Carl Weber's Kingpins Page 4

  “You one of them weird niggas or something?” she said.

  “Never weird, shorty,” Tron chuckled. “Just mesmerized. You have the kind of beauty that could make the world stop.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said and eyed him curiously. “Well, if I’m so beautiful, aren’t you gonna ask for my name?”

  “One day,” he said with a smile.

  He let her hand go and stepped out of her way so she could pass. By that time, his car had pulled up, and he could feel the woman’s eyes on him as he walked to the driver’s side.

  “Uh-uh. Do not let that nigga’s weak-ass game get you,” he heard her homegirl say behind him. “Let’s get up in here and dance our asses off. Wait, that’s his ’Rari?”

  He chuckled to himself when his car pulled up. Women were all the same. It didn’t take much to impress them. A nice outfit, a nice car . . . It was all the same. As long as it looked like you had money, it didn’t matter to them. When he glanced back, he gave the woman he had spoken to a knowing look and instantly, her full lips formed into a line.

  “My brother had that car when he was 16; boss up,” she said loudly and turned toward the club.

  Tron watched the way her thighs jiggled as she walked away from him and found himself still smiling. Maybe she wasn’t that easy, after all.

  “The princess strikes again,” the valet said and handed him his car keys.

  “What?” Tron asked, confused.

  “You don’t know who you were just talking to, man? That’s Kleigh Turner’s fine ass. She’s the princess of Harlem.”

  “Turner? As in Klax Turner?”

  “Yup. That’s his baby sister. I don’t know one nigga that’s been able to get at her.”

  “You don’t say,” Tron said, rubbing his chin as he watched her disappear into the club. “Maybe I’ll try my luck.”

  “Yeah, right. Klax is the big bad wolf around here.”

  “Even the big bad wolf had his day,” Tron said and got in his car without another word.

  He had planned to tear down Klax’s operation from the outside, but now he had a better idea. Twenty-three years ago when Kameron Turner ordered the hit on the infamous Sunny Walker, he didn’t know he had created an even bigger monster. When Tron’s father took a bullet to the head for his son all those years back, he was left for dead . . . but he didn’t die. After the attack, he was left with a silver plate in his head and had to relearn to do basic motor functions. When he was back and well enough to get back in the game, he didn’t. It had cost him too much. Seeing his wife and daughter murdered in front of him had changed him. He didn’t want anything to do with the drug game anymore, and more so, he didn’t want his son to follow in his footsteps. But some wishes were just too grand to grant. Tron was everything Sunny had been in his prime, but better. He had the swagger of a boss and the fearless heart to match. Once Tron found out what a legend his old man had been, he vowed to avenge him for everything they’d both lost.

  Sunny had moved them from Harlem to Albany when Tron was 8 years old. They lived a good life with the money Sunny had in the bank. Sunny started a local training gym for boxers. It was meant to be a place where troubled youth could go to evade the streets. The same streets he couldn’t save his son from. To Tron, “good” could have always been “better.” No, it should have been better. When Sunny refused to teach him everything he knew about the game, Tron took it upon himself to learn it hands-on when he was 18. With the help of his uncle Kyan, Tron rose up in ranks until he felt that he was ready to go at Kameron Turner . . . only to find out that Kameron had died and left his empire to his son, Klax. Tron lived most of his life knowing that he was the true heir of Harlem, and that knowledge alone doused the flame burning inside of him.

  As he drove, his thoughts fell to Kleigh Turner. His interest in her had piqued, but not just because she was beautiful. She was a key, and that meant she was more valuable than gold or diamonds to him. There was no way he was going to let his link to the throne slip from between his fingers. He wasn’t going to tear Klax’s empire down from the outside. He was going to do it from within.

  He was staying in an apartment in Manhattan since it was close to his mark. He always figured plain sight was the best hiding spot, not to mention that it was a complex owned by his father with a gated parking garage. When Tron got there, he showed the man in charge of manning the gate his parking permit. Tron had gotten to know him as Timothy. He was a stout, dark-skinned man with a thick mustache that had many gray hairs entangled in it. The top of his head was completely bald, and the moonlight gleamed off the top of it.

