The Reluctant King: Book 1: The Book of Shadow

by K'wan

  Shadow stayed silent, reflecting on his friend’s words. Pain wasn’t the most educated man that Shadow kept company with, but he had a wisdom that couldn’t be learned at any university. He was a child of the streets and it showed in his walk, his talk, and, most importantly, the way he interpreted the world around him—a world increasingly alien to Shadow.

  “So, what we gonna do? Ride around looking for Millie all day?” Fresh asked, hoping the answer would be no. After the morning he’d just had, the last thing he wanted to do was spend the rest of the day riding around looking for a crackhead.

  “Nah,” Shadow said. “I gotta catch up with her at some point today. I promised my mom as much. Right now, I’m just trying to get blazed.”

  “I second that motion!” Pain declared.

  A few minutes later, they turned onto Jefferson Avenue, Shadow’s old block. The parking gods were kind to them and they found a spot at the end of the street, near Marcus Garvey Boulevard.

  As they walked to the apartment, Shadow was greeted every few feet by a new person. People clapped his shoulder and hollered at him from across the street, calling his name with reverence. He felt like the president. The residents of Jefferson Avenue loved the King family. Not just because they were hood royalty but also because Chance always made sure to take care of his own, even after he started making bank and moved off the block. Back when they still lived in Bed-Stuy, there was never a Christmas where a kid went without a toy or a Thanksgiving where a family didn’t have a turkey.

  Chance King was a good man, but that had nothing to do with the money he shelled out in the hood around the holidays. He understood that to be a great king, he had to be loved by his subjects. When the people where you did your dirt loved you, it granted you a sort of diplomatic immunity. The neighborhood turned a blind eye to Chance’s dirt, lying to authorities for him when they had to. This allowed the Kings to run their criminal enterprise with impunity in those neighborhoods.

  “I gotta hit the store,” Fresh announced as they approached Shadow’s building.

  “What you need?” Pain asked, annoyed. He was ready to go upstairs and get blazed.

  “They ain’t got what I need at the bodega on Garvey,” Fresh told him, heading to the next corner before anyone could protest.

  “That joker,” Shadow said, amused, taking a seat on the stoop in front of his family’s building.

  “Knowing him, he’s probably going to the liquor store,” Pain said, joining him on the stoop.

  Shadow glanced at his watch. “It ain’t even twelve o’clock yet.”

  “That’s never stopped him before,” Pain said, laughing. He pulled a cigar from his pocket and split it open, dumping the tobacco on the steps. As he began breaking weed into the empty husk, a dark thought crossed Shadow’s mind.

  “Say, what’s up with that shit with Malice? You think something is going to come of it?”

  Pain appeared to give the question some thought. “I don’t think so. Malice was just showing out. He knows Fresh ain’t no real threat. Besides, I hear he’s got bigger problems to deal with. Rumor has it there’s a crew from the East looking to expand. They’ve been playing Malice’s territory real close and it’s looking like they’re gonna make a play.”

  “Malice has been running things on this side for years. Who would be dumb enough to try and rock that boat?” Shadow said.

  “You remember that boy Cheese?”

  Shadow searched his mental Rolodex, straining to put a face to the name. “I think so. The kid who Fresh used to hang with before he started running with us, right? He’s a career soldier. I can’t see him making a boss move.”

  “Not him, the kid who he’s getting money with now,” Pain told him. “They call him the Black Jew or some crazy shit like that. I hear he gets busy.”

  “I thought Malice had an army behind him.” Shadow knew Malice more through reputation than anything else, but one thing he was certain of was that he was strong in Brooklyn.

  “With everybody dying, going to jail, or getting out of the life, Malice’s army has dwindled. That’s probably why he keeps trying to plug in with Ghost. He needs the extra muscle to keep them young boys from overrunning him.”

  “I doubt that’s going to happen,” Shadow said.

  “You know something I don’t?”

