Kalif had a minimum amount of shame, and he neither denied nor confirmed what was obvious. Instead, he decided to zero in on Ibn’s knowledge. “You mean fly under the radar as much as possible. But tell me more about this card and how I can cop one.”
Ibn smiled as he picked the card up off the box and placed it back in his wallet. “It’s not that easy. It comes with time and hard work. Allah blessed me, and He can bless you too. What you know about flipping houses? It’s a serious business to get off into if you trying to gateway off into something else major.”
“I don’t know much,” Kalif replied, rubbing his chin. “But if it’s making money involved, I’m down.”
“Okay. Well, look, we gonna link up later this week. Put my number in your cell and hit me up. Google this website and check out some houses. And for now, let’s keep this between me and you. Your father doesn’t have to know.”
After the group of small-time outlaws finished making their purchases, Ibn watched them leave the store, knowing he was about to have another warrior on his strong hustle-and-grind team.
Chapter 8
It was nearing six in the evening. The sun was still beating down. The Far West Side park was packed, and the smells drifting off the grills filled the air. After the State of Michigan took over Belle Isle, everyone went to either Chandler Park or River Rouge to kick back and have a good time. Dressed in the outfits they’d bought during the earlier part of the day, the girls hooked back up with the guys.
As promised, they brought a few more friends to even the odds. Keys now had someone on his line to keep him company. She had missed out on the shopping spree, but TayTay had reassured that this crew’s money was long. It was apparent that they were far from stingy. Amir was happy to see two more girls as well. Maybe he’d have more luck with one of them than he’d had with the standoffish beauty that had her eye on Kalif, who could care less.
“So damn, dude, what got you so caught up?” Amir said as he leaned on the car, next to Kalif.
“It’s something ole boy at the store trying to put me up on. A new hustle.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Dawg say it’s, like, zero risk factor in the bullshit. Just straight revenue.”
Amir watched the girls post up over by the monkey bars rolling up. He urged Kalif to make sure he figured out Ibn’s true angle before getting them all off into something they couldn’t easily get out of. Then he slowly strolled toward the fresh, funky smell that was calling his name. Kalif lowered his head and went back to searching the website Ibn had recommended. Seemingly minutes later, he was interrupted yet again. This time by one of the females. Taking Amir’s place, she, too, leaned back on the vehicle. Kalif barely glanced up to acknowledge her presence.
“So, hey, Kalif. I see you over here, focused,” she said.
“Yeah, I am,” he grunted, not wanting to be bothered. “And before you get started trying to run game, I ain’t into all that tricking like my peoples. I’m married to the game and to Allah, so . . .”
“You was always into your books or something and praying.”
“Huh?” Kalif raised his head, puzzled by her statement.
“I’m saying you were smart even when you were getting in trouble. That’s all.”
Kalif put his cell in his pocket. The mystery female who had been eye fucking him all day at the mall had him intrigued now. She was talking to him as if they were old friends. But he knew that couldn’t be the case. She looked like no one he knew or had known. Folding his arms, he suspiciously looked her up and down. “Okay, you got me over here bugging out. What you know about me and what I used to do? And how I used to be? Am I supposed to know you or something?”
Despite hours of being around each other, she knew he hadn’t recognized her. She’d told her friends when they first approached him and his boys at the mall that his name was Kalif. But after he’d failed to even look her way, her cousin Jewels and TayTay had assumed she was lying about knowing him.
Finally, she came clean. “Yes, I know you, Kalif Akbar. You changed my life forever.”
“Say what?” Kalif was now hanging on her every word.
“Yeah, well, kinda, sorta. Thanks to me having a major crush on you, I got this.” Flashing her perfectly manicured nails, she pulled her long braids back from her face. As she turned her face to the side ever so slightly, Kalif could see a scar. He was still confused. Allowing her braids to fall back in place, she smiled and shook her head. “Damn, boy. How many girls you done had out here who have fought alongside of you, getting they shit split wide open? The last time I saw you, I was leaking, and they was dragging me out of the lunchroom.”
