by Askari
“Whoa!” Uncle Mikey smiled at me. “Look at you. All grown up and takin’ care of business.”
I stood to my feet and embraced him with a warm hug. “Longtime no see Uncle Mikey.”
“Aww, fugget about it!” He continued smiling, and then gestured toward the man standing beside him. He was around my height, an even six feet. He had a rich olive complexion, wavy black hair, and cold dark eyes. His face was that of my father’s and I immediately recognized him as my brother. “I want you to meet your younger brother Little Angolo.”
I extended my right hand, but just Little Angolo stared at it. He scowled at me, and then fixed his eyes on Uncle Mikey. “You gotta be shittin’ Mike. He’s a friggin’ moulie.”
My face turned to stone and Uncle Mikey noticed my demeanor. He knew what I was capable of doing.
“No,” Uncle Mikey quickly checked him. “He’s your brother, and it’s time for the two of you’s to sit down and talk business.”
Reluctantly, Little Angolo pulled out a chair and took a seat at my table. Uncle Mikey sat down beside him, and gestured for me to do the same.
As I took a seat on the other side of the table, Uncle Mikey said, “Gervin, your father’s been hearing some very good things about you. He wants to know if there’s anything he can do to assist you.”
I looked at him skeptically, knowing exactly what him and my father were up to. They were attempting to shake me down. I told him, “Listen, Uncle Mikey, I know what’s going on and I respect it. As you can see,” I took a sip of my club soda, allowing the diamonds in my pinky ring to gleam in their faces, “I’m doing pretty good for myself. I’ve never been a stingy guy so I don’t mind sharing with the Family. Especially if my Family’s willing to share with me.”
“Family?” Little Angolo snapped. “You’re not a part of this fuckin’ Family! You’re a fuckin’ moulie!”
His words cut like a knife. The same Sicilian blood that ran through his veins was the same blood that ran through mines. Here in America, he was Little Angolo, but back in Cuba, I was Ang’s boy. We both had the same father so at the end of the day, what made me so different? I calmed myself down and looked at Uncle Mikey.
“Those are my terms. If my father wants a piece of my empire, then he has to acknowledge me as a member of his Family.”
“Listen, Gervin, your father…”
“No,” Little Angolo interrupted him. “I’m sick of this shit Mike! You ain’t gotta explain nothin! Fuck this moulie!”
At that point I lost it. I completely blacked out. I reached across the table and grabbed my brother by his throat.
“Looka here you little bitch! You disrespect me one more time and I swear to God, I’ll seperate your soul from your fuckin’ body!”
He struggled to get free, but my strength overwhelmed him. Uncle Mikey jumped to his feet and removed the pistol from his shoulder holster.
He aimed the barrel at my face. “Gervin, let him go!”
“What?” I squeezed tighter and Little Angolo’s face turned a pale blue. “You heard the way this mutha’fucka was disrespecting me!”
“Gervin, I’m not fuckin’ around. Let him go!”
Just as I was about to release my grasp, I looked around Uncle Mikey and saw Russell creeping toward him with a black .9mm clutched in his left hand. He stepped to Uncle Mikey and placed the barrel to the side of his face.
“Honkey, I’ll blow yo’ fuckin’ brains out. You know good and goddamn well that mafia shit don’t fly around here. Y’all better take that shit back across Broad Street.”
Uncle Mikey trembled with rage. He lowered his pistol and scowled at me. “You’s fucked up Gervin. You’s fucked up bad.”
“Shut the fuck up and lay the gun the gun on the fuckin’ table!” I shouted at him. He looked at me with a pure hatred, but followed my orders nonetheless. I released my left hand from Little Angolo’s throat and grabbed the pistol off of the table. I looked at Russell who still holding his gun to Uncle Mikey’s face. In a calm, steady voice, I said, “Kill this mutha’fucka.”
Russell smiled at me, and then squeezed the trigger.
Boc!
The bullet struck Uncle Mikey just below his right ear. He stumbled to his left and felt the wound with his right hand. He looked at me with a shocked expression, and then lunged toward me. I raised his pistol and fired.
Pow! Pow!
