Prince of the City (14 page)

“Boy, you better take it. Anyway, that's nothing to what I'm holdin'. That shit won't even knock the dust off my money.”

“You got it like that, huh?”

“Let's just say I got enough to give you fifteen and not squawk about it. And what is this anyway?” she asked, turning her attention to the salesman.

“It's the new Cadillac STS. It's top of the line. It comes with wood grain, Coach leather seats, CD player, chrome rims, Vogue tires, and every other feature the Lexus, BMW, or Mercedes has,” Andy replied.

“Damn, this is a bad muthafucka.” Malik stepped back to admire his soon-to-be wife. She was dark cranberry with cream interior. “How much?”

“For you, Malik, forty-two five. No less. That's the best I can do. It's a steal, and if you ask me, it's like giving it away. It normally runs no less than forty-nine. But since Linda and I have been doing business for so long, I'm willing to sacrifice.”

Malik looked at Linda. “Boy, this nigga got game, huh?”

“This is his hustle, Malik. You either accept or reject it. But whatever you do, just respect it.”

“Well, Andy, I want it. I'll be back in about an hour to pick it up, so you can go ahead and start the paperwork.”

“Good, Malik. I like doing business with you. Just hurry back with the money.”

“I will.”

“Now, Ms. Linda, would you like to purchase something nice?”

“Nah. You got enough of my money already. You should be giving me something for free.”

“No, no, no, Linda. I'm sorry, I can't do that. But I'll tell you what. I can make you a good deal.”

Linda and Malik laughed. “Bye, Andy.”

“Bye, you two. Now hurry back with my money before I put another For Sale sign on this car.”

Malik mumbled to Linda, “If he does that, I'll personally peel his cap back.”

 

 

Chapter 17

-A GANGSTA'S BLOODLINE-

 

he next morning, Malik got up early. He had to make two runs. First, he dropped off his car to get his windows lightly tinted. Malik's car was too pretty and smooth not to have tinted windows. Second, he paged Sonny James to cop another kilo. The money Linda gave Malik really helped him out. He was able to buy his car and still cop what he wanted. Although Malik had a strong feeling about meeting Lee, he still kept his money in motion. That way, he could pay all his bills and spend whatever he wanted on clothes.

Ring!

“Hello? Did somebody page this number?”

“Yeah Sonny. It's Malik. You forgot my code?”

“Nah, I just ain't ever seen this number come up on my pager before.”

“Oh, that's because I'm at the auto shop getting my windows tinted.”

“You bought a car?”

“Yeah, you know I had to do something nice for myself.”

“What kind of car did you get?”

“A Caddy.”

“What, nigga! You're only sixteen. What you know about a Caddy?”

“I know my pops had one when he was sixteen, so I guess you can say like father like son. You know gangsta shit runs through my blood.”

“Yeah, whatever. But I think your pops came up a lil harder than you. Niggas down Lorton still telling stories 'bout Mike P.”

“Yeah, I know. But anyway, I'm tryna get down ASAP. What's up?”

“I ain't got a problem with that, but I do need to talk to you in private. I heard some things that you and I need to discuss now.” From the sound of Sonny's voice, Malik knew it was something serious. Instantly, butterflies nested in his stomach.

“Well, my car is finished, so where do you want to meet?” he asked.

Malik spoke with clarity to camouflauge his uneasiness. “Meet me on Seventh Street in front of the pool hall.”

“Okay, I'll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

Malik got in his car and drove down Seventh Street. Before he went into the pool hall, though, he stopped by Linda's apartment to get his piece. He knocked on the door. Even though he didn't see Linda's car out front, he still wanted to make sure no one was there before he used his key.

Malik went to his old bedroom. He had been gone for over a year, but everything in his room was the same. Linda left it untouched. Malik went straight to his safe and pulled out his 9-millimeter, Prince. He was always taught to trust no one, and from the eerie feeling he had, he made sure he held on to that principle.

“Now Prince, I don't know what Sonny is up to, but just in case he thinks he's gonna pull a funny move, I'm a peel his fuckin' cap back.”

