Carl Weber's Kingpins

by C. N. Phillips

  “OK, then,” Kleigh shrugged, still thumbing through her clothes. “That was the first offer, which means you can’t decline the second. I’m paying your bills for six months so you can stack up.”

  “Kleigh—”

  “I’m not taking no for an answer. Business at the bakery is booming. We were on the Food Network last month! Plus, what’s the point of being paid if you can’t help your best friend out? Now, let’s go shake our asses like we don’t have any sense!”

  She’d settled on a long-sleeved, deep wine-colored bodysuit with a deep V cut at the bosom, a pair of sexy distressed boyfriend jeans, and her new pair of black Christian Louboutin booties. From the top shelf, she snatched down a silver diamond-studded clutch for Bahli and a small black Gucci shoulder bag with a long gold chain strap for herself.

  “You spoil me,” Bahli said grinning as she admired the clutch.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Kleigh said, sending an air kiss her way. “You can go get in the shower first. I’m about to put on a quick face before we head out.”

  It was another hour before the girls were in Kleigh’s 2018 dark purple Dodge Charger. She could have taken her pink BMW M5, but that meant Drop would have seen her whipping out of the parking garage. Which also meant he would have followed her to wherever she was at and probably called for backup, just in case. Just once, Kleigh wanted to be normal, like the other women her age. That was why she purchased the Charger without her brother ever knowing about it. She only took it out for a spin when she wanted to be real low-key, and that night was one of those times. When Kleigh pulled out of the parking garage and drove past Drop, she was pleased to see that he wasn’t paying them any attention. He was busy looking down, probably scrolling on his phone. The second they made it past the Mercedes-Benz, Kleigh felt a wave of relief wash over her.

  “That nigga was probably in there beating his meat,” Bahli joked and then laughed.

  “He can do whatever he wants as long as he thinks I’m still at home,” Kleigh said and turned the music up.

  They were in the clear, and the only thing on her mind was dipping low and shaking all that she had behind her at the new club, Diamonds. She’d heard so much about it, and it had been too long since she’d had a good time, and she was determined to make that one for the books.

  Chapter 3

  “Wisdom consists of the anticipation of consequences.”

  —Norman Cousins

  Klax

  “You sure the person you looking for is going to be up in here tonight?”

  The sound of guns clicking and being loaded could be heard over the muffled sound of hip-hop music inside of the basement of Klax’s new club, Diamonds. He stood beside one of his most trusted generals, Dame, watching as five of his young soldiers prepared for war. Dame was a cat originally from the West Coast. He was of average height, stocky, a dark-skinned man with a brush cut and stayed laced in nothing but designer. The only facial hair he had was a thin mustache. Other than that, he kept his baby face clean cut. Klax nodded his head at Dame’s question.

  “I laid the bread crumbs in hopes that whoever ordered those hits would follow. You heard about what I had to do to Big Tony yesterday. And the other cat never made it back to report anything because I had his body laid out in the street. That shit made the news.”

  “You think whoever the motherfucka is watches the news?”

  “He wouldn’t have to. This is New York. Word of mouth is the news. Same as the grand opening to this club. What better way to disrespect me than show up at my new spot?” Klax answered and looked up at the ceiling. “Even if the nigga ain’t here to make noise, he’ll be here. If I were him, I would be.”

  His heart bled for the innocent people that might get caught in the cross fire, and he knew the Feds would be sniffing around his nightclub, Diamonds, after tonight. However, one thing he didn’t tolerate was disrespect, and he would cut off his own hand one million times before he allowed it in his own city. He hoped to lure his enemy out into an even level playing field; after all, a fight was no fun when the opponent was a phantom. He gave his young goons a head nod, letting them know that it was time for them to head up to the main floor of the building. They were under strict orders to blend in until they spotted their mark, and even then, Klax wanted whoever he was alive.

