by K'wan
“It might take some doing.” Shai scratched his chin. “But I think I have a plan. A nigga owes my people a favor. I think I’m gonna reach out to him.”
The men's conversation was broken up by a trio approaching from the direction of the house. The first was a tall man wearing a gray suit and a black overcoat. His hair hung down across his Asian face and touched his cheeks. The second was a squat man with brown skin and a shaved head. The third was a petite woman carrying a briefcase. The tall man stepped up first.
“Clark?” he asked politely.
“Who wants to know?” Shai asked, standing.
“Forgive the intrusion during your time of mourning. My name is Ichiro. I am looking for Tommy Clark.”
“He ain’t here. I’m Shai Clark, what can I do for you?”
“We have been sent here by Billy Wong to help you with your problem. I think you will find our skills to be quite an asset in these . . . dangerous times.”
Shai looked at the trio to see if they were on the level; sure enough they were. If there's one thing he learned growing up in a house with Tommy, it was how to spot a killer. Snoop looked on, confused, while Shai just smiled.
Legs stepped off the bus at Port Authority and looked around. He hadn’t been gone for a long time, but it seemed like it. He wanted to shoot uptown and see what was up with the crew, but he wasn’t here for that. The caller on the phone had given him specific instructions and Legs intended to follow them to the letter. Too much hung in the balance.
Legs searched around until he found who he was looking for. A red-faced officer stood near the curb writing out a parking ticket. Legs looked at a sonogram picture of his unborn child and fought back a tear. He sucked it up and approached the cop. Without hesitation, he punched the officer in the face.
The officer staggered back and fell into the street. It took all of two seconds for more police to come and proceed to whip Legs's ass. They clubbed and kicked him, before cuffing him and throwing him roughly into the paddy wagon. He sat in the back of the wagon and wondered when, if ever, he would get to see his child. Legs had made a deal with the devil and it was time to pay.
Ahmad drove the Blazer through the streets of Harlem like a man possessed. He shoveled cocaine into his nose as if it were going to run away. Bone had urged him to calm down, but he wasn’t trying to hear it. The Clarks had taken from him and now he would take from them. The cocaine that flooded his system told him to drop any member of the Clark family on sight.
“Slow this mutha fucka down,” Rocky protested from the backseat. “You gonna get us pulled over with this heat in the car.”
“Stop crying,” Ahmad snorted. “That bitch called me damn near a half hour ago and said that lil’ nigga Swan just walked into Poppy's restaurant. We gotta get there before he leaves.”
“Ahmad,” Steve said, “maybe we should think about this. I’m all for killing this kid, but doing it on Spanish Poppy's turf?”
“Fuck that,” Ahmad said, taking another snort. “He dies wherever I see him.”
Ahmad bent the corner of 149th Street so hard that he almostflipped the truck. He really wanted to get at Shai or Tommy, but Swan would do just as good. He had taken over as Shai's second in command. When he got to Broadway, the first thing he saw was Swan and another man coming out of the restaurant. His whole body tensed with anticipation. Had it nor been for Rocky placing a firm hand on Ahmad's shoulder, he might’ve tried to hop out on him. They calmly pulled to a stop in front of where Swan's ride was parked and began to file out.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Brown complained. “With all the shit that's been going on over the last few days, it should be jumping.”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Alvarez told him. “Maybe everyone is still mourning.”
“Not fucking likely. These bastards have been trying to kill each other since Poppa died, then it all just stops? I don’t buy it, partner. Something's gonna go down, I’d just like to know what.”
As in response to Brown's question, a transmission came over the police scanner: “ALL UNITS, ALL UNITS. WE HAVE REPORTS OF GUNFIRE ON WEST I48TH STREET.”
“Unit one-one-four en route,” Brown said into the receiver. “Punch it, J!”
The Buick lurched into traffic in the direction of the gunfire. They didn’t know for sure if Tommy's family was involved, but it was a pretty good guess. Brown leaned back in the passenger seat and thought how much easier his job would’ve been if they got there too late and Tommy's crew were all dead.