  “Maybe … Between you and me, I overheard Ghost talking about some shit, saying something about a fake Big Willie nigga on Nostrand who violated. I think it had something to do with his fiancée, Kelly. I didn’t think about it before, but I’m willing to bet he was talking about Malice.”

  “Sounds about right. It wouldn’t be the first time Malice tried to push up on somebody’s broad and had to get checked. When he drinks, he’ll put his dick in anything with a hole.”

  “If he was trying to push up on Kelly, the only hole in his future will be the one in his head,” Shadow said.

  “See, now this is all starting to make sense. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Malice starts having trouble with these cats around the same time he disrespect’s Ghost’s lady. I love your brother like my own, but he’s a sensitive nigga at heart. I can’t see him letting something like that slide. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Ghost who put the battery in those East New York cats to get at Malice.”

  Shadow hadn’t considered this. Ghost was quick to violence, but war was something that he approached methodically. It was usually over money, blood, or respect. If he was behind it, then the latter had probably been the cause. It wouldn’t be the first time Ghost had roped locals into doing dirt he didn’t want blowing back on the family. He would pit one side against the other, and while they were distracted with shooting it out among each other, Ghost would blindside them with the killing blow. It was a tactic Chance had employed to establish a foothold in Brooklyn. By the time they saw him coming, he had already cemented himself.

  A voice sounded from the doorway of the building. “C’mon, fellas. How many times do I have to ask you to stop using this stoop as a dumping ground?”

  Shadow and Pain turned around to find a tall, well-built Black man with a neatly kept goatee and a red, black, and green kufi. He wore a hard scowl on his face, but it quickly softened when he recognized Shadow.

  “Oh, hey there, Shadow,” he said. “I didn’t know that was you.”

  “What’s going on, Mussa? Our fault about the blunt guts.” Shadow got up and began sweeping the tobacco off the stairs and onto the street with his foot. Mussa was one of the few dudes who wasn’t in the life that Shadow respected. But he hadn’t always been a square. Once upon a time he had lived his life as a drug dealer and an addict. Things changed for the better when he found Islam in prison. Since then, he worked diligently to try to undo some of the harm he’d caused to his community when he ran the streets.

  “It’s all good, man,” Mussa said. “You know I was once young and out there too, so I get it. I’m just trying to teach the young brothers and sisters the importance of maintaining where we lay our heads. Who is gonna give a damn about our hoods if we don’t?”

  “You’re right about that,” Shadow said. In his current neighborhood, no trash littered the streets and there was no piss in the halls. The people in his area maintained their lawns and kept the streets in order. Shadow turned away from Mussa, but pivoted back around when he realized why he’d come to the neighborhood in the first place. “Say, have you seen my sister Millie around lately?”

  “Not in a couple of days. I bumped into her the other night and let her borrow twenty dollars, but that was the last I saw of her.”

  Shadow shook his head. “Sorry about that, Mussa. I’ll cover her debt.” He reached into his pocket, but Mussa stopped him.

  “Don’t worry about it. I never expected Millie to pay me back. I understand how it is when you’re out there. I tried to talk to her about getting clean, but—”

  “She wasn’t trying to hear it. That girl has been in and out of treatment for years a
nd just can’t seem to get her shit together. I don’t know why my mom doesn’t just lock her ass away somewhere and make her get clean!”

  “That’s not how this disease works, Shadow,” Mussa explained. “An addict has to want to get clean. They have to hit their bottom, so to speak. Even then, sometimes it’s not enough. Sobriety is a two-way street.”

  “What was your bottom?” Pain asked. “What made you decide to get clean?”

  “I died,” Mussa said. “I was maybe a year or so into my bid when it happened. Even in prison, I was still running around getting high and doing foul shit to people. Same as when I was on the street. Ran afoul of some dudes and to pay me back they made sure I got a hot-shot. The dose was meant to be lethal and it almost was. I had a massive heart attack and flatlined for about a minute and a half—or so I’m told. I guess Allah wasn’t done with me yet. During my recovery, I met a good brother who worked as a prison orderly and he brought me into the Nation. I’ve been walking the righteous path ever since.”

