Guard the Throne

by Nisa Santiago

  Getting into business with Maino was paying off for Chris. He had become a three-ki-a-week player in the game, and the money was flowing. Chris was also earning a fierce reputation of his own, breaking away from being known as “Curtis’ son.” He no longer looked weak and dried up. The way he hustled and ran his crew was boss-like, and his drugs were being sold to people he never saw and who never saw him.

  Chris made his way home to Baisley projects. When he turned the corner onto Guy R. Brewer Boulevard, the blaring police lights caught his attention and made him come to a stop on the block. The entire street had been closed off with crime scene tape, and hordes of uniformed officers and detectives were everywhere. There was a crowd gathered behind the crime scene observing the heavy police activity and the blue-and-white bird was in the sky, hovering over the projects.

  He parked his BMW and jumped out. He left his pistol underneath the seat and hurried to where the onlookers were gathered on the sidewalk and in the streets. His heart started to beat like drums in a go-go song. He didn’t know whether it was something he had to worry about or if it was just a random act of violence on the block.

  He couldn’t get close enough to the crime scene to get a better look, but from where he stood, he could see two bodies sprawled out across the asphalt and another body slumped behind the wheel of a Cadillac.

  Chris instantly thought about his brother. “Shit!” he muttered. He had to find out what happened. Was Cane involved? He couldn’t see the identity of the dead men. Chris needed confirmation on what had gone down. The murders were too close to his home.

  The police were in and out of buildings asking questions, and reporters were around questioning potential witnesses and looking for an inside scoop. The talk on the streets was that it was a shootout with rival drug crews. The three dead goons had been ambushed, and a fourth thug had been rushed to Jamaica Hospital with several gunshot wounds.

  Chris walked away from the heavy activity and got on his cell phone. He dialed Cane, but the call went to voice mail. That worried Chris. As he hurried toward his ride, he called Cane again, and that call went straight to voice mail too.

  “Fuck!” Chris shouted. He got behind the wheel of his Beamer and slammed the door shut. His peaceful day was turning into a nightmare.

  He remained behind the wheel for a moment. The only thing going through his mind was the violence that had been spiraling out of control since the beginning of spring. The shootings were becoming bad for his business. His projects were becoming the Wild Wild West. It was the fourth shooting within the month. A week prior, two drug dealers were shot and killed in the stairwell of his building. Too many bodies were piling up in Queens, especially around his home and business. It wasn’t safe to stay there any longer, so he had made up his mind to move.

  Chris made a sudden U-turn and drove off in the opposite direction. He tried to call Cane again but got the same results. He tossed his phone into the passenger seat and cursed while driving south on the boulevard. He was becoming worried about his little brother.

  He decided to call Citi, and she picked up. “You heard from Cane?”

  “No, not in a few days,” Citi replied.

  “Fuck!”

  “What’s wrong?” Citi asked, beginning to worry.

  “Another shooting happened by our building, three down. Pigs are all over the area. Where are you?”

  “I’m uptown with Lola,” she lied.

  “All right, you stay where you’re at for now. Shit is too hot around here for the moment.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  Soon after Chris hung up, he received a call from Cane. He answered right away, “Cane, where the fuck are you?”

  “Calm down, Chris. I’m at my bitch’s crib. My phone was on the charger. What’s good?”

  “You know what went down by our building today?”

  “Nah. You tell me.”

  “We need to meet up. We need to talk.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah, now.”

  “A’ight, in an hour. Where at?”

  “The cemetery,” Chris suggested.

  “Where Pop is buried?”

  “Where the fuck else, Cane? It’s the only place I know safe enough to talk right now.”

  “A’ight,” Cane replied reluctantly.

  “Nigga, don’t keep me waiting.”

  “Chris, relax. I won’t.”

  Chris hung up and headed for the cemetery right away. He wanted to beat the traffic there.

