Malek, unlike other hustlers who were making paper, preferred to live modestly. What the hell did he need all that bling-bling for anyway? As far as he was concerned, all that flashy stuff did anyway was bring attention to him, which meant drama and trouble would soon follow. So he decided that he would stay low-key in the game. He’d seen enough black people get the things they wanted, yet end up begging for the things they needed. He wasn’t going to fall into that trap.
Joe began setting up the chessboard that sat on Malek’s coffee table.
A few minutes later, Malek emerged from the back room with a small duffle bag full of money, approximately $52,000. When he saw that Joe had set up the board, he immediately knew that Joe wanted to discuss something with him. Joe always played chess when he was telling Malek something important. Malek placed the bag by Joe’s feet and took a seat.
Joe stared at the board, deep in thought, contemplating his first move. He knew that this move ultimately laid the foundation for the last. “I’ve watched you become a man in such a short period of time. I think you’re ready to step into the big leagues, fam.” Joe moved his pawn up on the board.
“What you mean?” Malek asked, his eyes on the board, contemplating his first move as well.
“After the shit that went down with Tariq, and with the feds being on me and all”—Joe paused, observing the board—“I need to fall back for a minute. I need to get out of town to clear my head, ya know?”
Malek replied with a simple nod.
“With that said, I want to give you the opportunity of a lifetime.” Joe made his move.
Malek’s full attention was on Joe, not even realizing that it was his turn to make a move.
Jamaica Joe pulled out one of his pre-rolled blunts and lit it. He took a puff, exhaled as smoke rings rose above his head and then added, “I want to introduce you to my coke connect. I need someone to run the empire while I’m away, and you the only person I trust.”
“Are you serious?” Malek knew that Joe was offering him a “key to the city,” and he couldn’t believe his ears. This kind of opportunity was every hustler’s dream. He was offering him on a silver platter what Tariq tried to take. A smile covered Malek’s face.
“I know you one hundred. I can’t say that about most of the niggas in my circle. Tariq was proof that you can’t trust niggas, feel me?”
“You sound like you ready to give the game up or something,” Malek said, trying his best to read Joe, not sure whether he was taking a temporary break or if this was his way of weaning himself away from the game.
“I’m not giving up the game; I just want to take a little hiatus. Malek, I see a lot of myself in you. I see how you flip those bricks and run your blocks. You have cats twice your age respecting you, and you keep your whole crew happy. That’s a hard task, family. You’re a lot smarter than I was at nineteen, that’s for sure. You got what it takes to be a great in this game. You just don’t realize it yet. You got the ‘shark complex,’ just like I had.”
“Shark complex?” Malek asked, totally puzzled.
Despite how anyone else on the streets saw Malek, he’d always pictured himself as just another member of the crew. Modest and humble in the game, he knew his place, which was actually why he was so respected. He didn’t put on no act. What you saw with him was exactly what you got.
“Yeah, fam. A shark will die if it stops swimming. That’s the way they breathe, the way they keep living, Malek. They have to keep moving to survive. That’s how I look at life. I have to keep moving, keep progressing and stay on my grind, or I’m no more.” Joe took a puff of his blunt, held it in for a moment, and then exhaled. “Ever since I was your age, I been a hustler, but everyone knows that this game doesn’t last forever. At some point the head man gets death or jail. I feel that my fate is nearing. I need to fall back and let the new breeds spread their wings.
“Malek, you are the future. You are a boss in the making, and if I don’t give you the opportunity, you are going to come for my spot and eventually have to kill me. You don’t have to take the spot; I’m-a give it to you.” Joe looked into Malek’s eyes. “I’m not going to make the same mistake with you that I made with Tariq.”
Malek thought about what Jamaica Joe was doing. He was giving him something more valuable than money; he was giving him food for thought, and Malek was scraping the plate. What Joe was saying made a lot of sense to Malek, and he was soaking it in like a sponge. He was about to come into his own.
