by K'wan
“Lady, I ain’t in the mood for games. Neighborhood told me that you can identify Pharaoh,” Li’l Monk said.
“I can and that isn’t him,” Queen said honestly.
Frustrated, Li’l Monk grabbed Queen by the back of the neck and forced her down in front of Richard. “Maybe you need to look a little closer. Stop playing with me; we both know this is Pharaoh.”
Queen laughed. “Is that what you thought? Fool-ass little boy, if you had simply asked me I could’ve told you that Pharaoh died nearly ten years ago. I know because I was at the funeral.”
Li’l Monk was stunned. Richard had to be Pharaoh, all the clues pointed to it. There was no way he could’ve been wrong. “Well if Pharaoh is dead then who the fuck has been carrying his name?”
“I think I can answer that for you,” a voice called behind Li’l Monk. All eyes in the room turned and they saw Michelle standing in the doorway holding a gun. “Good to see you again, Li’l Monk.” She greeted the youngster in a kind voice. When she turned to Queen her face soured. “I wish I could say the same about you, Mother.”
Li’l Monk was so stunned that you could’ve knocked him over with a feather. He stood there looking back and forth between Richard and Michelle, pointing a gun, trying to get his brain to process what his eyes were telling him. “What the fuck is going on?”
“I’ll be happy to explain, but first I’m going to need you to put the gun down,” Michelle told him. When Li’l Monk didn’t comply, she pointed the gun directly at him. “That wasn’t a request. I was there when you came into the world, Li’l Monk, so please don’t have me be the one to take you out.”
Li’l Monk placed the gun on the floor and kicked it away.
“Thank you,” Michelle said and stepped into the living room. She walked over to Richard, who was still on the floor clutching his leg. “Are you okay?”
“This little nigga shot me!” Richard grunted.
“Well it serves you right for being so fucking careless. I always told you that ego of yours was going to be our undoing,” Michelle scolded him.
“Wait, you mean to say that you’re Pharaoh?” Li’l Monk asked her in disbelief.
“Yes, and no. These days Pharaoh is just a name, one that I inherited when my father died,” Michelle confessed.
Now it was Queen’s turn to look surprised. “You’re the one who’s been running around carrying Pharaoh’s name? I thought it was just some street nigga running around impersonating him.”
“No, Mother. No street nigga could accomplish what I have over the years. Only one who carried the blood of the Pharaoh could’ve carried his name, and who better than his baby girl?” Michelle smirked.
Queen’s eyes watered. “I knew the ghost of my no-good baby daddy lived somewhere but I had no idea that it was within my own daughter.”
“Bitch, miss me with those crocodile tears!” Michelle snapped. “You never gave a shit about my father or me; all you ever cared about was his money.”
“That’s not true. I loved your father,” Queen insisted.
“Bullshit. If you did, you’d have allowed me a chance to get to know him instead of lying about who he was all those years,” Michelle accused her.
“Can somebody please help me to make sense of this?” Li’l Monk asked.
“Of course. You’ve always gone out of your way to protect my daughter so at the very least I owe you an explanation.” Michelle sat on the arm of the chair. “You see, growing up I never had any contact with my father, other than the checks he would send to my mother once per month, which she smoked or snorted up every chance she got. I didn’t meet him for the first time until shortly before he died. We talked for a long time and it was then that he revealed everything to me, about him being married, my mother keeping me away from him and more importantly who he really was. Imagine my surprise when I found out the man who I always thought was a deadbeat was actually a wealthy kingpin.”
“And an adulterer,” Queen added.