  Since his come-up, Chris had tried to stay one or two steps ahead of law enforcement and his foes. He was becoming more like his daddy every day. If he had to meet with certain individuals about important business, it was mostly done in an open area. Curtis’ grave was one of the most secure locations Chris could think of. When he conducted business there, it felt like his father was there watching him, and almost counseling him.

  As Chris turned onto the narrow road that led to the sprawling cemetery, he had an awkward feeling about the murders he had seen on the street. His gut screamed at him that Cane had to be involved somehow. He guided his BMW toward the end of the roadway, stepped out, and looked around. The area was empty, and the dead didn’t speak, so Chris felt secure about meeting with Cane. He made a few phone calls from his cell while he waited for Cane to show up.

  Forty-five minutes later, Cane arrived alone in his burgundy Acura Legend. Clad in a wifebeater and a long, bulky chain swinging on his neck, Cane stepped out his ride with a menacing gaze.

  “Why the fuck you wanted to meet me here, Chris?”

  “Did you do it?”

  “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

  “Don’t play stupid with me. I asked you a question. I know you, little brother, and I got this strong feeling you was involved in that gangland shooting in front of our building earlier.” Chris locked into his brother’s eyes, looking for the truth from him.

  “You called me out here to Pop’s grave to ask me that dumb shit? Why the fuck you care about three dead niggas? You act like you kin to them.”

  “I never said how many were dead, and I didn’t tell you about any murders. You just gave yourself away, little brother.”

  Cane smirked. “Fuck it! Yeah, I got those muthafuckas, Chris! I don’t forget shit!”

  “What? Got who? And why?”

  “Those niggas that carjacked me last year, I finally caught up wit’ them and took care of shit. We lit that muthafuckin’ car up like daylight.”

  “Nigga, are you stupid? You do that in public, with countless witnesses around? You tryin’ to get locked up? Think, Cane.”

  “I am thinkin’!” Cane retorted. “We a fuckin’ powerhouse again, big bro. Pops would be fuckin’ proud of us. ’Cuz of me, niggas know not to fuck wit’ us. Yo, you think niggas just gonna rob me, steal what’s mine, and I’m supposed to let that shit slide? Nah, fuck that! I don’t care how much time’s passed. I don’t forget shit.”

  “It brings police around, slows up business, Cane. You need to think before you act so fuckin’ impulsive.”

  “Fuck you, Chris! This shit ain’t about you. It’s about me, and how niggas fuckin’ embarrassed me that night. You fuckin’ hear me? I ain’t out there playin’ wit’ these muthafuckas. I’m lettin’ niggas know not to fuck wit’ the kid. Plain and simple. I speak wit’ my gun, and these clown-ass niggas is definitely listening.”

  Chris sighed. “You can be so fuckin’ hardheaded, Cane.”

  “I’m just taking the bull by its horns.”

  “I’m gonna have to change things up and move shop because of you.”

  “You handle things on your end, and I’ll handle things on my end.”

  Cane turned and stared at his father’s grave. The brothers fel
l silent for a moment. The tranquility in the cemetery brought about different thoughts with them.

  “I’m just telling you, be careful out there, little brother. Shit is good right now, and we don’t need the headaches. It’s just not you out there, Cane. Think about me and Citi too.”

  “I am, and because of me, and what we struggled to rebuild, it’s gonna have niggas out there stopping and thinking twice about fuckin’ wit’ our family,” Cane returned. “I’m the bogeyman out there, yo; the nightmare other killers worry about.”

  Chris sighed heavily. It was hard to get any logic into his brother’s thick head.

  “We done here?”

  “Yeah, we done,” Chris replied matter-of-factly.

  “I love you, bro, but my business is my business.” Cane pivoted on his heels and walked toward his car.