Jamaica Joe and Malek rode down Interstate 75 on their way to meet Joe’s cocaine connect. Canada, just north of Detroit and only an hour and a half away from Flint, was their destination. Since the U.S. didn’t allow planes from Colombia to land in the country, drug traffickers usually did business through Canada, so there was a lot of drug trafficking going on across the border.
Joe had been preparing Malek for this trip all week. He broke the game down to him and told him how the transactions went down. “I never ride dirty. I just go and negotiate the amount and price and then send a mule up to get the weight.”
“So you drive all the way to Canada just to talk? Why wouldn’t you just call?”
“That’s not how we move, family. Drug transactions 101—no phones. Phones’ll get you bagged. Every conversation and negotiation is made face-to-face with us—that’s how you do business. Look a man in the face and handle yours. You have to use every precaution in this game, Malek, because you never know if and when them alphabet boys, the FBI and the DEA, are listening,” Joe said as he reached the U.S.-Canada bridge.
The bridge was the only thing that separated Detroit from Canada, so they were in Detroit one minute and in Canada the next. Joe drove his black Ford Excursion into the public park just off the bridge.
Malek looked around in confusion, wondering why they were stopping there. He then began to look around, checking out the surroundings. He noticed a group of men sitting under a chess pavilion, paired off at various tables.
“This is where you find Fredro,” Joe said, referring to his coke connect. He stepped out of the truck, closely followed by Malek, and they approached the pavilion.
Malek looked at the group of men they were walking up on, trying to guess which one might be Fredro. To Malek’s surprise, Joe walked right past the group of men and approached the bench next to a raggedy-looking man wearing a dingy fishing hat. A slim-built African-American man in his fifties with a full beard, he was pulling bread crumbs out of his pocket and tossing them to the birds. With the name Fredro, Malek was expecting an Italian, a Latino, or something—not a black man.
“Fredro, good afternoon,” Joe said as he took a seat next to him.
“Good afternoon,” Fredro replied in a deep, raspy voice, without taking his eyes off the pigeons that flocked to his crumbs.
“I want you to meet Malek. He is my man I was telling you about.”
Malek stepped up into Fredro’s view. “Nice to meet you,” Malek said as he extended his hand.
Fredro shook Malek’s hand and gave him a small grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Malek. I hear you’re the future.” Fredro threw another handful of crumbs.
Malek smiled and then glanced at Joe. “Oh, is that what they’re saying?”
Joe began to discuss business with Fredro. “I need you to introduce me to some of your girls.”
“How many?” Fredro asked, continuing to toss the breadcrumbs.
“I’m having a party. I need twenty of them.”
“Twenty girls? That’s a lot of girls, Joe.”
“Well, my man Malek over here, he runs through them, feel me?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“How old are they?” Joe asked, referring to the kilo price.
“They are all twenty-two. They’re the best showgirls in the business,” Fredro replied, still focusing on the birds before his feet.
“I’ll send for them tomorrow night.”
“Good,” Fredro replied with a wink.
To t
he trained ear, a major drug deal had just gone down. Malek smiled at how they had just negotiated drug prices and quantity without mentioning any drugs. Jamaica Joe had schooled Malek about always talking indirectly to avoid incriminating himself. Malek was witnessing professionals at work.
“Fredro, like I was telling you, I’m taking a small vacation. My man Malek is going to be coming to see you in my place.” Jamaica Joe nodded his head at Malek. “This li’l nigga is one hundred percent.”
Fredro’s facial expression immediately changed as he stood up and began to walk toward the lake. He was in obvious discomfort from Joe’s news. Fredro had been pushing weight since the ’80s and didn’t like new people.
Jamaica Joe could read Fredro’s mind. He whispered to Malek, “I’ll be right back.” Joe got up and went to catch up to Fredro.
Malek watched as the two men conversed in front of the lake. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he was pretty confident about what they were discussing. Malek, too, could read the look on Fredro’s face, but he knew he could prove himself if given the chance. “This nigga got to let me in,” Malek whispered as he continued to eye the two men.