“Old woman, if you open your mouth one more time I’m going to shoot you in it,” Michelle warned her. “As I was saying, my father was a man who lived with many secrets, including the fact that he was terminally ill. No one knew except those closest to him, including his brother Ramses. It was Ramses who came to me with the idea of carrying on the front that Pharaoh was still in control of everything. See, Ramses had always been a good soldier, but he was no leader. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to fill Pharaoh’s shoes. He needed someone to step up to carry on the legacy, which is where I came in. Face had taught me everything he knew about running a criminal organization, so I had the knowledge but I was the wrong gender. Being that I was a female I couldn’t pass myself off as a man if there ever came a time when Pharaoh had to show his face. By then Face was already in prison for killing that boy and I was married to Richard. He would make the perfect front man and because we were married he could never testify against me. I would let Ramses run the business, and Richard would impersonate Pharaoh while I played the good housewife and raised my daughter. It was the perfect plan, but the problems started when Richard and Ramses got beside themselves. Richard had started believing that he was really Pharaoh instead of a puppet, and started making bad decisions, like cutting the side deal with Italians to go against the Clarks and sacrificing you.”
“Baby, you don’t understand. Li’l Monk had to go! He killed Mr. D and was going to fuck everything up with the Italians!” Richard explained.
“Horse shit, Richard,” Michelle shot back. “Li’l Monk is one of the few among our ranks who truly understands honor. Men like him don’t kill for petty change, they kill to protect what they love and to defend what they believe in. If you hadn’t been so busy playing God and really paying attention to the pieces on the chessboard you might know that!” she snapped.
“Li’l Monk.” She turned to him. “You were always loyal to my family and my organization and you didn’t deserve what Richard tried to have done to you. For this, I am truly sorry. Had I known what was going on behind my back with Richard and Ramses I’d have intervened sooner.”
“It’s all good, Ms. Michelle. Call off your goons and we’ll call it even,” Li’l Monk told her.
Michelle nodded. “You have my word, your name will be cleared.”
“So you mean to tell me you’re just gonna let this little nigga slide? How is that going to look on me within the organization if I let Li’l Monk slide?” Richard asked heatedly.
“My dear husband, this organization is no longer your concern. You were never built to be a boss and I was wrong for trying to heap the responsibility on you. It’s time for someone else to wear the face of the Pharaoh.” She looked at Li’l Monk.
Li’l Monk raised his hands. “Look, I’m flattered that you think so highly of me, but I’ve seen what comes with sitting in the big chair and I’ll pass. I’m content just to get money.”
Michelle laughed. “Don’t be so quick to pat yourself on the back. You are a born leader, Li’l Monk, but you’re still young. There is much you still have to learn about life and the world before you can walk a mile in the king’s shoes. I have someone else in mind for that.”
“Okay, well if we’re done here I’m gonna go ahead and leave y’all to sort the rest of this out.” Li’l Monk started for the door, but froze when Michelle pointed her gun at him. “What’s this? I thought you said my name would be cleared.”
“It will, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you now know my family’s darkest secret.” Michelle stood up. “I’m afraid you know too much to simply ride off into the sunset.”
Mrs. Schultz was taking her dog for his morning walk as she always did around that time. As usual her path took her past the Chandler house at the end of the street. She didn’t know what it was about their lawn that her dog loved so much, but it was one of the only places she could get him to relieve himself. Her dog had his leg up, pissing on Michelle’s roses, when she heard gunshots coming from inside.
She snatched her dog and made hurried steps down the street while calling 911 on her cell phone.
CHAPTER 43
It was the wee hours of the morning when Monk finally made it back to Harlem from Huck’s place. He had stopped off in the Bronx to see a fence he knew to try to get rid of some of the stuff he had ripped off. He got a few dollars for the items, but felt like he could’ve gotten more if he had time to negotiate. The only reason he settled for what the fence offered was because he didn’t want to lug the heavy garbage bag full of stolen merchandise all the way back to Harlem on public transportation.
When Monk got back to his apartment to stash his loot the first thing he noticed was that his bedroom door was open, and he always closed it before he left. He drew his gun and made his way into the bedroom. He noticed that the clothes he’d had on the floor of his closet were now pulled out and tossed onto the bedroom floor. Upon further inspection he saw that his hiding place had been tampered with and several of his weapons were missing. There was only one person besides him who knew where he kept his stash: Li’l Monk. He breathed a sigh of relief knowing that his son was still alive, but the fact that he had raided his stash for guns meant that he was in trouble. Monk had to find him before Ramses did.
