Nasir returns home two years later after the death of Denise. This time, he comes back to Queens with a crew and vengeance. He’s in a new relationship with Sunday, a beautiful but ruthless and ambitious bitch who’s ready to become the next Griselda Blanco in New York City. Along with her psychotic little brother, Sheek, the trio becomes a force to be reckoned with.
Nasir’s beef with Sincere has been put on hold. Sincere is too busy dealing with his own hitches in Elmira Correctional Facility. Sincere barely survives a hit placed on him by an unknown force. New rivals are coming into play, one being Rondell—an OG with robust backing. Sincere creates a prison gang, KOS (Kings of Society), inside the state prison, and they’re becoming a booming threat in and out of the prison.
Meanwhile, Zodiac is in Ghana, Africa, conducting the biggest drug deal in his life—to become a top distributor. With this deal, he’ll become one of the biggest heavyweights in the game. However, he and Trina are attacked during his trip to Africa. And with the news of Zulu’s death in federal prison, Zodiac is on high alert.
Who’s behind these sudden attacks? There’s a greater force and entity than Zodiac, Sincere, and Nasir combined. His name is Ezekial, one of the founding members of a domineering and powerful international organization called The Outfit.
Ezekial’s thirst for revenge for the death of his sons, Drip-Drip and Rafe, creates a civil war within The Outfit, and the streets of New York break out in bloodshed and war.
Release date:
September 24, 2024
Publisher:
Urban Books
Print pages:
288
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You can close your eyes to reality but not to memories.
Sincere sat on his cot, staring at the most recent picture of his son, Tyriq. He was eleven years old and looked like his father. It was painful not being in his son’s life or all his kids’ life, matter-of-fact. But this was one of the consequences of a choice he had made—placing revenge before family. His three kids were growing up without him. Monica had remarried and was pregnant with her third child, and Asuka and his daughter Akar were still in Japan. Sincere had no idea what was happening with Akar in Japan. He’d lost all contact with them. But Monica had decided to write him, and she’d sent him two recent pictures of his son and his daughter Ashley. Ashley was five years old and a cutie, with a bright smile for her father.
Sincere stared at his daughter, and tears trickled down his face. He quickly wiped away his tears of regret and nostalgia and sighed. It was hurtful to see his children only in photos, unable to hug them or physically be with them. What hurt more was that Monica had changed their last names to that of her present husband, Concord. This man had the family that Sincere had always wanted. It haunted Sincere that he’d fucked up with Monica and that she hadn’t wanted anything to do with him ever since the beginning of his prison bid. So, it was surprising that he’d received a letter from her with pictures of his kids.
Monica had written to tell him that she had forgiven him and had found Christ in her life with the help of her husband. And though he was incarcerated, she wanted their kids to know their father. It was a lengthy two-page letter, and Sincere read it several times and became transfixed by his kids’ pictures. He wanted to stare at their photos all day and smile.
“We do make some beautiful children,” Sincere said aloud to himself, smiling.
Despite his condition and how he felt, Sincere was grateful they were happy, safe, and living a good life outside New York. And he was thankful Monica had had a change of heart. However, sadness and remorse suddenly overcame him when he thought about Denise, his little sister. She was dead, and he had failed at protecting her. Sincere would have given his own life for hers in a heartbeat. But since he knew Nasir was responsible for her death, there was no forgiving that muthafucka. How could Nasir have dragged his sister into that life, knowing she was the only family he had left? Sincere had placed a hit on his former friend, and his mind was not changing.
Withdrawn in his prison cell, Sincere remained trapped in his thoughts; he thought about an alternate life, one where he was a husband to Monica and a father to his children. What if he had become a cop and Marcus and Denise were still alive? It was a fleeting thought. His memories were like shadows; they followed him everywhere.
Sincere had built a somewhat quality life inside the prison, with his high status as a shot caller. In six years, he’d built a name throughout the system and earned the respect of everyone around him. He had no problem putting in work, but he also pushed inmates to try to better themselves. Sincere encouraged inmates to take advantage of programs and classes to help them stay out of prison once released. But he also remained that muthafucka who carried his weight and was the one involved in life-and-death decisions, which happened every day in the penitentiary system. If someone had to be taken care of, he made it happen.
“Yo, you got company,” Row suddenly uttered from the threshold of his cell.