Swan had just finished the negotiations with Spanish Poppy and his crew, Shai had instructed him to go uptown and holla at the kid about resuming the relations that Tommy had chosen to sever. They agreed to resume supplying the Clarks with cocaine, as long as they had exclusive rights. This meant that they couldn’t buy coke from anyone except Poppy. This suited Shai just fine. In return, theyagreed not to up the prices and to lend support to the Clarks in their cause of punishing Poppa's killer. Spanish Poppy had a lot of love for the old man and didn’t like the fact that he had been murdered so close to retirement.
Swan was feeling pretty good about the turnout. He was aware that Shai had a lot on him, making the transition from a schoolboy to a gangsta and he wanted to make it as easy as possible. He knew in his heart that Shai wasn’t made for the life, but he insisted on seeing his father's affairs put in order. Swan had no choice but to ride it out with him, even if it meant his life.
Dave was saying something to Swan, when he stopped short. He turned to see what had drawn Dave's attention and peeped several men creeping. Swan's instincts told him that something wasn’t right. When he recognized Ahmad, he knew what time it was. By the time Dave shouted a warning, Swan was already in motion.
Swan dove behind a car, drawing his Ruger. Seconds later, bullets struck the spot where he had been standing. The gunmen were thrown off by Swan's quick reflexes, but they quickly recovered. Ahmad stepped up blasting away with his nine. He hit damn near everything but Swan.
Rocky was a better shot. He moved forward with his Desert Eagle and gave Dave three. Dave got hit once in the arm and twice in the chest. He staggered from the impact, but his vest had withstood the shots. Or so he thought. Dave touched his chest and his fingers came away bloody. Rocky smiled, knowing the armor-piercing shells were well worth what he paid for them.
Dave felt the burning in his chest spreading to his arms. His mind raced in every direction, keeping him from reacting. His whole young life flashed before his eyes as he slid down the side of the car. With his last bit of strength, Dave let off a burst from his Mac 10. Rocky took at least five to his face and torso, killing him painfully. Dave's last thought was, At least I got to take one of them with me. He was dead at the age of eighteen.
Seeing his man dead sent Ahmad into a rage. He fired shot after shot, turning the car into Swiss cheese. Swan tried to move, but thegunmen had him penned. He tired to look around the bumper of the car and a bullet grazed his shoulder. He was up shit's creek.
Hearing the shots, Spanish Poppy's men came out of the restaurant blasting. Swan used their diversion and came up from behind the car. He squeezed off two shots. Ahmad took one to the chest and went down. The remaining shooter turned his attention back to Swan. Swan dropped back behind the car just as a flurry of bullets struck the car and a man coming out of the store.
There were bullets flying everywhere and Swan was stuck in the middle. He heard police sirens in the distance and knew he had to do something. Lying flat on his stomach, Swan could see the shooter's legs on the other side of the car. He aimed his pistol and took out the shooter's ankles. When he hit the floor, Swan put two in his side for good measure.
The shooting had stopped, and Swan was unharmed with the exception of a gash on his shoulder. Spanish Poppy's men had started disappearing into their foxholes. Swan knew he had to leave, but he wasn’t done yet. He approached Ahmad, who was still gasping for air on the ground.
Ahmad wanted
to curse Swan, or maybe even try and continue the fight, but he couldn’t. The bullet had entered through his chest, and ripped up his lung on the way out his back. All he could do was gurgle blood as Swan stepped over him and fired three shots into his aner-twisted face.
CHAPTER 30
DURING THE NEXT FEW DAYS, it rained blood in the streets of Harlem. After Ahmad's death, Bone had gotten low, but that didn’t stop him from playing a part in the feud. The Clarks went at Bone's. Frog and his men used the chaos to try and gain a hold in Harlem. They killed Tommy's people as well as Bone's.
The Clark family had begun to show signs of wear. Not only were the Clarks at war with other crews, but they were at odds with each other. With Poppa being dead and Tommy going to jail, the Clark throne was vacant and everyone wanted to claim it. Everything was falling apart and Shai was left alone to hold it together.
