by Marcus Weber
Carl Weber’s Kingpins:
The Bronx
Marcus Weber
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Fool’s Gold
Chapter 2 - Real Life
Chapter 3 - Living Up To It
Chapter 4 - Faking It
Chapter 5 - In the Trenches
Chapter 6 - Changing Faces
Chapter 7 - Moving In and Moving Up
Chapter 8 - All Falls Down
Chapter 9 - Making Moves
Chapter 10 - The Climax
Chapter 11 - All Falls Down
Chapter 12 - Ties That Bind
Chapter 13 - The End or The Beginning?
Urban Books, LLC
300 Farmingdale Road, N.Y.-Route 109
Farmingdale, NY 11735
Carl Weber’s Kingpins: The Bronx
Copyright © 2018 Marcus Weber
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-9458-5556-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-945855-57-3
eISBN 10: 1-945855-57-6
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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Prologue
“Are you ready?”
Paige looked up, startled. She blinked a few times and looked to her right and smiled. “I guess so,” she replied, jamming her right fist into her hip, with her arm bent at the elbow to make an opening for her brother to slide his arm through.
“You look amazing, sis.”
Paige’s stomach clenched. Her father had said almost those exact words the first time she’d gotten married. You look amazing, baby girl.
A small explosion of heat lit in Paige’s chest—one part anger, one part sadness—as she thought about her father’s nerve when he refused to give her away a second time. She closed her eyes and exhaled. She shook her head, wishing away her worries. She couldn’t focus on the past right now. If she did, she might not make it down the aisle this time. And this time, the marriage was a necessity, not just a want.
“You clean up nicely yourself.” Paige looked up at her brother, her fake smile perfected now.
It was true. Gladstone Tillary, Jr., had come a long way since his latest stint in rehab. Even with his neck tattoos peeking from his shirt collar, he presented well—classy and sharp. Paige was sorry she’d ever gotten him involved in everything that had happened. Her heart broke every time she thought about how she had turned her back on him in his darkest hour, yet he had stood by her in hers.
“I really appreciate you getting rid of those awful dreadlocks, too,” she said, her tone playful.
“Well, they’re gone but not forgotten,” her brother joked, running his hand over his neatly trimmed hair.
They laughed.
Paige needed the laugh. She’d take anything to ease some of the muscle-twisting tension that had her entire body in knots.
Finally, the low hum of her wedding song, You by Kenny Latimore, filtered through the outdoor speakers.
“That’s our cue.”
Her brother squared his shoulders and tightened his lock on Paige’s arm, forcing her closer to him.
“Thank you for being here, Junior,” Paige whispered. She meant it. She knew he’d probably endured a harsh berating from their parents for agreeing to give her away. That was the one quality she had always admired most about her baby brother since they were kids. He never cared what her parents said or thought, unlike Paige, who had spent her entire life walking the fine line of being an individual and making her parents happy. She always wanted to be the “good one,” as her mother called her.
“C’mon. You know I wouldn’t miss the free food and wine,” her brother joked.
Paige giggled. Then she got serious. “No wine for you,” she chastised in a playfully gruff voice.
“All right. Here we go.”
Paige looked down and smoothed her left hand over the fine, hand-sewn iridescent beads on the front of her haute couture gown. She found a lone bead to pick at with the hopes it would help calm her nerves.
“Loosen up. You’re a pro at this, right? Second time’s the charm?”
Paige parted a quivery-lipped smile. “The way I’m shaking you’d think this was my first time.”
She sucked in her breath as she finally stood at the end of the beautifully decorated aisle in the pastoral Breaux Vineyard. One-hundred-year-old weeping willows swayed in the wake of the breeze with their wispy, white bud covered tendrils calling her forward. Pink rose petals dotted the path in the center aisle, and tall silver stanchions holding white and lilac hydrangea globes flanked every other row of white Chiavari chairs. Dreamy, romantic, and heavenly were all words that came to mind.
With her arm hooked through her brother’s, Paige plastered on her famous, toothy smile and carefully navigated the vineyard’s emerald green lawn in her heels. Collective awestruck gasps rose and fell amongst the guests seated on either side of the decorated bridal path. The absence of her parents and her best friend, Michaela, didn’t go unnoticed. But, it was the Cartwrights—Emil, Hayden, and Jackson—who caused Paige to stumble a bit.
Focus, Paige. Focus. She knew they were there to make sure she went through with it, their presence like a threat whispered in her ear. It’ll all be over soon, she told herself.
Antonio stepped into the aisle to meet her. He wore a smile that said, “I’m trying to make this seem real too.” Unlike Paige’s penchant for the grandiose, Antonio was simple. He wore a plain black suit, forgoing the obligatory tuxedo, white cummerbund, and shiny shoes.
