Bahli scrolled down once more and saw that Kyan sent the address to the place where NuNu was supposed to take Kleigh. Her hands were shaking as she screen shot the message and sent it to Adonis. She deleted all the evidence showing she’d been in his phone and placed it back in his pocket. Before she left, Bahli grabbed all of the money NuNu had brought to the private dance room and spit in his face on her way out the door. She knew he would just assume that she was a trifling stripper who had gotten the one up on him and robbed him when he finally came to. But by then, she would be long gone. Bahli had done her part. Now, it was time for Phase Two.
Chapter 19
“Sometimes you have to get lost to find your way.”
—Anonymous
Klax
It was hard for Klax to do much of anything with Kleigh in the predicament she was in. His mother was suspicious about why Kleigh wasn’t answering her phone calls, and Klax just told her it was because she was dealing with a few things and wanted to be left alone. However, his mother wasn’t green, and he knew that excuse would only work for so long, especially with what had happened to his home. He had to stop answering her calls as well. He had too much on his mind and at stake to be sidetracked.
Bahli had come through on the information they needed, and when Adonis gave him the address, it was hard for Klax not to jump the gun. He wanted to send a street army in and make as much noise as possible, but it was chess, not checkers. Every move had to be calculated. In order to clear his head of the millions of thoughts running through it, Klax decided to take a walk through Harlem. He parked his Range Rover, which had suffered some damage from the detonation, in front of an apartment dwelling and got out. It was cold outside, but as soon as he stepped foot on the concrete, he felt the warmth of protection set in. While in Harlem, he was untouchable. He was at home when he was there. Klax had cleaned up Harlem the best that he could and had even opened a clinic for the junkies. It used to make him feel better knowing that he didn’t sell directly to the junkies on the streets, but then again, it didn’t matter if the drugs came straight from his hands. They were still his drugs.
The dope game had always played tug-of-war with Klax’s conscience. How could he poison his people, yet try to help them at the same time? It was equivalent to an abusive relationship where one partner would break the other down so that they were the one who could build them back up. As much as he tried to not be like his father, there was one piece of his old man that would always be embedded in him. And that was the love for money. The increments Klax saw on a daily was what gassed him. The dollar flow made that tug-of-war game worth it. He didn’t know if he could ever really be like Sunny and get out of the game because whereas it was a gamble, while Klax was playing, he had the power to make a real difference. And if somebody clipped him in the process, he would die knowing that all his bad had been matched with a lot of good.
As he walked early that morning, he felt the sun on his face. There was a lot that could go wrong later in the evening, but if he played his cards right, it wouldn’t be on his end. In the past weeks, he’d suffered many losses, and anyone else in his position would have been furious and ready to catch as many bodies as possible. He was angry at the material things he lost, but not to the point where he couldn’t take that misfortune with a grain of salt and put it to the back of his mind. Up until his sister was taken, he hadn’t lost anything that he couldn’t replace. None of that was irreplaceable, including the theater. Some may look at his lack of retaliation as weak, but that was because their value of time was not the same. To Klax, his enemies always lost if he still had breath in him. They wasted their time making moves to hurt him without knowing the full circumference of the circle. They attacked him because they wanted his seat, but they would always fail because the seat they went after was the wrong seat. Klax hadn’t even begun to dig into his bag of tricks, but soon, Kyan would understand why he was an ultimate king.
“Kevin Turner?”
The deep baritone came from close behind and interrupted Klax’s morning walk. He turned around and found himself face-to-face with two tall, white men. Detectives. He recognized one of them as the man who had arrested Tron, and Klax smirked at the displeased look on his face.
“I’m Detective Hanes,” the blond-haired man said and pointed at his partner with the bald head. “And this is Detective Terry. Are you Keven Turner?”
“You asking that like you don’t know it’s me,” Klax said. “Especially since I know you must be the detectives digging your noses in all of my affairs.”
