Carl Weber's Kingpins by Erick S. Gray

Author:Erick S. Gray
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Urban Books
Published: 2022-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-seven

It was a clear, warm night in Soho, a neighborhood in Lower Manhattan. The noble area was known for many artists’ lofts, art galleries, and its variety of shops ranging from trendy, upscale boutiques to national and international chain store outlets. Many of the side streets in the district were paved with Belgian blocks or cobblestone.

A 1999 black Range Rover stopped in front of one of the four-story, cast-iron architectural buildings lining the street. Mob Allah and Mackie climbed out of the vehicle and approached the attractive building. While Mob Allah was dressed handsomely in a dark Armani suit, Mackie was clad in a Nike tracksuit. Mob Allah looked relaxed, but Mackie looked uneasy.

“This ain’t my cup of tea, Mob Allah,” he griped.

“Just chill and shut the fuck up. This is business,” Mob Allah chastised.

The two were let into the building. They entered the elevator and ascended to the top floor, where they were introduced to an art gallery—art in the loft. The place was spacious and ultrasophisticated, oozing style and class in every room adorned with huge windows. It looked like a world away from Jamaica, Queens. The people in the room were dressed stylishly in suits, gowns, and lovely dresses. Uniformed servants walked around carrying silver trays with champagne and hors d’oeuvres for everyone to enjoy. The artwork displayed on the walls were aristocratic masterpieces from many different artists with various expressions.

Right away, Mob Allah started to look for someone. He was invited to the event, and he didn’t want to let this person down. So, he removed a champagne flute from one of the passing trays. At the same time, Mackie remained deadpan and uncomfortable around the aristocrats. He too snatched a flute and some hors d’oeuvre from the tray like a brute. Then he downed the champagne and devoured the food.

Mob Allah looked at him and uttered, “Don’t embarrass me, Mackie.”

“I won’t.”

Finally, Mob Allah saw who he was there to see, Bobby Spyros. He was an ambitious multimillionaire coming from humble beginnings in Brooklyn. Bobby was in his early fifties and a Hofstra University graduate. He was sharp, handsome, charitable, and generous in public when it came to donations, but he was ruthless with a particular distaste for disloyalty in his organization and snitches. Bobby Spyros was a shrewd businessman with connections to the Mexican cartel. He was one of the two top drug distributors in the city. He was extremely wealthy and a well-connected city/state power player who seemed too big to fail.

The man stood in the room with an air of power about him. Dressed in a three-piece suit, sipping on champagne, and standing near a large painting while talking to a pretty woman, Bobby turned to see Mob Allah looking his way. He simply nodded his head to Mob Allah, and Mob Allah coolly approached him.

When he was close, Bobby said to the pretty girl, “Excuse us, beautiful.”

She smiled and walked away.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Bobby Spyros said to Allah.

“You wanted to meet, right?”

Bobby smiled and said, “Let’s talk outside.

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