by K'wan
For the rest of the day, Ghost replayed the conversation he’d had with his father over and over again. The old man was in bad shape, more rattled than Ghost had ever seen him. Chance was usually so confident, adept at talking or buying his way out of any situation. But this time the feds had him by the balls. Ghost knew this when his father tasked him with the job of getting rid of Paul Schulman. Knocking Paul and a few key associates out would likely make the conspiracy go away, and from there they could work on the murder beef. It would be one less thing hanging over his head. This was the only time Chance had ever asked Ghost to kill. And this is how Ghost fully comprehended how desperate his father truly was.
Because of everything going on, Ghost had a good amount of heat on him too, but he would not deny his father’s request.
“You don’t have to be here,” Monster said. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Nah, I gotta do this,” Ghost told him. “Dad was specific that it had to be me.”
They rode through Williamsburg in a stolen Cutlass, dressed in all black. “I’ll take care of this shit for you. I don’t even know why Uncle Chance didn’t just come to me. You guys know that I’ve always been willing to do anything for this family, including push a nigga’s wig back.”
“I know, Monster. You’ve always been a good soldier.” Ghost thought of the territory he had planned to gift Monster. With everything going on, he hadn’t had a chance to tell him yet.
“That’s the thing,” Monster said. “I’ve been a good soldier for a little too long. I’ve seen guys come into the family after me, pass me by, and I’m still in the streets busting heads. Maybe it’s time that Uncle Chance opens the books and makes me a full member. I think I’m owed at least that.”
“Owed? Nigga, nobody owes you nothing. We all earn our way around here,” Ghost shot back, his mood instantly souring.
“And I ain’t been earning my way? How many suckas have I wasted for you, Ghost? While you sit in the big house getting fat, I’m in the streets putting the fear of God in these niggas. It hurts when I keep getting passed over. That’s all I’m saying.”
Ghost sighed. “Look, man, after I take care of this piece of business, we can have a long conversation about exactly what it is you’re owed. Until then, shut the fuck up, drive the car, and let me concentrate.”
Monster scowled before turning his attention back to the road. Paul had been MIA since Chance had gotten arrested, but they had received a tip that afternoon that he had a meeting scheduled with his uncle Benjamin at Morning Star Meats. This was their best and probably last chance to catch Paul before he went back underground. They were a few blocks from Morning Star when Monster pulled the car over in front of a bodega and killed the engine.
“We got shit to do, man,” Ghost said. “We ain’t got time for no snacks.” Sometimes it seemed like all Monster knew how to do was eat and hurt people.
“I’m out of smokes,” Monster said, balling up an empty pack of cigarettes and tossing it out the window. “I’ll only be a second. You need anything?”
“I need you to hurry the fuck up so I can put in this work and get back to the house and put my father’s affairs in order!”
Monster ignored him and got out of the car. He was really starting to work Ghost’s nerves. Maybe he shouldn’t bump him up after all. That might be letting a bull loose in a china shop. Still, he would have to do something to appease the big man or risk putting more distance between them. The way things were shaping up, he would need every able-bodied killer he knew at his disposal. If war was a possibility, he would be ready.
As Ghost reclined in the passenger seat, lost in his thoughts, he spotted a flicker of motion through one of the side mirrors. Someone was creeping up alongside the car. Swiftly, Ghost reached under the seat and retrieved his gun. Whoever was moving against him was about to be in for a rude awakening. Ghost waited until the man reached the passenger door, preparing to throw it open and spring. It was locked. He tried the release, but nothing happened. Someone had put the child locks on. A bullet shattered the window, hitting Ghost in his collar. When he turned to crawl into the driver’s seat, a second bullet hit him in the back. Fighting through the pain, Ghost managed to lower himself into the driver’s seat. He needed to get out of the car. When he went to put the vehicle in drive, he realized two things: Monster had taken the key, and there was more than one assailant.
The shooters pumped round after round into the car, tearing Ghost up. Although he couldn’t hear himself, he knew he was screaming because his mouth was open and his vocal cords strained in pain. The door finally opened and Ghost spilled out onto the curb. He grabbed the car door and tried to pull himself to his feet. Even the five or six bullets lodged in his body hadn’t taken all the fight out of him. Blood pooled in his eyes, making it hard to see, but he recognized Judah standing before him, holding a pistol. The other dude was Cheese.
“Talk that shit now, bitch-ass nigga!” Cheese shouted, striking Ghost in the side of the head with his gun.
