The Streets Have No King

by JaQuavis Coleman

  “Man, anything to get away from these snooty mu’fuckas,” Basil admitted. They shared a laugh and snuck out unnoticed. A few minutes later they were sitting in Mecca’s Lamborghini sharing a joint. Mecca was parked on the side of the street, directly across from the venue. They watched the scenario as they shared the ganja. After the third joint and several mini-conversations, they had grown a rapport. Basil, not being a heavy smoker, was feeling higher than he ever had been.

  “So, you Uncle Kane’s soldier, huh?” Mecca said just before he took a deep pull on the joint. He held the smoke in his chest as he looked over at Basil and passed the joint. Basil unloosened his bow tie and grabbed the joint and took a puff. The snore-fest that was the mayor’s ball called for a brief escape. Everyone there was twice his age, all except Mecca.

  “Yeah, something like that. He’s the big homie for sure,” Basil said as he blew out a stream of smoke. The sun beamed down and the car was ice cold, as the strong air conditioner made it seem like a deep freezer. It was like heaven compared to the hot, muggy Miami weather.

  “Unc always dolo. Well, excluding Fat Rat. But I never see that nigga with any young niggas. It was a surprise when he came down here with you. That nigga does not trust anyone. He just like my pops. I think that’s why they get along so good,” Mecca said as he placed the joint in between his lips and let it dangle freely. He reached around his head and yanked then popped the tight rubber band that pulled his hair in a ponytail. Instantly his long silky hair fell and he shook it so that it spread wildly onto his shoulders. Mecca had an abundance of tattoos on his neck and hands, and Basil examined them carefully. Mecca had an explosive personality and his demeanor was that of power and recklessness. Basil didn’t know why, but he liked Mecca. Mecca was just a wild young boss that did it his way; a rebel, perhaps.

  Mecca couldn’t help it. He was what he was and no tuxedo could mask it. His wild look fit his personality perfectly. He reached down to his radio and the sound of Rick Ross slowly began to pump out of the bass-heavy speakers.

  “I heard what you did to Dog,” Mecca said with a smirk on his face. Basil was taken aback by his comment. He just mentioned the murder nonchalantly and Basil didn’t know what to say. Mecca noticed Basil’s reluctantance to respond. He playfully tapped Basil’s chest and continued the conversation.

  “Don’t worry about that. I didn’t like that nigga anyway. He was grimy and the only reason we let him eat round here is because Unc sent him down,” Mecca assured him.

  Basil remained silent and nodded his head, not wanting to incriminate himself in front of this guy he barely knew.

  “Yo, is it always this hot? Damn,” Basil said, changing the subject, as he looked at the thermostat on Mecca’s dashboard, which read ninety-eight degrees.

  “Every day, B. Every day,” Mecca said proudly as he watched as a group of girls walked past. They wore small pieces of clothing that left nothing to the imagination. Their plump ass cheeks hung out of the bathing attire and their long hair blew in the wind. Mecca couldn’t help himself. He rolled down his window and propped himself on its ledge so half of his body stuck outside of the luxury car.

  “Yo, can I talk to y’all for a second?” Mecca yelled out. The girls looked back and were impressed by the spaceship-looking car. The sparkle in their eyes convinced Mecca that he would be bending one of them over doggy-style later that night. Basil sat in the car and watched as the girls came over to the car and talked to Mecca, giggling frequently as Mecca laid down his game.

  In the meantime, Basil watched as two Haitian men approached the venue and something peculiar caught his eye. Both of the men wore trench coats in the dead middle of a scorching hot day. Their long dreads and sunglasses were as dark as their skin. They had tuxedos on and headed directly into the venue. Basil gripped his pistol and pulled it from his waist, and a million thoughts began to run through his mind.

  Am I bugging? he asked himself as he contemplated if he should move on his notion. Something just didn’t set right with him on what he saw. His whole future was based on a few people that were in that building. He knew he couldn’t gamble with that. Basil stepped out of the car with his gun in hand.

