her eyes again. She remained in the shower a little while longer, then got out.
Something didn’t feel right to Kafisa. The nightmare she had just awakened from seemed so real, despite the fact that she knew it wasn’t. She couldn’t stop thinking about her father. At that moment, she wished she could pick up the phone, like she was used to doing, and check on him, but that was not possible. There weren’t too many times in her life when Kafisa had defied instructions or requests given by her father, but the way she was feeling, she just might have to, and she was not concerned about the fact that he would probably be mad at her.
She remembered his last words before their visit at the detention center had ended. I don’t want you coming down here anymore to see me, either. She knew it would eat her up inside and kill her if she didn’t check on Kafis before she left New York. Kafisa grabbed a towel from the bathroom’s metal rack and wrapped it around her dripping wet body. She wasted no time in retrieving her phone. She scrolled through her recent calls until she found the number she was looking for, then dialed.
“Hey, it’s me again. I’m sorry, but I need you to reschedule my flight for later on tonight. An emergency came up,” she informed her travel agent.
Seconds later she was thanking the travel agent and ending the call. Kafisa had decided that today she was going to check on her father. It had been nearly a month since she had last seen him or heard from him. The nightmare had really disturbed her. Kafisa glanced over at the room’s radio alarm clock. It was approaching the seventh hour. She knew she didn’t have much time if she wanted to make the visit. She quickly dried off and dressed.
An hour and a half later, she was exiting the highway in Philadelphia as she made her way to the detention center where her father was being held. Kafisa dreaded the process she knew she had to go through to get to see her father, but it was a price she knew she had to pay to see him. The entire drive down, she couldn’t stop thinking about her dream.
When she entered the main building at the detention center, an eerie feeling swept through her entire body. I hate this place. I’ll die before I end up in here, she thought to herself as she made her way to the window to register for her visit with her father. She got in line, and as the line moved forward, her thoughts and her attention were drawn elsewhere. She made eye contact with the dyke officer she had had a problem with the first time she came down to the facility. She noticed the officer looking at her oddly. She was not in the mood for another confrontation with this officer. Rather than playing the staring game with her, Kafisa rolled her eyes and turned her head in the other direction.
“Next!” bellowed the officer at the window.
Kafisa approached the window with her ID in hand.
“Name of visitor?” the officer asked. He never bothered to look up at Kafisa. His eyes were focused on the computer screen he sat in front of.
“Kafis Jackson.”
The officer glanced up at Kafisa as soon as he heard who she was visiting. Kafisa noticed the peculiar look on the officer’s face. It was the same type of look the butch officer had plastered across her face when she and Kafisa had made eye cont
act.
“Is there a problem?” Kafisa asked. The irritation in her tone was unmistakable.
“Just a moment, ma’am,” the officer replied.
Kafisa could tell something was wrong. She watched as the officer picked up the phone. She couldn’t make out what he was saying through the glass, but the way he kept looking at her and back at the computer screen while he talked on the phone was all the confirmation she needed that something was not right.
“Something must’ve happened,” she heard someone a few bodies behind her say.
Kafisa’s patience started to grow thin. “Excuse me!” she exclaimed.
“Someone will be right with you,” the officer informed her as soon as he hung up the phone.
“Be right with me?” she said. “Be right with me for what? What’s the fuckin’ problem?” she demanded to know.
Just then, a metal door could be heard buzzing, and out walked the sergeant who had assisted her the last time she had visited. Kafisa was all too ready to cause a scene, until she heard the metal door buzz again and saw another man walk out. He was dressed in a two-piece suit that appeared to have been tailored just for him. Judging by his beard and kufi, she assumed the Middle Eastern–looking man was Muslim. It wasn’t until she saw the dhikr beads and the Koran in his hand that she knew her assumption was accurate.
“Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on?” she asked the sergeant. As she spoke, her eyes cut back and forth from him to the Muslim brother, who stood a short distance behind the sergeant. “I’m getting tired of being harass—”
“I’m sorry,” the sergeant said, cutting her off. The look on his face was one of compassion.
“Sorry for what? Just let me see my father. Don’t give me the runaround. Tell me why it is taking so long to see my father!” Kafisa barked, misreading the sergeant’s demeanor.
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