  “Late night, Mr. Walker?” Timothy said, handing the permit back to Tron.

  Tron checked his watch and saw that it was just then about to be two in the morning. He smiled to himself knowing that Klax probably had people scouring New York trying to find him. He shrugged his shoulders and placed the small plastic card back in his wallet.

  “Young niggas gotta have fun too.”

  “I know that’s right, youngblood,” Timothy said with a grin. “Just don’t hurt ’em too bad. With a car like this here, you’re bound to catch a hater or two.”

  “Word,” Tron said. Timothy let the gate up. “You good out here? You need me to order you some food or something?”

  “Nah, man, I’m good. My wife sends me to work fucked and fed every night,” Timothy answered, and both men laughed.

  “Sounds like you have a keeper. I’ll get at you another time.”

  With that, he rolled his window back up, drove through the gate, and down the ramp to the brightly lit up parking garage. He parked in the spot that had his last name painted on the yellow cement stopper. His parking spot was convenient because it was right next to the elevator that took him right to the floor of his apartment. He got out and locked his car doors, heading for the elevator. After the night he’d had, the only thing on his mind right then was his soft king bed and silk sheets. He knew the grounds like the back of his hand since it was where he lived with his father for two years before they moved. Sunny not only bought the complex, but he had it fixed up and turned into a luxurious property. Tron had been young, but he remembered what a drastic change it had been moving from their large home in Harlem to the apartment. Without his mother and sister, the place always felt empty. He couldn’t count the number of times he woke up in a sweat from the nightmares of their murders. Those were the saddest two years of his life. The only thing he learned was how to keep his feelings bottled up. His performance in school noticeably plummeted, and his social interactions were nonexistent. He didn’t want to let anyone close to him ever again. The pain of his loss was too much for a young boy to handle.

  When Sunny saw that Tron wasn’t getting any better, he moved them to Albany. After they settled in their new dwellings, Tron knew his father to seldom return to the complex. Tron always wondered if Sunny feared that Kameron would come back to finish the job he started, but he never asked. Sunny hired someone to oversee the property and even to do the hiring process for the employees working in the leasing office. Despite being part owner of the place, Tron found comfort in the fact that nobody there knew his face. Although his last name too was Walker, nobody seemed to make the connection that he was Arnold Walker’s son. He was ideally able to move in and out without question.

  He took the elevator up to the third floor, and when he stepped out, the scent of clean linen hit his nostrils. The light shining from the square light fixtures bounced off of the gray walls, and Tron made a mental note to see about changing the white floor tile to marble. His apartment was at the very end of the hallway, and as he passed each door, he heard the same thing coming from them: nothing. Being that it was so late at night, he was positive that everyone was either sleeping or not there at all.

  Tron reached his apartment, but upon applying pressure to put the key in the hole, instead, the door pushed open. It caught him by surprise, and he became still, listening for any movement on the inside, but he heard
nothing. However, the hairs on the back of his neck instantly stood up and let him know that somebody was inside. He grabbed the tool from his waist and slowly pushed the door all the way open. His bedroom light was on, and he knew for a fact that he’d turned it off before he left. He crept inside and shut the door quietly behind him. Whoever had made the mistake of breaking into his home wouldn’t get a chance to correct it because Tron wasn’t letting them leave alive. He cocked his pistol as he stealthily walked toward the bedroom and raised it when he came up on the closed door. Just as he was about to kick it open, he heard quick footsteps come up behind him. He tried to turn around and see who it was, but a quick jab to his right shoulder prevented that. The blow was a powerful one and made him drop his gun. He tried to turn around again but stopped when he felt a gun against the back of his locs. He let what would probably be his last breath out of his mouth, knowing that one of Klax’s soldiers must have found him. But then, he heard a voice that changed everything.

  “You’re off your game. Any other nigga woulda blew your brains out.”

