by Wahida Clark
“I-I got you, man,” the crackhead said, as he lurched away from the scene, licking his ashy lips. “Come on, li’l nigga. When I’ma get mine?” He scratched his arm.
“I got you,” Baby Boy smirked, as he sent Dark a text.
Who’s next?
• • •
Mo’Betta sat back on the couch, stunned. Keeta took one look at his expression and asked, “What’s wrong, baby?”
Mo’Betta shook his head. “My cousin, yo . . . the nigga killed my cousin.”
Hearing the words come out of his own mouth made the anger start to boil deep down in his gut. It bubbled up into rage and began to leak like lava in the form of tears out of his eyes.
“Oh my God, baby! I’m sorry—” Keeta tried to comfort him. She had never seen him cry, and her love made her want to comfort him.
But Mo’Betta moved her away hard and stood up. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” he shouted. His whole body went rigid with rage.
He knew exactly who did it. Mac . . . Mook . . . Dark. He may not have known who pulled the trigger, but these would be the three he would hold responsible and would get his payback from!
He had just called Rob because he hadn’t heard from him. With Briggen set to get out in a few days, he was supposed to come to Detroit and meet him. So he called to see what was up.
“Hello?” the male voice answered, but it was clear that it wasn’t Rob. The voice wasn’t even black.
Mo’Betta hung up. He hit speed dial again, and the same voice answered.
“Please, don’t hang up. Who is this?”
“Who is this?” Mo’Betta spat back. His instincts were screaming, “It’s the goddamn police!”
“Did you know Robert Lincoln well?”
Not knowing what was up Mo’Betta answered, “What about him?”
“He’s dead. He was shot to death.”
Mo’ couldn’t believe his ears.
“Who is this? Do you know anybody who would—”
Mo’Betta hung up. His mind was reeling. Rob can’t be dead. He had to know if it was true. He pulled out his cell going for his Internet browser. He googled Robert Lincoln. An article popped up from the Tennessee Star:
Man Gunned Down in Lawyer’s Office.
He read the article. Read the setup . . . Dreadlocked gunman . . . forced Reed to make the call . . . “I’ve never been so scared in my life!” the secretary quoted. He read it all. There was no doubt who it was, and he pictured their headline:
Three Dead-Ass Niggas
• • •
Janay stared down into her only sister’s frozen face. One last time. She looked so peaceful.
Before the mortician worked his magic, she looked hideous. But it was important to Janay that her sister have an open casket funeral, therefore, she spared no expense. She wanted to remember Crystal how she looked in life and not how she was found in death. Besides, if the killer had the audacity to show up at the wake, she wanted to catch the expression. Any hint that registered surprise because that would mean that person had seen how fucked up she looked before the fact and would give themselves away. That was the only reason she didn’t have a private funeral back home in Memphis. Detroit sheltered the killer. She had Born make sure he let the streets know how she was killed and when and where the funeral would be held.
Janay didn’t know what she would do if she did recognize the killer. She had wrestled with that all night, like Jacob had wrestled with the angel, going back and forth. Jacob refused to turn the angel loose. The old her had stirred, but she refused to allow it to reign.
“Get behind me, Satan,” she had gritted. Janay tensed up as if she were in a physical battle and not a spiritual one.
She assured herself, It was God’s plan.
But even God has tools to carry out his plans, her dark side countered.
Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.
Why should God have all the fun while you suffer all the pain?
Crystal lived by the sword so she died by the sword. Janay clenched her teeth.
That goes for the killer too! Her dark side spat.
Let go and let God. She decided as she breathed a sigh of relief.
“But a dog’s dick?” the devil questioned.
She stood torn before the body of her sister, one hand clenched in a fist, the other open and caressing Crystal’s cheek one last time.
“I-I love you, Crystal,” she said, totally poised. She had cried herself out in private; now she wouldn’t give the satisfaction to anyone seeing her cry in public. Plus, she could feel all of the stares watching her every move. She knew all eyes were on her. The heir to the throne. Choppa’s daughter burying her baby sister.
