Over the next six months, Malek completely took over the city. He hadn’t seen or heard from Sweets during his takeover. He got word from the streets that Sweets and his crew left town, and he was just waiting to hear from or see Sweets so he could send him to meet Joe.
But what Malek didn’t know was that Sweets had hired an excellent attorney for Manolo. The attorney was able to subpoena the police department’s video surveillance tapes of the precinct where Officer Troy worked. On those tapes they were able to go back to the date that Manolo’s club had been raided, and they saw Tasha going into Officer Troy’s office.
With the threat of Tasha being able to testify and further expose corruption within the Flint Police Department, the department was willing and able to spring Manolo from jail on technicalities—the major “technicality” being that it was an election year and Flint’s incumbent mayor didn’t need any new police scandals landing on the front page of the newspapers if he wanted to retain the slim chance he had of being re-elected.
So, with Manolo being sprung from the joint, he and Sweets were planning to take out Malek. They were just laying in the cut, waiting to catch him out there, high off of his own rising status in the game.
At a young age, Malek had accomplished what many hustlers could never reach: he had a supreme coke connect, an army of loyal henchmen, and intelligence. These were all ingredients to becoming a kingpin. Malek learned from Joe’s mistakes and molded himself into a force to be reckoned with.
One of those mistakes that Malek had seen Jamaica Joe make was his disloyalty to Tariq. Although Malek had benefited from the favor and found himself in with Jamaica Joe, he was smart enough to realize that Tariq, by right, should have been in his position. But Jamaica Joe sort of passed Tariq over, and it brought problems to Joe that he wouldn’t have had to deal with had he properly promoted the people who had been with him the longest.
Malek and Mitch were similar in more than one way, and they clicked instantly. Malek put Mitch in charge of the streets, while he managed the distribution and business side. Again, Malek knew that he had to keep Mitch’s belly full, otherwise it would be Mitch who would soon be coming for Malek’s crown the same way Tariq had been gunning for Joe’s.
Malek had managed to do what no other hustler in Flint had ever achieved, taking over the North and South Sides. He offered the best dope and the cheapest price, and like any successful businessman, created a brand, labeling his coke “Joe Blow.” Everyone craved for it. He was getting it so cheap, he didn’t have to mark it up too high, and eventually the empire spread into Detroit, Lansing, and other cities in Michigan.
Malek had quickly turned the $500,000 into $4 million in a small amount of time, his relationship with Halleigh was strong, and he had the streets on lock. Malek had recently purchased courtside season tickets to the Detroit Pistons, where he and Halleigh loved to spend their nights as a couple.
During the days, Halleigh was your typical kept woman. She wanted for nothing, drove high-end cars, and did a lot of shopping for clothes by designers with names that are hard to pronounce. But, in addition to being a diva, she was also very domesticated. She made sure she stayed on top of the numerous contractors that she’d hired to do renovations to their new home, and she also found the time to cook on a daily basis.
Malek felt on top of the world at that point. He even managed to recruit some of Sweets’ old workers and place them under his organization. Everyone wanted to get a piece of the American dream, and with Malek’s prices and high-quality product, they were more than able to.
Malek and Mitch were cruising down Clio Road in Malek’s drop-top BMW, bobbing their heads in unison to 50 Cent’s “I Get Money,” which was blasting out of the subwoofers.
“Yo, I never seen this much money in my life, fam. We getting major paper, son!” Mitch clapped his hands together to emphasize his point.
“No doubt. We’re going to continue to get it too. We have to just stick to the rules and keep a low profile. How is everything in the hood?” Malek asked as he pulled up into Popeye’s Chicken.
“Everything is one hundred,” Mitch answered. “Money is right, and everybody paying on time. Everyone except Big Petey in Selby hood. He like a week late on that last brick I hit him with.”
“Word?” Then Malek said into the intercom, “Let me get a two-piece meal.”
“Yep, the nigga talkin’ greasy too, like he don’t gotta pay on time because he was Joe’s man.” Mitch nodded his head up and down.
