by K'wan
“Yes, ma’am.” He paused. “So, what’s in the box?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. You’re the one who keeps getting things delivered to this address, when I keep asking you not to. I swear, if you ordered some more of that black-market internet shit and had it delivered to this house, I’m going tan your yellow hide!” She fished a blade from a pocket of her robe and sliced the box open. When Ma Savage peered inside the box, her face turned as white as a sheet. She clasped her hand over her mouth and staggered backward.
Curious, Bug approached the box. What could’ve possibly drawn that kind of reaction from steel-willed Machine-Gun Ma Savage? When he peered inside the box, Fire Bug almost threw up the sandwich he’d just eaten. Resting in a container of dry ice was the severed head of his missing cousin—Big Money Savage.
CHAPTER 8
It was well into the night before King James finished counting up the take from that morning. Even with the help of the two girls he had working in the trap house, the task still took hours. By the time they wrapped it up, they all had paper cuts on their thumbs, but seeing those stacks of cash made it worth it. Business was good and would only get better when they pushed through with their planned expansion. At the rate King was moving product, he not only would be rich but would also be able to upgrade the lives of those around him. Those who armed themselves every day in the name of his cause and those who had lost their lives for it. He was well on his way to living up to the name King, but his ascension hadn’t been without its obstacles.
King James had been barely a teenager when he began his tour of the New York State correctional system. A stupid mistake he made in high school had left a young man dead and had snatched seven years of his life. When he was finally released, he hit the ground running. While he was away, he had soaked up as much game as he could from the old heads and hustlers who had come before him. He’d studied them like a college student studied for finals, determined not to make the same mistakes again. One inmate in particular who’d helped him was a con everyone called Old Head. Old Head was the one who had given King James the blueprint to build his empire.
When King was finally released from prison, he had five hundred dollars to his name, Old Head’s plan, and memories of going to sleep hungry. That was all he needed to hit the ground running. In the beginning, it was just King and three of his close friends from childhood, Lakim, Shabazz, and Dump, but as his ambition grew, so did his team. Soon King James had locked down two city housing projects and was working on a third. They weren’t quite big time yet, but the streets were talking. This was what put him on the radar of the reigning king of New York, Shai Clark.
See, Old Head had been able to teach him the game, but what he had been able to teach his protégé was etiquette. King James was moving through the streets like a bull in a china shop and was unintentionally stepping on toes in the process. When Old Head caught wind of it, he wrote King from prison and tried to school him on protocols, but it was already too late. The monster Old Head had created had already been unleashed, and King James wasn’t ready to go back in the box.
It didn’t take long for the inevitable to happen and the paths of King and Shai to cross. The very first time King met Shai Clark, he knew he didn’t like him. Shai was young, standoffish, and had an ego that could fill a room. King James tried to present himself to Shai with respect, but Shai brushed him off like he was a peasant. At the time King didn’t understand that because of Shai’s status, he couldn’t risk certain types of exposure. King was a known drug dealer and killer, while Shai was working to clean up his family’s image. King took the slight personally, and as a result, he started doing things to spite the young boss, like encroaching on drug territories that he had been warned not to enter. King was out of control, and his antics forced Shai’s hand.
The war between King James and Shai was hailed as one of the most violent since Crazy Joe Gallo lead the rebellion against Joe Profaci. Blood and bullets rained down on the streets as the two sides went at it seemingly night and day without rest. Shai had the soldiers and the connections, which put him at a clear advantage, but what King James and the few who followed him lacked in numbers, they more than made up for in heart. They were ready to die down to the last man, and they would have had it not been for a headache bigger than the two sides warring entering the picture. Its name was Animal.
Animal was to the streets what the bogeyman was to unruly children. He was death in the guise of a man and had been responsible for taking down men who had been considered untouchable until crossing paths with him. A stray bullet sent by one of Shai’s shooters landed Animal’s girlfriend, Gucci, in the hospital and Shai Clark in the killer’s crosshairs. Even with the killer on King James’s side, Shai’s forces still proved to be a challenge for King’s army. In the end, it was Animal who came up with a way to end the war when bullets failed . . . blackmail. He found himself in possession of information that, if it became known, would shatter Shai’s façade as a legitimate businessman and expose him to the public as the dope-pushing monster that he was.
In the end, Shai reasoned that maintaining his public image was more important than wiping out the young upstarts. So thanks to Animal, an uneasy truce was reached between King James and the Clarks, but this didn’t mean that there still didn’t have to be compensation for all the trouble King James had caused. King James and his crew would be allowed to continue their operation under two conditions: they would now buy their drugs from the Clarks, and all loose ends as a result of the war had to be tied up. One of those loose ends was Big Money Savage.
In truth, King James could’ve let Big Money live. Big Money had tried unsuccessfully to assassinate him, which was a slight King wouldn’t forget, but Big Money was a nobody. He didn’t have any real power outside his family, and even in the Savage hierarchy, he was little more than a foot soldier. Had King willed it to be so, Big Money would’ve faded into obscurity, but because of what he had done to Shorty, even if by accident, he had to die.