  “Ayo, where you going, fam? Bro, you high … chill,” Mecca said as he looked at Basil creep across the street with his gun in his hand. Mecca quickly shooed away the girls and hopped out of the car, but not before grabbing his gun from under his seat. He caught up to Basil and trailed him as he smiled. Mecca loved the drama and his trigger finger began to itch. He lived for days like this, and he didn’t know what was happening but he was all in. They crept into the front entrance, right behind the two Haitians.

  * * *

  Kane, Carter, and the mayor of Miami smoked cigars while on the balcony that overlooked the beach. The faint sound of jazz came from the ballroom behind them. The glass doors were shut tightly and provided enough privacy for them to openly discuss business.

  “So, the next shipment will be in next Thursday. Are we covered?” Carter Diamond said, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a thick Cuban cigar.

  “Absolutely, the coast will be clear and I have workers in place that will make sure your load gets on soil without any problem. Also a police escort will provide grand transportation to your drop-off spot,” an elderly, deeply tanned white man said with a pearly white smile.

  “Music to my ears,” Kane replied as he reached into his inner jacket and pulled out a check. “By the way, here is a small donation to your wonderful charity,” he added sarcastically. The mayor grabbed the check and nodded in amusement.

  “Mr. Garrett, this is amazing. On behalf of my entire organization, we thank you,” he said just before he winked at Kane. Carter followed up by reaching into his pocket and also donating a check to the charity. The mayor smiled and accepted it gladly as well. All of the men raised their cigars in a victory for all parties involved. Carter and Kane had just solidified the passage of a few tons of pure cocaine into the States. This was drug dealing at its highest level. The business that just got handled by a handshake on the balcony of a Miami hotel would trickle down and reach the grimiest places of the ghetto within a few weeks. That’s what you called distribution at its finest. As Kane opened his mouth to speak about trying to establish a pipeline with some of the mayor’s political friends in the Midwest, the double doors swung open and a slim chocolate-skinned waitress with an innocent face came through carrying a tray with three champagne flutes. She was a beautiful young lady who didn’t look a day older than twenty. She avoided eye contact with them, which made her shyness more noticeable and her look adorable to the seasoned businessmen.

  “Why, thank you, beautiful,” Carter said with charm as he grabbed one of the flutes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a diamond-encrusted money clip. He swiftly slid one of the hundred-dollar bills from his bankroll and placed it on the young lady’s tray. The other two men followed suit, and the young lady bowed in respect and turned around to head back to the ballroom.

  “I would like to make a toast,” the mayor said as he raised his glass. Just as Kane and Carter raised their glasses, commotion erupted on the main floor and sounds of frightened screams erupted, sending the guests into a frenzy.

  * * *

  Basil peeked into the supply room and saw five women and four males tied up. It was a mix of waiters, security, and chefs. All of their mouths were duct-taped as well as their feet. They sat in a huddle as they cried and forced muffled moans. They were being held hostage for one reason: so that the Haitian mafia could take over their jobs to kill Carter Diamond. All of this had been done under the nose of the mayor. A well-orchestrated ambush was approaching. Basil couldn’t believe his eyes as he crept toward the hostages with his gun up while placing his finger on his lip, signaling them to be quiet. Mecca was close behind with his gun also drawn. Basil whispered to them, “I will get you guys untied. Just be quiet and patient,” as he closed the door, leaving them in the dark room once again.
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  Minutes before, Basil had trailed the Haitians to the kitchen and that’s how he stumbled onto the staff. He knew that his intuition was right and now he had to stay calm and figure out how to get Kane out of the sticky situation. Basil and Mecca crept toward the main kitchen area and saw a group of men huddled and talking to one another. They all wore staff attire; most of them had dreadlocks and deeply dark skin, which are strong Haitian features. Basil heard someone coming so he ducked behind a tall food cart and remained quiet, and Mecca put his back against the wall, just around the corner of the kitchen.

  Basil looked at Mecca and he was surprised because Mecca was smiling. It was as if he were a young boy in a candy shop. Mecca’s trigger finger began to itch and he held his gun up, ready to pop off. Basil looked at him and thought, This nigga is crazy for real. Basil quickly shook off the thought and got ready to pop off himself. He nodded his head, signaling Mecca that it was go time. They swung around the corner in unison with their guns drawn and pointed at the Haitian men. They quickly approached the three men and relieved them of their guns, which were tucked inside their aprons.