Paige felt something flutter inside her like a million butterflies trapped in a jar. With everything they’d been through, Paige had lost sight of how handsome Antonio was. He looked more gorgeous now than he had years ago when they were just two young, high school lovebirds. Back then, Antonio was a gangly six-foot-three-inch kid with a bulging Adam’s apple and a hairless baby face. Now, he’d transformed into a distinguished gentleman with a neatly trimmed goatee, thick square shoulders that filled out his suit jacket, and a muscular barrel chest. He looked more like a Calvin Klein underwear model than a former professional basketball player. Paige had certainly forgotten. Anger, hurt, bitterness, and the threat of a life sentence had a way of changing perspective, she’d learned.
Antonio took her brother’s place at Paige’s side. She looked over at him, her heart dancing in her chest.
“Shall we begin with a prayer?” the officiant said, his Bible splayed over his palms.
Paige lowered her eyes.
* * *
The day Paige met Antonio, she and her best friend Michaela had snuck out of Michaela’s house, thanks to Michaela’s mother’s love for cheap vodka and loud jazz music. Paige and Michaela had dressed in outfits that they thought made them look older—tight knee-length leather skirts, crop tops, blazers, and colorful high-heeled pumps—yet, as Michaela had put it, sophisticated and rich.
“Every bad boy from every borough will be at this party,” Michaela had said as they rushed into her brand ne
w, candy apple red Mercedes Benz. She had just gotten the car for her seventeenth birthday. The interior was customized with bubblegum pink seats and lavender trim. Gaudy, but signature Michaela.
“Thank God. Because our school is filled with nothing but nerds and wannabes,” Paige had replied, pulling down the pink visor so she could use the tiny mirror to coat her lips with a fresh layer of hot pink Chanel lipstick—another Michaela thing. “Even our so-called varsity teams are filled with nerds. Ugh.”
“Tell me about it. I would never date anyone at Riverdale. I’m so ready to do something to get kicked out,” Michaela groaned. “Maybe I’ll set Mrs. Schwartz’s hair on fire by accident during lab.”
Paige laughed just thinking about their chemistry teacher’s dry, frizzy red hair going up in flames. “You better not. You’ll be kicked out and arrested. And, there’s no way I’d survive without you. I couldn’t imagine life without you.”
As soon as Michaela and Paige arrived on Fordham Road, Paige knew they were a long way from their sheltered world in Riverdale. They may have both lived in the Bronx, but they lived differently. Paige stared out of the car windows with her mouth hanging slightly open.
Unlike the spaced-out mansions in her neighborhood, these tall apartment buildings held more people on one floor than her entire block did. They looked like someone had stacked bricks randomly and hoped for the best. Lights flickered on and off like there couldn’t be too many on all at once.
“Welcome to the real BX,” Michaela whispered. “This is the fun part of town.” She laughed.
“You mean the dangerous part of town,” Paige whispered back. She didn’t laugh.
Paige’s wide eyes darted around and took in the scene. There were so many people crowded outside, some drinking from bottles covered with brown paper bags, some smoking and passing their brown cigarettes to the person next to them, some throwing dice against the curb and cursing once the dice landed. But, what had struck Paige the most were the girls. There were several huddles of them. One cluster almost the exact clone of the next. They all wore the biggest earrings dangling from their ears and the shortest, tightest skirts Paige had ever seen on young girls. And, she’d never, ever, seen fishnet stockings, except on women on television in those 80s movies she and Michaela liked to watch and laugh at. The girls were loud, and their body language was flirtatious. If it weren’t for their baby faces, Paige would have pegged them for prostitutes like the ones she had seen in those movies.
Paige looked over Michaela. “Obviously we are not dressed for this. Do you see that girl’s nails? They look like neon green claws, while we’re wearing boring French manicures. Way off, Michaela.”
“I know, which means we will stand out. Don’t you know anything? Look at them,” Michaela said and jerked her chin at the girls. “The boys are used to them. Just look how they’re trying to get attention, and the boys are all ignoring them. They won’t be used to us, which means they’ll be all over us. Now come on and stop being scared.”
As soon as Paige and Michaela walked into the packed party, Paige started coughing. The thick, gray haze of smoke mixed with cheap colognes and drugstore perfumes was enough to require a gas mask. It didn’t faze Michaela.
“Look, but don’t be obvious. Ahead . . . 2 o’clock,” Michaela yelled in Paige’s ear over the booming music.
“What? Another bunch of boys?” Paige asked.
“No, silly! These boys are from Wings Academy, the number-one-ranked high school basketball team in the nation,” Michaela corrected. “They are future stars!”
Paige shrugged. Neither she nor Michaela needed to be worried about snagging a basketball star. Both of them came from wealthy families. There would be several fifteen-hundred-dollar-per-plate social events their parents would drag them to where they’d be expected to find their future husbands, and they would definitely not be high school basketball players with dreams of being rich. They’d already be rich, from birth.
“Are you crazy, Paige? I hear basketball star dick is the best,” Michaela said, pumping her pelvis in and out so Paige would understand.
“Ew. Stop. Just stop.” Paige shook her head.
“Virgin,” Michaela teased, waving at her.