Two penny sized holes appeared on his forehead, and he dropped to the floor. I snatched Little Angolo out of his seat and placed the smoking hot barrel to his left cheek.
I said, “I want you to tell that father of yours, I said fuck his Family! I’ve got my own Family! The Moreno Family!”
Prologue
Fifty-One Years Later…
A white Mercedes Maybach was double parked outside of the Philadelphia International Airport. The hazard lights were blinking, and Muhammad was sitting behind the stirring wheel, anxiously awaitng Grip’s arrival. He glanced at his Cartier watch and the platinum timepiece read 4:09 p.m. He knew that Grip’s layover flight from Cuba to Miami was scheduled to land at 4:00p.m., so he was expecting his boss at any moment. He rolled down the 60” plasma that served as a partition, and looked into the back seat. Everything was set up just the way the boss liked it. A fresh box of Cohiba cigars were positioned on top of the center console, the mini refrigerator was neatly stocked with cranberry juice, and the sounds of Curtis Mayfield was drifting through the speakers.
“Yep,” he said to himself. “Just the way he likes it.”
He settled back in the driver’s seat, and then looked out the window just in time to see Grip emerging from the airport’s revolving glass door. A year and a half had passed since the don of The Moreno Family was forced to leave the country. But now he was back.with a vengeance!
Chapter One
November 23, 2014
The warm autumn rain had just finished falling and for the first time that day, Sonny rolled down the bulletproof windows on his Rolls Royce Ghost. He was at the Ivy Hill Cemetery in Uptown Philly, and after twenty months of procrastinating, he finally had the nerve to pay Riri a visit.
As he drove through the cemetery‘s winding roads, he nodded his head to the sounds of Aaron Hall’s, I Miss You, and took slow pulls on his neatly rolled Backwood. When he finally reached the plot of land that held the remains of his first love, he grabbed the white long stemmed roses from his French vanilla passenger’s seat, killed the ignition, and then climbed out the cherry red sedan.
After sidestepping a number of graves, he finally approached hers. A two foot high, pink marble headstone that was carved into the image of an angel. As he laid the roses against the base of her headstone, the sun fought its way through the clouds, giving him a comforting feeling. He knew that she was up in heaven smiling down on him. He could feel it. He looked up at the sky, and then returned his gaze to her headstone.
“What’s poppin’ ma? I know you’re probably mad at me,” he said with tears in his eyes. “I know I’m outta pocket for takin’ so long to visit you, but a nigga just needed some time to get his mind right.”
The pain in his heart began to overwhelm him, so to keep from breaking down, he thought about the one person who always managed to put a smile on his face. “Yo, you know I’m a daddy now, right? Yep,” he nodded his head. “Me and my fiancé had a little girl, and we named her Keyonti Nikkia Moreno. She just turned one, and she’s the prettiest thing in the world,” he continued, and then smiled at the thought of his little princess.
“I finally took your advice about going legit. Well at least I’m partially legit,” he corrected himself. “Last year, with the help of my fiancé’s real estate firm, I bought a nightclub and a sports bar. I named the nightclub, Club Infamous, and the sports bar, Donkees. So far, they’ve made over $700,000 in profits, and from the way it’s lookin’, they’ll fuck around and do even better this upcoming year.”
He reached inside of his Gucci cargos and retrieved a neatly spun Backwood
and his solid gold lighter. He placed the spliff in his mouth, sparked it up, and took a deep pull. After inhaling and exhaling a thick cloud of Kush smoke, he continued their one sided conversation.
“Oh yeah, I saw ya mom the other day, and she snapped on a nigga something crazy,” he said while slowly shaking his head from side to side. “She called me a coward and said I was less than a man because I failed to protect my family. I ain’t gon’ hold you Ri ‘cause ya moms had me mad as shit. I couldn’t really knock her though,” he shrugged his shoulders and lowered his head. “It was my responsibility to protect you and the baby, and I fucked up,” he shamefully admitted, and then broke down crying.
After regaining his composure, he took another pull on his Backwood, and continued talking. “But on a more positive note, everybody’s good. My mom just opened up a hair salon on Broad and Montgomery, and her and my pops had their wedding vows renewed last month.