“We didn’t know if it was really you, or if we were seeing a ghost, especially since your house went up in flames a few days ago,” Detective Terry said. “It caused quite the frenzy in that quiet neighborhood you lived in. I see that Range Rover of yours looks like it got messed up pretty badly.”
“Material can always be replaced. Anything else? I got better shit to do than to look in your pale-ass faces.”
“We see you got your friend out of jail,” Detective Terry said before Klax could turn away. “Funny thing is that when we asked him about you, he said he didn’t know you. All charges against him were mysteriously dropped. I wonder how that happened. How much money did you have to spend to work that kind of magic?”
“Not a dime when a man is innocent,” Klax said, not missing a beat. “When I heard of another black man wrongfully arrested by the police, my legal advisor got right on it. The last time I checked, that wasn’t a crime. I have the best lawyer in New York, and he just worked fast. Not to mention the video caught by one of the officers on scene caught your dumb ass punching a man in handcuffs who wasn’t resisting arrest. You should be thanking my lawyer. He just asked for the marijuana charge to be dropped instead of you losing your job. Can you imagine the uproar, especially in this social media age, if that video would have got out? You’re welcome. Now, get the fuck off my block before something really happens to you.”
“Is that a threat?” Detective Hanes said, angrily glaring at Klax.
Detective Terry’s eyes weren’t on Klax, however. His were on the twenty-something men that had stepped out of the shadows all around them. He cleared his throat to get his partner’s attention, but Detective Hanes ignored him.
“You think you’re untouchable, boy?” He sneered and took a step toward Klax, who smirked.
“Nah, but here in Harlem? I am.”
Detective Terry grabbed Detective Hanes firmly by the shoulder to get his attention. When Detective Hanes finally looked, his partner pointed at the menacing eyes watching them.
“You think I’m scared of a bunch of thugs? They’ll be locked up in minutes fucking with me.”
“They’d have to find your bodies first to stick a charge,” Klax said simply, but the threat lingered in the air like a horrible stench.
Detective Terry tugged his partner back so they could return to their undercover vehicle. Detective Hanes went without a fight, but not before getting one last word in.
“This ain’t over, boy.”
“It is, trust me,” Klax said, looking him square in the eye. “Tell me something, Detectives, are y’all only good cops when you’re tryna get recognized? Y’all ain’t the only ones with ears in the streets, and a little birdie told me all about Starsky & Hutch. After I found out you two were digging up information about me, I took the liberty of doing the same about you. I know that you, Hanes, extort the Vatos Locos in the Bronx threatening them with jail time if they don’t cooperate. How do you think the department will feel knowing you’ve been taking drug money? And I know that you, Terry, got a pregnant bitch in Manhattan. How do you think your wife will feel about that? She would take you for everything, huh?”
The looks of shock on their faces were priceless. Once again, it was chess, not checkers. To defeat one’s enemies, sometimes, using might doesn’t always do the trick. Sometimes, you have to use your resources and save your strength for a more important fight.
“Don’t get caught
over here again. They don’t see badges over this way; only the faces of those who don’t belong.”
He didn’t care to indulge in any further conversation with the detectives. He turned his back to them and continued on his walk around the block. In the distance, he saw Dame sitting on the hood of an old-school Impala smoking a blunt. They connected eyes, and he gave Klax a head nod before turning his attention back to the detectives. Behind him, Klax heard the soft purr of an engine, and seconds later, he saw the Dodge drive past him and off his territory. Klax didn’t doubt that he wouldn’t be seeing those detectives for a while and that he’d gotten them off his coattail. Maybe not for forever, but for a while, at least.
Whenever Klax needed to decipher his thoughts, a walk around Harlem did it. Starsky & Hutch had interrupted the process, but in a way, they had helped him. It reminded him that hundreds of lives would be willing to lie down to preserve his. And whereas he knew Kyan wouldn’t come to Harlem—that would be a suicide mission—Klax could bring Harlem to him. Maybe not in physical form, because for Klax, war and casualties were always the final resort, but in spirit. Just like that, he knew which trick he wanted to pull out of the bag. He grinned to himself and shouted over to his street general.