Dark was the first to approach. He started to embrace her, but her gaze dared him to do it. It was an awkward moment. He diverted his gaze and looked down at Crystal’s eternally sleeping face.
“Despite what you think, I loved Crystal. And I promise you, I will find who did it,” Dark vowed.
Watching him look at Crystal’s face, she felt like Dark hadn’t done it himself.
“Will that bring my sister back?” she asked. Then Janay walked away to sit with Boomer and Marquis.
Born watched his aunt and Dark from the corner. He scanned the small funeral home, taking in who had come to show respect, mourn, or just be seen. Tareek from the East Side came up to Born and gave him a gangsta’s hug.
“Peace, Lord,” Born greeted.
“Peace, Lord, how you?” Tareek returned.
“The God just doin’ the knowledge, yo. Shit is crazy, huh?”
“Crazy ain’t the word,” Tareek responded, shaking his head. “Shit is gettin’ straight the fuck outta hand! I know you heard about Fat Rich from Zone 8?”
“Indeed.”
“What about Tommy? You heard about him?”
“Tommy?” Born echoed.
Tareek nodded ready to give the full report. “They got the nigga in church! His grandma was so fucked up, she had a heart attack and died on the spot,” Tareek explained.
“Goddamn!” Born shook his head. “Niggas gettin’ it in.”
“God, I’m tellin’ you, somebody tryin’ to take over the city, and they tryin’ to take out the whole Consortium. One by one!”
Born nodded. “Yeah, yo, I was thinkin’ the same thing.”
Tareek looked around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear him and said, “And real talk, I think it’s Dark.”
Born looked at him. “Dark? Come on, God. He was the first nigga they tried to kill, remember? I was fuckin’ there when they killed Six-Nine. God bless the dead. And they almost got the God as well,” Born countered.
“But they didn’t. Think about it, God. What better way to camouflage the shit than to make it seem like you a target, too?” Tareek concluded.
Born nodded in deep contemplation. “Yeah, yo, that shit do make sense. Nigga obviously on some mastermind shit.”
“Exactly, God. That nigga a thinker. But we need to call a meeting, yo. ASAP. Because the God won’t be next, I promise you!” Tareek said with conviction.
“No doubt. And, God, I see your point. We gonna get that done ASAP. Let The Consortium know we meetin’ and attendance is mandatory,” Born instructed.
“Say no mo’, God, say no mo’,” Tareek answered and gave Born another hug and bounced.
Born moved around the funeral home like a politician. He spoke with the twins from the North End, who came so deep you’d think they were going to war. Born told them about the meeting.
“Yeah, maine, definitely,” they agreed.
Before he left, he went over to console Janay. He gave Boomer a hug, then Marquis, and finally Janay. It was the first hug she had all night, because she wouldn’t allow anybody to embrace her since she was so in fear of embracing a snake.
“How you, Auntie?” Born greeted, calling her his name for her when he wanted to convey family ties.
She mustered a smile. “You know me. I’m
maintaining.”
“Shit is crazy in the city,” he told her.
“I heard.”
Born nodded. “I know you feeling a way about how they did Crystal.”
Janay looked at him, because she knew where he was going. “Born, I told you before. It’s the Lord’s plan. We may . . . not understand it, but we have . . . we have to accept it.”
He could see the struggle in her soul and hear the hesitancy in her reply. He kissed her on the cheek. “I’m here . . . never forget that.”
“I know,” she replied, finding strength in his presence.
As he started to walk away, she grabbed his hand. He looked back at her. “It’s not Dark,” she told him. “It’s not him. Somebody just wants it to look like it’s him.”
Born nodded, then walked away.
Janay and Boomer were preparing to leave with Boomer carrying Marquis, who was sleeping.
“Yo, Janay!” Dark called out. He approached her. “I understood what you said, but that ain’t how I roll. We might not have been married yet, but Crystal died as my wife,” Dark told her.