“What in the hell?” Kalif couldn’t believe what she was claiming. As he thought back on that day years ago, he remembered that that girl had been almost three times the size of this girl.
“Yeah, I know. I lost a lot of weight. That dude we got the best of that day got his sisters to jump me a few weeks later. They broke my jaw, and I had to get it wired shut. And bam.” She twirled around, showing off her well-stacked assets. “This is the result. I’m an all-new person, with, of course, the exception of this ugly scar.”
Kalif was floored. He remembered that day as if it had just happened. He smiled as he had a flashback of her jumping right onto the pile of twisted bodies and swinging her fist. She was from Zone 8 and had a bunch of brothers, or so he was told after the fact. He had wondered from time to time about what had happened to that big-breasted soldier. And here she was. “Damn. This shit is wild as hell. I guess it is you. Wow!”
“I know, right? I was gonna tell you who I was earlier, but just like when we was younger, you stayed concentrating on something or other.”
For the first time in well over a year, a female had his total attention. And after the way she had had his back when he didn’t have jack shit to offer, she was truly deserving of it. There was only one problem. He didn’t know or couldn’t remember her name. She remembered so much about him, he was kind of embarrassed to ask her name, but he had to.
“So, look, my mind was all over the place back then. What is your name again?”
“It’s Jada. Jada White.” She blushed, not knowing what to do with her hands. “Jewels is my cousin, and the others are my, let’s say, workers.”
“Workers, huh? Okay. Well, Jada . . . Ms. Jada White, I owe you at least dinner or something. A guy still ain’t tricking like them thirsty fools over there.” He laughed at them all getting high as a kite. “But I gotta eat, and so do you. I mean, damn, you little as hell now. You do eat, don’t you?”
The unexpected reunion was going better than Jada had hoped for. She and Kalif spent the rest of the evening walking around the perimeter of the park. With the numerous fights, a few random gunshots, and half-naked hoes running from car to car, trying to get some attention, it was just a regular night at Rouge. Kalif had her mesmerized. He put her up on a few irons he had in the fire that were sure to pay off big-time. In return, she enlightened him about the schemes she and her crew of female bandits were into. It was a perfect match made in hellfire as they jointly plotted. There was no way Allah would bless this union of shear madness on the horizon, but to Kalif’s warped way of thinking, this was fate. Jada wasn’t Muslim, but he wasn’t trying to fall in love. He was simply trying to fall into some real money. She, on the other hand, wished for more.
Whatever their motives, the next month would prove to be legendary crime-wise in the city of Detroit.
Chapter 9
While sharing the same bloodline might have bridged the gap between Kalif and Hakim, being raised in the same household did nothing to close that gap. Like night and day, Hakim was the exact opposite of his older sibling. Hakim was equally smart academic-wise, and he was not ashamed to let others see him in a positive light. He made the honor roll every year and was the recipient of numerous academic accolades. And with his high test scores and excellent grades in middle school, Hakim gained entrance to Cass Tech
, a magnet high school. His excellence flummoxed his parents. Sure, they had raised him to believe in himself. And, above all, to be nothing like Kalif. However, Hakim had far exceeded his parents’ expectations. Even Fatima, who loved him more than life itself, hadn’t been capable of imagining that her youngest son would do so well.
Hakim was one of Cass Tech’s most gifted students. Instead of playing sports or being involved in some sort of crazed wrongdoing, he attended Cranbrook on the weekends and over the summer. The school accepted only the cream of the crop from all the schools in the Metro Detroit area, and Hakim excelled there as well.
Fatima gave her son everything he could possibly want or need. If it was new clothes he wished for, then she’d shower him with them. A just released video game? It was his. When he dreamed about a new car on his sixteenth birthday, she made that happen. It was more than apparent that Hakim was her favorite child. Hakim knew it. Rasul saw it. And Kalif felt it—and felt hurt. Hakim refused to condone any of the illegal activities his older brother engaged in or was suspected of engaging in, and he strayed away from any type of sibling relationship with Kalif, which further cemented his older brother’s reputation as the black sheep of the family. The two brothers barely saw one another, which was fine by them both. Hakim had his mother to depend on, and he knew she had his back. Their bond was unbreakable. Kalif had Islam, the often coldhearted streets, and his Linwood 4Lyfe family.