Malek had recruited Big Petey months before, because he knew that he was a good customer to Joe when he was alive. He thinks because Joe ain’t around anymore that shit is sweet. I see I’m going to have to make an example out of him quick, Malek thought as he retrieved his food and pulled off on his way to pick up his money—from Petey.
“There go his hangout spot right there,” Mitch said as he pointed down the street to Rube’s Bar. Malek pulled his new BMW on the curb and got out. He and Mitch strolled down the block where the small bar was located. Malek and Mitch entered the dark bar, and just like Mitch said, Big Petey was in there. There were only three people in the whole bar: Petey, an old junkie in the back, and the owner, who stood behind the bar.
“What’s going on, Rube?” Malek said as he sat at the bar, wiping off the counter.
“Malek! My man! What’s going on, youngblood?” the overweight Rube said. Rube had owned his establishment for years and was known and respected in the community.
Malek remembered when Rube sponsored his youth team’s jerseys when he was in middle school.
“What’s up, Big Petey?” Malek asked as he watched Petey down a shot of Hennessy.
Petey didn’t respond. He knew that Malek came to his spot to ask him about the money. He also noticed how Mitch was ice-grilling him. Big Petey instantly felt disrespected. Without even acknowledging Malek, he signaled for Rube to pour him another shot.
Rube, sensing the hostility, looked at Malek and then went over to pour Petey his shot.
Malek disregarded the blatant disrespect from Petey and continued to attempt to converse with him. “My man Mitch says that you owe me a li’l something.”
“You got some nerve, coming to my block with some tough-guy shit. I been hustling since you been pissing in yo’ diaper. Like I told that stupid mu’fucka, I’ma hit you off when I get it. Damn!” Big Petey said as he downed the shot.
“Well, when do you think you going to have it?” Malek asked cool, calm, and collected.
Mitch moved his hand to his waist, where his pistol rested, and Malek quickly shook his head, signaling Mitch to fall back.
“I’ll get it when I get it!” Big Petey yelled in a drunken slur.
Malek slowly got up, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a wad of money. He gently placed a hundred-dollar bill on the counter, and then, without any emotion on his face, looked at Petey. He said, “I am going to pick up my money in one week. One week exactly. The drinks are on me.” Then he signaled Mitch to follow him out.
Malek winked at Rube and began to walk out, but before he reached the door, Big Petey said something under his breath—“Ol’ bitch-ass nigga”—just loud enough for Malek to hear him.
Malek stopped dead in his tracks and, without even turning around, said, “Yo, Big Petey, you don’t have to worry about that little bread you owe me.” Malek walked toward the door, not to exit, but to lock the place up. He didn’t want anybody to walk in while he was taking care of business.
Petey was so busy drinking his glass of Hennessy, he didn’t notice Malek come back into the bar. Before Petey could react, Malek struck him over the head with a beer bottle. Petey awkwardly fell onto the floor, and without hesitation, Malek pulled out his gun and squeezed a round into Petey’s face.
That was surely not the first time that Malek had to lay a person down for coming short on his money. He wasn’t for games, and it was a new era. He was sending a clear message. It was a new sheriff in town. A sheriff with the
balls to kill, and just like Malek had made it a point to up his street credibility by telling key street niggas that he had murked Mimi and Maur y, he was sure to let the hood know that he had also dropped Petey. But Malek knew he had to be careful because with too much bravado came snitches, murder investigations, and jail time.
Chapter Seven
At the beginning of Game One of the NBA Eastern Conference finals between the Cleveland Cavaliers and the Detroit Pistons, it wasn’t LeBron James or Rasheed Wallace who received the loudest applause from the sold-out Detroit Pistons crowd, but Malek Johnson.
Malek’s face flashed on the big screen located inside the arena, and then the words Michigan’s Finest Is in the House flashed underneath Malek’s name, which was followed by highlights of dunks from Malek’s sensational high-school career.