Sincere perked up. He immediately placed his kids’ pictures into a magazine and focused on the tier. A young white correctional officer came into view and stepped into his cell. Sincere eyed her stoically. She immediately reached into her uniform and removed several cellophane wrappers and tightly packaged drugs from her person. She tossed the contraband items onto Sincere’s cot.
“Any issues?” Sincere asked her.
She smiled and replied, “No.”
Sincere nodded. He stood up and approached her. Melody had been a guard for two years, and she was a resident of the county. She secretly ferried drugs, mobile phones, and weapons into the state prison and provided information for him. Melody had fallen in love with Sincere and was willing to do anything for him, risking her employment and freedom.
“Row, keep a lookout, a’ight?” said Sincere.
Row nodded. “I got you.” He stood guard outside Sincere’s cell, with his attention on a swivel.
“We good? You in a rush?” Sincere asked Melody.
Melody smiled. “No. We got time.”
Sincere grinned. He wanted to take his mind off Monica and his kids, and Melody was the perfect remedy. Soon after she started smuggling drugs and contraband into the prison for him, the two began a clandestine sexual affair. With Row keeping an eye out for any unwanted company, Sincere roughly grabbed Melody and unfastened her pants. He then dropped his own pants, curved the correctional officer over the desk, and thrust himself into her from behind. He drove his hard dick repeatedly into her wet pink folds. He began pounding her like a jackhammer, and she loved every minute of it. The correctional officer’s cries were primal, and she kept yelling, “Fuck me!” The words echoed in the cell, and he had hushed her.
Their sexual tryst was quick: five minutes inside her and Sincere came. He grabbed the back of her neck and shuddered and panted. Quickly he pulled out of her, and the wet, frothy juices on his dick told him that she had loved every moment of it. Though things had gotten hot and heavy between them, their reality was still guard and inmate, and they had to be careful.
Melody began to get decent. She grinned warmly at Sincere and uttered, “I needed that.”
Sincere ignored her statement; instead, he decided to ask about business. “Are we okay for next week?”
Melody nodded. “Yes, I’m on it. I have it worked out with the guard at the front gate. He wants an extra three hundred.”
Sincere frowned. “He’s becoming a greedy muthafucka.”
“He’s our nucleus, baby. What you’re asking him to do costs,” said Melody.
Sincere sighed and replied, “Make it happen.”
“I will.”
The two were decent again when Row uttered, “Yo, we got company.”
Melody looked at Sincere and huffed. The last thing she needed was to be caught fucking an inmate. She immediately exited the cell to find two male correctional officers approaching, one black and one white. Both men were known abusers and mean as fuck.
Melody nervously smiled their way and said, “Hey. Everything okay?”
The two guards snubbed her and marched into Sincere’s cell with authority. Their personas screamed nothing nice.
Sincere stared at them with caution and asked, “What’s up? Everything okay, fellows?”
“We need you to come with us, Sincere,” uttered Conner, the white guard.
“For what?” Sincere replied.
“We ain’t here to answer your fuckin’ questions. Just come with us,” the black guard, Manny, said, chiming in.
Sincere looked past them and at Melody and Row. They both stood on the tier, looking helpless. They were no help to him now, but something was going down. Sincere had yet to learn what. The guards’ demeanor was off-putting, but Sincere smirked and kept his cool. He ran this prison, but there were always hiccups. This was one of those hiccups. Before departing with the guards, Sincere quickly and smoothly slipped a small shank onto his person for protection. The last thing he wanted was to be naked during an attack. But he was a soldier and was always ready for war.
“Whatever!” uttered Sincere.
He did as he was instructed and left with the two guards flanking him.
“Where are y’all taking him?” asked Melody.
They ignored her question and kept walking. Melody decided to go with them, but Manny turned to her with a steely glare and said, “What? Are you worried we might do something to your boyfriend?”
Melody gasped, shocked that they knew.
Manny smirked and added, “You gonna fuck me like you love fucking him?”
Melody was at a loss for words.
“I figure not,” said Manny.
Manny chuckled, and he and Conner proceeded to escort Sincere to some unknown destination. Sincere went without questioning them, but he knew something was wrong. He didn’t recognize this part of the prison. The guards continued to flank him while they walked down a concrete corridor. It was the three of them at first. Sincere remained alert and ready. He wondered where they were taking him. Both men remained stone faced and silent; it felt like they were following orders from someone. Suddenly two inmates appeared farther down the corridor. They were coming his way and glaring at Sincere. Sincere knew he was walking into a setup. But by who? Who would be stupid enough to try to kill him, knowing he ran this prison?
