by Nene Capri
“Kiam, what’s going on in your mind that causes you to look so serious all the time?” The lady that raised him had often asked when he was growing up.
Kiam could never quite answer the question. At least not honestly, because the truth might have sent Miss Charlene to an early grave.
He rested his thoughts on her. She had been murdered in her home a year after he began serving his bid. Somebody had to pay for that, and he already knew where to begin looking for answers.
That nigga DeMarcus better have some names on the tip of his tongue when I find him or it’s gonna be a bad day for Cuz.
He sat on the side of the bed and reached for the phone on the nightstand to hit up his dude Czar. He finally picked up after his phone had rung a half dozen times. Surprise rang from his voice when he realized it was Kiam.
A short while later, with the April sun kissing the back of his neck, Kiam slid into the passenger seat of Czar’s black 2010 Mercedes Benz GLK 350.
“What’s good, Bleed?” Czar greeted him with a genuine smile. He skipped the routine gangsta hug because he remembered that Kiam wasn’t a touchy-feely type of dude.
“I see you did the time instead of letting the time do you,” observed Czar.
“Anything else would have been asinine, right?” replied Kiam.
“True. Damn, nigga, welcome home. You lamping at The Ritz so you must be good.”
“I’m alright.”
“Man, I know I didn’t send you nothin’ on your books but—”
“You don’t owe me any explanations,” Kiam cut him off. Czar didn’t owe him anything which meant Kiam didn’t owe him a damn thing either.
“Where that nigga DeMarcus at? He still around?” he inquired.
“Is he? Hell yeah, he’s still around. And he has Miles Road turned up from 93rd all the way up to Lee Road. Man, that lame ass nigga has gotten rich since you’ve been gone. I know he was looking out for you, wasn’t he?”
“Something like that.” Kiam’s response was evasive.
Czar, who was five years older than Kiam, had known him since he was a little badass, so he recognized the bitter tone in which Kiam had replied. He didn’t know what DeMarcus had done, but he knew that boy wasn’t built to beef with a goon like the one in his passenger seat.
Czar wasn’t a groupie type dude, but he had no qualms with giving props to those that deserved them. Although he had never witnessed Kiam take a man’s life, he knew what he knew— Kiam’s murder game was prolific. Czar knew that just as he knew a pig’s pussy was pork. Every dude that had beefed with Kiam had ended up with his shit pushed back— that wasn’t a coincidence.
Before he went away on gun charges, at eighteen years old, the streets trembled when Kiam came on the block. Established hustlers had him pegged as a growing force to be reckoned with if his quick trigger finger didn’t take him down first. More than a few ballers from over his way secretly rejoiced when Kiam caught time in the feds. They had peeped that he was a hungry lion that would not have been content until he was King.
Czar had peeped the same thing. He wondered if the bid had changed Kiam any.
“So what’s up, nigga? You gon’ turn it up or are you all rehabilitated and shit?” He asked with a chuckle in his tone.
“I’ma do me.” Kiam kept it brief.
“Meaning what?” Czar pried.
“Meaning nothing and everything.”
Czar couldn’t figure that shit out and it made his head hurt to even try. “I hear you, nephew,” he steered the conversation back to DeMarcus. “I’m not tryna plant no seeds because I know you and DeMarcus grew up drinking out the same cup, but it seem like he didn’t bubble until Miss Charlene died.”
“And you said that to say what?” Kiam put him on the defensive.
Czar turned right on 116th and Union heading toward Miles Road.
“I hate to spread rumors dawg, ‘cause that’s not my get down but I fuck with you hard so I gotta keep it one hunnid,” Czar went on. “Word on the street is that DeMarcus killed Miss Charlene and used the life insurance money to sponsor his come up in the game”
Kiam said nothing. He knew from Miss Charlene’s own mouth that any money left over from the policy after her burial went to the church. DeMarcus would have known the same thing.
“I raised y’all to be men, y’all can take care of yourselves when I’m gone,” she had explained before that day ever arrived.
