Carl Weber's Kingpins: Queens 2

by Erick S. Gray

Genres: Christian Suspense

Synopsis

From a murderous Bonnie and Clyde stirring up a hornet’s nest to a drug war and the rise of heroin overdoses, Detectives Michael Acosta and Chris Emerson are tasked with investigating the rash of robberies and brutal murders happening in the borough. Queens is bubbling with heated violence, as rival kingpins vie for power in Erick S. Gray’s intense addition to the bestselling Kingpins Series.
 
It’s a new millennium, and Nasir’s finally coming home from doing a bullet on Riker’s Island for a petty drug charge. He’s lost everything, and he craves to come up again in the streets and take back his power and respect.

One night in a strip club, Nasir reunites with Denise, the sister of his best friend, Sincere. Their friendship turns sexual, and they fall deeply in love. Nasir comes up with a master plan, and they set out to rob drug dealers, becoming the new Bonnie and Clyde of South Jamaica, Queens.
 
Sincere is livid when he hears news about his little sister hooking up with his old partner in crime. Nasir has become a dangerous man, and he’s dragging Denise down a dangerous path. However, Sincere is locked away upstate, unable to get to his sister. So, he calls in some favors and does the unthinkable. He places a hit on his old best friend. 
 
Meanwhile, Zulu is the new power in the neighborhood, a fierce drug kingpin who runs Queens and New York City with an iron fist—until he gets knocked by the Feds. There’s a snitch in his crew, and this informant’s testimony could send him away for life.
 
Zulu gives Zodiac, his right-hand man, the task of killing this rat before he can testify, but Zodiac has other plans. He wants to run the organization, and that’ll be easier with Zulu out of the way. As Zodiac works to build his kingdom, it sparks a civil war in the organization.
 
From a murderous Bonnie and Clyde stirring up a hornet’s nest to a drug war and the rise of heroin overdoses, Detectives Michael Acosta and Chris Emerson are tasked with investigating the rash of robberies and brutal murders happening in the borough. Queens is bubbling with heated violence, as rival kingpins vie for power in Erick S. Gray’s intense addition to the bestselling Kingpins Series.

Release date: February 21, 2023

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“On the chow!” the guard shouted.

It was noontime. Rafe muscled the sliding door the rest of the way open and stepped out into a single file of inmates. Then with his face directed down at the polished concrete floor, he moved forward with short, sliding steps to a flight of stairs down to the first floor. The forty-two residents of the cell block stood to the left of a thick yellow line painted on the floor. The inmates paused and began their ten-minute walk to the mess hall. They trooped forward clad in green state-issued shirts and pants, some immaculate and sharply dressed, while others were rumpled and messy. Almost all of the block mates were either black or Latino, and they all were young and ruggedly built.

Rafe crept with the others toward the mess hall. He continued to cast his face toward the ground, minding his business. Rafe was doing twenty-five years to life inside Elmira Correctional Facility, a state prison known as “The Hill” located in Chemung County, New York, in Elmira. The prison housed some notorious inmates throughout the years, from contract killer Frank Abbandando of Murder, Inc. to Nathaniel White, a convicted serial killer who’d confessed to beating and stabbing six women.

Rafe was a shell of himself, crippled by gunshot wounds he suffered from his feud with Sincere four years ago. Now he walked with a slight limp. Though his reputation preceded him, Rafe had lost everything: a criminal empire, his little brother, Drip-Drip, and his right-hand man, Malik. He was alone, but he was still feared and respected—and he still resented Sincere. The man had taken everything from him. Now four years later, Rafe still wanted to take everything from him. The two were at odds with each other on Rikers Island. When Rafe became healthy enough, he placed a hit on Sincere in Rikers. It failed. Sincere found out about the hit, and he tried to come back at Rafe. Sincere personally attacked Rafe in the jail hallways while in passing, but Rafe dodged death that day.

“I swear to God, nigga, I’m gonna destroy your fuckin’ life,” Rafe had shouted. “You killed my little brother. I know about your little sister, nigga, and I’m gon’ have the bitch slaughtered!”