Just as he finished his thought, the men shook hands, and Joe headed back toward Malek. Jamaica Joe approached Malek and whispered, “You’re in,” as he brushed past him and headed back to his truck.
Malek couldn’t help but smile. He had just achieved what D-boys around the country dreamed about. He was connected.
Chapter Eight
Two days after Jamaica Joe and Malek met with Fredro, Joe organized a meeting with his whole North Side crew to announce his absence, and also to introduce Malek as the head of the operations. He knew that he would ruffle some feathers with his street lieutenants by putting a nineteen-year-old at the boss position, but he had more confidence in Malek than any other worker.
Jamaica Joe sat at the head of the table in the back of one of the many businesses he owned, waiting to start. He watched Malek and observed his demeanor. That li’l nigga right there is built for the game, he thought as he lit a blunt.
Joe took his time before addressing his crew. Once he was ready, he stood up with Malek next to him. “As you all know, I’m taking a little break from the game. And before anybody gets it twisted, no, I ain’t leaving the game. It’s just like I said—I’m gon’ fall back for a minute.”
Joe scanned the room, looking everyone dead in the eyes to make sure they all got the point. The last thing he wanted was some false rumor floating around about him being out of the game. Niggas still needed to know that he ran the North Side.
“Everything will be the same,” he informed them, “and business will continue as usual. The rules of the game have not changed. The only thing that will be different is that from now on”—He looked over at Malek like a proud father—“you’ll put all your orders in with Malek. He will be filling in for me for a while.”
The mood of the room changed suddenly with Joe’s announcement. You could see the skepticism in the hustlers’ faces upon hearing that Malek would now be the head man. Everyone in the room expected Tariq to be next in command, but they didn’t know that he was no longer breathing.
Rumors were flying about Tariq’s sudden disappearance, though. Some were saying that he ran off to New York or somewhere with Jamaica Joe’s money to start his own crew. Some were saying that he got caught up in a bad run.
The cops hadn’t found his body yet, so Joe decided to just let the rumors fly. He didn’t have anything to gain by slandering Tariq’s name and letting everyone know that he was a snake.
Looking back on the situation, Joe was man enough to take partial blame for Tariq’s betrayal. He figured that Tariq had felt his own loyalty to Joe had already been betrayed when Joe brought Malek in the game. So Joe felt that he at least owed Tariq that much, to just let the nigga die without spittin’ venom. Still, he didn’t condone Tariq’s acts and would send him to his death all over again if he had to.
Malek took the silence for what it was—doubt. Although usually laid-back and quiet, if he was gonna be in charge, some things needed to change. He needed to let these cats know that he could handle the position. “I see how niggas looking at me . . . like I can’t handle this position, but I’m-a tell y’all like this”—Malek pulled out his gun—“Take silver or take lead, straight the fuck up!”
Jamaica Joe smiled as he witnessed Malek begin to implement the tactics he’d broken down to him on how to run an organization. He was telling them to take silver (get money with him) or take lead (take his bullets).
Malek continued, “So you have two options. You can leave right now and become my enemy”—He scoped out every soldier in the room with an intense look in his eyes—“or you can stay and get money with me. Honestly, I’m cool with either. Choose one.” Once again, Malek scanned the room, individually looking each hustler in his face.
Joe looked in Malek’s eyes and saw sincerity. Malek wasn’t saying something just to be saying it. He was ready to get at any nigga who went against the grain. At that moment, Joe knew he’d made the right decision in handing the operation over to him temporarily.
Nobody in the room moved as a brief moment of silence took place. The torch had just been passed.
Finally, Malek broke the silence and said, “Okay, let’s get it then.” He reached under the table and grabbed the oversized duffle bag, plopped it on the table, and opened it up. Inside the bag was twenty kilos of pure “unstepped-on” cocaine. Malek began to distribute the weight to the hustlers for them to supply their sections of the North Side.