  Klax smoothed out the sleeves of his beige Moncler jacket before rubbing his hands together. He had to admit, his matching red Gucci loafers set his whole outfit off. His light-skinned complexion made the natural auburn-colored hair on his head pop out. He liked to keep it cut in a low taper fade with a surgical line. Klax was a tall man at six foot three, muscular with broad shoulders, and tattoos that covered his neck and went down his arms and chest. The amber-colored eyes he had were a gift from his great-great-grandfather, and they apparently always skipped a few generations. He tucked his gun into his jeans. He felt as if he’d made the people wait long enough. It was time to show his face in the club. As he made his way to the stairwell, the gold chains on his neck clinked together. He had heard somewhere recently that real money was silent. That men with real wealth didn’t rock designers or chains. That was all noise to Klax. Those people must have forgotten that they descended from a land where men proudly wore their wealth on their necks, wrists, ears, and even in their lips like the kings they were. And Klax was just that: a king. His jewels would gleam wherever he was, and he dared anyone to try to take them.

  “If he outs himself, I want everyone that came with him dead,” Klax said to Dame who was climbing the stairs beside him. “When the Feds come poking their noses around here, tell them that some niggas were fighting over a female, and it escalated.”

  “Got it,” Dame nodded. “What about security footage?”

  “We’re going to tell them that our cameras have been down for a week. The wiring in the building was fried in that power surge last week, which was why we hired extra security so that these kinds of things wouldn’t happen.”

  “And that, my guy, is why you’re the king. Now, let’s go find this weird-ass nigga.”

  They exited the basement and entered the club through the kitchen. It was almost midnight, so the cooks were bustling around trying to get the last-minute wing orders in before they shut it all down. None seemed shocked to see Klax and Dame appear out of nowhere, but they were sure to clear the walkway. It smelled delicious, and Klax couldn’t help himself.

  “Aye, make me twelve Jerk wings with a side of fries,” he said over his shoulder to one of the cooks. “Take it back to my office.”

  They kept it moving until they had reached the main VIP section. Like a ruler eyeing his kingdom, Klax looked over the club. It was packed, and there wasn’t one person on the dance floor who wasn’t moving to the loud music. Klax had hired the hottest DJ in the city, a DJ to work for him exclusively, and it had proved to be a power move. He glanced across the club for a second before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “The nigga of the hour has finally chosen to bless us with his presence!”

  Klax grinned when he heard the voice. Turning around, he found himself face-to-face with Adonis, the man who had been his best friend since high school. Adonis was one of the top lawyers New York had to offer and had gotten Klax out of more trouble than could be counted on both hands. Once a small, scrawny kid with glasses, Adonis had grown into what most women called “fine as hell.” He was tall with brown skin, and the dimples that came along with his smile made the girls go wild. Adonis was the type that preferred not to get his hands dirty, but he would if he had to. Still, Klax tried not to involve Adonis in any of his dealings unless necessary.

  “I see Jessica must have let you out of the house,” Klax shot back. “What time you gotta be home, midnight?”

  “Oooh! I see you got jokes!” Adonis laughed and slapped hands with Klax.

  “You know I’m just fuckin’ with you, G. I like Jessica, even though I always thought you would marry a brown queen with a phat-ass booty,” Klax said making
a pear shape in the air with his hands.

  “We’re not married yet,” Adonis said, eyeing a chocolate woman shaking her rear with her friends. “What Jessica doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  “Whatever happened to marrying for love and not riches?”

  “That went out the window when a millionaire fell in love with me,” Adonis answered with a grin. “Now, congrats on your new club, my brother, but if you’ll excuse me, I think that fine black thing right there needs some attention.”

  He tried to make his way down from the VIP section, but Dame stopped him by putting a hand on his chest.

  “Not tonight, boss,” Dame said and made it so that Adonis couldn’t get past him.

  “What you mean not tonight?” Adonis asked, turning his face up like Russell Westbrook. “I’m a grown-ass man.”