When Monk rolled around to the strip where the young boys hustled he noticed that there wasn’t a soul in sight. None of the young dope boys who frequented the block were out that night, which meant they all knew that death was coming. It didn’t matter. No matter what rock Ramses or his minions sought to hide under, Monk would find them and dispatch them.
Monk was cutting across a back alley when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He stopped and spared a glance over his shoulder, but saw nothing except for a cat chasing a rat across the alley. Shrugging it off, he kept walking. As he neared the mouth of the alley he heard soft footfalls behind him. Monk stopped, and spun holding his shotgun.
“You got two choices: show yourself or meet your Maker,” Monk said to the darkness.
A few seconds later a shadowy figure appeared, wearing a tattered hood over his head. He began walking slowly toward Monk, but when the old timer pumped his shotgun, the shadow froze.
“That’s far enough, partner. Let me see your hands,” Monk ordered. The shadowy figure raised his hands to show Monk that he wasn’t armed. “Okay, now step out here where I can see you and do it slowly. I’d hate to have to blow your fucking head off by accident.”
“As would I,” the shadowy figure said in a thick accent. He took measured steps toward Monk, keeping his hands in plain sight. “Trust me, I mean you no harm.”
“Most niggas who start a sentence with ‘trust me’ usually aren’t to be trusted, so I think I’ll be the judge of that. Now I don’t know you and obviously you don’t know me or you wouldn’t have been dumb enough to follow me into this alley. Or maybe you do know me and just think you’re better than the last few hitters who’ve tried their hands with old Monk.”
“I am no hitter,” Kunta said, and removed his hood so that Monk could see his face, “simply a messenger. My name is Kunta. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”
“Yeah, my boy told me you paid a call on him recently. You responsible for his disappearing act?” Monk leveled the shotgun at Kunta’s face.
“Yes, but only from his enemies, not from this world. Your son is alive and well, but for how long only God can say. I fear he’s gotten himself into a most dire situation,” Kunta said sadly.
“So I’ve heard,” Monk said in a sour tone. “Where’s Li’l Monk now?”
“Hunting those who are hunting him,” Kunta said. “This Pharaoh wants him dead and it is my hope that I can help to prevent that from happening.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing here talking to me, instead of putting in work with my boy?” Monk asked.
“For reasons that I cannot explain, Li’l Monk has chosen to walk the last mile of this journey alone. By morning the men who wish to harm Li’l Monk will be dead or he will,” Kunta said honestly.
Monk grabbed Kunta by the neck and slammed him against the wall. “You trying to be funny, li’l nigga?”
“No, I’m being honest,” Kunta said in an even tone. “I understand your anger, truly I do, but in the little time I’ve come to know your son he doesn’t strike me as someone who can be deterred when his mind is made up about something.”
Monk gave him one last shake for good measure before letting him go. Monk wanted to tear Kunta’s head off, but he couldn’t deny the truth in his words. If Monk wanted someone to be angry at all he had to do was look in the mirror. Monk had no illusions about what kind of father he had been to Li’l Monk when he was growing up: a shitty one. He had taught him to fight, survive on the streets, and even kill, but during the times when his son really needed a father, Monk was never there. The guilt of knowing his son may possibly die because of his shortcomings was tearing him to pieces.
It took Monk a few minutes to compose himself enough to formulate words without yelling or breaking down and crying. “You said earlier that you were a messenger.” His voice was heavy with emotion.
“Yes. I bring word to you from our mutual friend, Face,” Kunta said evenly.
At the mention of his old crime partner’s name, Monk gave Kunta his undivided attention. “What’d he send you to tell me, how disappointed he is in me for fucking up everything we built?”
“Nothing quite so intimate, but it’s extremely cryptic. So much in fact that I have no idea what it means,” Kunta admitted.