They laughed.
“No, but seriously, Paige, one of them is looking over here,” Michaela had pointed out. “He seems like the star. Look at the girls over there pointing at him. Maybe he wants me.”
Paige had already spotted him. Michaela was wrong. For once, a boy was staring at Paige and not Michaela. Paige had felt his eyes on her as soon as she’d waved her vision clear of the thick smoke fog. He was so tall it was hard not to notice him. Even in the dark room, Paige had also noticed that he was teenage-movie-star handsome.
“He’s coming this way!” Michaela shouted and bounced like she was about to see her favorite celebrity heartthrob. “Is my hair okay?”
Paige blinked a few times, trying to get her eyes to focus, but within seconds the handsome stranger was standing in front of her. No time to primp or even make sure her hair was okay.
“You want to dance?” he asked, his voice deep with unexpected bass.
Paige’s heart throttled upward until she felt like it was caught in her throat. She opened her mouth, but no sound would come out.
Michaela pushed Paige forward before she could answer. “Yes, she does.”
“I’m Antonio,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Pa . . . Paige,” she replied, putting her hand into his.
* * *
If Antonio remembered the day that he and Michaela met, he would have to think about how he ended up at that party in the first place. Growing up in the Patterson Houses meant that Antonio actively tried to stay away from functions big enough to cause problems, but his boy, Rich, had insisted.
“Deadass, G, there’s going to be so many fine bitches,” Rich had said as Antonio laid on his couch earlier that night. He had just finished practice and was more concerned with making sure he got up early enough to hit the gym again in the morning.
“Man, chill, no one cares about that. You not fucking anyway,” Antonio said, grabbing the remote off the couch and turning on the T.V.
Rich moved to the set and turned it off. They had been friends for so long, he had spent so much time in Antonio’s living room that he didn’t even have to look to do it. While Rich didn’t grow up in the same projects that Antonio did, he always found his way around and kept Antonio from getting his ass beat every time he curved the gang members who tried to recruit him.
“Well we sure as hell not fucking here, either,” Rich said. “May as well up our chances.” He smiled in the mischievous way that Antonio recognized meant that he was about to make a dumbass decision, and he was going to take him down with him. Antonio sighed.
“Fuck it, let’s go.”
* * *
Rich and Antonio got to the party twenty minutes before Michaela and Paige did. Like most parties that Rich peer-pressured his friend into going to, the function on Fordham Road was the usual cross between teenage gang bangers trying to sell to the kids from the high schools in the area and the kids from out in Riverdale who thought it would be cute to slum it for a minute. When Rich first saw Michaela and Paige, he knew what category they belonged to, and as he saw his friend’s eyes land on Paige and stay there, he snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.
“Yo, nah, don’t do that,” said Rich. “Ain’t nothing over there that you want.” He grabbed Antonio’s chin and tried to tear his gaze away from what he knew were just two bougie bitches trying to spice up their typical Friday night scene. Antonio clicked his tongue and hit his hand away.
“Boy, don’t touch me,” Antonio said and turned his eyes back onto the pretty girl who looked like she was trying to go to a business meeting. Rich rolled his eyes. He knew Antonio’s type.
“Just because you like to pretend you’re not from here doesn’t mean they will,” he said under his breath, and Antonio, who had act
ually heard him, ignored it. But that’s when Frank, one of those dudes who had dropped out of school at fourteen and looked the part, came to stand in between Antonio and his target for the night.
“What’s good?” Frank said to Antonio and Rich, which was bold considering everyone in the neighborhood knew that Antonio didn’t entertain delinquency. No one seemed to understand why it was that Antonio was so actively trying to avoid being caught up. It wasn’t like it was uncommon for people to sell or to smoke or to do any number of illicit activities. To everyone else, it looked like Antonio just thought he was better than them, that just because he could hoop meant he was something special. But to Antonio, it was more than that.
Even though he didn’t know a lot about his father, Antonio knew that he must have been a stand-up dude the way his mother talked about him, the way she kept his name out of her mouth unlike the other single mothers on their block. And because of this, he decided he would keep his head up and out of the streets, no matter how bad things got, or how much money he and his mom went without. He knew in his heart one day his skills with the ball would pay off.
“Get the fuck on, Frank,” said Rich. He knew about Antonio’s deep disregard for gang life, and even though he found Antonio’s fronting annoying sometimes, he supported his friend first. Frank laughed, having expected that reaction, and walked away, bringing Paige back into Antonio’s eye line.
“She’s breathtaking,” Antonio told Rich quietly, not even noticing that her friend was whispering in her ear while staring in their direction.
“You’re mad corny. Just go talk to her. You look creepy starting at her like that,” said Rich.
Antonio shook his shoulders out and smoothed his eyebrows, and then he crossed the room toward what he now realized were two girls and not one. He could handle women the way he handled a basketball: with delicate finesse before making his shot. As he stood in front of her and looked down, he noticed how pretty her eyes were.