So what Czar was saying meant nothing to Kiam. He didn’t discount the possibility that DeMarcus had killed Miss Charlene for money, but it damn sure wasn’t insurance money.
Kiam was silent, contemplating, preparing. He looked out the window at the changes that had taken place since he went away. Some apartment buildings had been demolished, and empty lots stood where corner stores once thrived. Houses were boarded up and the streets were littered with potholes. Destruction and despair was as visible as a dark, gray cloud filled with rain. But the city hadn’t witnessed nothing yet, what he was going to do would surpass the darkest imagination.
Chapter 5
The Foundation
Lissha was comfortably seated in her black, white and silver living room flipping through an Essence magazine. There were several Hawaiian glaze candles burning, and the sound of Trey Songz Passion, Pain, and Pleasure CD was playing in the background. She reached forward, grabbed her huge mug of green tea, and brought it to her lips. As she placed it back on the coffee table her doorbell rang.
She removed her legs from their folded position and rose to her feet. She walked to the door, rested her eye against the peep hole then clicked the locks.
“Damn, bitch. What you got some ass up in here?” Treebie barged past Lissha headed to the living room looking around with a suspicious eye.
“Good Morning, Lish,” Bayonna said as she followed Treebie.
“Hey ma, and why is this bitch always so loud and ignorant? This bitch would fuck up a good nut right on the brink.”
“Whatever.” She palmed her hand in the air. “What you got in this cup?” Treebie inhaled deeply.
“Put my shit down. Who the fuck walks into someone’s house and sticks their nose in cups and shit?” Lissha twisted her mouth, walked over to Treebie and took her cup out of her clutch.
Bayonna took a seat in the high back chair, crossed her legs and shook her head.
“Is this bitch drunk?” Lissha turned her question to Bayonna.
“No, I am not but I’m about to be,” Treebie announced as she walked to the kitchen, snatched a bottle and three glasses from the cabinet, then sashayed back into the living room.
“Alright, let’s get down to business.” Lissha watched Treebie pour their glasses of wine as they took a seat across from hers. “Okay, so Kiam is on deck,” Lissha began. She paused to look at both ladies. “We need to introduce him to Gator so he can take over that operation and reinforce our power on the streets. Then we need to set up a meeting for him with the drug connect so he can take that shit over and we can turn down and handle all this other shit we got on the table.”
“So, Gator is not calling shots anymore?” Treebie curiously raised her eyebrows.
Lissha cut in. “No. Daddy wants Kiam to take charge and we’re gonna back him one hundred percent.”
“I’m not comfortable with that. We don’t know this nigga.” Treebie was getting agitated.
“Hold the fuck up. Don’t forget your place in this shit.” Lissha turned to Treebie with a wrinkled brow. “This nigga is official. Daddy sent him to us and if you got a fucking problem with that, address it to Daddy and see how that turns out.” Lissha stared directly in Treebie’s eyes and did not blink.
Treebie glided her tongue across her teeth then sucked them. “I ain’t got no problem with Big Zo’s decisions. I’m just saying we been working with Gator for years. I know his get down. I ain’t got time to be holding no new nigga’s hand and then have to worry about him turning on us when shit get tight.”
“Have I e
ver crossed you? Have. I. Ever. Crossed. You?” Lissha emphasized each word waiting for her to say the wrong shit.
“No, and hopefully you never will,” Treebie got up. “I gotta pee.” She headed to the bathroom.
Lissha’s heart began to pick up speed, she was heated. For the first time her right hand and most trusted confidant was challenging her authority. If Treebie’s rebellion was a sign that she no longer wanted to take orders she would be wise to order herself a casket because that’s how it was going to play out.
“Lish. You know it’s not you she don’t trust. None of us knows anything about Kiam, so of course Treebie is a little uncomfortable,” intoned Bayonna, breaking Lissha’s train of thought.
Lissha studied her like maybe she was Judas in disguise. Bayonna felt the burn from her intense gaze and correctly interpreted it. But she knew that there was no flaw in her loyalty so she was unfazed by any uncertainty that might have crept into Lissha’s mind.