  “That’s some story, Mussa.”

  “It’s my testimony. I was a hundred times worse of a fiend than your sister, Shadow. If I was able to get my shit together, there may still be hope for her too.”

  “I hope so,” Shadow said, thinking of all the nights he listened to his mother sobbing behind her bedroom door over Millie.

  “Allah doesn’t make mistakes,” Mussa said, placing a hand on Shadow’s shoulder. “Not to change the subject, but I’m actually glad I bumped into you today, Shadow.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Well, the hot-water heater for the building is busted again. This is the third time in the last few months that it’s gone out and we’re getting tired of having to boil water so we can bathe our babies.”

  “Damn, that’s messed up. Somebody’s definitely gotta get that taken care of. It’s just gonna keep getting colder out.”

  “And this is why I’m speaking to you about it. I’ve been on the building manager, but that fool acts like I’m speaking a foreign language. I know your dad still owns the building so I was hoping you could get in his ear and let him know what’s going on.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t know how much good it’s gonna do. My dad is a busy guy with his campaign and all. Besides, he’s overseeing the rehab projects. Even with the commercial properties, he only peeks in on them from time to time. Everything else he leaves to one of the Realtors that works for him. Maybe I can put you in touch with one of them?”

  “I was kind of hoping that Chance would take a personal interest, since you guys did live here at one point.”

  “Mussa, I’m gonna keep it a buck with you, because I respect you. This building is the lowest on the ladder of my dad’s properties. The dump barely brings in the money it takes to maintain it. The only reason he even bought it was to be a constant reminder of how fucked up our lives could’ve been. Real humbling shit.” Shadow’s response came out more cruel than he intended.

  “So, since the Kings have moved on up, it’s fuck the little man?” Mussa said.

  “I feel your pain, Mussa, but you know how that shit goes, right?”

  “Nah, Shadow, I don’t. Tell your dad I said thanks for staying true to who he is,” Mussa said, then stalked off down the block.

  “What the fuck is his problem?” Shadow said.

  “You don’t get it, and I hope you never have to.” Pain shook his head. Shadow was one of his best friends, but sometimes his lack of compassion for the less fortunate bothered him.

  Before Shadow could ask Pain what he meant, Fresh came bouncing back around the corner. The plastic bag swinging in his hand said that Pain had been right about Fresh’s destination. There was something about those black liquor store bags that stood out.

  Shadow eyed the bag suspiciously. “Bruh, it’s way too early for Henny or vodka, so I hope whatever you got in there is easy.”

  “Scary-ass nigga,” Fresh teased. “I thought that in honor of us all getting together like old times, I’d go with a throwback.” He pulled one of the two bottles from the bag and held it up proudly. It was a peach Cisco. “What y’all know about this?”

  “I know the last time I drank one, I woke up in jail,” Pain said, trotting up the stairs and into the building.

  “Shadow?” Fresh held the bottle out to him.

  “No thanks,” Shadow said, following Pain into the building.

  Fresh shrugged. “Fuck it. More for me.” He twisted the cap off and took a deep swig before trailing his friends inside.

  CHAPTER 12

  “So, tell me why we’re doing this again?” Monster said. He was again behind the wheel, but Ghost sat in the backseat, changing out of his suit into something better equipped for his next destination.

  “Because an example needs to be set,” Ghost repeated, having already gone over the plan with Monster several times. He slipped into a pair of gray sweatpants and pulled a matching hoodie over his head.

  “Weren’t you setting an example when you put these little off-brand niggas on the case?”

  “And have they done what I asked?” Ghost answered. Monster was silent. “Exactly. When I ask a muthafucka to do something, I expect it to get done. Especially when they’re being well compensated.”