She turned to answer him but something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Mo’Betta and two of his shooters were laying on Dark. Mo’ had thought about setting it off right then and there, but he knew if he disrespected Crystal’s wake there would be consequences. Consequences he didn’t fear but wanted to avoid. So he waited. But as soon as he saw the nigga he couldn’t hold back.
“There he go!” Mo hissed, and he went into action mode.
Wise and his team were prepared, ready to move on sight as well.
What caught Janay’s attention were the movements of Mo’Betta’s shooters. Once she saw the glint of the steel, she cried out, “Marquis!”
Gunshots erupted from two different directions and all hell broke loose.
“Get down!” People were yelling and screaming.
“This is a funeral! What is the matter with these fools?” Someone hollered.
Janay ran to catch up with Boomer and Marquis. Even though she was less than ten feet away, the time elapsing made it seem like everything was moving in slow motion. She would have taken one to the head had she been closer . . . Boomer saw what she saw a split second after she saw it. He eyed the sparks from the barrels aimed at them, or he thought were aimed at them. Ironically, he bear-hugged Marquis with as much of his body as he could, turning his body and putting Marquis directly in the line of fire from the opposite direction as his team went into action at the same time.
The first shots hit young Marquis in the throat, and then his chest, exploding his heart and mercifully killing him instantly, making it impossible to feel the next barrage of bullets that riddled his little body and Boomer’s simultaneously.
“Noooooo!” Janay bellowed, as she watched her son and uncle die in one big embrace.
The only thing that saved her life is that she lunged for them when the barrage of bullets meant for her went over her head.
“The Lord is my shepherd . . .” Mrs. Millie began to pray as he lay face down on the carpet.
“Allah is the Greatest . . . Allah is the Greatest . . .” A Muslim chanted clutching his prayer beads as he crawled along the floor seeking cover.
“These niggas have lost their minds!” Someone in the distance yelled out.
Mo’Betta couldn’t believe Dark would be on point like that. How did he know? How could he be so prepared? Mo’Betta thought. Wise’s team was Dark’s, and they were shooting back at Mo’ and his team.
They took their attention off Dark long enough to give him time to take cover and return fire. Dark took aim and squeezed off five shots, busting the window of the parked car of one of Mo’s shooters. Pissed off, the shooter ran toward Dark, but Dark got a shot off, exploding the shooter’s chest and taking him off his feet.
“What the fuck?” Wise uttered, finding there was a team in place and already taking aim at him. He was going to use the opportunity to hit Janay. But taking aim at Mo’Betta and his people, he missed her. Two of his shooters got hit because of the surprise attack.
Dark took aim at Wise’s people, thinking they were two arms of the same hit team. Mo’Betta’s people shot it out with Wise, neither knowing who the other was, thinking they were with the people the other was shooting at. Even the Twins from the North End’s people got involved, thinking they got set up for an ambush.
Instead of the ultimate payback, it was the ultimate confusion.
When the smoke cleared and all of the teams made their getaway, several people had been shot or killed, including three girls, one of the Twins’ people, several shooters, and Dark.
And then there was Janay. Everything in her world had gone black the moment she saw those bullets enter her son, seeing his eyes grow big as blood splashed from his chest. Seeing him fight for another breath, only to fail, his chest deflate, head drop, and body slump.
“Nooooo!” she would hear herself scream that for the rest of her life. She snatched Marquis from Boomer’s lifeless arms and cradled him to her chest. She didn’t hide from the bullets; she didn’t see or hear anything but the intensity of her own heartbeat and the absence of her son’s.
When the police and ambulances arrived, that’s how they found her. Head thrown back, screaming her soul out for her dead son.
Part II
The Beginning
Chapter Eleven
Briggen stepped into the light of the April sun to feel the free shine. The sun never felt so good on his face. Not only was he free, but he was free on his own terms, having put together the plan and having it executed to perfection. That thought made him feel that he could take over the world.
“What up, big bruh?” Mo’Betta greeted, climbing out of his Cadillac XTS. Since Briggen was out, the first thing on his agenda was to upgrade to a newer model.