Sincere knew he had to act first. While the two inmates menacingly approached, Sincere speedily slammed his shoulder into the guard on his right, Conner, knocking him against the wall. Sincere then punched Manny in the face. Knowing they no longer had the element of surprise, the two inmates began charging toward Sincere, ready to kill him. Sincere was prepared for them. This was his element, fighting battles in a war.
One of the inmates came at Sincere wildly and recklessly, with his shank going for Sincere’s stomach and chest. Sincere sidestepped the danger and countered the attack with several swift punches to the man’s face. His knuckles snapped against bare flesh. The second inmate thrust himself at Sincere with a mixture of untrained punches, and his attack was fruitless. Sincere counterattacked the second attacker with a fast jab to his face, catching him off-guard. Then he slammed his blade several times into one of the attackers’ chest and stomach, killing him immediately.
Manny and Conner charged at him, followed by the second inmate. Together, they began attacking Sincere, and a violent tussle ensued. Sincere decided he wasn’t going out without a fight, and he became a brute. He violently headbutted and slammed Manny onto the floor like a pro wrestler. But suddenly, Conner grabbed Sincere into a tight chokehold from behind. Sincere struggled to breathe; however, he was able to jab the shank into Conner’s left side. Conner screamed and released Sincere from his chokehold. The second inmate was on top of Sincere now, pummeling him with punches until Sincere slammed his fist into the man’s rib cage twice. The inmate cringed and hunched over in pain. So it had begun with four against one, with Sincere being vastly outnumbered, but with one inmate dead and Conner injured, the odds had changed.
However, Manny and the second inmate kept coming for Sincere. And though he was hurt and winded, Sincere readied himself for another attack.
“C’mon, muthafuckas! I’m gonna kill every last one of y’all!” shouted Sincere.
They tried to jump him, and Sincere went on the defensive. He wrestled with Conner and the inmate. He struck Conner with a left hook, but abruptly, it felt like an hot iron poker had been shoved through his gut repeatedly. The shock was almost instant, and Sincere lost his footing as he grabbed his side and abdomen. He had been stabbed by the inmate. The pain was blinding, and he began having trouble breathing.
Sincere collapsed right there, knowing he was going to die. But before they could finish him off, Melody and several other guards intervened. Melody was shocked to see Sincere on the floor. Blood was everywhere, and an inmate was dead. Immediately, Melody got on her horn and called in the incident. However, she didn’t know if Sincere would live or die.
The seven-by-twelve-foot cell had become Zulu’s permanent home at ADX Florence, a federal prison near Florence, Colorado. He was locked inside there twenty-three hours a day and received his meals through a slot in the cell door. His only glimpse of the outside world was through a thin slit of a window aimed at an empty sky. His cell was decorated with an immovable bed, desk, and stool. And there was a shower on a timer. Zulu also had a TV set for good behavior. ADX was a facility with reinforced concrete to deter self-harm, and its inmates were under twenty-four-hour supervision. It had been over a year since Zulu’s arrival at ADX, a place deliberately designed to strip people or criminals of their humanity.
The facility was built to house the most dangerous people in America, and on that list was Zulu—a drug kingpin who had once controlled the streets of New York and had placed a contract hit on a NYPD detective. ADX housed foreign and domestic terrorists, such as Zacarias Moussaoui, Abu Hamza al-Masri, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, and notorious crime figures, such as Luis Felipe, O. G. Mack, Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán, and Peter “Pistol Pete” Rollock. Zulu was among the elite of criminals, and his name remained notorious. But he had accepted his fate and refused to snitch; he would stay a gangster and his reputation would be intact until the day he died. And a life sentence in federal prison wasn’t going to break him.
However, Zulu sat on his bed and thought about the old glory days with Mob Allah and Zodiac. They’d created a brotherhood, and at one time, they’d been a triple threat in Queens and a powerhouse on the streets. They’d been respected and feared and known for their greed and the murders they committed. Now those days were long gone, and Zulu was alone. He knew that with Cynthia gone, he would never see his kids again.
To pass the time, he exercised until he became exhausted, doing push-ups, sit-ups, and dips. Zulu also did a lot of reading and some writing. But it was depressing being locked down for twenty-three hours a the day. Zulu had no actual personal contact with anyone inside ADX aside from whatever communication with a guard he had. Inmates rarely saw one another, and when Zulu was out of his cell, he had to wear leg irons, handcuffs, and chains. When Zulu came across another inmate during his one hour of recreation, they would exchange a finger handshake through the fence that separated their recreation space. Since contact between inmates was highly restricted, it was one of the few things that reminded Zulu and the other inmates they weren’t alone.