Shai sat behind his father's desk staring vacantly at the wall. Gator sat to his right, while Swan was on his left. Scotty sat directly opposite Shai, and Angelo sat quietly to the side with his hands folded. He hadn’t been himself since his partner was murdered. Angelo now had a personal stake in the war.
Shai's life seemed to be going downhill at an alarming rate. His father had been murdered and Tommy was currently occupying the infirmary at the Federal Detention Center on Pearl Street. The police had hit Tommy up something terrible, but he lived through it. He would never walk again, but he would stand trial for Heath's murder.
“Shai, we gotta do something,” Swan pleaded. “It's chaos out there, man. Everyone is wilding out, trying to slide into a place of power that rightfully belongs to you.”
“I have eyes,” Shai said, casting a glance at Swan, then back to the wall. “You don’t think this is fucking with me too? This shit has gotten out of hand. My father is dead and they’re gonna try and fry my brother for this Heath shit. We’ve lost over a dozen soldiers, maybe more, since this thing popped off. How many more will have to die before we say enough?”
“We need to ride on all these niggaz,” Gator said, picking at his bandage. “We got the guns and the muscles, let's stomp these mutha fuckas and be done with it.”
“Ain’t that simple, fam’,” Shai said, standing up and moving around the table. “We’ve got the guns and the soldiers, but we don’t have the organization. We’re at war amongst each other and other crews. Our forces are spread too thin because everyone has an agenda.”
“At this rate, we’re gonna get mashed out,” Angelo added.
“Shai,” Scotty cut in, “this is just why your father never wanted you involved with this part of the business. These niggaz ain’t playing out there. The stakes are far higher than the rewards. This is why he didn’t want you to play. Poppa had a bigger plan for you, but this is the way fate decided to deal the cards.”
“My nigga”—Swan placed a hand on Shai's shoulder—”what I’m about to tell you ain’t pretty, but it's real. These niggaz is bugging, ‘cause they ain’t got no direction. They need someone to step in and lead them. Shai, when this is done, nobody's gonna be mad at you for walking away.”
“As much as we all hate to admit it, Shai has to put this back right.” Angelo sighed. “As long as I get to kill me a few mutha fuckas, I don’t care.”
“There's just so much going on, man,” Shai huffed. “All this killing and shit, what are we doing? I don’t know shit about running something like this and if I don’t move right, I’m gonna fuck it up. I ask the most high time and again, why me?”
“Why not you?” Sol said, strolling in casually. “Shai, even though it's a wicked business, it was your father's legacy. Poppa made it safe for kids to play and old folks like us to come and go safely. Don’t let these fucking animals undo that.”
Shai nodded in understanding. It was his father's legacy. Poppa hustled, but he made sure the hoods he hustled in were kept correct. The way things were going wasn’t right. The sheep wandered unattended by their wounded shepherd. The reckless murdering that had been going on the last few days was not how his father would’ve wanted it.
“Swan,” Shai whispered, “speak to our people. We’ll settle this thing once and for all. Quietly, if possible. If not, we fight.”
“That's what I’m talking about.” Swan smiled. “Whatever you need from me, dawg.”
“All I need from you is strength and wisdom, old friend.” Shai patted him on the back. “Scotty”-—he turned to the lawyer—”1 need you to arrange a visit with Tommy for me.”
“That can be arranged.” Scotty nodded. “He's still in the ICU, but you’re his brother. They shouldn’t have a problem letting you see him.”
“Make it so,” Shai said.
When Shai left his father's office, he had a lot on his mind. There were armed soldiers posted all throughout the house, as well as the surrounding grounds. Everyone wore a grim mask. The odds against the Clarks were formidable, but not insurmountable. He knew that ending the war and putting things in order wasn’t going to be an easy task, but it was his duty to do so. As he rounded the hall corner he bumped into a teary-eyed Hope.
“What's good, sis?” Shai asked, wondering what had happened to her.
“You’re with them now?” she whispered.
“Who?”
“You know, Shai. I heard you guys talking.”
