Thirty-SEVEN

The naked winter trees lined the avenue. It was another cold New York day. Detective Mogen and Lowell’s breaths ascended in visible clouds.

The detectives walked toward the dark Impala talking and laughing, their pockets lined with ten thousand dollars each. They’d delivered the information for each man in the photos to Mack D. It was only business on their end. Both cops yearned for an early retirement.

Lowell said, “I got my eyes on this boat—a Boston Whaler. It’s a beauty.”

“Not too long until you’re fishing in the deep sea forgetting about this place here.”

“I already got my fishing poles lined up and ready to catch me some red snappers and catfish. I can already taste them.”

The men laughed.

As they were about to climb inside the Impala, swiftly a hooded thug carrying a large automatic appeared out of nowhere. He lifted the gun to Mogen and shot him in the face at point-blank range.

Mogen coiled over and dropped to the ground, dead.

Shocked and frightened, Detective Lowell desperately tried to remove his holstered Glock, but the hooded thug was already upon him, blasting six shots into the detective and killing him instantly.

Satisfied, Jamel hurried to the idling BMW, where Mark-Mark was behind the wheel. He pulled his hood back and smiled. “Fuck Mack D! I’m killing all his people!”

***

Mark-Mark walked into his building lobby a week after his involvement in the gunning down of Detectives Lowell and Mogen. The streets were hot. The murders were front-page news. The story had come out about them being corrupt and working for a murderous drug kingpin. It was the hot topic.

Mark-Mark stepped into the elevator and pushed his floor. As the elevator ascended, he pulled out a blunt and sparked up. Blunts were like cigarettes to him. He was armed with two guns. He was always on alert, knowing that anyone connected to Jamel was a target.

Jamel was on a warpath, killing everything that moved. It came to light that he’d persuaded three of Mack D’s men to rob him, and then he and his crew stole from them. His deal with the Armenians was falling apart. He wasn’t getting the one million fast enough.

Mark-Mark took a drag from his blunt. The elevator doors opened, and before he could take a single step, a loud shotgun blast violently lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the wall so hard, he was dead before he hit the ground. He lay ripped open in a pool of his own blood.

Richard stood over the body and frowned. He didn’t say a word. He pivoted and coolly walked away.

***

Mike was too paranoid to leave his Brooklyn apartment. He’d heard about the murders of the cops, knowing Jamel was implicated in that mess. And then he heard about Mark-Mark’s gruesome demise. Mark-Mark was a careful and tough white boy, so he knew whoever had gotten to him was a straight professional.

Mike refused to answer his phone or step outside. If he was hungry, then he ordered takeout, and when the deliveryman came to the door, he would slide the money underneath the door and tell them to leave the food in the hallway. Only when he was certain they were gone, would he open his door and get his meal.

He regularly carried his snub-nose revolver and a Glock with him everywhere and always kept a round in the chamber. He kept his windows closed, making his apartment always dark. He knew either the cops were going to raid his apartment, or niggas were ready to kill him, and he wasn’t about to make it easier for either one.

Mike sat watching TV in the living room, an old episode of Diff’rent Strokes, laughing at Arnold’s antics. The gun was on his lap. He was waiting for his Chinese food order to come.

An hour later someone was knocking at his door. He got up with the revolver gripped in his fist.

“Who?” he asked.

“You ordered Chinese?”

“Yeah, leave that shit by the door.” Mike slid a twenty-dollar bill underneath the doorway. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you,” the delivery man replied. He walked away.

Mike looked through the peephole to make sure everything was safe and clear. When he was satisfied, he unlocked the door and quickly collected his food. But the minute he closed his door Mike felt a sudden and unwanted presence behind him. It gave him a chill.

He turned suddenly to try and strike with his gun, but he was too slow. Richard sharply grabbed him into a tight choke hold and thrust the sharp, six-inch blade into his temple. Mike squirmed in Richard’s arms, dying slowly.

Richard held him up until the lights in his eyes darkened for good. Mike’s body went lifeless in Richard’s crushing arms, and Richard released him. Mike’s body dropped to the floor. Richard looked down at him, unsmiling. Murder got his blood boiling; it made him alive. The main prizes—Kamel and Jamel—were last on his list. They couldn’t run or hide from him. He was going to permanently put their lights out.