Before leaving back out, Malik changed into a black Hugo Boss sweat suit, a black pair of Charles Barkley Nikes, and a black and gray LA Raiders fitted cap. He then headed out the door, leaving his car parked around back. He walked up Seventh Street where Sonny was parked in his black, big-body Mercedes. Malik noticed that Sonny wasn't in front of the pool hall. Instead, his car was parked in the alley. He could tell someone was in it, but the tinted windows were so dark he couldn't tell who. He played it off like he didn't notice that someone was in the car and continued to walk past.

Beep, Beep!

At the sound of the horn, Malik turned toward the Benz as if he were surprised someone was in it. He then walked to the passenger side and proceeded to get in, but someone was already in there with Sonny, so Malik walked to the back. However, the person in the passenger side got out. “Malik, you can sit up front,” the dark-skinned man said, happily giving up his seat.

“Smitty?”

Smitty was Louie's right-hand man. Smitty had just come from Lorton, and from the looks of it, he wanted his strip back. It was rumored that he'd do whatever to get it back. Malik had heard stories about Smitty from Louie.

Smitty was a cold-hearted killer, but real smooth about it. Most of his kills were so smooth that everybody thought Louie was the one doing all the killing. That's how Louie got his reputation. Smitty was killing everything that moved, and Louie was catching all the heat, but in return was receiving all the benefits. Louie instilled fear on Seventh Street, and everybody in the game fell victim to that fear, even Sonny James.

“Go 'head and get in,” Smitty said.

Malik got in and closed the door while Smitty got into the backseat. “So what's up, Sonny? What is it that you needed to discuss with me so urgently?” Malik studied Sonny's every move. Both his hands stayed on the steering wheel while he looked forward. When Malik first got in the car, he sat halfway in the seat so he'd be in a position to see Sonny face-to-face and Smitty through his peripheral vision.

“Well, you know Smitty here, don't you?'

“No, not really, but I've heard of him through Louie.”

“I don't actually know you either, but I too, have heard of you through Louie,” Smitty said.

Smitty held out his hand to greet the young, brave hustler. Malik didn't press Smitty's palm though. Instead, he tilted his hat to Smitty, which was noticed in the gangster world as a sign of respect. Smitty pulled his hand back, sat back in the seat, and admired the strength he saw in the young nigga.

“Well, Malik, the subject of this meeting is you,” Sonny said.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Well, give it to me in the raw.”

“Okay then. Smitty here just came home from Lorton, and while he was there, Louie came in with a fresh ten to thirty years thanks to you.”

“What the fuck you mean ‘thanks to me?' I ain't turn in Louie.” Instantly, Malik was offended.

“You may not have turned him in, but he believes you set him up,” Sonny explained.

“That's crazy, man. Why the fuck would I do some shit like that?”

“That's what we want to know, Malik,” Smitty said.

“Louie says you were supposed to meet him on Seventh and T at eleven o'clock to cop an ounce. He says you were real eager to cop his last ounce and that you damn near begged him to sell it to you.”

“Yeah, that's true. But I ain't set him up though.”

“Let me finish talking before you start defending yourself. Now Louie says you always talked about turning this joint over to a coke strip, and that every time you suggested something about doing it, he declined and told you no. On the other hand, you had a vision. You always thought that coke would move better in this spot being that there's too many dope strips nearby. So one day you call him, and he agrees to meet you at eleven o'clock, hours before the jump-outs come. He says he kept paging you, but you never called back. He waited almost two hours for you. Then he finally gave up and headed on his way, but for some strange reason, the same jump-out, Cowboy, who been tryna lock Louie up for years, gets him with the ounce of raw dope, a gun, and about nine thousand dollars. Louie got ten to thirty years behind that shit, Malik, and we're sitting here wondering why is it so obvious that Seventh and T is all of a sudden a coke strip being heavily run by you?”

Malik kept his eyes on both men, but mainly on Smitty. Sonny James never looked Malik in the eyes. That was a dead giveaway, because every time he and Sonny did business together, he always looked Malik in the eyes. Therefore, he kept his focus on Smitty for any sudden movement, but looked at Sonny for any signal.