Malek loved every minute of the attention as he sat courtside with Halleigh. He had more than ten thousand dollars in cash in his pocket and was decked in jewelry worth upwards of one hundred thousand dollars. He and Halleigh were dressed in outfits that cost about two grand each, and they looked like movie stars who had the money to make sure their skin, teeth, and hair were cared for by highly paid professionals on a daily basis.
Malek nodded and raised his hand to the crowd and mouthed the words Thank you. An indescribable adrenaline rush consumed his body, and it felt so good. It reminded him of the high of being a superstar, a high that he hadn’t felt in years.
As the players warmed up in preparation for the game, a player for the Pistons walked up to Malek and gave him a pound and a quick ghetto embrace. He shouted into Malek’s hear, “You supposed to be out here. This is your house. Can’t nobody on this court stop you.”
Malek wasn’t expecting such kind words of praise, and he definitely appreciated it.
“That’s what’s up!” Malek replied.
The crowd was still in a frenzy, screaming in anticipation of the game that was about to begin.
All throughout the game, Malek was constantly being tapped on his shoulder and handed a pen and a piece of paper and asked for his autograph.
“They always gonna love you, baby,” Halleigh said to Malek as she kissed him on his cheek and snuggled close to him.
At halftime, an ESPN reporter and a cameraman came up to Malek and asked him if they could have a moment with him on camera.
“No doubt,” Malek replied. By this time, Malek was buzzing from all of the Heineken he’d drunk.
“Malek, obviously you’ve had some bad breaks in terms of your career. Can you give the fans a little insight into the outlook on your future?” the reporter asked.
“Well, yeah, I mean I’ve had some unfortunate things happen to me, and I’ve come to grips with the fact that my career as an athlete is basically over,” Malek said rather bluntly. “But don’t get it twisted, and please understand that if I laced up some sneakers right now, I could go out and score fifty points against any team in this league.”
“Wow! I see you still have the confidence that got you to be the most coveted player since LeBron James. But, Malek, how do you internalize that, and how does that make you feel?”
“I’m human, so obviously there’s huge disappointment. So that’s how it makes me feel. I feel disappointed. But how I internalize it is, I realize that I’ll always be number one at whatever I do and whatever I set my mind to.”
“Well, give the people a little update as to just what you have been doing with yourself since you put down the ball.”
Malek reached into his pocket and pulled out the huge wad of money he was carrying. He laughed and then he replied, “I been getting this paper! Word! That’s what I been doing. And you see these courtside seats that me and my baby got; these were a gift. I purchased these for the season. A hundred and twenty thousand for the year is what these seats ran me. And from this vantage point, the vantage point of a fan, I realize that I can actually aspire to own a team of my own.
“That’s what I want the public to know. Know that I won’t be a tragic statistic. Nah, Malek Johnson is gonna be like Jay-Z. He went from hustling to owning a piece of the New Jersey Nets, and if he can do it, then so can I.”
The reporter smiled and said, “Well, there you have it, folks, straight from the mouth of Malek Johnson, or shall I say soon-to-be NBA owner Malek Johnson.”
Malek sat back down in his chair next to Halleigh and waited for the players to finish warming up so that the game could start. As Malek sat and thought, he realized that he actually could become an owner if he set his mind to it. He settled in his mind right then and there that he would indeed one day become an owner of an NBA team.
About a minute or so into the third quarter, Halleigh let out a sigh. “What the hell is that bitch doing here?” Halleigh asked as she saw Keesha walking toward her and Malek.
Keesha was sitting on the lower level of seats, about ten rows away from Malek and Halleigh. She began ice-grilling Halleigh as soon as she was able to get her attention. But Halleigh kept listening to Malek and paid Keesha no mind.
As soon as there was a real raucous part of the game, Keesha took advantage of the commotion and rushed past security. She ran up on Halleigh, yanked her to the ground, and began wailing on her.
Halleigh tried her best to fight back and fight off Keesha, but she wasn’t strong enough. Keesha’s first blow had caught her real good and made her woozy.
“The fuck is you doing?” Malek shouted as he kicked Keesha and then pulled her off Halleigh.