After a brief meeting, the hustlers greeted Malek with respect and exited the room.
Jamaica Joe felt confident in splitting for a minute. He knew that if he stayed in town, the feds would eventually get him caught up in some bullshit, so for him it was the perfect time to take a break.
Once everyone left, only Joe and Malek sat at the table. Joe told his protégé, “Malek, this is a different game now. You are the man.”
“I’m ready,” Malek assured him, chin up and chest poked out.
Joe admired how Malek immediately put on the full armor of boss status, attitude and all. “I know you are, fam, but there are a lot of rules to this shit, and each one must be followed with precision. The last thing you need is for any mu’fucka to catch you slippin’, ’cause, remember, there’s always gon’ be another nigga out there who wants your spot.”
Malek nodded his head and listened closely as Joe gave him the game.
“With your new position, there’ll be new responsibilities. You can’t show weakness at all. Weakness will get you killed. Never let a nigga slide with anything. If you gotta put yo’ murder game down, then so be it. Remember one thing—Fear is much more powerful than love. If the streets love you, they could use that love to eventually sabotage you. Love never lasts forever. The streets build you up only to bring you down. But fear”—Joe took a puff from his blunt, which had burned on its own more than he’d smoked on it—“fear lasts forever.”
Malek listened to Joe and was surprised at how Joe had the streets down to a science. He spoke on the streets as if he were Socrates discussing psychology.
For the next hour, Joe gave Malek a crash course on being a kingpin. He explained to Malek that it was his time, and informed him about the big birthday bash/ farewell party he was going to throw.
“I want to celebrate with the city before my departure, ya dig?” Joe said as he finished up his blunt and conversation with Malek.
Chapter Nine
Tasha awoke and went to her brother’s room. She opened the door and noticed that Halleigh was still sleeping in his bed. What the hell is she still doing in Maury’s bed? She was sure that by now Halleigh would have figured out that the room she’d been playing Goldilocks in was her brother’s room, and copped one of the other rooms. But there Halleigh lay, sound asleep. Tasha shook her head and turned to leave, but found Mimi standing behind her, peering over her shoulde
r.
“What are we looking at?”
“Nothing. I was just checking to see if Hal was still asleep. Come on, let’s go get some food.”
They walked into the kitchen to find Maury coming into the house with bags in his hands.
“Maury!” Tasha yelled excitedly as she ran to hug him.
“Tasha, hold up, before you make me drop my food,” he stated as he set the bags down on the countertop. He then turned around and hugged his sister warmly. “Why you didn’t let me know you were coming to town?”
“I didn’t even know I was coming. It was spur-of-the-moment, so I decided to surprise you.”
“Umm-hmm.” Mimi cleared her throat loudly as she eyed the sexy man before her. Tasha ain’t tell me her brother was so damn fine. She put on her game face and stood sex-ily in the stretch pants and camisole she’d worn to bed.
“Oh yeah, this is my girl, Mimi. Mimi, this is my brother, Maury.”
Maury licked his lips and gave Mimi a head nod. He’d already peeped the way she was checking for him when he first walked in. “What up, ma? It’s nice to meet you,” he said with a smile.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Mimi replied sweetly.
Tasha rolled her eyes. She knew that Mimi was attracted to her brother when she heard her “get-’em” voice.
“You’ve already met Halleigh,” Tasha interjected before Mimi could spark a conversation. She added, “And why did you sleep on your couch last night?”
“Because shorty stole my room,” Maury replied with a sexy grin. He pulled two containers of food from a bag.
“You bought us breakfast?” Tasha asked.
“Nah, sis, you know your way around town, baby. This is for me,” he said, backpedaling out the room.
Tasha frowned when she noticed he had two boxes.
“Well, who is that other one for?” she asked.
“This is for your girl. Since y’all left her on ‘stuck’ last night, I decided to buy her breakfast,” Maury replied.
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