Zulu couldn’t help but become jealous of Zodiac. While he was rotting in a supermax prison, Zodiac was free and living his best life. Zulu frowned at his friend’s betrayal. It was Zodiac’s turn to wear the crown, and Zulu wondered how long it would last. But it was the game; unfortunately, every drug kingpin had an expiration date.
Zulu’s only comfort was knowing Detective Acosta had taken his own life. He hated the cop passionately and had smiled when he heard the news. The cop had constantly harassed him. Zulu wished he had witnessed the act. But Zulu was uncomfortable knowing Cook Gamble was still alive somewhere. He wanted the snitch dead, but it seemed impossible with him in the supermax and Zodiac focused on other things. Zulu wondered where they were keeping him.
Zulu paced around the small cell, trying to keep from going crazy. He could do only so much reading, writing, and TV watching. It was a privilege to have those three luxuries, and an inmate would be fortunate to receive a letter from a loved one twice a year. Unfortunately, it took nearly three months for inmates’ letters to be mailed out and just as long for inmates to receive mail. Suffering from a mental disorder or PTSD was common in the supermax. Spending the rest of your life in the supermax was considered hell on earth, and each inmate had their own coping skills.
Zulu glanced out the small cell window to see if it was a clear day. Several guards came to his door to alert him that it was his time for an hour of recreation. It was something he was looking forward to. They shackled him with leg irons, handcuffs, and chains and escorted him to the recreation area. Zulu was placed into a metal cage four paces wide and eight paces long. It was about twice the size of his cell. There was an old basketball hoop and a deflated basketball to keep him busy. In a similar cage next to him was a notorious leader of the Aryan Brotherhood. His neck, face, and arms were with hateful insignias, including a swastika. Zulu locked eyes with this inmate. The only things these two men had in common were serving a life sentence in supermax and having a notorious reputation. Their racial difference made them sworn enemies, but if they wanted to kill each other, they couldn’t.
Zulu kicked away the deflated basketball and began walking in circles around the cage. He wanted to savor the fresh air and think. The Aryan inmate decided to sit on the ground Indian style to meditate. For the duration of their recreation, they ignored each other.
Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, the Aryan inmate uttered to Zulu, “Our time is coming, nigger.”
Zulu was caught off-guard by the statement. What the fuck was he talking about? Did he threaten me? Zulu thought. He stopped pacing in circles and glared at the Aryan inmate.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Zulu exclaimed. “And I’m not your fuckin’ nigger!”
The Aryan inmate locked eyes with Zulu and smirked. “Of course not.”
Zulu glared at him for a moment and then walked away. The guards were watching their every movement, but they weren’t worried. The steel fence between them made the guards’ jobs easier. Zulu picked up the deflated basketball and held it. He didn’t bounce it or attempt to shoot the ball into the hoop. He had a half hour of recreation time left before they escorted him back to his jail cell. The fresh air was welcome, but it did little to ease the restrictions of his confinement. His hour of recreation was over quickly, and it was time to be escorted back to his jail cell.
ADX was designed to keep inmate movement to a minimum and to allow guards to have as much control as possible. Once he was back in his tiny cell, Zulu was unshackled and unchained. He stood massaging his wrists because of the tight handcuffs and sighed. An eerie quiet engulfed him, because his enclosure was soundproof. This was hell on earth. Zulu walked to the small window. From his vantage point, there was nothing to see—not even the mountains surrounding the facility were visible. It had been thirteen months since his arrival, and Zulu feared his mental health might be in jeopardy.
“Zulu, your lawyer’s here,” the guard informed him.
Zulu was taken aback by the news. It was unexpected and a shock. He had last spoken to his lawyer a few months ago. Why would his lawyer visit him now? Zulu went through the meticulous process of being shackled, handcuffed, and chained once more, and then he was escorted from his cell to the visiting room. Usually, prisoners met with visitors through a glass window, and the two parties used telephones on either side to communicate. The staff would monitor all activities, including meetings with family. However, when an attorney visited, the inmate received the privilege of an unmonitored chat with their legal team.
