The Streets Have No King

by JaQuavis Coleman

  “Nephew … Nephew,” Basil whispered harshly, hoping that Nephew would respond. But it was too late. Nephew was long gone. Basil didn’t know what to do. His instincts kicked in and he went straight for the Buddha statue. He began to stuff all of the drugs into his pockets that Nephew had stashed there. He then rushed to the back of the apartment and went for Nephew’s shoebox that he kept all of his money in. There was a little over thirty thousand dollars in cash in it. He scooped that into his pockets and headed out the door. He couldn’t believe what had just happened to Nephew. Basil’s world was turned upside down. It seemed like he had grown up in one week’s time. He had just gone through events that would change his life forever.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Never be Queen for a Day.

  —FRENCHIE

  Cops knocked on Frenchie’s door at nine the next morning. She was already up, watching the news as the reporters talked about the homicide that had occurred in her apartment complex just a day before. She shook her head in disgust. She had been copping crack from Nephew for years and felt bad for how this had gone down. She closed her robe and went to the door to see who was banging so loudly.

  “Who the fuck is banging like the mu’fuckin police?” she asked as she snatched the door open with a heavy attitude. To her surprise, it was the police. Two middle-aged white men in suits and with badges hanging from their necks. Both of them had potbellies and buzz cuts.

  “Hello, ma’am. We are with the Flint Police Department. I’m Detective Green and this is my partner, Detective Wilson. We need to speak with your son about a homicide that happened yesterday,” the taller officer said.

  “Homicide? My baby doesn’t know anything about no homicide,” Frenchie snapped as she rolled her eyes at the officer.

  “Listen, we just want to talk to him. That’s all,” the shorter officer added.

  “Fuck that. Y’all don’t need to talk to my baby about shit. He doesn’t have any kick-it for neither of you,” Frenchie said confidently as she began to close the door. Just before the door closed, one of the officers put his foot inside, stopping it.

  “Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I only need thirty minutes to get a warrant to come in and get him. He is not in any trouble, we just want to ask him some questions. We know he used to be Nephew’s runner. Just a few questions, that’s all.”

  Frenchie thought about putting up a fight, but then she thought about the drug pipes and things she had around the house. She didn’t want Child Protective Services to get involved, so she opened the door while rolling her eyes.

  “Five minutes!” she spat as she stepped to the side.

  “Five minutes. That’s all we need, ma’am,” the shorter officer said. The two walked past her and went to sit on her couch.

  “Uh uh. Don’t sit on my couch. You won’t be here long enough to get comfortable,” she said, stopping the officers in mid-squat. “Basil! Get in here!” Frenchie yelled back into the apartment. Seconds later, Basil emerged.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Basil said as he stepped into the living room, surprised to see the two unfamiliar white men.

  “These two men said they need to ask you some questions,” Frenchie said.

  “Hello, Basil. I’m Officer Green and this is my partner. We need to ask you about Nephew,” one of the men said as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small notebook. Basil remained quiet as he stood before the two officers.

  “When is the last time you saw Nephew?” the other officer asked. Basil simply shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t know … a couple days ago, maybe,” Basil said without emotion.

  “We were told you were seen coming out of his apartment yesterday,” the man added.

  “Nah, wasn’t me. I don’t know what the fuck y’all talking about,” Basil said, not caring if he cursed at the police.

  “Are you sure about that?” the other officer asked.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Basil said as he crossed his arms.

  “So you weren’t at his apartment yesterday?”

  “Nope,” Basil responded.

  “Listen, you can tell us if you saw something. We are here to help you, not hurt you,” one of the officers said as he kneeled down to get eye level with Basil.

  “Like I said, I didn’t see anything. Nephew was my big homie. He used to give me lunch money, so I went over sometimes. I don’t have anything else to tell you,” Basil said as he looked over at his mother, who wore a slight grin. “Can I go to my room, Ma?” Basil asked.

  “You sure can, baby. Officers, your five minutes is up,” Frenchie said as she limped over to her door and opened it. She stepped to the side to let them have a straight path out of her apartment. The officers headed out, obviously mad.

  “We will be in contact,” Green said as he went past Frenchie. Before he could say anything else, Frenchie had slammed the door behind them. Where she and Basil were from, they hated the cops and it wasn’t a secret. Basil faded back into his room and took a deep breath. He knew that he couldn’t talk to the cops. Even though Nephew was his man … he couldn’t break the rules. Frenchie walked over to her son, looking him directly in the eye. She was trembling, but she had hidden it well in front of the police. It was as if she was releasing the anxiety now that they had left, and felt her true emotions coursing throughout her body; she was petrified. Any cooperation with the police was a no-go; there was a big disconnect between the people of the projects and law enforcement. The mere presence of the police sent chills throughout the toughest gangsters, but Frenchie couldn’t be prouder of her young son for standing up like a true man. She laid her head on his small chest and hugged him tightly as she rocked back and forth.

  “You did good, baby. Never be Queen for a Day,” she said. The term was used for a snitch, and Basil had just shown he knew her meaning well.

