Power
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Lorenzo
Power
No One Man Should Have All That Power…But There Were Two
A Novel
JOY DEJA KING
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Other names, characters, and incidents occurring in the work are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, as those fictionalized events and incidents that involve real persons. Any character that happens to share the name of a person who is an acquaintance of the author, past or present, is purely coincidental and is in no way intended to be an actual account involving that person.
Cover concept by Joy Deja King
Cover layout and graphic design by www.MarionDesigns.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data;
A King Production
Power/by Joy Deja King
For complete Library of Congress Copyright info visit;
www.joydejaking.com
Twitter @joydejaking
A King Production
P.O. Box 912, Collierville, TN 38027
A King Production and the above portrayal log are trademarks of A King Production LLC
Copyright © 2013 by A King Production LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission from the publisher, except by reviewer who may quote brief passage to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.
This Book is Dedicated To My:
Family, Readers and Supporters.
I LOVE you guys so much. Please believe that!!
—Joy Deja King
“A thug changes, and love changes, and best friends become strangers…”
—Nas
Chapter 1
Underground King
Alex stepped into his attorney’s office to discuss what was always his number one priority…business. When he sat down their eyes locked and there was complete silence for the first few seconds. This was Alex’s way of setting the tone of the meeting. His silence spoke volumes. This might’ve been his attorney’s office but he was the head nigga in charge and nothing got started until he decided it was time to speak. Alex felt this approach was necessary. You see, after all these years of them doing business, attorney George Lofton still wasn’t used to dealing with a man like Alex; a dirt-poor kid who could’ve easily died in the projects he was born in, but instead had made millions. It wasn’t done the ski mask way but it was still illegal.
They’d first met when Alex was a sixteen-year-old kid growing up in TechWood Homes, a housing project in Atlanta. Alex and his best friend, Deion, had been arrested because the principal found 32 crack vials in Alex’s book bag. Another kid had tipped the principal off and the principal subsequently called the police. Alex and Deion were arrested and suspended from school. His mother called George, who had the charges against them dismissed, and they were allowed to go back to school. But that wasn’t the last time he would use George. He was arrested at twenty-two for attempted murder, and for trafficking cocaine a year later. Alex was acquitted on both charges. George Lofton later became known as the best trial attorney in Atlanta, but Alex had also become the best at what he did. And since it was Alex’s money that kept Mr. Lofton in designer suits, million dollar homes and foreign cars, he believed he called the shots, and dared his attorney to tell him otherwise.
Alex noticed that what seemed like a long period of silence made Mr. Lofton feel uncomfortable, which he liked. Out of habit, in order to camouflage the discomfort, his attorney always kept bottled water within arm’s reach. He would cough, take a swig, and lean back in his chair, raising his eyebrows a little, trying to give a look of certainty, though he wasn’t completely confident at all in Alex’s presence. The reason was because Alex did what many had thought would be impossible, especially men like George Lofton. He had gone from a knucklehead, low-level drug dealer to an underground king and an unstoppable respected criminal boss.
Before finally speaking, Alex gave an intense stare into George Lofton’s piercing eyes. They were not only the bluest he had ever seen, but also some of the most calculating. The latter is what Alex found so compelling. A calculating attorney working on his behalf could almost guarantee a get out of jail free card for the duration of his criminal career.
“Have you thought over what we briefly discussed the other day?” Alex asked his attorney, finally breaking the silence.
“Yes I have, but I want to make sure I understand you correctly. You want to give me six hundred thousand to represent you or your friend Deion if you are ever arrested and have to stand trial again in the future?”
Alex assumed he had already made himself clear based on their previous conversations and was annoyed by what he now considered a repetitive question. “George, you know I don’t like repeating myself. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Are we clear?”
“So this is an unofficial retainer.”
“Yes, you can call it that.”
George stood and closed the blinds then walked over to the door that led to the reception area. He turned the deadbolt so they wouldn’t be disturbed. George sat back behind the desk. “You know that if you and your friend Deion are ever on the same case that I can’t represent the both of you.”
“I know that.”
“So what do you propose I do if that was ever to happen?”
“You would get him the next best attorney in Atlanta,” Alex said without hesitation. Deion was Alex’s best friend—had been since the first grade. They were now business partners, but the core of their bond was built on that friendship, and because of that Alex would always look out for Deion’s best interest.
“That’s all I need to know.”
Alex clasped his hands and stared at the ceiling for a moment, thinking that maybe it was a bad idea bringing the money to George. Maybe he should have just put it somewhere safe only known to him and his mom. He quickly dismissed his concerns.