The threat infuriated Sincere. It took nearly half a dozen guards to stop him from charging at Rafe. Sincere wanted to tear Rafe apart limb by limb for threatening Denise. As a result, they both were placed in isolation for weeks.

The men were fierce adversaries, and they wanted to kill each other and had tried several times. Nevertheless, transfers to different correctional facilities in 2001 ended that. Sincere went to Clinton, and Rafe was transferred to Elmira.

Rafe had little interest in the fifteen-minute mess-hall meal like others high in the prison pecking order. He’d been living well in Elmira, eating macaroni and tuna fish from the commissary in his cell. This afternoon, Rafe was headed to the mess hall to nod hellos across the wide stainless-steel tables and check for new faces. For two years, Rafe had kept a low profile in prison. He did more reading, got into art, and enjoyed the view from his cell. Rafe discovered that from his jail cell, he could see through a layer of grime-coated Plexiglas to the city of Elmira and the forest beyond, and Rafe became obsessed with the view. It was a temporary escape for him, providing a bit of tranquility.

He would sit and view for hours the milky sky hanging above ranges of oak, red, and silver maple, beech, and pine trees, many shades of green in the bright autumn sun. Rafe was a city thug who had fallen in love with the beauty of Upstate New York. This would be his home for the rest of his natural life. Most of his rivals were either dead or doing lengthy sentences themselves. So when he heard the news about Mob Allah, it was not surprising to Rafe. It was the world they lived in, an endless game with high stakes. You are a king one day, and then the next you’re either toppled over by a rising pawn or knocked entirely off the chessboard. Mob Allah tried to reform himself, and he was killed for it, no doubt by one of his underlings or his second-in-command.

While sitting in the mess hall, Rafe saw the unthinkable: Sincere. The sight of him made Rafe frown. “What the fuck!”

It had been over two years since the men crossed paths with each other. Now right away, an old flame of revenge and hatred had been sparked inside of Rafe. Seeing Sincere in Elmira made him somewhat ambivalent. He had found some peace there, accepting identity and self-awareness, but now his old beef came barreling back at him.

Sincere was diesel thick, tall, and physically intimidating. However, it was clear to everyone that he took care of himself and lifted weights while incarcerated. He had a thick and well-groomed beard, and he sported a bald head. He was a man who had been through hell and back ample times. But gradually, over three years, he had built his name up throughout the system and earned the respect of everyone around him. Furthermore, Sincere was now a shot caller.

Sincere had been moved from a different prison because he was listed as a “known enemy” of another inmate at that prison. Throughout his incarceration, Sincere had become a violent and dangerous man. He had been moved from one institution to another because of incidents with guards or fights with other prisoners. There was an incident where he slashed an inmate several times then dodged the guards through the vast mess hall of the facility.

The federal and state prison systems were vast but at the same time microscopic. So word would spread quickly to other penitentiaries whenever something big happened. Convicts out in California would know if a riot jumped off in New York before the last drop of blood was cleaned up. Moreover, Sincere’s reputation was spreading. He was a man who went after two notorious drug organizations on the streets of New York, killed several men, and survived. He was intelligent, calculating, and ruthless, and becoming a shot caller was equivalent to being the CEO of a powerful conglomerate.

Looking up from the stainless-steel table, Sincere finally noticed Rafe glaring at him. It was a shocking moment. Oh, shit, Sincere thought, and then he smirked. Sincere wanted to take Rafe’s head off right away, but now wasn’t the time.

While Sincere kept his cool, eating his meal, another inmate, named Row, took a seat next to him and greeted Sincere with dap and respect.

“My nigga, I didn’t think I would see you again,” said Row.

“Different house, same rules, right?” said Sincere.

Row nodded.