  In the following weeks, Kane was in the news, the local papers, and the talk of the town. He was being indicted for conducting a criminal enterprise, racketeering, and money laundering. The media were in a frenzy. Half were describing Kane as a drug kingpin who thumbed his nose at the law, and the other half called him a pillar of the community and an esteemed businessman. His local grocery stores helped him with his front. However, the streets knew the truth. Kane had consistently flooded Flint with cocaine for years.

  The black market took a big hit when Kane was going through the trial. No one had any product. Dog was gone, Nephew was gone, and Kane was under the watchful eyes of the law. However, Basil slow-rolled the coke he’d found in Nephew’s apartment and became the go-to guy. He was coming into his own and eventually would take over the Regency projects. The coke he found in Nephew’s apartment lasted him all summer and he eventually found another connection by the name of Boone, on the north end of town. In three months’ time, Basil became a full-fledged hustler. He was the youngest in charge of the market and was gaining respect.

  While Basil was emerging, Kane was fighting his case in court and eventually beat everything except the money laundering charge, which resulted in a tax evasion charge. The money he had acquired did not add up to his bank account, so he had to pay. Seven years, to be exact.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Seven Years Later

  The anticipation built as bystanders and spectators awaited the arrival of Kane Garrett, the newest professor at Michigan State University. Three black SUVs pulled in front of the lecture hall, and cameras flashed and news reporters gathered around the trucks trying to get pictures of the former drug kingpin who had beat the system. Everyone in the state knew what Kane had done, but no prosecutors could nail him. All of the charges, of conducting a drug enterprise, conspiracy, and money laundering, never stuck to Kane and the prosecution had to settle for a tax evasion charge. Kane owned half of the property in Flint and a small mistake was made in filing his taxes. That was the only reason he stepped foot in prison seven years earlier. However, this only added to his legend and made him more polarizing and in
famous. Instead of shunning him, the community embraced him even more and his legend grew each day he was gone away. Local politicians and even news stations stood behind him and called for his release, stating that he was a pillar of the community and not a criminal. While he was out, Kane spread money throughout the city freely and was a fair businessman. These good deeds came back and helped him when he needed it the most. This forty-five-year-old king had the city on his back.

  Kane stepped out of the truck and as soon as his black wingtip gators hit the pavement the chatter among the crowd became complete mayhem. Reporters gaveled at the tall, dark man with a million-dollar smile. His bald head shone in the light, and his stride was graceful and confident. His crew quickly formed around him as they made their way through the crowd and toward the entrance of the hall. Microphones were everywhere and pointed at Kane as he smiled and seemed unbothered. Most reporters were asking him how an ex-con had landed a professor’s job at one of the highest-paying universities in the country. It didn’t hurt that the dean of the college was a former Flint politician and childhood friend of Kane. Speculation was running rampant. However, no one could contest that Kane was a master of business, or that he had a PhD. He was fully capable and qualified for the job. As he maneuvered through the crowd, it began to part like the Red Sea. As he made his way up the steps, Kane saw a familiar face posted against the wall. He made eye contact with the young man and then quickly focused back on the reporters hounding him.

  Basil, wearing a black hoodie, leaned against the building and watched all of the chaos. He chuckled to himself, looking at the circus that was the first day of his senior year in college. He was studying business, and just by chance, he was going to be in the class of the man he had heard so much about his whole life. Basil felt nervous because all of the police were around for crowd control. What made him so uptight was the fact that he had sixty thousand dollars in his book bag from a sell he had made about thirty minutes earlier. He didn’t have time to drop the money off at his spot, so he had to bring it with him. He didn’t trust leaving it in his car so he had to do what made sense. Basil slipped through the side door, avoiding all of the ruckus, so that he could attend class. Little did he know, he would get much more than business lectures. He was about to receive the game and the rules that came with it.

  * * *

  No cameras, phones, or journalists were allowed in the lecture hall, so it was an intimate setting as Kane Garrett stood before ninety-five students front and center. The doors were locked and black construction paper covered the glass openings, so that no one could peek in. Kane requested this, so there would be no distractions and his lessons could be as impactful as possible. Kane looked at all of the young faces while smiling. His right-hand man, Fat Rat, stood by the door as if he was standing guard. The students were nervous and excited at the same time. They had never taken a class anything like what they were experiencing now.

  Basil sat in the last row with his hoodie on as usual, trying to keep a low profile as he always did. He had managed to juggle a street hustle during three years of college and maintain a 3.0. Not bad for a fatherless black kid out of Flint. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and immediately grabbed it. He looked down and saw a message from Lil Noah. It simply read, “Half-Time.” Basil smiled and put away his phone, knowing he had a sale for a halfbrick waiting for him. “Half-time” was street lingo for a half kilo and Basil was the plug. He focused back on Kane and paid close attention. Basil was particularly interested because Kane was from his neighborhood and was everything Basil wanted to be.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Now, the million-dollar question is … who has my money?

  —KANE GARRETT

  The entire Regency projects were live. That particular day was a great day for the neighborhood. It was a hot summer day, and the smell of charcoal and barbecue filled the air as music from loudspeakers resonated throughout the entire projects. A local band played on a stage set dead in the middle of the projects. It was a block party like no other. The projects stood still for a couple hours to celebrate. It was the homecoming of Kane Garrett and everyone was waiting for him in anticipation. The street executive was finally coming home.