“Okay. Where’s the money?” Alex presented George with two leather briefcases. He opened the first one and was glad to see that it was all hundred-dollar bills. When he closed the briefcase he asked, “There is no need to count this is there?”
“You can count it if you want, but it’s all there.”
George took another swig of water. The cash made him nervous. He planned to take it directly to one of his bank safe deposit boxes. The two men stood. Alex was a foot taller than George; he had flawless mahogany skin, a deep brown with a bit of a red tint, broad shoulders, very large hands, and a goatee. He was a man’s man. With such a powerful physical appearance, Alex kept his style very low-key. His only display of wealth was a pricey diamond watch that his best friend and partner Deion had bought him for his birthday.
“I’ll take good care of this, and yo
u,” his attorney said, extending his hand to Alex.
“With this type of money, I know you will,” Alex stated without flinching. Alex gave one last lingering stare into his attorney’s piercing eyes. “We do have a clear understanding…correct?”
“Of course. I’ve never let you down and I never will. That, I promise you.” The men shook hands and Alex made his exit with the same coolness as his entrance.
With Alex embarking on a new, potentially dangerous business venture, he wanted to make sure that he had all his bases covered. The higher up he seemed to go on the totem pole, the costlier his problems became. But Alex welcomed new challenges because he had no intention of ever being a nickel and dime nigga again.
Chapter 2
Money Over Bullshit
When Alex arrived at the Westin Hotel on 210 Peachtree Street, his main objective was to get in and get the fuck out. Deion was already there when he entered the suite, so Alex figured he would be able to wrap this shit up even quicker than he originally thought. He sat down next to Deion on the couch. They were meeting with John Dixon, who went by the nickname J.D. J.D. was a Tennessee nigga that Alex had been doing business with for the last six years. He was a tall, burly man with a slight mustache, a baby face and was as black as the street. The highlight of his appearance were the gold fronts he proudly wore that said Killa.
J.D. had been a consistent and profitable buyer for Alex over the years, but unfortunately, dealing with him came with one major annoyance. His breath kept a disgusting onion scent that both Alex and Deion detested, and it seemed that there wasn’t a mint or a piece of gum strong enough to make the foul odor go away.
“Here you go,” J.D. boasted, dumping a suitcase full of cash on the hotel bed. Alex and Deion each scooped a stack and began counting. The two men had a unique relationship. They were business partners, but Alex was the one with the Mexican connection while Deion was the muscle. But don’t get it twisted; Alex wasn’t the nigga to fuck with because his fist could be just as deadly as any weapon. Deion just preferred to handle any problems that came from dealing with dudes in this treacherous game. Truth be told, he got a sick thrill from murking niggas, whereas Alex only preferred to use violence as a last resort.
“As always, everything is looking good,” Alex nodded, picking up another stack.
“Why don’t you gimme a break on the price this time?” J.D. slid the request in while Alex was counting up the paper he had delivered on, since he felt Alex was in a good mood.
Alex paused in the middle of counting and eyed him. “J.D., come on man. You know how it is right now. The border is tight and prices are high.”
“You expect me to believe you bringing this shit across the border? You right here in Atlanta,” J.D. frowned, clearly not sold on what Alex was saying.
“Somebody has to get this shit across the border. It ain’t walking itself.”
Deion continued to count while listening to J.D. plead his weak case to Alex. Between J.D.’s sloppy-ass huffing even though he hadn’t done anything strenuous and his breath stinking, Deion was ready for this meeting to be over with. But making sure each one hundred dollar bill was accounted for made Deion willing to deal with the foul odor and the bullshit coming from J.D.’s mouth.
“But you said it yourself. I’m your best customer. Come on, Alex, man. Give me a break, homie,” complained J.D.
“I said you were one of my best customers,” Alex clarified.
“Listen,” J.D. sulked, “I got jammed up and I didn’t rat on you—that should count for something.”
Deion stopped counting and turned to J.D. “Lemme get this straight—you deserve a break for not snitching?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, but just knock twenty-five dollars off the ticket and I’ll be grateful.”
“Bruh, you gettin’ fifteen hundred a pound. That’s a five hundred dollar profit on each one of these.”
J.D. looked back at Alex and barked, “I can’t keep paying these ridiculous-ass prices for this shit!”
“Calm down, I’ll give you a twenty-five dollar break on half of them.” Relief instantly came over J.D’s face.
“The money is all there. You know I’m always good.” J.D. said before glancing at his watch. “I gotta get outta here. You know I stay makin’ moves,” J.D. stated as he headed towards the door.