Two guards ushered Zulu into a bland, windowless concrete room where the only decoration was a metal table and two chairs. This would be something other than an ordinary attorney-client visit, not a chat on a telephone in front of a glass window. Once again, Zulu was shocked to see his supposed lawyer, a beautiful, leggy woman in business attire and heels, waiting for his arrival. She wore a dark skirt with a button-down shirt, her hair was styled in a French bun, and her visiting pass was hooked to her skirt. Her briefcase was on the table.
She stared at the two guards and said, “You can unshackle him and leave us. I’ll be fine.”
The guards did what they were told, and Zulu was impressed. Immediately he understood this bitch had juice and some kind of authority. The guards had broken protocol for her by unchaining him.
Once Zulu was released from his restraints, the guards left him alone with the woman. Zulu stared at her, unsmiling, and asked, “Who the fuck are you?”
She smiled. “My name is Cashmere.”
“Cashmere? Are you even a fuckin’ lawyer?” Zulu uttered.
“I am indeed an attorney and am adept at the law,” she replied.
Cashmere walked over to her briefcase and removed a pack of Newports. “Do you care for a smoke?”
Zulu looked hesitant for a moment. Having a cigarette in the supermax was equivalent to enjoying a culinary delicacy: it was something pleasing but luxuriously rare. He nodded. She removed a cigarette from the pack, lit it, and handed it to him. Zulu took a needed drag. But he knew nothing came for free; she wanted something from him.
Zulu took a few more drags from the Newport and then asked, “Who the fuck sent you? And what do you want from me?”
Cashmere grinned. She replied, “First, I want to inform you that your children are in good hands and are being well taken care of.”
Zulu frowned when she mentioned his kids. “How the fuck do you know about my kids and their well-being?”
He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck but knew it would be a mistake.
“Our authority, resources, and reach are infinite. As easy as it is for me to visit you alone in this room in the supermax and smoke a cigarette, it’s just as easy to track down your children,” she replied.
Zulu was on edge. Something about her was intimidating.
“Do you believe in miracles, Zulu?” she asked him.
Zulu chuckled. “What the fuck are you now? Santa Claus?”
“What if I told you there’s a chance of you being released from here?” she added.
“Unless you’re the fuckin’ president of the United States with a fuckin’ pardon, then I find that impossible,” Zulu retorted.
“Impossible is a formidable word to you but a small task for my client,” she said.
“And who hired you? Who is your client?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot divulge that information,” she replied. “However, during your sovereignty of the drug trade in New York, you accumulated quite an impressive wealth portfolio, Zulu . . . over forty-five million dollars. A quarter of it is in offshore bank accounts, quite the cash reserve. Money that you can’t legally claim right now.”
“So that’s it. You want fuckin’ money, huh?” Zulu chided.
“We’re here to help.”
“By stealing from me?”
“What is it that you desire more, Zulu? To be finally free from this place or to continue to protect assets while serving a life sentence? My client will move mountains to make sure you’re no longer suffering in this place. And we can give you monthly updates about your children,” said Cashmere.
Her hand disappeared inside her briefcase, and she removed a few documents for him to sign. “All that is needed is your signatures,” she told him.
Zulu groaned. What was their endgame?
“Freedom from this place is costly. You sign some papers, we’ll liquidate a few properties and assets the government didn’t seize or was unaware of, and the nightmare for you will be over,” she proclaimed.
“And how soon?”
Cashmere grinned. “You’ve been tortured by this place long enough.”
Zulu thought about it. Was she for real? He was trapped in a corner or a small box and had no leverage over this stranger. She was beautiful, but could he trust her? He didn’t have a choice.
“You’re a smart businessman, Zulu. And what you accomplished in five years was impressive. But it doesn’t have to end here in this place. So, I’m giving you a second chance at redemption,” said Cashmere coolly.
Zulu huffed and groaned. “Fuck it!”
He signed the necessary papers, and Cashmere grinned again. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”
Zulu scowled and muttered, “Don’t fuck with me, bitch! I want out of here now.”
“I assure you, my client always keeps his promises. You’ll be free from this place soon,” Cashmere replied.
She placed the signed documents in her briefcase and alerted the guards that she was ready to leave. Zulu was placed in his restraints and ushered from the room, a bit baffled. Though there was something off-putting about Cashmere, he went with the risk.
A week later Zulu still hadn’t heard anything about his release from the supermax prison. He began having his doubts. He’d signed away a third of his hidden fortune, tucked in se. . .
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