Row was dark, stocky, and short, no taller than five six. He was diesel thick like Sincere, and his neck was as wide as a grown man’s thighs. The two men met in Clinton, where Sincere’s rise to domination was catapulted. In the pen, everything was broken down into races. Inmates lived, ate, and associated with men of the same color as themselves. A race riot had erupted in the yard, things got ugly fast, and Sincere took out two rival men belonging to the white supremacists. Then a few months later, he killed a high-ranking Latino.

Before the men left the mess hall, Row read Sincere’s mind. “You’re going after Rafe, right?” he whispered.

Sincere didn’t respond to him, but the look he had in his eyes said it all. These two had history, so it was surprising that they were placed in the same state prison. Sincere figured it had to have been a clerical error. Still, he would take advantage of the situation before the prison officials realized the mistake.

It was a beautiful bright autumn day. The sky was so blue you could drown in it, and the temperature was inviting. But the beautiful weather was in contrast to the towering brick walls, double rows of fencing topped with razor wire, metal detectors at each gate, and an ominous gun tower looming overhead. The activity happening in the prison yard was common. Inmates came together to visit with friends, exercise, and participate in leisure activities. Others were bartering and scheming or engaging in social activities. The yard was where alliances were forged and, unfortunately, where many disputes were settled.

Sincere and Row stepped out into the yard where areas of the yard were rigidly staked out by racial or geographical groups. Tension was thick. Sincere had been there two weeks, and already word was spreading throughout the facility about an incident brewing. Although things seemed copasetic with inmates playing basketball, exercising, or simply chatting, any hellos or greetings were replaced with menacing stares. Sincere didn’t want to waste any time in taking out Rafe. It was an “either him or me” mentality.

Sincere quickly learned the lay of the land. With Row by his side, he had established a crew of loyal supporters ready to do his bidding, including murder. Sincere wanted to kill Rafe himself. As far as he was concerned, Rafe was unfinished business, and although the threat he’d spewed against his sister happened years ago, it was still fresh in Sincere’s mind. As long as Rafe was alive, he believed Denise’s life was in jeopardy.

Sincere spotted Rafe among other hardened inmates by the workout section. Rafe was busied bench-pressing, lying on a bench and pressing weight upward with a barbell. Staying fit inside was beneficial to your survival and health. There were men at Rafe’s side watching him work out. Sincere glared at everyone from across the yard. Row had worked it out with a guard and was able to sneak a weapon through the metal detectors and into the yard. A shank was mandatory. You became the prey if you didn’t want to be part of the hunt.

Communication between Sincere and Row was through eye contact, nods, and body language. Row knew it was time to set things off. Row faintly gave a nearby inmate a clever nod, and from there, things went from calm to chaotic in a heartbeat. That inmate quickly and unexpectedly attacked a Hispanic inmate of a rival gang. Seeing this, his allies hurriedly went to defend him, and this set off a chain of violence throughout the yard. The prison alarm sounded, and guards hollered commands and threats, but they were unheeded.

Amid the chaos, Sincere moved dynamically toward Rafe with the shank protruding from his fist. The men by Rafe’s side seemed in cahoots with the planned attack. Sincere stealthily charged at Rafe and quickly ran the sharp blade across his neck, opening his flesh like a zipper. He was drunk with revenge. Rafe gasped and grasped at his bloody open wound, struggling to breathe. He collapsed to his knees, blood pouring from him like a geyser. Rafe couldn’t speak, choking from his blood. He could only stare up at Sincere clutching the weapon that had taken his life. Their four- or five-year feud had finally come to a violent end. Rafe toppled to his side, dead.

Sincere grinned. His destiny was sealed. It was hard to believe that he was on the edge of becoming a police officer four years ago. Now he was a seasoned criminal, a shot caller, a muthafucka becoming highly feared in the state prisons.

Correctional officers used pepper spray and blasted grenades to break up the skirmish between thirty inmates. When the dust settled, two men were dead. Sincere and Row lay facedown against the ground, surrendering to the authorities.

The Q100 bus crossed over the Rikers Island Channel of the East River and Bowery Bay. To the left, passengers on the bus had a distanced view of LaGuardia Airport while departing from the prison. Recently released inmates were blended with the visitors coming from seeing their loved ones.