“Well don’t keep an asshole in suspense. Spit it out,” Monk demanded.
“He said to tell you when you finally feel your back touching the bottom of the barrel look to Exodus 2.” Kunta relayed the message as it had been given to him.
At that moment, all the alcohol and cocaine Monk had consumed over the last few hours disappeared and for the first time in years he found himself completely sober.
Chucky awoke disoriented, and with a throbbing pain in his forehead from where it had hit the hotel wall. He looked around and realized that he was in a warehouse, but where he didn’t know. When he tried to reach up to see if he had a knot on his head he realized that he couldn’t move his arms. He looked down and saw that he was handcuffed to a chair. “What the fuck?”
“For a minute I was beginning to think that Frank had been a little too rough with you and that you might sleep through all the fun.” Christian appeared in front of him.
Chucky looked at him with defiant eyes. “What, is this supposed to be the part where I beg you for my life? I don’t know what you thought, but I’m a muthafucking gangster. So if you’re gonna kill me then do it and let’s get this shit over with.”
“And where would be the fun in that?” Christian patted him on the cheek. “There is someone here who would very much like to have a word with you. Meeka, could you show our guest in, please?”
“Got you.” Meeka went off to do as Christian had asked.
When Chucky saw who Meeka had escorted back into the room all the blood drained from his face. “Ramses!” he gasped.
“Been a long time, Chucky.” Ramses stalked toward the chair. “A real long time.”
“Ramses, this is all a big misunderstanding. I planned on paying your money back once I got on my feet,” Chucky pleaded.
Ramses punched Chucky in the face as hard as he could. “Bitch-ass nigga, you still think this is about money? This is about honor, which is something you lack!” He hit Chucky again.
“Ramses, before you do whatever it is you’ve got planned for Chucky, I’d like to discuss the matter of payment,” Christian interrupted.
“Right, right.” Ramses backed up. “Pay this nigga,” he told one of his goons.
The goon stepped forward and tossed the duffle bag he was carrying at Christian’s feet. Christian knelt down and looked inside. “Is it all here?”
“Every dime,” Ramses assured him. “You can count it if you want.”
�
�I don’t think that’ll be necessary. You seem like a trustworthy enough type. He’s all yours.” Christian handed the bag off to Meeka.
“I want to thank you, Christian. I’ve been trying to lay hands on this nigga for damn near a year.” Ramses was talking to Christian, but looking at Chucky, cracking his knuckles. “I think before I kill you I’m going to have a little fun. You junkie piece of shit, you don’t know how many nights I lay awake dreaming of this moment.”
“Too bad the moment is going to be short-lived,” Christian told him.
Frank appeared as if by magic behind Ramses’s goons and grabbed them both by the necks. With a flick of his wrists he snapped their spines as easily as pencils and let them fall lifelessly to the ground. Ramses made to reach for his gun, but Christian had the drop on him, placing one of his rhinestone pistols to Ramses’s head.
“You set me up?” Ramses asked in disbelief.
“Not entirely. I’m a firm believer in honoring my contracts, including the one that has been placed on you. A mutual friend of ours sends their warmest regards,” Christian told him before shooting Ramses in the head.
“What the fuck, Christian? I thought we were supposed to kill Chucky for Ramses, not the other way around.” Meeka looked at Ramses’s corpse. She didn’t understand what was going on.
“Calm yourself, my little rose. Ramses has always been the target, but we needed a way to draw him out so we could dispatch him. Chucky was simply bait. I knew he was the one person Ramses hated enough to step out of his comfort zone,” Christian explained. “Cut him loose,” he ordered.
As Boogie removed Chucky’s handcuffs, Chucky sat there looking at Ramses’s body at his feet. He had come close to dying on many occasions, but never that close. He stood, rubbing his wrists. “Man, for a minute I thought I was a goner.”
“Oh, make no mistake, you’re still going to die, just not on behalf of Ramses,” Christian told him. “Hold that muthafucka,” he ordered.