Rasul was torn. Back in his heyday, he had been a force to be reckoned with. It would not have been possible back then for any son of his, blood or not, to behave as Kalif had been over the past few years. Once deep in the game, Rasul had had a body count in double digits. Men had feared him far and wide. They had respected his judgment, and his word had been final in most situations. Yet as of late, his close friends and the men at the mosque were questioning his thought process. Word had gotten back that Kalif and his crew were suspects in a robbery at a home that one of the mosque members had taken him to do a job at. Rasul could do nothing but lower his head as the accusations were leveled at his eldest.
Rasul was on the road a lot, making sure the corrupt heroin pipeline set up years ago was always running properly. He wanted to take Kalif with him. But Kalif bucked at the idea of being trapped inside of a car for hours at a time. Since he was still doing wrong himself, it was hard for the towering man to condemn his boy his transgressions. Prayer beads in hand, Rasul asked Allah to give him guidance and show him the way to soften Kalif’s heart. When Kalif would show up to Jum’ah, he would receive the cold shoulder from most of the elders. “Let the boy be until he self-destructs” was the basic sentiment of all. Kalif felt their eyes burning holes in him, so he finally stopped going to the mosque altogether. Instead, he would pray solo. Brother Rasul hated that his son had that stigma attached to him in their close-knit community, but the menace had earned his stripes.
Rasul gave little to no attention to Hakim. Since the boy was a 100 percent his, meaning his biological seed, this didn’t seem possible. But it was. Like his wife, Rasul would show up at all Hakim’s awards ceremonies and show love when need be. But it was easy to see sometimes that Rasul’s fatherly support was forced.
After months of attending Cass Tech, Hakim met a girl. Much to the delight of Fatima, who was now pregnant with twins, the girl was everything a mother would wish for, for a son. Whenever Hakim would bring her around, Stacy was kind, smart, pretty, and respectful. She had one small fault, something that Fatima knew was going to be a problem where her husband was concerned. Stacy was a devout Christian, a Baptist no less. And she was dedicated to attending church services every Sunday, for hours on end. And so the Muslim father protested his son’s attachment to this girl. Hakim had his father’s middle name and had been raised in the Islamic faith since birth. As far as Rasul was concerned, no son of his was going to do what Hakim had been doing “for the sake of a girl.”
This was no ordinary Thursday evening at the Boston-Edison home. Rasul was not on the road. A pregnant Fatima was feeling well enough to cook a huge dinner. Hakim was not at some after-school program, up in his room studying, or at his girlfriend’s house. Though he was rarely around as of late, Kalif was at the place he called home as well. With the table set, the entire family sat down. Everything had been prepared Halal, just as Rasul always requested. After asking Allah’s continued blessings, the members of the family filled their plates. No more than five minutes of calm silence filled the air before Rasul spoke.
“So, Hakim, how is school coming along?” Rakim asked.
Looking up from his plate, the younger son knew his father didn’t care about how he was doing in school. Hakim knew this was the warm-up. He knew this question was just the prologue to the real play. But out of respect, he played along. “It’s going great, Dad. I can’t complain. My test scores have been pretty good, so I’m definitely in good shape.”
“Yes, baby, you certainly are.” Fatima smiled at her son, then redirected her attention to her husband. “He has received several college scholarship offers already. So that’s a blessing.”
Rasul could not help but to agree. Hakim earning a free ride to college was more than he could hope for. Allah had indeed answered his prayers where that was concerned. But now he had to speak about what he felt was the real issue at hand. “That’s good to hear. A man that can learn can always teach. And that’s what Allah wants us to do. Obey, learn, and guide. And, of course, attend the mosque.”
Kalif had yet to say a single, solitary word. Instead, he had opted to continue devouring his dinner. It wasn’t often he got to enjoy his mother’s home cooking, so wasting time speaking about his little brother’s academic achievements was not on the menu.