“Yo, Dame! Come holler at me for a second.”
Chapter 20
“Some of the greatest battles will be fought within the
silent chambers of your own soul.”
—Ezra Taft Benson
Kyan
The night he had been waiting on for what felt like his entire life had finally arrived. Ma’Kyan Blount had been number two for as long as he could remember. He had grown up in a small town on the outskirts of Houston, Texas, born to a middle-class couple, Patricia and Ma’Kyan Blount Sr. He came into the world as a number two, and that meant he was always in his father’s shadow. No matter what he did, he didn’t do it as good as his dad. Even if he thought he did a great job.
“I was great in math. Get that B up to an A.”
“I had better form when I shot my jumper; go practice until your hands bleed.”
“Sit up straight; you don’t see me slouching, do you?”
The list went on and on. It wasn’t the pressure that got to Kyan. It was the constant comparisons. Nobody saw him as his own person. He was just an extension of the man that had come before him. When his mother died suddenly of a heart attack at an early age, he desperately needed to be his father’s number one for once. He was only 17 at the time and had never dealt with a pain so severe, but his father was too busy trying to replace her to make Kyan a priority. She hadn’t been in the dirt for a year by the time Kyan’s father got remarried to a woman named Carla. She was beautiful, and ten years Ma’Kyan Sr.’s junior. But he was head over heels. Kyan often wondered that if his father knew she had a thing for “number twos,” would he have gone forward with the marriage.
The first time Kyan slept with his dad’s new wife was when he was out of school on break. Back then, his father worked long hours for an electric company, so that meant Kyan and Carla often spent a lot of alone time together. A few times, Kyan had noticed Carla give him extras during mealtime or had come check on him a few times throughout the night. He thought it was because she was trying to do the “motherly thing,” but in truth, she wanted to be anything else but a mother to him. She took Kyan’s virginity, and the two of them continued a secret relationship for a year. For once in his life, he had someone who made him feel like number one, and he fell in love with her. On his eighteenth birthday, he was going to ask her to run away with him, but his father walked in on them in the act before he could pose the question.
“Carla, what the hell are you doing?” Ma’Kyan shouted when he saw his wife riding Kyan like a rodeo queen in Kyan’s small bedroom.
The look of detest frozen on his face made Kyan afraid to come from under the covers on his full-sized bed. His father’s gaze went back and forth from him to Carla. The two lovers thought that he was supposed to work late, but there he was . . . home early.
“Baby, I can explain,” Carl said, grabbing her robe and wrapping it around her before she got up from the bed.
Kyan felt his limp penis slide out of her when she climbed off of him and reached for his underwear and pants while she tried to calm his father down.
“Explain what? There ain’t shit to explain! You’re fucking my son!”
“Baby, I’m so sorry,” Carla pleaded with him and placed the soft hands Kyan loved so much on Ma’Kyan’s chest. “I just get so lonely here by myself. You work so much, and when you get home, you don’t have any time for me. And, well, Kyan looks so much like you to me. I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
“And what do you have to say about this shit, boy? You’re too much of a little bitch to get your own woman? I house you and clothe you, and this is how you repay me? You gotta get your shit and get the hell up out of here! I don’t ever want to see you again. You ain’t no son of mine!” Ma’Kyan shouted and turned back to Carla. “And you? I’ll deal with you later. Go to our bedroom.”
“Carla?” Kyan asked with a confused expression on his face. “He’s kicking me out. Aren’t you gonna come with me? I thought you loved me.”
“I can’t love a boy who can’t even provide shelter or pay a bill,” Carla said, looking him square in the eyes. “I love your father. Now you heard him—get out.”
Kyan hadn’t felt a hurt like that since the loss of his mother, and it sent him into a rage. Once again, he was just number two. He left, but his anger caused him to come back and set fire to the house, killing the couple in their sleep. The fire was ruled as an electrical freak accident, and since Kyan was 18, he was free to go where he pleased.