Ghost lay on the pavement, bleeding out. His breathing was labored and he couldn’t feel his arms or legs. Cheese and Judah stood over him, and Ghost knew the end was near. He prayed for a miracle.
His prayer was answered when his eyes landed on Monster, who had exited bodega. He was tapping a pack of cigarettes on the back of his hand. “I might be dying,” Ghost croaked, “but I’ll have some company for the ride.” Yes, Monster would avenge him. Ghost waited for his cousin to waste the youngsters … but he didn’t. He just stood there, smoking his cigarette and watching his cousin bleed. “Monster?” Ghost groaned.
“I told you it was a mistake to not let me kill them,” Monster said, taking a long drag from his cigarette.
“Why?” Ghost rasped.
“You lost your way, Cousin,” Monster answered. “The reason your soldiers always loved you was because you were one of us. Somewhere along the line, though, you started to forget the people who put you in power. Treated us like we were lesser than you or not as smart as you. I guess we ain’t as dumb as you thought.”
“Traitor!” Ghost wheezed, spitting blood on Monster’s boot.
“Better a traitor than a savage,” Monster replied. “That kid you were pressing me to kill? I paid his mother off a week ago to disappear back to whatever third world country they came from. I fed you the information about the witness to see exactly how far out in the deep end you were. They may call me Monster, but it’s you who’s the real monster.” He paused, holding back a swell of anger. Ghost couldn’t tell if his cousin was crying or not. “Uncle Chance was right about it being time for a new king, but he was wrong about it being you. Somebody needs to sit on that throne who sees the bigger picture. Someone who will put the needs of this family above their own ego. I love this family, Ghost, which is why I have to be the one to save it. All for the family, right?”
“I’ll see you in hell,” Ghost said through gritted teeth.
“Maybe, but not no time soon.” Monster gave Judah and Cheese the nod to finish the job and stood back.
The youngsters emptied their clips into Ghost’s body. When the shells were spent, Cheese pulled out a knife and slit Ghost’s throat. A part of Monster felt bad about doing his cousin like this, but it didn’t seem as if there was any other way forward. Uncle Chance was about to ruin the monarchy by handing the crown to Ghost, so after careful consideration, Monster had thrown his support behind someone he felt was better equipped to run the monarchy. Someone who would recognize how valuable Monster could be to the family. He was tired of being a foot soldier. He needed a seat at the table. With that in mind, he pulled out his phone and made a call.
Maureen was tired—body and soul. She’d been on the phone with Chance’s lawyers all week, and when she wasn’t on the phone she was running all across town seeking help wherever she could get it. As expected, many had turned their backs on the king. In the game they played, you were only as good as what you could do for someone. At that mome
nt, Chance couldn’t do anything for anyone, not even for himself. Maureen’s family was falling apart and she felt powerless to do anything to stop it. Still, she had to press on.
As she made her way down the hall to her bedroom, she thought she heard a voice coming from Chance’s office. She placed her ear to the door and there was indeed someone inside her husband’s sanctum. She pushed the door open and found Chapman sitting behind Chance’s desk, talking on his cell phone. When he saw Maureen, he jumped like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“What are you doing in here?” Maureen asked.
“I’m sorry. I needed a phone number from Chance’s Rolodex,” Chapman said. “I’ve got an angle that I’m working to try and get his case in front of another judge. Maybe this one will cut us some slack on his bail.”
“I sure hope so. Well, you know Chance don’t like nobody in his private space.”
“I know and I’ll be going as soon as I’m done with this call.”
Maureen stood there for a moment longer, trying to read Chapman’s thoughts. She mumbled something under her breath before turning and leaving.
Chapman waited until he was sure that she was gone before continuing his call.
“The girl might present a problem, but not the son. The boy is a pussy and ain’t got it in him. Now is not a good time, but we’ll speak face-to-face tomorrow. Shalom.”
Just when Chapman thought his day couldn’t get any better, it did just that. He bounced up and down in the chair like a child who had just been gifted his favorite snack. It wouldn’t be long now. His eyes drifted to the display case on the far wall that contained the prizes of the King children: Ghost’s boxing trophies, Shadow’s football awards, Lolli’s martial arts ribbons. Yet the pride of the display case was the golden crown. It was a ceremonial piece that had been in the King family for several generations, even before the formation of the monarchy.
Chapman stared at his reflection in the case. The crown was level with his head, giving him the impression that he was wearing it. He smiled at his reflection and whispered, “Long live the king.”
TO BE CONTINUED …