King had taken the accidental murder harder than he let on. Though he hadn’t hit the detonator on the bomb himself, he might as well have. Shorty had looked up to King and had always been hanging around. The boy had been way too young to be in grown folks’ business, but King had thought that by keeping him close, he could keep Shorty safe. But it had backfired. King had been meant to die in that explosion, but it had taken Shorty out instead. King couldn’t help but think that if he had only chased Shorty off the block and sent him home, where he belonged, then he might still be alive. Though King would never admit it to his crew, Big Money’s execution was just as much an effort to ease his own guilt as it was a way to avenge Shorty’s death.
When they were done counting the money, King secured the stacks with rubber bands and then shoved them into an old green duffel bag. It was the only thing he had kept from his days in a prison yard. It was a constant reminder of what was waiting for him if he slipped in the streets.
“I’m going to tuck this. I’ll be back through here in a few hours,” he announced as he slung the heavy bag over one of his muscular shoulders.
“You gonna walk through the projects by yourself with all that money?” Bunchie asked nervously. She was a curvaceous, light-skinned girl of about twenty. She cooked drugs for the crew and let King lay with her when he got a mind to.
King James smirked. “Any nigga fool enough to test me don’t love his life,” he told her and left.
He took the stairs down from the eighth floor. As a rule, he avoided taking the elevator whenever possible, especially if he was carrying money. It was too easy to get trapped in one. As he went down the stairs, he cursed when he accidentally stepped in a puddle of piss, which splashed the front of one of his Timberlands. One thing he could never understand was why the residents had such little regard for the place where they laid their heads. King had been born and raised in the projects, but his mother had always taught him to respect
where they lived. He never threw trash on the floor or pissed in stairwells. He would even reprimand his soldiers when he caught them doing it. It irritated him to no end. King had a nice apartment on the Upper East Side, which only a few close members of his crew knew about, but he was hardly ever there. The hood may have had its flaws, but it was the only place he felt totally comfortable.
Instead of going out the front of the building, King James slid out the back. It was a nice night, and he knew the front of the building would be teaming with people enjoying the weather. Seeing him with the duffel bag would put people deeper into his business than he was comfortable with. He made it a point to stay low key. Of course, everyone in the hood knew King James was getting money in the hood, but none of them had any clue as to the scale.
When he stepped out the maintenance door in the back, he found a young man loitering nearby . . . as he knew he would. King made sure he kept a set of eyes at the back of every building he did business out of. That night the task had fallen to a kid named Genesis. Genesis wasn’t from their hood. He’d moved there from North Philly about a year ago with his mother and sister. There was no father in the house, at least that King James knew of. This was part of what made Genesis stand out from the others. While most hustled for gear or status, Genesis was out breaking the law to put food on the table for his family. Lakim had been the one to recruit him, but King had taken a liking to the boy. Genesis was a cool young dude who, for the most part, stayed out of the way and did what was asked of him without asking too many questions. In a way, he reminded King of Ashanti. He didn’t have the same homicidal tendencies, but King could see in his eyes that he would get busy if the circumstances were right. He planned to test his theory about the boy in the field the moment the opportunity presented itself.
“Sup, King?” Genesis nodded from beneath his gray hoodie, his youthful, tan face hidden within the folds. It was too hot for the garment, so whatever weapon he was packing had to be big enough to require extra cover.
“Peace.” King gave him dap. “Everything a’ight out here?”
“Quiet,” Genesis said with a shrug.
“Where’s everybody else?”
“Dee slid off with some jawn, and Lakim went to the store to grab some roll ups,” Genesis told him.
King stood there shooting the shit with Genesis for a few minutes. At some point in their conversation, King heard the distinct sound of Genesis’s stomach growling. When the boy realized his boss had heard it, he lowered his eyes in shame.
“How long you been out here?” King asked.
“About four or five hours,” Genesis replied.
King went into his pocket and fished out some cash. He peeled off forty dollars and extended it toward Genesis. “I’m gonna send one of the young boys back here to relieve you. I want you to go grab yourself something to eat.”
“Don’t embarrass me, man. I ain’t with no handouts,” Genesis said, refusing the money.
“This ain’t a handout. Consider it an advance on your pay. You’re no good to me if you’re passed out back here from hunger.”
Genesis reluctantly took the money. “Thanks.”
“You really wanna thank me? Start listening to your body when it’s trying to tell you something.” King patted him on the shoulder. Before walking off, he had some parting words for the young hustler. “After tonight you’re off the door.”
“C’mon, King. You know I need this money. If I did something wrong, tell me what it is, and I’ll fix it,” Genesis pleaded.
“I’m not firing you. I’m promoting you,” King told him. “See Dee in the morning, and he’ll explain your new duties.”
“Thanks, King. I won’t let you down!” Genesis promised.
“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t,” King replied. It was more of an affirmation than a threat.
As King James was walking out of the projects, his best friend, Lakim, was coming back in. He was jawing away with someone on the phone. Lakim was a straight goon and a man who rarely smiled, but whoever he was speaking to on the phone had him showing the entire gold bridge that covered his top row of teeth. He had just reached King when he ended the call.