  “Look like we fucked up y’all plans, huh,” Mecca said mockingly. Mecca pressed his gun aggressively to one man’s forehead and looked at him intensely. Deep inside Mecca hoped that he would make a move so that he could blow his brains all over the kitchen’s walls. The Haitian men put their hands up, surprised by their plan being detoured. They’d been moments away from airing out the whole building. The automatic assault rifles that were lying on the counter, wrapped in their overcoats, had beenabout to be put to use. The Haitian men traded words with one another in French.

  “Yo, cut that shit out. How many of y’all in there?” Basil asked as he dug the barrel of his gun into one of the men’s neck. The man looked at Basil and continued to speak in French.

  “Speak English, mu’fucka!” Basil demanded. Mecca couldn’t take it anymore and he pulled the trigger, sending a hollow-point bullet through one of the dread-heads’ skull. Blood and brain matter splattered over his comrades’ faces and panic filled the air. Mecca, on the other hand, was laughing uncontrollably as he got a rise out of seeing the man’s body drop and fear fill his team. The sound of chaos came from the main ballroom. Mecca’s face and white tuxedo were covered with blood. He grabbed one of the other Haitian hitmen around the neck and made it a tandem, sending another shot through his head. Boom! Even Basil was surprised by his brazen actions. Mecca was a diabolical gangster and he lived for moments and situations like the one that was occurring. It was right up his alley. Mecca grabbed the third Haitian by the back of the neck and squeezed with all of his might. The man’s veins were forming in his head and neck as he remained silent. He breathed heavily and his jaws were clenched tightly. His two cousins had just been murdered right in front of him and his hatred for the Cartel grew even more.

  “How many more of you?” Mecca asked as he pressed his forehead directly against the man’s and smiled demonically. He dragged his gun slowly down the side of the Haitian’s face as he played an evil mental game with the man. The sound of pandemonium from the frantic patrons was wafting in from the other room. However, Mecca acted as if it were only him and the Haitian left on the entire earth; he was locked in. It was an extreme rush for him and his adrenaline pumped, giving him a high that he chased daily. “I can’t hear you, homeboy,” Mecca said through his clenched teeth. Basil watched in shock, Mecca face-to-face with the man as if they were friends of twenty years, Mecca’s exchange with him intimate … demonic almost. The man held on to his silence, and Mecca saw that he was stubborn and he wasn’t going to get anything out of him. Mecca grew impatient and struck the man with the butt of his gun, causing him to crash to the floor. The man pressed his hand to the bloody gash on his forehead. Blood seeped through the Haitian’s fingers as he moaned in agony and rocked back and forth. Mecca quickly snatched him up by his collar and directed him into the ballroom. Mecca dug his gun into the Haitian’s back and guided him through the sea of frenzied people. The guests were looking confused and distraught, trying to figure out what was going on. A few people fled past Mecca and ran toward the exit. Basil followed close behind Mecca with his gun drawn. They both noticed a female exiting the balcony where Kane, Carter, and the mayor stood. Mecca immediately noted her Haitian facial features. Her smooth chocolate skin and high cheekbones were a dead giveaway.

  “Grab that bitch,” Mecca whispered to Basil as they approached her. Basil quickly grabbed her by her shirt collar, causing her to drop her tray and scream in terror. He pushed her back onto the balcony.

  “What the hell is going on!” Carter Diamond said, thinking his son had done something reckless as usual.

  “Tell him! Tell him who you are!” Mecca yelled as blood trickled down his own face from the men he had just murdered.

  “What’s going on, Carter? This is outrageous,” the mayor said as his face turned plum red. Carter instantly began to understand what was going on and quickly went into action.

  “Mr. Mayor, I think it’s time for you to leave. I’ll be in touch,” he said as he patted his back. Kane, on key, stepped to the side, giving the mayor a path to exit. The mayor hurried out and the other members of the Cartel who were scattered throughout the room headed out to the balcony. Carter knew that he had to do what he was going to do quickly before the cops came, so he got straight down to business.