Nasir stepped off the MTA bus and stared up at the sky. He took in a breath of fresh air. After serving eighteen months inside the notorious jail for drug possession, he was finally a free man. The air was crisp, and the October sky appeared ominous and ferocious, with clouds racing across the sky, throbbing with the charged energy they desired to release in a stormy day. Whatever the weather, the day felt like paradise to Nasir.

Wearing an oversized white football jersey and a dark blue Yankees baseball cap pulled down low on his head so that his round face seemed to begin at his eyes, Nasir began his journey off the jail grounds. Instead of taking the Queens bus into Long Island City, Nasir decided to get into a cab.

The tapping sound started against the windshield to the cab, and it soon turned into a pitter-patter. The clouds had finally burst, and a downpour began. People began to hurry for protection outside, and umbrellas were opened. Nasir sighed heavily from the back seat of the cab. A thunderstorm was his welcome home gift. The heavy rain sounded like many angry bees. What a day, he thought. Nasir didn’t carry much with him: some cash, his personal belongings, and an address.

The cab idled outside a two-family home at the end of a dead-end street in Jamaica, Queens. It was near a train trestle that carried the Long Island Rail Road. Nasir stared at the sturdy two-story residence designed without the slightest imagination. He released another deep sigh, paid the cab driver, and hurried from the vehicle toward the home.

Nasir hurried to the side of the house, descended the concrete steps toward the basement, and knocked on the side door. While he waited for it to open, Nasir felt like a man without a country. He’d lost everything being locked away in Rikers Island. Two years ago, he was a rising star. He had money, women, and respect. His best friend Sincere had done him a favor when he got rid of Rafe and Mob Allah. With those two gone, it left the streets wide open for opportunity. The only competition in Jamaica, Queens, was Zulu, and fortunately for Nasir, Zulu was a reasonable man, and the two came to an agreement. There had been enough bloodshed in the neighborhood. Nasir would buy his work from Zulu at an affordable price, create his crew, and let bygones be bygones.

The money was good. Nasir was a natural-born hustler. But an anonymous snitch brought down some heat on Nasir, and cops raided his home and found a gun and drugs. It was his second drug arrest within three years, and a lengthy minimum drug sentence loomed over his head. However, his money was well spent on an adept lawyer who was able to have the drug charges dismissed.

Nevertheless, Nasir would do time for the unregistered gun and pay a minimum fine of $2,500. Though it was a sweet deal, it was the beginning of Nasir’s downfall. While he was incarcerated, his baby mama moved out of state with his daughter, his crew disbanded, and Zulu cut ties with him. Eighteen months later, he came home to nothing.

The side door opened, and Nasir was greeted by his cousin, Lou.

“Cuzzo, good to see you out,” Lou greeted Nasir with dap and a brotherly hug.

“Out to what?” Nasir replied dryly.

“Just be grateful you have a second chance,” said Lou.

Lou stood six feet and was 180 pounds. He was indeed slim. However, he had a reputation for being icy calm in sticky situations, and he was known to be a ruthless, vicious man.

Nasir entered the basement apartment. It was outdated with peeling paint, crumbling plaster, unhinged doors, green shag carpet, and sparse furnishings. The seventy-five-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the wall was the only luxury in the place.

“I got you, cuzzo. My home is your home,” Lou said wholeheartedly.

Nasir looked around. It wasn’t the ideal place to stay. But he trusted Lou, and Nasir needed someplace he could trust to regroup, think, and make moves again.

“You got the second bedroom,” Lou added.

Nasir walked into the second bedroom. It was small with clean white walls, a twin bed, a desk, and closets with sliding doors opposite the bed. Nasir sighed. It is what it is, he thought.

“I know it isn’t much. But you know, make the best of things for now. I know you’ll be back soon running shit in these streets.”

Nasir nodded. He didn’t have a choice.

“Follow me. Let me show you something,” Lou said.