Alex trusted J.D. He knew that if the money was short, J.D. would be good for it. ”Just pack the money back up in the suitcase, we’ll count it later.” Alex and Deion waited a few minutes after J.D. left, then made their departure. They took the elevator to the lobby where they exited into the parking lot.
J.D.’s black Harley Davidson pickup truck was in the back of the hotel parked on a corner by itself. He hopped in the car and fired up the engine. Seconds later, a man named Reggie drove up in a red Dodge Ram and pulled alongside carrying 5 boxes of weed in the back of the truck. He tossed the boxes in the back of the pickup, secured the tailgate, and J.D. drove off.
Later that night when Alex and Deion got back to Deion’s condo they counted up J.D,’s money. “One thing about that damn J.D.—his money is always right,” Deion commented.
“Yeah it is. He do good business, but…” Alex paused and sat down on the sofa, crossing his arms behind his neck.
“But what?” Deion questioned, tossing a stack of money down on the table.
“That comment he made about gettin’ jammed up ain’t sittin’ right wit’ me.”
“At first I felt some type of way ‘bout that shit too, but because he came clean I felt we had nothing to worry about. If he had hid the shit, then I might be concerned.”
“True. I just don’t want us caught up in no bullshit. The next few times J.D. makes a buy, we gon’ switch shit up a lil’ bit. It’s better to be cautious. I don’t give a damn how right the money always be.”
Chapter 3
Pay What You Owe
A little bad-ass kid named Day-Day stood in front of the apartment building and chomped away at some cotton candy. Most kids were in school, but not Day-Day; he’d been suspended for feeling some little girl’s butt in class. It was the third girl he’d felt up before the principal finally suspended his ass. Even at the young age of nine years old, Day-Day seemed destined for a stint in the penitentiary.
“Hey lil’ man you know where Tee lives?” Deion asked Day-Day as he and Reggie approached. Day-Day licked his fingers and stared at Deion, looking him up and down before answering.
“It depends.”
“Depends on what?” Deion asked.
“Depends on who wants to know.”
“I wanna know,” Deion said, a little put off by the kid.
“You the police?”
“Do I look like the police?”
“Hell yeah!” Day-Day laughed.
Reggie and Deion stared at each other before laughing, then Deion said, “Look lil’ man, tell us where Tee lives and I will give you some more cotton candy.”
“Do I look like I want some more damn candy?” Day-Day popped.
Deion pulled out a ten-dollar bill and passed it to Day-Day. The boy closed his bag of cotton candy and tucked the bill in his pocket. Then he turned to Reggie and asked, “Where’s yours?”
“Lil nigga, you tryna hustle us?”
“I’m gonna count to five and if you don’t give me at least ten dollars, I ain’t telling ya’ll shit.”
“Stop cursing,” Deion demanded before Reggie pulled out a ten-dollar bill and passed it to Day-Day.
“Tee lives in 211, bitches,” Day-Day grinned and ran off.
Deion and Reggie shook their heads in dismay as they made their way to 211. They knocked on the door for a few seconds. A minute later a pretty young girl answered the door. Before she could say anything, a boney old woman with a grey Afro c
ame running up behind her.
“We looking for Tee,” Deion informed them.
“I’m Tee,” the old woman announced.
“You not who we are looking for.” Deion stated, matter-of-factly.
“I’m the only Tee that lives here. There ain’t nobody here name Tee but me.”
“There ain’t no men in this house?” Reggie questioned before pushing the old woman inside the house and brandishing a gun. Before allowing either of them to answer he continued, “Well then you won’t mind if we look around for this motherfucker?”
“Don’t kill us,” the pretty young girl screamed out.
Deion pulled his gun out and fired a shot into the ceiling. “Would you shut the fuck up!”
The girl calmed down as she stood next to the old woman. “What do you want from us?”
“Where is Terrence?”
“Huh?”
Reggie heard some rumblings and disappeared into the back room. He kicked the door in and saw Terrence prying open a window to make an escape. He had one foot out when Reggie fired a shot that grazed Terrence’s ass.
“Fuck!” Terrence hollered as the window smashed the tip of his finger. Reggie leaped towards him and kicked Terrance in the same ass cheek where he’d fired the shot.
Deion heard all the commotion and led the two women into the back room at gunpoint. When they reached the bedroom, Deion barked, “Sit yawl’s asses on the bed and don’t move.”
“Okay, but please don’t hurt us,” the girl cried out.
Terrence was lying on the floor in the fetal position with his ass still burning from the hot bullet. Deion used his fresh out the box Nike and pressed Terrence’s face to the floor. “Where the hell is my motherfuckin’ money, Terrence?”
“Look, Deion man, I don’t have it. I ain’t got shit. If I had it man, you can get it.”