“Be easy.” He patted her cheek. “Nothing has changed. I got you, sis. Things are crazy now. Tommy's in no condition to do much about it, so I’m just helping the guys hold it together. Once things die down, this shit is getting handed over to someone more qualified. I ain’t no gangsta, Hope.”
“You don’t even see it,” she sobbed. “They’re gonna change you, Shai. You’re gonna end up like them.”
“No, I won’t,” he protested. “This was Poppa and Tommy's life, not mine.”
“My friends don’t even wanna hang with me anymore. They say that you’re the new king and it's too dangerous to be around me.”
“Baby girl, don’t believe everything you hear. Listen, as soon as this shit is over with, we’re out. Wherever you wanna go. I was even thinking about going to Europe for a while. Maybe the summer?”
“Shai”—she wiped her eyes—”promise me you won’t become one of them.”
“You got that.” He smiled. “Now go get dressed. We’re going to see Tommy tonight.”
Hope's mood seemed to brighten a bit. Shai sighed and continued walking through the house. The next few steps would have to be executed precisely. Shai was gambling for the lives of all his people and their families. He glanced out the window and saw that storm clouds were forming in the distance.
“Fitting,” he whispered. There was a storm brewing indeed. Shai just had to make sure he and his were the only ones holding umbrellas.
Micco and his daughter's mother, Rosa, were just coming out of the theater on 44th and Broadway. They had been to see a play and had an expensive dinner in downtown Manhattan. Since they had started making more money with Bone and the Italians, Micco had made it a point to treat himself to the finer things in life.
He headed east on a lightly populated block, touching and kissing Rosa. Micco found a dark corner and ushered her into the shadows. He licked and played with her breast tenderly, as he thought how good life was. Rosa's eyes rolled back in ecstasy as her man grazed her spots. When she opened them, she saw they were not alone. Two Asians dressed in dark suits stood there looking at them. Micco, feeling Rosa's body stiffen, looked over his shoulder to see what was going on.
Kinnada Ichiro pirouetted toward the couple and produced a small dagger from a fold in her business skirt. With a swipe of her petite arm, she lopped off one of Micco's ears. Rosa tried to scream and Kinnada plunged the blade into her mouth and out the back of her head.
“Rosa!” Micco screamed, pulling out his Glock. He tried to aim it at Kinnada and Gabriel Ichiro made his move. He pulled out a hook-like object that was attached to a chain. He whipped the weapon hook first and it latched on to Micco's arm.
With a yank he pulled it from the young Mexican's body. Kinnada removed her blade from Rosa's throat and used it to saw off Micco's head.
CHAPTER 31
LEGS WALKED DOWN THE prison corridor in step with eleven other men. Inmates lingering in the hall or near their cells tried to shoot intimidating looks at the newcomers. Everyone knew that these men were bound for PC—protective custody. This was where they sent the men who were courageous enough to do the crime, but didn’t have the stomach to be housed with the other inmates.
When they had first brought Legs over, he immediately started a fight with another inmate. He told the guards that he was in fear for his life because of it. They immediately shipped him from general population to PC.
Amine laid on his bunk reading a magazine. He had done a lot of reading just to pass the time and keep himself from going crazy. The feds were supposed to have him moved until the trial, but he was still stewing on the Island. He glanced up from his magazine and thought that he had seen a ghost. “Legs?” he whispered.
“Amine?” Legs smiled, approaching the cell door. “Fuck is you doing in here?”
“I was gonna ask you the same thing, man. I thought you got low.”
“I did, till a mutha fucka turned me in,” Legs said angrily. “These niggaz was gonna fry me for that Heath shit, so I did what I had to do. Ya know?”
“You cut a deal?” Amine asked.
“I had to, yo. I know you think I’m a sucker,” Legs fronted. “But I got a seed on the way. I need to be there for him or her.”
“I can dig it.” Amine nodded. “Between us, I cut one too. I didn’t wanna do it, ‘cause that ain’t gangsta, but it was me or him.”
“So you’re the one that got Tommy knocked?” Legs asked, trying to hide his rage.
“They got him?” Amine asked. “Damn, I feel a little better now. Not that I wanted them to knock T, but I got a life too.”
