by Tranay Adams
Today was the day Mufasa’s shipment of cocaine was supposed to arrive, so the men had to meet up with Franklin’s guys at an abandoned airplane garage to retrieve it. When Zonyai and his crew arrived at the garage, the plane carrying the cocaine had yet to arrive. The only people present were their workers and Franklin’s men, Joey-T and Jackie Needles.
“My nigga, where’s our shit?” Zonyai asked Joey-T. He and Jackie Needles were leant against his Lincoln Town Car smoking cigarettes.
“Hold your horses, homeboy, it will be here in a sec,” Joey-T told him, stealing a glance at his watch.
“Yeah, be easy, it’ll get here, chief,” Jackie Needles added, taking his cigarette from out of his mouth and flashing a shit eating grin. The expression he held left Zonyai transfixed and disturbed. It was the same look he had the night he, Joey-T and Franklin beat the shit out of him in the basement. Before he knew it, he was hammered with a barrage of flashbacks that caused him to relive that traumatizing night. Zonyai’s face twisted into a mask of pure hatred, and unconsciously he reached for the head bussa tucked into the small of his back. It wasn’t until Wayne nudged him that he snapped out of the encore of his nightmare.
“Yo, you good, Yai?” he inquired.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Look, the plane’s here.” He handed him the binoculars. Zonyai took the binoculars and took a look, and sure as the sky is blue, there was the plane. A smile stretched his baby face.
Once the plane landed, Mufasa’s workers moved in a hurry unloading the cocaine and loading it into two separate vans; one was a plumber’s van and the other a cable TV van. Once everything was wrapped up, the workers got into the uniforms with the same company names of the vans they’d be driving and hopped into their vehicles, speeding off.
Zonyai pulled out of the airplane garage with Brolic holding his middle-finger out of the window at Joey-T and Jackie Needles. Jackie Needles laughed him off, while Joey-T flicked his fingers from under his chin, telling him Fuck you, too.
****
Later that day
Zonyai had to get in touch with Mufasa to let him know that the transaction had gone smoothly. The kingpin didn’t talk over the phone, so he had to touch bases with him in person. Every Wednesday Mufasa visited the park to feed the ducks at the pond so the young hustler found himself right beside him, chucking pieces of stale bread to birds.
“Everything went okay?” Mufasa asked. Zonyai nodded yes, and threw a piece of bread into the pond. Mufasa could tell something was on his mind because he didn’t seem quite like himself. “Talk to me, son, what’s eating you?” He frowned with concern and placed his hand on his shoulder, slightly gripping it.
“Nothing,” Zonyai shook his head as he stared down at the stale bread, breaking it into pieces. From the expression on his face, it wasn’t hard to tell that something was heavily weighing on his mind.
“Come on now, junior. I know that look on your face; we’re as good as father and son. What is it, a girl? You gotcha self a young tender, huh?” He smiled and nudged him. His cheeks rose making him look like Denzel Washington.
“How you figure that?” he chucked another piece of bread into the pond.
“There are three things that’ll have a man with that expression and that’s: the loss of a best friend, financial problems, or a woman. You’re not broke, and that lil’ knucklehead ass nigga Brolic is still alive, so that only leaves a woman. Who is she? I know her?” Zonyai gave him a look before chucking another piece of bread into the pond. Mufasa’s expression changed then and he took a deep breath, running his hand down his face. He could feel a headache coming on. The O.G knew exactly who the woman was, Marbella Trombone. “Goddamn it, son, tell me you haven’t been messing around with that woman again.” He looked him square in the eyes, hoping that he’d say no.
Zonyai smacked the crumbs from his hands as he turned to face his father figure, adjusting his leather belt. “No, I haven’t seen her in four years, and that’s the problem. You’d think that after all this time I’d of gotten her outta my system, but I haven’t. She’s all I ever think about when I’m awake or when I’m asleep. Hell, even when I’m fucking someone else, I imagine that it’s her. I see her face, hear her moans of passion. I can literally feel her nails clawing at my back.” He animatedly moved his hands as he stared ahead telling him what he’d been experiencing since having Marbella taken out of his life. Mufasa raised an eyebrow and whistled. Turning around, he folded his arms across his chest. Zonyai glanced at him and chuckled. “Yeah, dad, I’ve got it bad, real bad.”