  “I hear you, Ghost, but you gotta remember that these are kids you’re dealing with. They’re out here in the streets playing heavy, but they don’t really know about war. You can’t expect them to move how you move without having been properly trained.”

  “Were we properly trained the first time your dad put us out into the field?” Ghost asked. He didn’t wait for his cousin to answer. “Hell no, Uncle Colt threw us into the deep end of the pool and dared us to drown. This ain’t organized sports. We ain’t got no coach. There’s no participation trophy. This is the trap—we learn as we go. Some niggas is just remedial about the shit, so I’m just gonna give them a refresher course.”

  “You know you could’ve saved yourself the headache if you’d just let me and some of the guys come over here and get to it,” Monster said. “That nigga would’ve been a stain by now.”

  “I know, Cousin. Everybody knows that you’re my guy, so the effect would’ve been the same. I need to make this a local solution to a local problem, so that way when I make my play, the natives are on my side.”

  “I gotta admit, you’re one wicked bastard, Ghost. You got a knack for turning people against each other in order to get what you want.”

  “It’s all a part of the game, baby boy. If you ain’t a part of the royal family then you’re a tool to be used,” Ghost replied.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Monster said with a sly grin. He pushed the whip deeper into Brooklyn, where they were to rendezvous with the cats Ghost needed to see. Attempting to get around traffic, Monster jumped on Marcus Garvey Boulevard. As he passed through the neighborhood, he spotted a very familiar silver Mercedes. “Ain’t that your mom’s car?”

  Ghost looked out the window and saw the Benz. It was indeed the same make and model but he highly doubted it was his mother’s car. “Of all the places she could be spending the morning of her birthday, I doubt this shithole neighborhood is one of them.”

  “You’re probably right,” Monster said, giving the car one last curious glance.

  Twelve minutes later they parked at their destination, a playground on Ralph Avenue. They were early, but the young man they were meeting was already there. His name was Judah, known in some circles as the Black Jew. According to lore, his family were direct descendants of Judah, the fourth son of Jacob. Monster suspected it was a rumor that Judah created to bolster his legend. Back when Monster first met the guy, he was a dusty little stickup kid trying to get his weight up. Now, dressed in a Gucci sweat suit and sitting on the hood of a white Lexus outside the playground entrance, he no longer resembled the dust ball he had been before Ghost started feeding him. Monster didn’t dislike Judah, but he didn’t trust him either. Judah almost reminded him of himself when he wa
s on the come-up, and that wasn’t a good thing.

  In the months since Ghost started dealing with Judah, the guy was never on time for anything. Even his pickups and drops-offs were late. He was a kid who just didn’t respect other people’s time. That being said, seeing him show up early for the meeting with Ghost, especially in light of everything going on, gave Monster pause. “I don’t like this,” he muttered, quickly assessing the playground and surrounding area. Judah wasn’t alone. Standing at his side was his pet pit bull, Cheese. Judah couldn’t take a shit without Cheese being there, offering to wipe his ass. There was also a girl. She was cute—not pretty—with light skin and full hips. She leaned against Judah’s car, twirling one of her long braids around her finger while scrolling through her phone. Across the street, a Honda sedan idled. Inside it were two dudes pretending not to be clocking Ghost and Monster. The whole situation felt off.

  “You don’t like nothing as far as Judah is concerned,” Ghost said before stepping out of the car. Monster mumbled something inaudible as he opened the door.

  At the sight of Ghost approaching, Judah pushed himself off the hood of his vehicle and moved to greet him. “What’s good, big homie?” he said as they dapped.

  “I was hoping that you could tell me,” Ghost started, “why that piece of business I put you on ain’t been taken care of yet.”

  Judah looked at the hard-faced man watching his back, then turned to Ghost. “We on it, man. It’s just taking us a little longer than anticipated. This dude isn’t exactly a pushover.”