“Let’s just follow the script and put Kiam to the test so Treebie can see what he is made of.” She tried her hand at reasoning with Lissha who had a look on her face like she was getting ready to do something to somebody.
Treebie emerged from the bathroom drying her hands with a paper towel. “Look, Lissha. I apologize if I was out of line. I’m not trying to oppose you or Big Zo. It’s just that I have sacrificed a lot. We have been through the trenches.” She pounded her fist in her hand.
They had indeed been through it together, going back to when it was just the two of them holding down the fort for Big Zo, trafficking blocks up and down the highway to keep lawyer money coming in as he fought a futile effort to win an acquittal.
The day that Big Zo was convicted and sent away, Lissha and Treebie had gone out and gotten drunk, then went back to Treebie’s place and cried on each other’s shoulder vowing death to everyone that turned informant on him. Together they had murked three of those faggot ass, snitch muthafuckas and to this day they were hunting for the others.
Lissha couldn’t overlook Treebie’s sacrifices; she had walked away from her husband, Wa’leek, in New Jersey to get down with Big Zo. But had time begun to eat away at her loyalty?
Lissha studied Treebie’s face as her mouth continued to move. “Li Li, I love you to the death of me,” she proclaimed with sincerity in her eyes. “I will give my life for you, but I will tell you this—if Kiam is foul, Big Zo ain’t going to have to touch him. I’m going to put heat all over that ass. That’s my word.”
Treebie looked in Lissha’s eyes searching for approval. Lissha thought long and hard about Treebie’s words. If nothing else she was genuine. She had to admit that they had run hard together. Many had folded when things got hot, but Treebie had always stood firm. However, Lissha needed to reaffirm that regardless of all that, they were not equal in authority.
“Apology accepted. But I need you to understand something that should already be overstood. This shit right here belongs to me and Daddy. He makes the decisions and I carry them out.” She paused.
Treebie waited for her to continue.
Lissha wet her lips with her tongue then went on. “As far as Kiam goes, you won’t have to worry about him crossing you. Because if he does I will kill him myself. But if I find out you stood in the way of him carrying out Daddy’s orders, we gonna have a serious problem.” The warning was subtle but unmistakable.
Lissha got up, walked to the door and opened it. “Y’all can bounce. I got some shit to do. I’ll get up with y’all at the spot in two days,” she said.
Treebie headed to the door and Bayonna followed. As they passed by Lissha, Treebie stopped and said, “Either you about to come on your period or you need some dick. But I still love you.” She kissed Lissha on the cheek.
Lissha just curled her lips and watched her go by. She wiped her face with the back of her hand as she watched the two ladies walk down the driveway. That shit felt like the kiss of death. She stood staring at them until they drove off.
Chapter 6
Suspicions
The car turned left off 116th Street onto Miles Road. They were headed toward 131st then on up to Lee Road. Trees were barren of leaves because winter hadn’t decided to bow completely to spring yet, but the early morning 70-degree temperature lent hope for a beautiful day.
A small group of people were huddled at the bus stop on the corner, in light jackets, waiting on the slow running #50 bus to come. A pair of teenaged girls eyed the whip like they wanted to fuck the grill. Czar honked the horn at them and they waved.
“Lil’ hot asses,” Kiam remarked with a grin.
Czar pushed on up the street, pointing out all the spots that DeMarcus had on lock.
“I’m telling you, Dee done got his weight up out here. I don’t know who put him on but that nigga is doing it. He got runners handling weight and selling steezies for him all up and down this bitch,” lamented Czar.
Kiam just listened. There was no reason to comment because he knew that before long the streets would be his. DeMarcus damn sure wasn’t built to stop him.
“Who else is gettin’ serious money on this side of town?” He questioned his man.
“You got those Gore brothers off Princeton Avenue eating good. They’ve been locking down a lot of spots, chasing other nigga’s off corners up and down East 116th, from Buckeye Road all the way to Harvard Road.”