“Breeze and Erika are doin’ good. They just had a lil’ boy about three months ago, and they’re supposed to be gettin’ married in a couple of months.
“Sheed’s locked up, but he should be home in a couple of weeks. Yo, you remember my young buls, the twins, Egypt and Zaire? Well, them lil’ niggas is doin’ they thing. They tearin’ up the city in twin Panameras and fuckin’ everything movin’.”
He took another pull on his Backwood and continued talking as if she could hear him from her grave. “As for myself, I just bought a 10,000 square foot mansion in Montgomery County. It’s got eight bedrooms and six bathrooms. A swimming pool with a built in Jacuzzi, a basketball court, a tennis court, an ATV track, and a six foot high stonewall that surrounds the perimeter of my property line. Actually, it’s the same exact mansion that my pops bought us back in the day. He told me that he spent about $1,800,000 on that jawn back in ‘92, but my fiancé’s real estate firm purchased it for $1,300,000.
“Yeah, I know what you thinkin,” he smiled. “Ya boy been gettin’ at a dollar right? Well, yeah I’m sittin’ on close to $6,000,000, but don’t tell nobody.” He chuckled and held his index finger up to his lips. “Ssh!”
He took one more pull on his Backwood, and then tossed it to the ground. “Well I love you lil’ mama, and that’s somethin’ that’ll never change. Oh yeah, and before I go, I need you to holla at God for me. In the words of my nigga Pac, Tell Him I was a G, did the best I could, raised in insanity. Once again, I love you Riri, and I miss you like a mutha’fucka.” He kissed the top of her headstone, and then headed back to his Rolls Royce.
***
It was Club Infamous’ first annual Retro Eighties Party, and the intersection of Broad and Erie resembled the Gotham Nightclub during Philadelphia’s YBM era. Hustlers from all over the city were pulling up in the latest luxury vehicles and hopping out wearing all types of fashions from the late eighties. They had Cazel glasses, gold rope chains, four finger rings, and wore customized Dapper Dan sweat suits.
Flocks of women were standing in front of the entrance, and just like the men, they too sported fashions from the late eighties like spandex body suits, leather 8 Ball jackets, small rope chains, bamboo earrings, and anti-symmetrical hairstyles.
It was l0:00 p.m. when Sonny pulled up in front of the club in a customized ‘88 Mercedes Benz SL 500. The top was down and the sounds of Special Ed’s, I Got It Made, was thumping from his Alpine system.
I’m your idol/ The highest title/ Numero uno/ I’m not a Puerto Rican, but I speak it so dat chu know.
His strawberry red BBS rims matched the car’s paint job to perfection, and his white leather seats were covered in red Gucci print. The presence of the throwback Benz, coupled with the trunk rattling sounds of Special Ed’s legendary baseline, made him the center of attention. I’ma fuck ‘em up wit’ this one, he thought to himself as he pulled out an old school Motorola flip phone and called Breeze, who was already inside of the club.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
“What’s poppin’, bro? I just pulled up. What’s goin’ on in there?”
“Yo, I can’t hear you, Blood!” Breeze shouted through the phone. “The music’s too loud! I’ma slide to the bathroom, and hopefully I can hear you better!” He stepped inside of the men’s room, and resumed their conversation. “A’ight, now what was you sayin’?”
“I asked you what was goin’ on in there?”
“Awww man, it’s so many bitches in here that it don’t make no mutha’fuckin’ sense,” Breeze bragged, and then took a swig from his bottle of Spades.
“Is everybody here?” asked Sonny.
“Yeah we all here. The twins is in here stuntin’ as usual, and the last time I saw Uncle Easy he was on the dance floor wit’ a crowd of bitches around him.”
“A’ight,” Sonny nodded his head. “But what about security, Mello got them niggas on point?”
“Without a doubt,” Breeze confirmed. “You know that nigga on point.”
“More or less, but dig though, I need you to get everybody together, and meet me in the Block Boy Room in like ten minutes.”
Before Breeze could respond, a short, thick, brown skinned chick that reminded him of Remy Ma entered the men’s room. She was dressed in a black body suit and a pair of black Reebok pumps.