He only had the clothes on his back and enough money for a bus ticket. He didn’t know why at the time, but he chose New York, and that would prove to be the best decision he ever made. There, he met Arnold “Sunny” Walker, a young street hustler. They called him Sunny because he shed light wherever he went, and that’s what he did when he found Kyan sleeping on a bench. Sunny not only put him on with the crew he was running with, but he gave Kyan half of the clothes in his wardrobe and a warm bed to sleep in. They were thick as thieves and grew in ranks together. Kyan had finally found an equal, and he was happy with that. They worked under a big-time hustler named Baller doing runs and hitting licks for him. It kept money in their pockets and food in their stomachs, and at the time, that was enough for them. However, there was something about Sunny that Baller saw in him that he didn’t see in Kyan.
Over the years, Kyan watched Sunny rise to the top, and although Sunny never left Kyan behind, he was right back to being number two. Kyan didn’t know when the seed of poison was planted in his spirit toward his best friend, but it was long before he sent Kameron to his home. That day was just the moment Kyan knew his heart had gone completely black. He didn’t feel anything at the loss of the woman he’d grown to call a sister or the little girl he claimed to love like a niece. All he cared about was finally being number one. Kyan thought that although Sunny had survived, it would be easy to take his spot. However, he had underestimated Kameron’s claim to the streets. When Sunny went down, their most loyal switched sides and left Kyan with no army, no workers, and no clientele. He was forced to uproot his life and move with the man he had set up.
Sunny grew content with the life of a normal man, but Kyan couldn’t get the thirst of the fast money out of his system. He didn’t just want one territory; he wanted them all. The streets sang to him like a siren to a sailor at sea. The hunger that he felt in himself manifested in a boy he was entrusted to care for. LaTron looked up to him, more than his father. And finally, he was somebody’s number one. Still, the feeling of fondness for the boy didn’t stop him from planting the seed of hatred toward Kameron, although he knew it really should have been toward him. He was the one who pointed Tron in the direction of revenge, but in rea
lity, he just wanted the boy to do what he couldn’t. And when the deed was over, so would his need for Tron.
Kyan knew that he could have easily just told Tron about what he wanted to do, but he didn’t want the boy to tell Sunny. Not only that, but in the end, Kyan didn’t want to share. It was enough having Tron think that he called the shots in Albany. Kyan molded Tron into the perfect soldier but took note of all his weaknesses. Sunny being number one. Tron’s father was all the family he had left, and Kyan knew he wasn’t built to be in the world alone. By killing Sunny and taking back the army he’d lent, Tron had nothing and nobody. He was defeated. The thought of him alone and lost in his own regretful thoughts made Kyan feel victorious. He’d been patient for years, and finally, he was about to see the fruits of his labor. He just had one final opponent before he could finally place the crown on his head.
Klax Turner.
As the time in the day winded down, an eager feeling crept in Kyan’s stomach. He knew that by the fearful expression on Klax’s face when he saw Kleigh that he would cooperate with all of his requests. The location of where Kyan kept Kleigh was the place he kept anything of value of his enemies. It was an old run-down building in Albany that had been many things before it was shut down. The last business that owned the property was a call center, which was why there was so much open space and random rooms to the side. In some rooms, there were things; in others, there were people. Sometimes in his business dealings, Kyan held things as collateral, whether it be an object or a person. And if the person doing business with him did not either pay what they owed or did as he asked them to, he kept whatever it was and did what he pleased with it.
He sat in what he had made his office in the back of the building. If a person sat inside and shut the door, it would be hard to believe how worn down the rest of the place was. He’d painted the walls, installed carpet, and had a custom-made desk imported from Tokyo. His fingers rasped the top of the mahogany desk as he contemplated the events of the night. His men had orders to shoot Klax the moment he introduced Kyan to the buyer, but not before he watched a bullet enter his sister’s skull.
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