It took the spectators some time to realize what was going on, but as soon as they did, the crowd went into an uproar. The players were quickly rushed off the court, and security rushed to the fight in an attempt to break it up.
“You snitch-ass bitch!” Keesha screamed at Halleigh.
Some dude in a ski mask asked in a mocking tone, “Yo, Malek, can I have your autograph?” as he reached in his waistband and pulled out a gun and started firing in Malek’s direction.
Malek didn’t have his gat on him, so he couldn’t return fire on the dude. He ducked and dove and grabbed Halleigh, and the two of them went crashing to the ground. With the sound of the gunshots, the entire arena went into a panic and headed for the exits.
“Baby, we gotta get the fuck outta here!” Malek shouted to Halleigh. “Come on! Stay low! Let’s go!” He grabbed hold of Halleigh’s hand, and the two of them rushed out of the arena amidst the chaos. All Malek could think of was getting to a safe spot so he could call his boys and tell them to strap up and get ready for war.
He knew that it was Sweets who had just sent a hitman to take him out in a very public place. Malek knew that he had to react and react quickly, especially since the whole world would now be talking about how Malek Johnson almost got killed at an NBA game.
Chapter Eight
“You did good, baby girl! Real good!” Manolo said to Keesha as she slurped, sucked, and stroked his dick. Keesha shifted her eyes and looked up at Manolo, to see if he was enjoying her skills. “You like the way I suck your dick, daddy?”
“Yeah, daddy likes it, baby. Superhead ain’t got shit on you! You’ll do anything for daddy, right?”
Keesha nodded her head up and down to indicate that, now that she was officially a Manolo Mami, she would in fact do anything for Manolo. She was even willing to kill if she had to.
Manolo stood up from the chair and had Keesha get up off her knees so that he could fuck her doggy-style. Manolo loved Keesha’s pussy. He couldn’t figure out why he’d waited so long to put her down with his stable of bitches. But then he remembered that Keesha was the loud, screaming type that hollered and moaned and carried on while.
See now, this screaming and hollering shit is gonna be bad for business, Tasha thought. She could hear Keesha hollering clear from the other side of the new townhouse that Manolo had rented for his stable of women.
Keesha was exactly the type of chick that Manolo needed around. Not only would she make him money by selling her pussy, but by kicking H
alleigh’s ass at that Detroit Pistons game, she had shown how much heart she had. And just as Sweets had used a woman to kill Jamaica Joe, Manolo and Sweets both knew that thirsty-ass Keesha would be their trigger woman that would take out Malek.
As Manolo screwed Keesha, he kept pressing rewind on the DVR remote control so that he could keep replaying the news clip of Keesha pummeling Halleigh. “You beat that snake bitch’s ass!” he said, laughing at the sight.
He pumped harder into Keesha, and she screamed louder than a virgin.
“You gonna kill that nigga for daddy, right?”
Keesha turned her head and looked at Manolo and screamed, “Yes!”
“That’s what daddy’s talking about!”
Manolo and Sweets both knew that things would be real hot for the next few weeks, so their plan was to just chill for a minute, and then they would make their move on Malek.
Keesha had been fucking a dude Mitch on a regular basis, and it just so happened to be the same Mitch that was now Malek’s right-hand man. Keesha knew that Mitch was all about that almighty dollar and she would be able to flip him and get him to help her set up Malek. In her mind, it was just a matter of time before she would pull off the hit on Malek. She was certain that Manolo would elevate her over Tasha to be his top bitch. Finally, Keesha’s ship was ready to come in.
Chapter Nine
Halleigh lay outside next to her pool, her Chloe glasses covering her eyes, and her two-piece Dolce swimsuit complementing her gold stilettos. Despite the recent drama, she was living how she always imagined she would.
Malek was wonderful and treated her with respect. The only thing that she didn’t like was the fact that they didn’t have sex all day, every day. Her body was aching in the worst way. She wanted Malek badly, but she was afraid that he’d look at her differently because she had been with so many men. His attitude didn’t confirm her suspicions, but her suspicions were right on cue.
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