“Let her go,” Mufasa told him, wearing a stern expression and meaning what he said. “You do whatever you have to do to get her outta your mind. I can’t have the two of you together under any circumstances. It’s bad for business.” Zonyai nodded yes, but didn’t seem to be listening, so he smacked him. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to snap him out of his trance. “You hear me, son?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Okay, then,” he embraced him, patting his back and kissing the side of his head affectionately. Zeus approached them holding an umbrella over Mufasa’s head to shield him from the beaming sunlight. He led him to a two tone Maybach sixty two where he opened the door to let him in and closed it behind him. The black tinted window descended revealing Mufasa in the backseat looking like a straight up boss.
“Remember what I told you, Yai. You stay away from that broad. She’s poison.” He gave him a look that said You better listen to me.
“I am. I’ma listen to you this time.” Zonyai responded, stooped low and looking through the window. “I’ll get up with chu later, dad.”
“Alright, take it easy, son.” Mufasa rolled the window up sealing himself inside. The driver’s door opened and Zeus slid inside, tossing the umbrella into the front passenger seat. He then slammed the door shut and grabbed the safety belt.
“Look how they did my boy, Z,” Mufasa said, looking out the backseat window at Zonyai, who was walking toward his car with the assistance of a cane. His eyes became teary and he bit down on his bottom lip, shutting his eyes to stop his remorse from falling. When he peeled his eyelids back open, tears went flying down his cheeks. Zeus looked out the window at the young man and shook his head. It was fucked up how the Italians had done him, but it was even more fucked up that nothing was done in retaliation.
See, Franklin was Mufasa’s cocaine connection. He had the best coke and was letting Mufasa get it for the sweetest price. The narcotics that the OG flooded the city with had him getting praised as a God in South Central Los Angeles. He had brought potency to the city that hadn’t been seen since the 70s and his profits were soaring towards the billion dollar tax bracket. Mufasa knew that if he was to go to war with Franklin that he’d be cut off from the cocaine he was supplying him with. Then he’d have to find another connect whose product probably wouldn’t be as potent and risk losing his clientele. The kingpin wasn’t willing to give up his throne then, not even for a man that had been like a son to him.
“He’ll be a cripple for the rest of his life. I should have had everyone that Franklin shared a bloodline with executed for what he done to my boy. But I didn’t. I should have but I didn’t,” he shut his mouth hearing his voice tremble with emotion. Shutting his eyes, he shook his head and felt disgusted with himself. Next, he pulled out his handkerchief, using it to pat his cheeks dry, reminiscing about his first encounter with Zonyai.
****
Zonyai and Brolic were a couple of small time hustlers. They had been doing their own thing for quite some time, moving up the underworld ladder little by little. Although they were seeing a little paper, shit got mad slow for them. They weren’t seeing the dough that they should have been being that it was a drought and the price of coke sky rocketed to epic proportions that they couldn’t afford. Without enough money to pay his workers, Zonyai was forced to call it quits and try to get down with a winning team; a squad that could have him and his right-hand sitting p
retty; not worrying about a goddamn thing, even in a drought.
Mufasa had heard about how Zonyai and Brolic were putting it down on their side of town and he respected how they handled their business. So when they requested a sit down with him through one of his men, he obliged without hesitation.
“So y’all young niggaz wanna seat at the table, huh?” Mufasa asked, looking from Zonyai to Brolic massaging his chin. They were all sitting at a table at M & M’s soul food restaurant onCrenshaw Blvd. Zeus stood beside his boss strong and silent. He was so still a patron would have thought he was a statue.
“Fa sho’,” Zonyai nodded.
“Hell yeah, a nigga tryna eat. Can you point me to a sirloin out this mothafucka?” he asked seriously, rubbing his hands together in anticipation and licking his big chapped lips.
“Okay, first you gotta make this move.”
“Whatever it is, O.G, we’re on it.”