“Money or pussy?” King asked. Those were the only two things he could think of that elicited that reaction from Lakim.
“Both. That package got delivered,” Lakim told him. King knew without Lakim having to say that he was speaking about what was left of Big Money Savage. “I can only imagine the look on ole girl’s face when she got it.”
“I should have told Cain to take a picture.”
“That crazy muthafucka probably would’ve. I hear he carried out your directions to a T. Messed that boy up something awful,” Lakim said, recalling the story he’d gotten from Abel.
“That’s why I asked him to do it instead of you. Cain is the only one who could properly convey the type of message that I was trying to send,” King said. “Did you tell them what I said about getting low for a while?”
“Yeah, I hit them with some paper and dropped their asses off at the Amtrak.”
“Good.” King nodded. “I’m sure Cain was careful, but he’s got a face that isn’t easy to forget. Best he not be around for a few days.”
“I feel you, King, but I don’t think that was a good idea. There’s gonna be blowback behind this, and now we’re short two of our best soldiers,” Lakim said.
“You still talking that revenge shit?” King gave Lakim a disapproving look. “If those country muthafuckas know like I know, they better chalk this up as an eye-for-an-eye situation and stay in the woods.”
“I hear you, but I know how these people move. Had we just knocked off a soldier, I could see it, but we’ve spilled their blood. The old woman ain’t gonna let this go. Her honor won’t allow it.”
“Fuck it! Let ’em come,” King said. “Muthafuckas hear the name Savage and bitch up like they don’t bleed too. I’m a fucking gladiator, and so is every man on this team, or so I thought.” He gave Lakim a questioning look.
“All I’m saying is it’s best we be prepared for anything,” Lakim said.
“And I always am.” King rolled his broad shoulders. “Ain’t a muthafucka who grew off that family tree ready to box with God.”
CHAPTER 9
Keith made the trip from Dante’s apartment complex to his place in Brookhaven in record time, just under forty minutes. It was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town that he had purchased and renovated when his star first began to shine in Georgia. As he turned into the cracked driveway on the side of the house, his tire hit a dip, reminding him that he needed to call someone out to fill it. He’d been dumping every loose dollar he had into the renovation of the space in an attempt to turn it into what he envisioned as the ultimate bachelor pad. It had been an impulsive and unnecessary purchase, but at the time he had still been stuck on trying to prove that he belonged among Atlanta’s elite. In the end, he’d end up with a bad investment and too much pride to say “I fucked up.”
The motion lights cast Keith’s shadow on the side of the brick building while he fumbled with his keys at the front door. No sooner had he crossed the threshold than he was greeted by his two miniature pinschers: Bonnie and Clyde. Bonnie barked her head off to protest the fact that he’d left them alone for so many hours. She was maybe ten pounds, soaking wet, but she carried herself like a certified killer and would go head up against a man or a beast of any size. Clyde, as usual, was silent as the grave, but his eyes followed Keith intently as he wearily kicked his shoes off at the door. Keith had discovered the dogs while on a fishing trip. The burlap sack their previous owner had tried to drown them in had got caught in Keith’s fishing line. Of the five newborn pups in the sack, only Bonnie and Clyde had survived the assassination attempt.
Keith spared both dogs pats on the head before shuffling into his living room. Of all the rooms in the house, he always felt most comfortable in this one. It was the one room of the house that had been robbed
of all color. Everything, from the walls to the furniture, was white. It was his clean slate and the place he went when he needed to zone out. He plucked a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red from the bar in the corner and flopped on the couch, totally spent. Between having an argument with Bernie and having to rescue Dante from the law, he had nothing left in the tank for the day. All he wanted to do was drink and watch ESPN until he fell into a dreamless sleep. However, this wasn’t to be.
Instead of rolling waves of drunken unconsciousness, Keith experienced nightmares and fits of tossing and turning, which caused him to keep waking up throughout the night. He finally got out of bed at six o’clock the next morning, drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf. Most of the nightmares were random and hardly worth remembering, but the last one, which had hitched a ride back into the conscious world, got his attention.
It was more a memory than a nightmare. He was a boy of maybe ten or eleven at the time of the incident. His dad and his older brother Dickey were gearing up to go on a fishing trip. Normally, Keith was allowed to go, but for some reason, this time his dad forbade him. Keith, never being one to take no for an answer, stowed away on the trip. He buried himself under some blankets and fishing gear on the floor of the backseat of the truck. It wasn’t the best hiding spot, and when his father found him, he would surely rain hell down on him for disobeying, but by the time that happened, they’d be too far from home for him to send Keith back.
They’d been riding about an hour when Keith started to feel like something wasn’t right. It never took them that long to get to the lake, which was only a few miles from the house. From beneath the blankets and gear, he could hear the truck’s front doors open and close and braced for the beating that he surely had coming. To his surprise, they never stopped at the backseat but went right to the trunk. Keith peeked out from beneath the blankets and discovered that they were nowhere near the lake but were parked at the edge of the swamp.