Nasir followed his cousin into the main bedroom. The decor was as bad as the rest of the house, unkempt and sparse. Lou moved toward his bed and lifted the mattress to reveal an impressive arsenal. He had everything from handguns to assault rifles and shotguns. Nasir was taken aback.

“Whoa!”

“Yeah, impressive, right?” Lou smiled.

“Who you ready to war with, nigga?” Nasir joked.

“You always knew I got a thing for guns, cuzzo. Like money and pussy, you can’t have enough of it,” Lou proclaimed. “But I got your back out here.”

Nasir nodded.

“Pick one, whatever, it’s yours,” Lou suggested.

Nasir stared at the heavy arsenal for a moment, then soon his eyes became fixed on a Smith & Wesson SW99. He picked up the gun and inspected it.

“You got great taste, cuzzo,” Lou uttered.

Indeed, it was a remarkable weapon. Lou picked up a Remington 870 with a folding stock, cocked it, and uttered, “Whenever you ready to get this money again, let me know, cuzzo.”

Nasir stared at his cousin quietly. He knew Lou could be a handful—a crazy muthafucka, a firecracker with a short fuse, a gunslinger if this were the Wild West—and he could be helpful when the time was right.

“Where did you get these guns from?” Nasir asked him.

Lou’s twisted smile was like a sudden beam of sunlight illuminating the darkest corners of the room. He replied, “I got connected with some white boys upstate. We did a late-night smash-and-grab at this gun store. Nearly cleaned them out. I sold off a few shits but decided to keep the best toys for myself. You never know, right, cuzzo?”

Nasir chuckled. Lou was a maniac.

“What you drinkin’ on, cuzzo? You home now. We gotta celebrate, pussy and liquor. Which one first?” Lou laughed.

The two men sat on the couch in the living room sipping vodka while watching rap videos play on the mounted flat-screen TV. The bottle was half empty. Lou was rolling a blunt while Nasir lounged on the couch, brooding. Then out of the blue, he uttered, “I was ready to take it all, my nigga. Wear that crown.”

Lou looked at him.

Nasir continued, “And one snitch took it away from me.”

“You know who it was, cuzzo? ’Cause we can hunt for that nigga right now and take care of that,” Lou uttered enthusiastically.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t take my case to trial. Took a plea deal. Therefore, the snitch’s identity wasn’t revealed, but I have an idea who it might be.”

“I haven’t caught a body in over a year. Feels like I’m slippin’.” Lou laughed.

Nasir took another swig of vodka. He stared at the TV, still brooding, then proclaimed, “My baby mama took my daughter and moved out of state while I was locked down. Bitch came to see me, pregnant, while I was in Rikers, and the bitch didn’t bring my daughter to see me. She told me she met someone special, they were getting married, and she was moving out of New York, wouldn’t tell me where. She talkin’ some shit about wanting a better life and didn’t want my wrongdoings crossing paths with her new family. I think about my daughter, Jazzman, every day. I miss my daughter. She’s ten now.”

“Sorry to hear ’bout that, cuzzo. We can find that bitch, too, get your daughter back,” said Lou seriously. “Fuck that bitch.”

A quiet moment came upon them, each man in his own thoughts for a split second. Nasir felt like he was a man who had fallen from grace. Sincere, his best friend, was doing hard time in an upstate prison. He had no family around besides his crazy cousin, and he’d hit rock bottom. Nasir took another swig of vodka and sighed.

50 Cent’s rap video for “Many Men (Wish Death)” started to play on the TV. Lou became excited seeing the video. He cranked up the volume, then jumped up and shouted, “Nigga, this my fuckin’ shit right here! This that new nigga comin’ up, 50 Cent. He nice. Jamaica, Queens, stay on the fuckin’ map.”

Nasir stared at the music video while Lou moved around the living room animatedly, blunt in one hand, his cup of vodka in the other.

Lou rhymed with the song, and Nasir watched him with a deadpan gaze.

“This your life he rhyming about, cuzzo. It’s your time,” Lou added. “You back home, nigga. Eighteen months ain’t s. . .