  In his prime, Kane made sure everyone ate and spread the wealth when he was in the drug game. Although he moved drugs throughout the projects, he gave back to the community. His businesses provided jobs and his humility made him approachable. In the land of no hope, he gave it. Within that small community he was king and everyone was elated to have him back. When Kane was out, the Regency projects got money and there wasn’t another place in Flint that did numbers like their hood.

  Basil played the cut and sat on the stoop with Lil Noah, watching the festivities from afar. He wasn’t in the mix but he was close enough to see what was happening. He watched as three tinted black SUVs pulled up. Out came Kane Garrett and his entourage. Instantly, the roar of the crowd was colossal. Kane stepped out, dressed casual in slacks and a fitted polo shirt. A presidential Rolex was his only piece of jewelry. However, that one piece spoke volumes.

  He began shaking hands and kissing babies as if he were a politician. All eyes were on him. People didn’t pay attention to who stepped out of the second truck, but Basil did. A beautiful fair-skinned young lady stepped out. She looked exotic with her neatly twisted dreads and cat eyes. She had her locks pulled back into a ponytail and big bamboo earrings on. She was accompanied by two other girls but Basil could focus only on her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had a slim frame, but her ass was plump as if there were two melons inside the back of her sundress. With every stride, her plumpness peeked through the thin sundress material. Her extremely full lips and cat-shaped eyes gave her the look of an Egyptian goddess. Basil stared in admiration as she followed closely behind Kane as he maneuvered through the crowd. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as his crew made their way. They all walked over to a nearby picnic table and soon Kane’s goons surrounded them and stood as if they were guarding the pope. Kane moved like a boss and there was no denying it.

  “Yo, who is that?” Basil said, his eyes focused on the mystery woman.

  “Yo, that Kane’s daughter, Moriah. I went to high school with her. That bitch got picked up and dropped off at school in limos. Every fucking day, my nigga … every day,” Lil Noah said as he rubbed his hands together and looked in Moriah’s direction.

  “Word?” Basil asked in a low tone.

  “Straight up,” Lil Noah said as he nodded his head in confirmation. He continued, “She ain’t giving up that pussy either. She used to chop niggas instantly when they tried to get with her. She wasn’t giving up no play. The bitch stuck up if you ask me.” Basil just nodded his head while listening. He had tuned Lil Noah out already. He was locked in on Moriah and her unique look. Her natural look was so pleasing to him. The Afrocentric aura, along with her olive skin, was mesmerizing.

  * * *

  Kane sat back and felt the energy of his people. He bobbed his head to the music, enjoying himself. He looked over at his only child, his baby girl, Moriah. She was only twelve when he went to jail and it seemed like yesterday that she had pigtails. However, now she was a full-grown woman and had begun to look like her mother more and more each day. Kane looked over the crowd and then to his right-hand man, Fat Rat. He was a stone-cold killer, nothing more, nothing less. He had been running with Kane since they were teenagers. His only job was to watch Kane’s back and he did that with precision and loyalty. He faded off the scene during Kane’s imprisonment, but had returned to form the exact day Kane was released. Kane leaned over and whispered to one of his henchmen, telling him to keep an eye on his daughter. He signaled for Fat Rat to follow him and he slipped into one of the units. They faded into the building and stepped inside apartment 101. It was Kane’s apartment, which he’d had for over twenty years. He held all of his meetings there. The spacious, empty studio-style apartment had hardwood floors and a certain coldness to it. He never kep
t any money or drugs in there, just a big round table and chairs. It was a special hideout where he always held court. He and Fat Rat stepped in the room, which had five gentlemen in it. They all waited patiently at the table to get back to business. All of them were old heads who controlled the drug flow throughout the city, one guy for each side of the city, and they all were Kane’s guys. He supplied them for years and when he went to jail, their business suffered. Kane never gave away his connect so the flow stopped when he stopped.

  “Good evening, fellas. Good to see everyone,” Kane said as Fat Rat took a position next to the door and leaned against the wall. Kane slowly circled the table and placed his hand on a gentlemen’s shoulder and smiled.

  “Good to see you, Stevie D,” Kane said to the smooth high-yellow man with a Dob hat. A red feather stuck out from the hat, which and was slightly tilted to the side, and a toothpick dangled from the right side of the man’s mouth.

  “Welcome home, Kane,” Stevie said as he gave him a handshake and a smile. Kane smiled and nodded as he made his way around the table. He exchanged nods with everyone else at the table and got right down to business.

  “Let’s be clear. I am officially out of the game for good. But before I went in, I hit each one of you with fifty bricks consignment,” Kane said as he continued to slowly circle the table. He held his hands behind his back and spoke calmly while addressing his old workers. “Just because I went away for a bit, that doesn’t mean that that debt isn’t owed to me. Everyone thought I was going to be gone for life. Everyone counted me out. People forgot about me. No one wrote me, checked on my daughter, or came to visit. No one except Stevie D,” Kane said as he shot a quick look at Stevie.