  The deep voice was a familiar one. So familiar that a smirk formed on Tron’s face. When he felt the pressure of the gun leave his head, he turned around and faced the man that helped raise him.

  “Uncle Kyan,” he said, and the older man pulled him in for an embrace. “It’s like two in the morning. What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Ya old man thinks you’re down in Denver for some boxing tournament. I knew that was a lie.”

  “And how did you come to that conclusion?” Tron said, picking up his gun and going back into the living room.

  “Because you’ve always been the type to like being in the fight, not watching it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You always did think you knew me better than my own pops,” Tron said and turned on a tall lamp before sitting down. He placed his gun on the glass coffee table and motioned toward the red love seat across from him. “You can go on ’head and take a seat.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Kyan said, tucking his gun in his waist before sitting down on the love seat.

  “If you knew I wouldn’t be in Denver, how did you know where to find me?” Tron asked when his uncle was situated.

  Kyan leaned back in his seat and observed his nephew. Black didn’t crack, because although he was in his mid-forties, he still had a youthful look about him. The hair on his head was still jet black, although Tron often presumed that he got it dyed. Still, his waves and crisp line put many young hustlers to shame. That night, he wore a slim, olive-green tailored suit with a white button-up and gray tie. On his feet were studded Rollerboy Christian Louboutins, gray to match his tie. He placed his right ankle on top of his left knee and gave Tron an amused look.

  “It was easy.”

  “How?”

  “You do know I help ya old man with this place? He owns it; I run it. So, imagine my shock when my nephew’s credit report ran across my desk. I thought to myself, ‘Now, why on earth would Tron be tryna get an apartment when he’s owned a house since he was 20?’ And then, since you know ya uncle’s ear is always to the streets, I started hearing about some niggas wreaking havoc on Harlem’s kingpin. And I just put two and two together from there.”

  “Does Pop know?” Tron asked.

  He could have shot himself in the foot for being so stupid as far as the apartment went. His father wouldn’t go for it if he knew what Tron was really doing. He couldn’t even say what Sunny would do in his rage if he found out, so Tron hoped he didn’t know already.

  “Should he?”

  “Nah.”

  “Give me one good reason why he shouldn’t know. If you can do that, I’ll rethink telling him who his new tenant is,” Kyan said and clasped his hands together.

  “How do I know you aren’t just tryna figure out my moves so you can tell him anyway?”

  “You should know both of us better than that, neph. Plus, if Sunny knew you had lied to him in the first place, it would be him on this couch and not me. But keep in mind, he’s only one call away.”

  “A’ight,” Tron sighed and shook his head. “A’ight, man. I’ll tell you.”

  He paused, and Kyan cleared his throat.

  “I’m waiting,” he said and looked at his gold watch for emphasis.

  “I came here to settle an old score.”

  “An old score?” Kyan raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, you heard right. I’m here to take Harlem back. Like you and me used to talk about.”

  On Tron’s last sentence, Kyan burst out laughing so hard that he had to hold his stomach. He tried to speak a few times but exploded into more fits of laughter. When he was finally done, he wiped the tears from his eyes and looked into Tron’s hard face.

  “Oh shit. You’re serious about this, neph?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

  “That’s suicide, youngin,” Kyan told him. “These streets—”

  “What about these streets? They ain’t no joke? Well, news flash, Unc, I ain’t neither. You know that. You know me.”

  “Still,” Kyan said, “tryna take back Harlem?”

  “What do you think I’ve been doin’ the past five years? Moving up in the ranks for nothing? That little operation back in Albany ain’t got shit on what we can do here. The market here is unlimited; I’m capped there. Plus, as I said, it’s time to take back what’s mine.”

  “Yours?”

  “Yeah. Mine. Kameron Turner took everything from my father, set his son in my seat, and gave his daughter the life that was stolen from my sister. I’ma kill Klax Turner, and have New York’s connect come through me to distribute work.”

  “A’ight,” Kyan said as if something was wracking his brain.

  “A’ight?”

  “I won’t tell Sunny. If he knew this is what you were doing, a hell would rise in New York that isn’t even in the Bible.”