Here we go, Hakim thought. He knew it would only be a matter of time before his father got on his case. He pushed his chair back from the table, as he’d just lost his appetite. Before waiting another second for his father to attack, he beat him to the punch. “Look, Dad, if you are going to start in about me not going to the mosque, please don’t. I have a lot of schoolwork to do. And besides, Kalif doesn’t go anymore, either. Yeah, my friends tell me stuff.”
“What?” Rasul replied, his voice deeper now.
Kalif lifted his head and frowned. “Hey, don’t drag me into your little bullshit argument. I pray five times a day, no matter where I’m at. Me and my God solid.”
“Please, you guys, calm down. And, Kalif, watch your language,” Fatima begged. She had been hoping that for once they could have a nice family meal without any drama, but she now knew that would not be the case. As she placed her fork down on the table, she slowly rubbed her hand over her stomach. The twins had been quiet all day, but now they were moving around as if they sensed the bullshit in the air.
Rasul shook his head. “Naw, Fatima. This boy needs to get back right. He done lost all his damn mind! He’s so smart, he dumb. He doesn’t have time to attend the mosque or volunteer, but he has time to go to church damn near every Sunday! What’s that all about?”
“What? Hakim? You going to church now? Where the hell I been at? I’m with Pop. What the fuck that’s about? You bugging now for real!” Kalif exclaimed.
“Watch your mouth, Kalif! You not out in them streets you run around in all day and half the night, doing God knows what,” Fatima said loudly, demanding respect. Her husband nodded, since he agreed that the boys should refrain from using foul language in their parents’ presence.
“Okay. So what? I’m going to church. What’s the big deal about that? I can make my own choices. It’s my life.” Hakim was not backing down. As far as he was concerned, it was each to his own, and he was not about to change his mentality. Furthermore, it was not like he was some little kid that had to be told what to do. And today he would prove that.
“Please leave this alone,” Fatima pleaded, feeling the twins move more and more.
“Naw, Fatima. He wanna know what the big deal is,” Rasul replied. “The big deal is you been Muslim your entire l
ife.”
“And . . . ?” Hakim retorted. His overconfidence was growing with each moment he stood his ground.
“And now, Negro, you hook up with some hot-in-the-ass little tramp, and she got you forgetting about everything we instilled in you just like that!” Rasul was now on his feet, yelling.
As the veins started to bulge by each of his temples, his wife tried once more to defuse the situation before it became any worse. “Please calm down, everyone—”
“Dad, she’s not a tramp, so please don’t call her that!” Hakim interrupted. “How would you like it if someone called Mom that?” Defiant, Hakim then stood to his feet, as well, on the other side of the table.
“Little punk, I know you ain’t comparing that girl in the same breath to your mother,” Rasul shouted. He was a few meager seconds away from knocking his son back down in the chair for daring to try to stand toe-to-toe with him in his own house. And then Hakim had had the nerve to raise his voice, as if he wanted something more than words to pop off.
As much as Kalif enjoyed his golden-boy brother being the center of madness, the fact that Hakim was denouncing Islam did not escape him. “Whoa, whoa. So let me get this straight. Not only are you getting some ass, but she also got you going all the way against the grain? You not praying and just being a pagan! So dang, Ma, how you like your favorite son now? He showing out, ain’t he?”
“Man, whatever.” Hakim waved his hand, dismissing Kalif’s crude comments.
Hakim ignored his brother now, as he had most of the time while he was growing up, but he was not going to run and hide. Since the beginning of time, he had been taught to remove himself from any explosive situation involving his older sibling. He’d done his fair share of hiding under the bed or in the closet or calling his father and asking him to come home and get Kalif under control. That was Hakim’s norm. But today no more. That behavior was out the window and off the table as an option. He knew that Kalif was half crazy if he was on his meds and that he was all the way gone if he was off them. But now, at this moment in time, Hakim was feeling just as crazy and was willing to go all out for his girl.
Carl Weber's Kingpins Page 8