  He tried to get past Dame again, but that time, Klax caught him by the arm. When Adonis looked at him, Klax nodded to the dance floor. To the untrained eye, Klax’s soldiers moving through the cluster of people would have been camouflaged, but not to Adonis’s. He had been around Klax too long not to know when a move was being made. He raised his brow and shot Klax a confused look.

  “Like he said, not tonight, boss,” Klax said and grabbed a bottle of champagne off of the circular glass table behind him.

  “What’s going on?” Adonis asked as he watched his friend take a swig of the liquid.

  “Some unauthorized moves have been being made. And whoever is behind them has been specifically targeting Harlem.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “Nah, not—” Dame started, but Klax interrupted him.

  “That young nigga in the center of that group over there by the wall. In the white jacket.”

  The person that Klax was talking about was looking up at them as they stared back down at him. He looked out of place. He was standing with his hands clasped and shoulders back as if he were waiting for someone. No . . . as if he wanted to be seen. If he wanted to make a move to leave, it was too late because Klax’s young soldiers had already spotted him. Klax watched as his men approached the young man and grabbed him by his arm. His own goons surrounding him stood up, but quickly realized they were outnumbered when the rest of Klax’s soldiers showed up. White Jacket put his arms up and his weapons, as well as the weapons of those who were with him, were stripped. He then nodded his head to the man who had his arm and allowed himself to be escorted away.

  “That’s surprising,” Adonis noted as the men walked toward Klax’s VIP section. “He just let himself get grabbed?”

  “I was expecting a little rah-rah,” Klax said and sat down on a couch. “I thought it was gon’ look like the Fourth of July in this bitch.”

  Adonis too sat down while Dame stood over them like a watchdog. It didn’t take long for Klax’s soldiers to reach him, and when they did, he waved for White Jacket to come up and join him. Although unarmed, the man stepped forward with his head held high and clasped his hands together in front of him. He was about Klax’s height, light skin with hazel eyes. The long hair on his head was twisted in neat locs that hung slightly past his shoulders. His eyes skimmed over Adonis and fell on Klax’s.

  “What’s this about?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders.

  “We ask the questions,” Dame barked and pointed at the seat across from Klax. “Take some of that base out ya voice and sit down.”

  When he didn’t budge, Dame touched his waist and flashed the butt of his gun.

  “If you don’t wanna comply, we can take you to the basement with the rest of the people you came with. Or should I say, with their corpses. I doubt they’re still breathing.”

  That seemed to get White Jacket’s attention. His jaw clenched tightly, and he shot Dame a scornful look, but he finally obliged to the command. He sat in the leather chair and averted his attention back to Klax.

  “Are you who I think you are?” Klax asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, boss.” White Jacket put his hands in the air. “Maybe this is a case of mistaken identity. If I wasn’t who you assumed, and your people just killed half a dozen innocent men, how would you feel?”

  “Just bodies in the cross fire,” Klax shrugged. “But I don’t think they were innocent. Nah . . . not by how bright you are. Came in here looking like Snow Patrol and shit. Now, answer me. Are you the one who’s been hitting my spots?”

  “If I am?”

  “I would say you are one bold mothafucka stepping in my spot tonight.”

  “I guess you can call me one bold mothafucka then,” White Jacket said with a smile. “Yeah, I’m the one who ordered those hits.”

  “What, your mother never told you that you can’t go around claiming what isn’t yours?”

  “Nah, she didn’t get the chance to. But I guess your father missed that lesson too.”

  “What’s your name? Before I kill you, I’d like to know your identity.”

  “I’ll give you my name, but not because you’ll get the chance to kill me, but because I want you and all of Harlem to know my name. My name is LaTron Walker; Tron for short. And I’m here to take back what’s rightfully mine.”

  “And that would be?” Klax asked, unable to hide the fact that he was slightly tickled.

  “Harlem,” Tron said simply. “The same Harlem your father stole from mine twenty-three years ago.”