***

First Mark-Mark, then Mike, and now Dennis and Bird were found slaughtered in the Hudson River, their bodies frozen from the cold. Their throats were slashed so deeply, their heads were almost severed. Jamel knew he was next if he didn’t react first. His crew had been wiped out. He was now on the run. Mack D had whispered to the police that Jamel was responsible for the corrupt cops’ murders, and an APB went out that he was a man of interest in a police shooting.

Jamel felt that he was no longer safe in Brooklyn, Queens, or Harlem. He decided he would hide out in Staten Island then make his way farther South, maybe Georgia then Florida— keep a low profile until the heat blew over. He missed Kamel and Apple. It’d been weeks since he’d seen them.

He spent his time getting high off cocaine and weed. He planned on not going out without a fight. He was ready for them when they came. He constantly wore Kevlar and armed himself with guns and knives from head to toe.

He stepped out of Ana’s Queens home, his eyes dancing everywhere. He was bold and ready, itching to kill anyone that came his way. He walked toward his car parked in the driveway and openly carried two fully loaded 9 mm’s. Every minute mattered. He didn’t trust anyone.

He hit the alarm to the Benz, unlocking the doors. He checked the backseat and looked around his surrounding area, and everything seemed normal.

But Jamel was extra paranoid. And he had the right to be.

As he was about to get in his car to head to Staten Island, he immediately saw the threat via the window—his reflection gave him away. Richard’s large Desert Eagle was pointed at the back of Jamel’s head.

Jamel didn’t freeze up. He dove to the ground, and the shots rang out but missed him barely, and the window on the driver’s side exploded. Jamel spun around and returned fire at Richard. His two 9 mm’s exploded, pushing Richard off his feet and tumbling him to the grass. Richard was on his back, looking lifeless.

Jamel wasn’t sure if he was dead or not. He crouched and cautiously moved toward the body, ready to finish it, but Richard had a surprise waiting.

A single shot ripped through Jamel’s side, and he dropped to his knee, wincing from the pain.

Another shooter came from behind, but he missed the kill shot.

Jamel spun and shot the man in the head then he turned around just in time to see Richard standing up and pointing his gun at him, and he fired at Richard. Two shots went off simultaneously from both guns, but only one did its job.

Richard was shocked that he got hit in the chest. The blood seeped through his clothing. He glared at Jamel cursing, and then fell dead.

Jamel refused to stick around. He’d just murdered Mack D’s number one killer. The bounty was about to triple on his head. He jumped into his Benz and sped off. He was on his way to Staten Island.

***

The house was empty. Kamel made sure of that. There were no children laughing or playing in the backyard or in the house, his woman’s sweet voice was absent from the residence. There was only silence from room to room. There was absolute stillness. Not a sound could be heard either close at hand or in the far distance. It was an eerie sort of tranquility.

Kamel felt the home in Staten Island was no longer safe. He, Kola, Apple, and the kids all felt like prisoners. So he got his family away from there and had them staying at a hotel in New Jersey, where Maleek was protecting them.

The following day they all had a long flight to Santa Cruz, California. They planned on leaving New York for good. They felt that the West Coast was far enough from Mack D’s violent reach. With Kamel’s money, they could start over and probably live comfortably.

But Eduardo was a different story.

Kamel gathered the last of his belongings from the house. He had everything he needed. He looked around one last time and was about to exit when he saw Jamel’s Benz coming to a stop in the driveway.

He kept his hand near his weapon, his attention on Jamel storming out of the Benz and hurrying to the front porch. He was bleeding.

Jamel came flying into the house and was met with Kamel glaring at him with a Glock in his hand.

Jamel was out of breath and staggering. He fell into the wall and collapsed to the ground, exclaiming, “Bro, I need help!”

“What the fuck, Jamel! What happened?”

“I got that muthafucka! He came at me, and I got that nigga!”

“Who?”

“Richard—Mack D’s boy. Fuck him!”

Kamel was shocked. He killed Richard; the streets didn’t think it was possible for him to die. But from his brother’s appearance it looked like he’d gotten into a fierce gun battle and barely won.

“Yo, we are one step away from killing that sonofabitch, Twin. His right hand has gone down, and he’s weak. So now it’s our turn,” Jamel said breathlessly.

Kamel looked at his brother. They didn’t have the same dreams. They were living two different lives. Kamel couldn’t continue living dangerously and taking risks. He wanted to be a family man now. He wanted out of the game. He wanted to be left alone and love his woman.