  “Who sent you? Matee?” Carter asked calmly as he walked up to the Haitian man. Carter got no response, so he tilted his head and got closer. “Come on. You can tell me,” Carter said as he playfully smacked the man’s cheek twice. “Come on. Who sent you?” The Haitian man still didn’t respond, so Carter wasted no time. “Yo, you strapped, Kane?” he asked while keeping his eyes focused on the Haitian.

  “It’s close by,” Kane responded casually with a grin on his face. Kane then ran his hand down his goatee, and stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled speedily. He promptly shot a look at Fat Rat. Fat Rat expeditiously pulled a gun from the inside of his blazer, cocked it, and handed it to Kane. Carter held his hand out and wiggled his fingers, waiting to feel the cold steel in the palm of his hands. Kane placed the gun in Carter’s hand and in one swift motion, Carter put the gun to the Haitian’s head and pulled the trigger. Boom! Brain matter splashed everywhere and the smell of blood was overpowering. The members of the Cartel jumped at the gunshot and watched as the Haitian’s limp body dropped to Carter’s feet. Kane was the only one that didn’t flinch. It was as if they had done that little routine a million times before. It was business as usual.

  As the man bled at his feet, he quickly focused his attention on the waitress, who was crying her eyes out. Her hands trembled as she tried to cover her mouth, attempting to muffle her cries.

  “You know him, sweetheart?” Kane asked.

  “Oh my God. No … no, I don’t know him,” she said as she continued to cry uncontrollably as she stared at the dead body on the ground. The Haitian’s head was half blown off and the gruesome sight was almost too much to bear.

  “It’s okay … it’s okay,” Carter said comfortingly, as he stepped to her and kissed her forehead. “Everything is going to be all right. I promise.” Carter cupped her face and looked at her with his perfect smile. She nodded her head, and believed that he was not posing any threat to her.

  “Have a drink to calm yourself,” Kane said as he grabbed the drink that she had delivered them just a few minutes before.

  “I don’t drink,” she said as she wiped the tears away.

  “Go ahead, drink it,” Carter said as he looked over to his man Kane, who was now holding the drink to her quivering lips. She shook her head no and quickly turned her head away from the glass.

  “Drink it!” Kane said in a harsh tone, making the young girl flinch at the sound of his loud voice.

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to drink it because it’s poisoned,” Carter suggested. He swiftly raised the gun in his hand and pressed the barrel to
her forehead without hesitation.

  “Drink it,” he demanded without emotion. The girl held her lips tightly, not wanting a drop of the champagne to get in her system. The tears began to flow down her face even more and it was evident who had sent her. Carter leaned over and again kissed her on the forehead. He then stepped back and put a bullet through her chest without hesitation, sending her body flying back like a ragdoll.

  “Let’s move out,” Carter said as he stepped over her body and out of the door. Basil watched in amazement as he saw a totally new world … a totally new power. He was now forever connected to the infamous Cartel.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Welcome to the Cartel.

  —MECCA DIAMOND

  The sound of the announcer pumped out of the speakers. The entire Cartel was in the VIP suite at the Miami Heat arena. They were all in attendance to watch the Heat play the Pistons. The extra-large suite was reserved for the most prestigious guests and Carter had season tickets for him and his entire team. The liquor was flowing and beautiful waitresses tended to the small group. Basil stood at the glass looking down at the court as he watched the crowd erupt at the sight of D. Wade’s spectacular slam dunk.

  “What’s good, fam?” Mecca said as he approached Basil. He had two girls, one on each arm, and they both were stunning. One was ebony-colored with long legs and an ass like a horse’s. She had a small waist but her curves were voluptuous and almost surreal. The other girl was a Caucasian redhead who had big perky breasts that seemed as if they were seconds away from bursting out of her small black dress.

  “What up, fam?” Basil replied as he slapped hands with and embraced Mecca. Mecca then threw both of his arms around each girl’s shoulder.

  “I want you to meet Ginger and Kim. Pops sent them over,” Mecca said smoothly as he looked over at the bar, where his father was standing holding a beer. Carter and Kane were both smiling as they watched Basil going through his initiation. Carter raised his glass and saluted Basil. Basil smiled and shook his head at the sentiment, then raised his glass as he thanked him nonverbally. The girls, almost on cue, left Mecca and instantly stood by Basil, one on each arm.