“Aye yo, this the men’s room, ma. The ladies room is next door,” he informed her.
She looked him up and down, admiring his Louis Vuitton sweat suit and the bulge in his crotch. “Humph, my bad,” she said as she turned around to leave. He noticed her thick juicy ass, and he gently grabbed her by the arm. “Damn sweetheart, where you goin’? You ain’t gotta go nowhere.”
She turned her head to face him, and the look in her eyes said it all. She was tipsy and trying to get her freak on. She led him to the last toilet stall and pulled him inside. She then, dropped to her knees, pulled his sweat pants down to his thighs, and started sucking him off.
“Hey yo Breeze, who you talkin’ to Blood?” Sonny asked, oblivious to the events that were taking place inside of the men’s room.
“Nah Blood, I was just talkin’ to this lil’...”
Sonny pulled the phone away from his ear, and looked at it with a baffled expression. He held the box shaped phone back to his ear. “Yo Breeze, what the fuck are you doin’?”
“Yo, this lil’ bitch got my dick in her, ohhh shit! Y—Y—Yo, I can’t talk right now. Holla at me when you come inside,” he laughed, and then disconnected the call.
Sonny chuckled and shook his head from side to side. “I don’t believe this nigga just banged on me.”
He killed the engine and then hopped out the car. If the people standing outside of Club Infamous thought that he was hurting them with the throwback Benz, then his clothes and jewelry was sure to be a head shot. His red Gucci valor was hands down the hottest in the vicinity. On his jacket, the chest, shoulders, and elbows were covered in white leather with red Gucci print, and the white leather strips that ran down the sides of his pants had the same. His white on white Nike Cortez’s were fresh out the box, and his jewelry was like a crack house, nothing but rocks! His 35” platinum chain was smothered in white diamonds and his customized BBE charm was littered with VS1s and red rubies. The iced out four finger ring on his right hand spelled Coke and the matching ring on his left hand spelled Money. An iced out bracelet was wrapped around his right wrist, and a diamond bezzled, big face Rollie decorated his left.
When he strolled through the club’s entrance, he smiled at the sight of his jam packed dance floor. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. The bartenders were serving drinks nonstop, and every hustler in the building had their hands wrapped around a $500 bottle of champagne. He glanced up at the elevated stage where Peedi Crakk was performing his remake of DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince’s, Brand New Funk. Schooly D was directly behind him. He was tearing up the ones and twos, and the crowd of hip hop lovers were going crazy.
As Sonny headed toward the back of the club where a staircase led to the second floor, he spotted Meek Mill loungi
ng in the V.I.P. area. He was accompanied by three beautiful women, and two two bodyguards. A case of champagne was sitting on his table, and he was thumbing through a stack of hundred dollar bills. He acknowledged Meek with a head nod, and then approached Rahmello, who was guarding the double doors that led to the staircase.
“What’s poppin’, brozay? You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Rahmello assured him as he embraced him with a brotherly hug.
As Sonny walked through the double doors and headed up the stairs, Rahmello sparked up a Backwood and thought about the night that he first met his older brother.
February l0th, 2013
He was sitting in his bedroom, bagging up a pound of weed when his mother shouted his name from the bottom of the stairs, “Rahmello!”
“What?” he shouted back.
“Boy, don’t you be whatin’ me! Now bring ya ass down these goddamned stairs!”
“Damn man, she always fuckin’ naggin,” he complained.
He laid down the scissors he was using to chop up the buds, and then stashed the aluminum turkey pan full of weed underneath his bed.
When he came downstairs and entered the living room, he was surprised to see the man that he’d just robbed sitting on his mother’s couch. A smug expression was written on the man’s face, and a black book bag was clutched in his hands.
“Dizzamn, this pussy caught me slippin’,” he said to himself. He spun around and attempted to run up the stairs, but his mother gripped the back of his shirt collar and pulled him toward her.
“Ahn ahn, ya lil’ ass ain’t gettin’ off the hook that easy.”
“Come on mom! What the fuck is you doin’?” he snapped at her. “You try’na get me killed!”