  Chris’ eyes stayed on Cane until he got into his car and sped off. He decided to linger by his father’s grave and seek advice from the dead. His gaze didn’t divert from the tombstone for several minutes. Maybe Curtis would speak to him from the ground; give him some insight or a solution to his problem. Amongst the dead, tucked away in the cemetery, Chris, for some reason, felt comfortable and protected. There was no one around him watching, no threats looming, no snitches, no cops. Just him standing over his father’s grave and the rest of the dead.

  25

  “Chris, why you fuckin’ buggin’?” Citi shouted. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Baisley is our home.”

  “It ain’t my home anymore.”

  “You ready to turn your back on what Daddy built and what you rebuilt?”

  “I’m not turning my back on shit. It’s a smart move.” Chris stormed to the window and roughly pulled opened the blinds. “Look out there. It’s crazy right now . . . a fuckin’ war zone.”

  “But Rochdale isn’t any better. It’s still Queens.”

  Chris had made the executive decision to move his family out of Baisley projects and into the Rochdale Apartments, a sprawling complex for middle-class America. The body count surrounding his area was high, and the police had stepped up patrol from corner to corner. The killings brought about too much attention to his illicit business, and he wanted to be away from the drama escalating in the hood.

  “It’s a start,” Chris replied.

  “It ain’t a fuckin’ house or mansion. Daddy would have moved us into a mansion, not fuckin’ Rochdale.”

  “Is he here anymore? No. I’m the one in charge of this family,” Chris exclaimed heatedly, becoming agitated by Citi’s whining.

  “Fuck you, Chris!”

  “You need to calm down, Citi. Now is not the time to be catching an attitude, and it’s not the time for us to be moving into anything expensive. We need to keep things low-key, like Pop used to do. You don’t think Pop could have moved us out the hood a long time ago? But he didn’t. He always said that drug money wasn’t guaranteed money. And a mortgage gotta have that guaranteed money coming in. All of our paperwork and income gotta be correct. We gotta be able to show proof of income for purchases like that.”

  “But you’re the one driving around in a 650i BMW.”

  “A straw purchase. Look, until I can show proof of income to keep off the feds’ and IRS’ radar, I ain’t jumping out the window like that. Pops didn’t do it, and I’m not.”

  “You’ll never be like Daddy,” Citi replied.

  “You can be a straight bitch sometimes.” Chris scowled at her. “Why would you care, though? You’re never here anyway. Who you out there fuckin’?”

  Chris stared at his sister in her gaudy attire, gleaming jewelry, and makeup, looking much older than she was. He’d been hearing gossip in the streets about his sister being chauffeured through the streets of Brooklyn in a luxury truck or drop-top Benz.

  “It ain’t ya business. I’m fuckin’ grown, Chris. You don’t control me, not you or Cane. But this place is our memory of our father, and you wanna take it all away to move to Rochdale, and not some mansion in Long Island. We got the money, but ya too scared to spend it on anything but yourself. You is stupid! I’m gone. Don’t fuckin’ come lookin’ for me.” Citi hurried out the apartment.

  Chris refused to chase her. The only thing on his mind was going to see Maino at his Brooklyn home. He watched her leave. He knew she was hiding something from him, but he couldn’t dwell on it. He was making the move with or without her approval. He didn’t understand why she was so attached to the apartment. Yes, they had special memories growing up there, but Chris wanted to escape from the painful memory of finding their father murdered in his bedroom.

  The sister of one of his former jump-offs was moving to Virginia with her fiancé, and she didn’t want to give up her apartment in Rochdale, in case the relationship didn’t work out. Chris saw his golden opportunity. He offered the sister seven thousand dollars in cash to send her on her way, helping her with moving expenses. He would take over her rent and any other expenses. That kept his name off any paperwork and under the radar. It was a tenth-floor two-bedroom apartment with a terrace. Chris would still be close to the streets, and near his money on the block, but residing away from the drama in his hood.

  ****

  Citi sat on the park bench under the bright moonlight and street lamps, trying to keep herself from exploding. Chris telling her about moving into Rochdale and losing the apartment she had grown up in, having to hide her relationship with Maino from her brothers and the streets, and not being able to reach Maino when she really needed him had her troubled.