After taking a sip of tea, Mufasa threw up his hand and said, “Not you, son, I’m familiar with your resume. Zeus and I know how you get down.” Zeus grunted as he stood there with his hand holding the wrist of his other hand. “It’s ya man, Yai, here that I’m not sure about, so I want him to handle this lil’ assignment for me. You okay with that, youngster?” His eyes studied Zonyai, searching for any signs of hesitation but all he found was courage. The little nigga was sticking his mothafucking chest out. This caused him to crack a smirk.
“I’m down for whatever that’s gon’ land me and my right-hand a seat at the team to get with,” he spoke up with a no nonsense attitude, but his heart was beating like crazy behind his ribcage. He hadn’t a clue of what The King of the Streets wanted him to do, but he understood why he’d chosen him. See, ever since they started fucking with the drug game, Zonyai had been the brains while Brolic had been the muscle. While he would make sure that trap was right, his man would put that iron to any cock sucka that they had a problem with. Now, don’t get it fucked up. That fool Yai would bust his gun if need be but, hell, he hardly had to because he had that nigga, Brolic. He’d dead any beefs that popped off and garnered himself one hell of a reputation of a young bull that got busy for his. Soon the streets knew that if you stepped on his man Zonyai’s toes then his right-hand was coming to see your ass, and he was going to leave you stinking wherever he found you.
“My man, that’s what I’m talking about,” Mufasa broke out into a wide smile, sitting his cup of tea down and smacking the table top, causing the dish to rattle. “Gimmie a pen.” Keeping his eyes on them, he held up an arm and snapped his fingers. Zeus reached inside of his suit and pulled out an ink pen, clicking the top of it so that it’s ball point would appear. He passed it to the man that kept his pockets on swollen. Mufasa pulled a napkin into himself and hurriedly jotted down something. Afterwards, he clicked the top of the pen and slid the napkin before Zonyai who looked it over. Brolic was looking over his shoulder with a creased forehead. Once they saw that it was an address, their curious eyes looked up at the cat that had written what they’d read.
“You want me to...” Zonyai made his hand into the shape of a gun and pretended to shoot it.
Mufasa chuckled and shook his head, passing the ink pen back to the giant standing beside him. “Nah, nothing like that.” He leaned closer and motioned for him to do the same. Next, he took a cautious look around the café to make sure that no one was ease dropping on him, before he went on to tell him what he needed to know. “Outside in the parking lot there’s a silver 2005 Nissan Sentra, it’s a rental. In the trunk, there’s a kilo of blow. I want you to deliver it to that address that I’ve given you.” He pointed to the napkin and Zonyai looked over it again, like he hadn’t already earlier. “The cat you’re making the drop to is Flint, Flint Boone. You give him the goods and he’ll give you the cash. After you make the exchange, you make your way back and you’re in. It’s as simple as that.” Instantly Zonyai’s palms became clammy and his stomach twisted in knots. He was nervous. If he was to get caught with that much cocaine, he was sure that the judge would throw the book at his black ass. On the other hand, if he was to carry out his mission successfully, he and Brolic would eat like kings at Mufasa’s table.
Zonyai took a deep breath and ran his hand down his face, licking his dry lips. He was a little nervous but he was going to go through with it.
“Okay, alright, I can do this,” he said, staring down at the napkin and nodding his head.
“Give him the keys, Z.” Mufasa ordered his bodyguard. The refrigerator size man fished the keys of the rental out of his pocket and tossed them to Zonyai. He snatched them out of the air and looked at them as they lay in his palm, pouncing them a couple of time before closing his hand.
“You got this in the bag, my nigga. Do this shit and bring it home,” Brolic smiled putting his jacked up grill on display again, gripping and shaking his homeboy’s shoulder.
“When do I leave?” Zonyai inquired.
Mufasa pulled the sleeve of his suit back and looked at his Rolex. Looking up at him, he said, “Package is supposed to be there at nine, it’s 8:17 now.”
“Alright, I better get a move on it.” He slid from out of his seat, grabbing his jacket from off the back of the chair and heading for the door.
Brolic stood up and faced the exit as his nigga headed out.
“You got this, Cuz!” he pounded his fist to his heart. Zonyai saw him through the reflection of the glass door as he pushed it open. He threw up two fingers and kept it moving.” I ain’t worried about nothing, God’s got my back.”