  “My dad ain’t steal shit, and if he did, oh well. You snooze, you lose,” Klax said, rubbing his hands together.

  “You snooze you lose? Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Sounds like some shit the son of a pussy-ass nigga would say.”

  “I’m gon’ ignore that disrespect to my pops. What I’m more concerned with is how I’ma make you pay for all the damage you’ve caused throughout my city. I’m thinking a bullet through the temple. Short and clean. You’ll die instantly, so you probably won’t feel any pain. I think that’s fair, don’t you?”

  “I thought you’d be so arrogant,” Tron laughed. “I figured that you wouldn’t take me seriously, but you should. That throne you’re sitting on? You’re only keeping it warm for me. And another thing . . . I’m leaving here the same way I came in.” He casually made a motion with his hand and smiled.

  “Boss,” Dame said in a shocked voice. “Look.”

  He pointed at Klax’s chest, and when Klax looked down, he saw a small red dot moving slowly up his chest and to his face. He glanced around and saw that it wasn’t only him who had a beam on him. Both Adonis and Dame did too. Klax felt his chest tighten with a rage that he’d never felt before.

  “Fire on me, and you’ll be dead before I hit the ground,” Klax growled.

  “I know,” Tron grinned. “Don’t worry, King; this is just insurance that I’ma make it out of here tonight. The war starts soon. Nice chat.”

  With that, he grabbed the bottle of liquor from the glass table that separated him from Klax and stood up. He walked toward the man guarding the VIP exit, and Klax angrily nodded his head for his soldier to let Tron out.

  “Oh, and tell your people to let my niggas go. I saw what you did to my youngin yesterday. I didn’t like that. Nice club, by the way,” Tron threw over his shoulder.

  “I’ll be seeing you,” Klax said loud enough for him to hear. “And next time, ain’t no crimson trace gon’ stop me from knocking your head from your shoulders.”

  Chapter 4

  “Because an illusion is an illusion, reality always exists

  despite the façade.”

  —Kanye West

  Tron

  Tron walked out of the club, feeling like a million bucks. His men had orders not to release their aim on Klax Turner until he was safely out of the building. Klax had done a good job on security . . . on the ground, anyway. Tron knew it would be hard for his people to pose as security where Klax could see them. If he were as sharp as Tron thought, he’d be able to out an imposter in a quickness. However, the security on
the second floor of the club was easy to lure away from their posts. All it took was a couple of hundred dollars to have two beautiful women to get them to follow them into a supply closet. Once there, the men were met with a deadly surprise. Klax would hopefully find their bodies before they started stinking. Tron’s men then stole their Diamond Club vests and resumed their posts, waiting for their signal.

  As he requested, the rest of his men were released and left the club with him. None of their weapons were given back to them, but that was all right. There were plenty more where they came from. They all filed out behind him, and Tron knew the smartest thing would be for them all to shake the spot.

  “Fan out,” he told them, and they dispersed.

  There was a long line of people standing outside waiting to get in the club, and he noticed the hungry eyes of many women on him. He ignored their gazes and catcalls as he walked toward the valet. A young man who didn’t even look old enough to get inside Diamonds took his ticket for Tron’s 2018 black Ferrari 488 GTB. As he waited for his vehicle, something caught his eye. Well, more like someone. A woman. It caught him by surprise because his eyes normally weren’t swayed easily by beauty. But she might have been the most dazzling thing he’d ever seen. She was bad, so bad that he had to step in front of her as she walked by him. He’d never wanted to be an article of clothes in his life, but the way her jeans hugged her curves had him envious. She was in the middle of cutting the line with her friend to walk inside the club but stopped because he was in her way.

  “Excuse me,” she said and tried to go around him, but he stepped in front of her. “Excuse you.”

  “I’m sorry, I just had to get one last look at you before you walked right past me,” Tron said, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. “I mean no disrespect. Have fun tonight, beautiful.”