  Every time she called and Maino’s phone went directly to voice mail, it caused speculation on her end. She’d heard rumors about Maino being with other women, other young bitches her age or slightly older. When he was around, things were somewhat good, but when he wasn’t, it made her worry.

  She loved him and would do anything for her man. Citi became his number one mule, trafficking drugs to D.C., Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, and other states via the railroads, and always bringing back all his money and guns. Her cut of the profits was good, but she had been yearning for a little more. She was doing all the work and taking all the chances with her freedom and life. It was only reasonable she got more cash in return.

  Citi needed to find Maino. She decided to call Lola.

  After a few rings, Lola picked up. “What’s up?”

  “Girl, where you at?”

  “Home. Why?”

  “I’m surprised you ain’t on some dick tonight. What? Big Kev got you on a timeout tonight?” Citi joked.

  Lola sucked her teeth. “Fuck him!”

  “You know I’m just playin’ wit’ you. But I need a favor.”

  “What you need, Citi?”

  “I need a ride somewhere.”

  “Where to?” Lola asked.

  “To find my man.”

  Lola was one of few who knew about Citi’s secret relationship with Maino. Citi confided in Lola when things got rough with her and Maino, just as Lola did when she and Big Kev were having problems. But it was clear that Big Kev was only using Lola, and he didn’t care anything about the girl. There had been days that Citi preached to Lola to leave him alone, but Lola wasn’t listening.

  Citi thought, What good is a relationship with a baller nigga like Big Kev if she isn’t getting any money out of him, just good dick and upset afterwards?

  ****

  The two drove to Maino’s Brooklyn home, but he wasn’t there, so they decided to check his strip club in East New York. Lola whipped her Honda Civic through the Brooklyn streets under the cover of night and arrived at his strip club, Dollars and Shakes, before the midnight hour.

  Citi strutted toward the club entrance in her short miniskirt that revealed her meaty thighs and long legs, a pair of stilettos, and a tight top that highlighted her breasts. She was easily mistaken for one of
the dancers as she walked by security and entered the packed club, where a Rick Ross track was blaring. The dancers were moving about, some butt naked, others scantily clad, giving out lap dances or wall dances, and the fellows were tossing money freely to the booty-shaking ladies.

  Lola followed behind Citi, who made a beeline for Maino’s back office. When she reached the narrow corridor, she saw a beefy thug posted there. He noticed Citi approaching quickly and stepped in her way to prevent her from charging forward. He figured the young girl would become intimidated by his size and turn away.

  But Citi did exactly the opposite. She went straight for the husky goon, shouting, “Get the fuck out my way! I need to see Maino. Is he back there?”

  Towering over the young teen, he glared down at Citi and sternly said, “Maino’s busy.”

  “What? He’s too busy to see his woman? I’m Citi, so move, nigga.”

  “He busy, I told you. Step off, shorty.”

  Citi wasn’t taking no for an answer. She tried to rush by him, but the man grabbed her by her arm roughly and almost lifted her off her feet. But Citi had a few tricks of her own. She spun into him, thrusting herself forward with her knee raised, and connected with his groin.

  The husky thug folded over and winced. He immediately let go of Citi and dropped to his knees. “You bitch!”

  “I told you to move out my fuckin’ way!”

  Citi stormed toward the back office with Lola right behind her. She reached Maino’s office door and burst into the room. There was Maino with his pants down, fucking a high-yellow ho he had bent over his desk.

  “Aaaahhh! Fuck me, Maino.”

  Citi’s eyes lit up with rage.

  Maino pulled out the pussy and glared at Citi. “Citi, what the fuck you doin’ here? Who let you through?”

  “Oh, so it’s like that? This how you get down? That’s why you’re not answering my fuckin’ phone calls!” Citi screamed.

  “Yo, Citi, you don’t come barging into my office like you some crazy bitch.”