Thirty minutes later, Zonyai got pulled over on his way to make the exchange. In addition to the kilo, the detective that arrested him found the .45 automatic handgun he had on deck. That nigga was sick. He could have thrown up, but he decided to hold his head instead of folding up like a lawn chair. When the detective got him down to the precinct, he and another badge tried to mind fuck him with that good cop bad cop routine. They wanted him to tell them who he was transporting the drugs for in exchange for a lesser charge. They threaten to throw him under the jail with so much time to do that he would have to be an immortal to finish. Zonyai was nervous, but he didn’t bitch up. He wasn’t about to tell them white devils shit. He was willing to stand strong and take his charge like a man. That would be the day that he ate the cheese and told on the next man. Nah, he wasn’t about to go out like his pops did. Homeboy couldn’t do it.
Back when Zonyai was just a baby, his old man was transporting drugs for this kingpin by the name of Raemar. Sean got popped with the work just like his son had and dropped dime on the Top Dawg. Them people put him and his wife in the witness protection program and moved them out of state to Mississippi. They gave them new aliases and provided them with a house and gigs they could work to earn a living. Everything was good and they were living comfortably. But through his law enforcement connections, the kingpin found out where they were laying their heads. He sent a hitter out to the dirty south that murked both of them out. The next day, when the police found them stinking and shit, they located baby Zonyai in his crib. He was crying out loud, flailing his little arms and legs. His parents’ blood splatter decorated his jumper, his crib and the walls of his room. From there, he spent most of his childhood in and out of different foster care homes until his aunt eventually adopted him. Once she passed away when he was seventeen, he hit the streets hustling harder than he ever did before, trying to run a checkup with that nigga Brolic, and the rest is still history in the making.
Although Zonyai came from his father, he was determined to prove to himself that he wasn’t anything like him. This situation right here was his chance. Fuck them crackas if they thought he was about to roll over on Mufasa. To hell with that, he was dropping his nuts and letting them bitches hang on. After four hours of interrogation, Zonyai found himself dozing off in the interview room with his wrist handcuffed to a table. Every time his head would bow, he’d snatch it right back up, licking and smacking his lips. It wasn’t until he h
eard someone enter the room that he stirred awake, wiping the drool that threatened to drip from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You again, Mackie? How many times do I have to tell y’all pigs I ain’t...”
“I know, I know, you ain’t telling us shit, tough guy. I’ve come to let chu go,” he told him like he hated to have to let him walk free, but he didn’t have a choice. “Stand the fuck up, I haven’t got all day.” He threw up a hand, wearing a scowling face.
“What is this, man? Another one of y’all tricks?” Zonyai stood to his feet frowning, finding his ass numb and his right leg asleep having been sitting for so long, he buckled a bit.
“I wish. Believe me and you, I’d love nothing more than to see either you or that fake ass kingpin with an asshole full of hard time.” Suddenly, he leaned closer to him as he un-cuffed him, speaking in a hush tone so that only he could hear him because the surveillance cameras were still recording. “You passed the test, kid, you’re free to go.”
“What? Fuck is you talking about?” Zonyai frowned further, not knowing what the hell was going on.
“This was all a test. My buddy and I work for Mufasa. That key you were transporting really wasn’t coke, it was baby powder. And that heater never made it inside of the evidence room.” He smiled and continued, “Welcome to the family.” After he un-cuffed him, he went back to acting like the world’s biggest dick head, shoving Zonyai toward the door causing him to stumble. “And if I ever see you in here again, fuck head!”
“Whatever.” He kept it moving over the threshold, adjusting his leather jacket. Once he recovered his belongings, he strolled outside where he found Zeus, Brolic, Mufasa and some of his men. Zeus wore a solemn face, while Brolic, Mufasa, and the others had either smirks or smiles. The head honcho waved him over and he made a beeline in his direction.
“Yo’ what’s going on?” Zonyai’s forehead wrinkled in wonderment.
“Come here, bring it in.” Mufasa spread his arms wide. When he approached, he embraced him and kissed him on the side of the head.