  “Thanks, Unc.”

  “I’m not finished,” Kyan said, rubbing his chin. “I won’t tell Sunny for now, but this secret has a limited hold time with me. If this is what you’re tryna do, hitting a few stash spots and trap houses ain’t gon’ cut it. That ain’t gon’ do nothing but make the dragon mad and call in reinforcements. Nah, if you’re gon’ do it, you gotta do it swift and right. You gotta kill Kevin Klax Turner before he kills you.”

  “I know,” Tron said, wrapping his head around the thought.

  The only reason he didn’t kill Klax in the club that night was that he too would have met an untimely death. He almost told Kyan about what had just taken place but thought better of it. He wouldn’t have thought too kindly about Tron being unarmed and in danger, even though he had it under control.

  “I’ll use some of the connects I have around town to try to get any information that might assist you.”

  “Thanks, Unc. You know something?”

  “What’s up?”

  “I never understood why my dad walked away from it all. I know this ain’t the life he wants for me. He wanted me to be some kind of Ivy League nigga, wearing suspenders and shit. That ain’t me. I remember sitting up with y’all late at night, counting endless stacks of money. The family trips we would go on, it all just seemed so limitless. I don’t know who in their right mind would give all that up.”

  “I’ll tell you who would . . . Someone who lost it all. Sunny watched them gun your mama and sister down right there in front of him. Watching your mama bleed out and die was some shit that changed me forever. So I can only imagine what losing her did to him. That’s why he never even wanted you to touch the drug game. He knows how addictive it is. He was an addict, and it cost him much more than he was willing to pay.”

  “And that’s why he can’t know about what I’m doing here until I do it. I don’t want him to try to stop me. He had his reasons for giving up what was his, and I have mine for fighting for it. This ain’t just about him. It’s about the mother I never had and the sister who still visits me in my dre
ams. How much time can you buy me?”

  “As much as I can. And if instead of having a crown on your head at the end of this, you end up dead or in jail, just call me Bennet.”

  “Bennet?”

  “Yeah, nigga, ’cause I ain’t in it. Sunny ain’t about to have my head on a chopping block because his dumb-ass son wants some notoriety. This is where I leave you.” Kyan stood up and went to the front door. When he opened it, he turned around before he left. “You got two weeks, you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  Chapter 5

  “Every new beginning comes from some other begin-

  ning’s end.”

  —Anonymous

  Kleigh

  She couldn’t get his voice out of her head. She could almost feel the vibrations from its deep baritone on her skin as she lay in her bed alone. After the club, Bahli had gone home, and Kleigh did the same. The two had been having a good time shaking what their mothers gave them, but their night was cut short when Klax saw them. She couldn’t believe that out of all the clubs, Bahli had directed her to Klax’s.

  “How was I supposed to know the newest spot in the city belonged to your brother when you didn’t?”

  Which was true. Klax had his hands in so many businesses that Kleigh couldn’t keep up sometimes. Once he spotted them inside Diamonds, not only did he make them leave, but he now knew about Kleigh’s new car and how she’d been able to sneak out. It was just another moment of how annoying it was to be his little sister, and although she did as she was told and left, she knew it wouldn’t be the last time she heard about it. However, Klax and his God complex were far from her mind. All she could think about was the man with the peanut butter skin and locs. He hadn’t even asked for her name. She didn’t know why that bothered her so much. Maybe because most men wouldn’t even approach her, but he did. So why limit himself? She tried to push the memory of that night to the furthest corner of her mind and rolled over, drifting off to sleep.

  She felt like she’d only been asleep ten minutes when she heard the front door to her home slam shut. When she blinked her sleepy eyes open, she was shocked to see the rays of sunlight peeping through the wooden blinds on her window. Kleigh groaned to herself when she grabbed her phone and saw that the time read ten in the morning. Not only had she overslept, she still felt like she needed at least five more hours of shut-eye. She noticed that she had five missed calls from her brother and a few from Bahli, but still, she didn’t have to guess who had burst in her home.