“Now, Sonny, you know me. You knew my father.”

“Hold up, Malik. When I first met you, you acted like a man. You told me that you never wanted to ride on your father's coattail. So this ain't the time to be bringing up his name.”

“Then let me give it to you like this. I was always taught by a whore that a man knows nothing by being told. Now, he may believe what someone says, but unless he investigates it himself, he still doesn't know. There are always two sides to a story. Now, it's up to you to hear me out.”

“Hear you out? Why the fuck should we hear you out? I've known Louie since he was a kid. He used to take out my mother's trash. Smitty here has been with Louie his whole life. Nigga, the only thing we know 'bout you is that your father was getting money in Southeast and ended up getting whacked along with his wife, and you were raised by a dick-sucking whore. So what the fuck we need to hear you out for, huh?”

As Sonny was talking, Malik's heart began to race. He knew his fate was calling him. He knew in a matter of seconds a signal would be made, and his brains would be sitting on top of Sonny's dashboard. Malik held his hand close to his waist, where Prince was patiently waiting for his call. When Smitty looked outside through the tinted glass, Malik knew he was looking for potential witnesses to the crime he was about to commit.

“Man, I ain't no rat. I understand Louie's pain, but the picture here has been painted all wrong. It's only right you hear me out.”

For the first time, Sonny finally moved. When Sonny looked into his rearview mirror at Smitty, Malik knew it was his time to die. This was the signal that would send him to his resting place. Through his peripheral vision, Malik saw Smitty reaching for his gun. Instantly, Malik pointed his finger toward the driver's side window.

“Police is coming!”

Both Smitty and Sonny frantically looked in that direction, falling for the oldest trick in the book that ultimately was their most fatal mistake. Malik shot Smitty first. He quickly placed his gun up to Smitty's temple and pulled the trigger.

Boom!

The impact of the bullet jerked Smitty's head, and brain matter covered the backseat of Sonny's Benz. Malik then turned his gun on Sonny.

“Now, hold on, Malik. Don't kill me. Please don't kill me.” Sonny begged like a coward.

“You sat here and tried to trick me out of my life. You talked shit about my parents as if they were nothing. You disrespected my aunt and questioned my loyalty as a man. Sonny, I was always taught never to trust anyone, and that's the reason I brought my friend here to meet you.”

“What the fuck are you saying, Malik?”

“Sonny, meet Prince. Prince, this is Sonny”—and with that, Malik pulled the trigger.

Boom!

Malik caught Sonny right between the eyes. Blood covered the tinted windows, while Sonny's face was stuck to the glass. It sort of reminded Malik of his favorite movie, Scarface, when Tony Montana killed Sosa's associate while driving so he wouldn't detonate the bomb.

Malik quickly got out of the car and looked around for potential witnesses. No one was out there. It was too early in the morning. As Malik walked out of the alley, he pulled down his cap and moved in a quick but unpanicked stride. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Booga at the end of T Street, hoping he went unnoticed. Malik hit the corner of Seventh and jogged to where his car was parked.

Malik got into his Cadillac and took a deep breath. It was his first kill and his next step on the ladder to being king. He knew that what he'd just done was justified, but he also knew there was no way Louie would understand. Malik had crossed the point of no return. He'd killed Louie's best friend, and one of Seventh Street's oldest pioneers, Sonny James. So many things raced through Malik's mind as he sat behind the tinted windows of his car rolling a blunt. He wondered if Booga saw him. He wondered if anyone found out what he'd done, and whether it would put Linda in danger. Malik decided he had to tell Linda what happened, but only if she asked.

Malik placed Prince on his lap, started his car, and pushed number three on his CD player. Within seconds, MC Eight's song “Straight up Menace” blasted through the speakers.

“A fucked-up childhood is the reason why I am . . . got me in a state where I don't give a damn.”

That first verse stuck in Malik's mind like glue, as he fired up his blunt and took a long pull before heading back to his apartment on Georgia Avenue.

 
 

Chapter 18

 

-GANGSTER PARTY-