He gave Briggen a gangsta hug. “What up, though, Mo’? It’s good to meet you in the flesh,” Briggen returned.
“Fo ‘sho’.”
Briggen looked at the young boy, mentally assessing him. He reminded Briggen of Forever in a lot of ways.
“Ay, yo, you did good. Real talk. And now that I’m home, I’ma show you how to get real money,” Briggen promised.
“I’m wit’ you, big bruh. I’m wit’ you.”
“Let’s get outta here. I need to go see my lawyer.”
They drove across town to Rudy’s office. As they drove, Mo’ broke down the situation with Dark and the shootout with him and who he thought was Dark’s people.
Briggen listened in silence. He definitely wanted to fuck with Mo’Betta. He needed a strong right hand. But he wasn’t trying to inherit any beef, even though he already had his own beef with Dark and Nick. Briggen knew he wasn’t in any position to go to war, but once he got his ones and guns right, he would serve Dark and Nick with some much needed and deserved payback!
“Check it, though, dawg. I know losin’ your cousin Rob fucked you up, but we play this game with our heads, not with our hearts, feel me?” Briggen gemmed him.
“No doubt, but—”
“Everything after but is bullshit. This same nigga killed my brother, so if anybody wanna eat him, it’s me. But you can’t underestimate this nigga, ’cause you see what happens when you do,” Briggen remarked, reminding him of how the shootout caught him by surprise.
Mo’Betta didn’t respond, so Briggen knew he was listening.
“Be clear, maine. This nigga gonna die. That, I promise you. But we gotta be ready, get our gwap up, and we move. We move hard, you wit’ me?”
Mo’Betta reluctantly nodded. He was the type to want to shoot on sight, hit innocents, raise the murder rate, and make shit hot whether or not he got his man. In other words, he was an emotional nigga, the game’s worst enemy.
“No doubt, big bruh, no doubt.”
Briggen nodded and sat back.
When they got to Rudy’s office, the secretary let them right in. Rudy was on the phone when they came in,
but once he saw them he said, “Listen, I need to handle something. I’ll talk to you later.” Then he hung up.
He rose, came around the desk, and embraced Briggen like a brother. “Welcome home, Calvin. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, it definitely feels good,” Briggen answered, then added, “Rudy, this is my man, Mo’Betta. Mo’, this is Rudy Harrington. Best lawyer in the city.”
“Excuse me, Calvin? Best lawyer in the city? I’m the best in the state!”
They all laughed. Mo’Betta and Briggen sat down. Rudy perched on the corner of his desk.
“So, let me bring you up to speed. Because of Miss Demetria Atkins’s unfortunate demise, the prosecutor has nothing. I don’t see them going anywhere with this issue,” Rudy explained.
“That’s what’s up,” Briggen nodded happily.
“But—” Rudy added, holding up a finger. “Know that this isn’t over.”
“What you mean?” Briggen frowned. “You just said—”
“I don’t mean this case. I’m talking about the future. The Feds don’t like to be beat. We won this round. Rest assured they’re already preparing for round two,” Rudy warned him.
Briggen smirked cockily. “Maine, listen, let them niggas do their job and I’ma do mine. Besides, that’s why you get paid the big bucks, right?”
Rudy shook his head. “Same ol’ Briggen, huh? I guess you didn’t think about what I said.”
“Naw, I did . . . believe me. I just need one more run, yo, and I’m done.”
“Whatever you say, Calvin,” Rudy replied, thinking, You and every other hustler.
Briggen stood up, but Mo’Betta was slow to follow. He was trying to wrap his head around where he had seen Rudy before. And then it hit him like a radio station coming crystal clear after mad static. He stood up, shook Rudy’s hand, and asked, “Can I get your card? Shit, if you the best, I’m definitely trying to keep you on retainer.”
“Some of my favorite words.” Rudy chuckled as he handed Mo’Betta the card. They headed for the door, but before Mo’Betta closed the door he gave Rudy a wink that made Rudy frown because he didn’t understand the implications . . . not yet.