“Greg and Fat?” asked Kiam. He had heard their names mentioned a few times when he had reached out to the streets.
“Yeah. They rock these platinum chains with MBK across the pieces in diamonds. It’s supposed to stand for My Brother’s Keeper. Wherever you see one of them, you see the other. That’s how they roll. I figure they’re touching about ten whole ones a week.”
They’ll either get down or get laid down, Kiam decided.
“How many bricks you touching?” he asked Czar.
“Oh, I do a’ight,” he replied.
Kiam didn’t press him, in time Czar would reveal his hand or get it chopped the hell off. Take no prisoners, Pop had lectured Kiam every day. You’ll be able to exert your will over most dudes. Kill everybody else that stands in your way.
As they drove on up Miles Road, he directed Czar to make a left on 123rd. Czar followed his directions and without being told stopped in front of the house where Kiam had grew up.
Memories came rushing back through Kiam’s mind.
“Baby, Miss Charlene is going to watch you while I run downtown to see these white folks about my damn food stamps,” his mother told him, handing him a quarter so that he wouldn’t act up when she drove off.
Five year old Kiam took the quarter and kissed his mother on the cheek. “I ain’t gon’ cry, Mama. I’ma go play with DeMarcus until you get back.”
“That’s my little man. Mama loves you,” she said, hugging him tightly.
When she let him go, tears ran down her face, ruining her makeup. “Why you crying, Mama?” He looked at her curiously.
“Mama just got a whole lot of problems.” She wiped her eyes and sniffled.
Miss Charlene came outside and told Kiam’s mother to be back for him by 7 o’clock. “I gotta go to Bingo tonight. I feel lucky,” she said.
“I’ll be back way before then,” his mother promised. But something in her eyes made Kiam cry as he watched her leave.
When they got in the house Miss Charlene gave him some cookies and told him to go and play with DeMarcus.
He was still crying when he reached the basement where DeMarcus was located, kneeling beside his toys.
“You a sissie,” DeMarcus teased.
Whap! Kiam punched him dead in the nose. “Fuck you talking to, bitch?” he snorted.
Now DeMarcus was crying harder than him. “I’ma tell my grandmother,” he whined.
“And I’ma fuck you up.”
DeMarcus told anyway, and Miss Charlene scolded Kiam something fierce, threatening to beat the skin off his behind. But she was all bark. She loved children too much to do m
ore than pop them once or twice.
“Boy, why you so bad?” she asked, giving him another handful of cookies.
Kiam hunched his shoulders and sat at the window looking for his mother to return. Hours passed and she hadn’t shown up.
Then hours turned into days and days turned into years.
“You alright, nephew?” asked Czar looking at him quizzically.
“I’m good. Who lives here now?” The house looked ready to fall down.
Czar didn’t know so Kiam got out the car and walked up to the door. He had to get inside the house and check something out. That would determine his next move, and whether or not DeMarcus would be the next nigga he killed.
The six raggedy wooden steps strained and squeaked under his weight as Kiam walked up on the porch. At the top of the steps he paused and took in the exterior of his childhood home. The paint had long ago peeled from the banisters, and they sagged like the shoulders of an old, tired man.
In one corner of the porch sat a worn couch with different sized bricks for legs; a rat strolled fearlessly across the back of the soiled piece of furniture fearing no consequences. The rodent suddenly stopped and looked at Kiam, then quickly scurried away.
Instinctively it had recognized the presence of a killah. Kiam liked that. Now niggas needed to do the same.
He proceeded up to the front door and stuck his hand out in search of the doorbell. In its place was nothing but a small gutted out hole. The door frame was freshly painted, like makeup applied on the weathered face of a hundred year old woman, in a futile attempt to disguise the wear and tear that life had taken on her soul. Miss Charlene had to be rolling over in her grave at what had become of the house that she had kept up with a loving hand.
Kiam brushed those melancholy thoughts aside, he had no time for sentimental trips down memory lane until he had the answer to the question that was most prevalent in his mind.