Jamel stood up, holding his side. He looked at his brother and said, “I’m a’ight, bro, it’s only a flesh wound. But we good now, nigga. We good. It’s our time to shine.”

They weren’t good. They would never be good again. Kamel didn’t want to shine in the underworld any more. He had lost his appetite for that lifestyle.

Jamel looked around the house. He suddenly noticed it was empty. No one was home.

“Where’s everybody?” he asked.

“They’re gone, Jamel.”

“Gone? Where?”

“Far from here.”

“What you mean, nigga?”

“I mean, we done with this life for good. We’re leaving New York, all of us,” Kamel informed him.

Jamel looked at his brother. “You tryin’ to leave me, Twin? That bitch is tryin’ to take you away from me. Nah, I won’t let her!”

“Nigga, it ain’t your call. It’s my call, and I said I’m done with this. I’m done with us!” Kamel exclaimed. “Look at you, you’re fucked up, nigga—getting high, killing everything that moves and thinking you gonna live through this shit. Nigga, you’re doing one hundred miles an hour on a dark, slippery street, and you’re about to lose control and hit a brick wall. Think, Jamel, think!”

Jamel felt dejected. Every word from his brother stung, only fueling the fire that burned inside of him. His fingers and jaw began to clench.

“Where the fuck you gonna go, nigga? This is all we know.”

“No, this is all that you want to know, not me. I got a family now. I got other dreams I wanna see come true.”

“Family? I thought I was your family,” Jamel said sadly.

“I love you, Jamel, and you will always be my family, but look at you—look at what you’re becoming. Ana’s dead, your crew’s dead, you killed two cops, and now you’re on the run, and you warring with Mack D. How you think this is going to end for you?”

“Nigga, fuck you then! I don’t fuckin’ need you, nigga. I’m good. You know why, Kamel? Because I’m a fuckin’ survivor. I came this far, and I’m a fuckin’ warrior,” he announced, pounding his chest with his fist, his eyes burning into his brother.

Kamel stared at his brother and he felt sorry for him. He had no one. Apple was leaving with them. Ana was dead. He simply had his pain and his violence.

“Leave, nigga. Go on and be The Brady Bunch wit’ that bitch and them kids. But how long you think it’s gonna last, nigga? You think you Mike Brady, muthafucka? Like you ain’t did your dirt and kill niggas. Now you wanna switch up and shit, get all sanctified and shit. Fuck you! You ain’t family, nigga!” Jamel exclaimed loud and clear.

Kamel had no words for Jamel. He was done talking.

Jamel paced around the room, amped up. He pulled out a cocaine-laced blunt from his pocket and lit up right there. He took a few pulls and blew smoke in Kamel’s direction.

“Family.” Jamel laughed. “Let’s see how long your family last when your true colors come out. Nigga, where you gon’ go? You ain’t safe nowhere, bro. And you know what? I’m gonna find them bitches, Apple and Kola, and guess what I’m gon’ do to them? I’m gonna show them my true colors. Yeah, nigga, they taking you away from me, so I’m gonna take them away from you.”

“You need help.”

“I don’t need a damn thing, not from you or anyone. Fuck outta here, nigga! Run nigga, run,” Jamel said, mocking him.

Jamel turned and looked out the window, smoking his blunt and turning his back on his brother, indicating Kamel was a foul nigga to walk out on his own flesh and blood.

Kamel was hurt by his brother’s words and his appearance. He knew the inevitable was coming for him, death or incarceration. Tears trickled down his face as he stared at him. He didn’t want to see any harm come to Jamel, but he knew Mack D was going to find him and torture him to death.

Kamel walked behind his brother and said, “I love you, Jamel. I always will.” He raised the gun to the back of Jamel’s head and pulled the trigger.

Boom!

The bullet propelled Jamel forward into the window, and he dropped dead by his brother’s feet.

Kamel’s tears continued to fall. It was the hardest decision he’d ever made, but he felt it had to be done. It was either by him or the streets. Kamel knew that Jamel would not have rested until he killed his happiness.

He dried his tears and left the body there, hoping his brother would be found soon.

Killing Jamel closed that chapter of his life, and he was ready to start a new one. His next move was risky and damn near suicidal, but he was ready to die for Kola. He was tired of her running and being scared. It had to end. He was ready to confront the man she feared and talk to him man to man.