Nighthawk City

By Frederick Conn

Fabian Kirkland, better known as Nipsey, is the head of the notorious Roots Family, a powerful criminal organization that rules over Nighthawk City. But his rule over the city will be seriously challenged when one of the most dangerous factions of the Russian mob arrives in town. It will take all his strength and cunning to survive this dangerous threat. During this perilous clash, he will also discover that the person behind his brothers murder so many years ago has been right under his nose all along. And as if that is not enough to deal with, he will meet the beautiful and exotic Precious, a woman who will manage to capture his heart and steal his focus at the worst possible time. Nighthawk City is a thrilling, fast-paced read that puts you on the street with the gangsters and directly in the crossfire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984514332

Frederick Conn

About the Author Frederick G Conn was born at St. Johns Riverside Hospital in Yonkers, New York; raised in Mount Vernon, New York; and later moved with his family to Danbury, Connecticut. He had been involved with dangerous people, been entangled in high-risk situations, and been to terrible places that some never make it out of. In the midst of unbelievable madness, he had battled ruthless, desperate people whose loyalties changed like the weather. He managed to find an escape through his creative writing and avid reading of history books. All these experiences are reflected in his dark, sinister characters and authentic style of storytelling. Nighthawk City is his debut novel.

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Copyright © 2018 by Frederick G Conn.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/12/2018

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Contents

Prologue

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 27

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

To Ursula E. Goebel with love. Thank you for believing in me … When most dared not to. You are sorely missed and in my heart always.

Prologue

The night was dark and windy. A strong breeze pushed an empty beer can off the curb into the street. People walking at a fast pace with their heads down did their damnedest to avoid eye contact as they strode past one another in opposite directions along the sidewalk. Their destinations were as diverse as their attire, ethnicity, and status. Vehicles zoomed by one another with complete abandon in the two-way street. Horns blared angrily, and profanities were spewed as a few vehicles rudely cut each other off. As the hours dwindled, the night became cold, dreary, and very unsettling—another start to a typical night in Nighthawk City.

Two young men approached a short elderly woman walking on the sidewalk. Without warning, one of them grabbed the leather shoulder strap of the woman’s pocketbook, attempting to snatch it. He might as well have been trying to snatch a bone out of the jaws of a pit bull because that was how tightly the women held on to her pocketbook. She screamed profanities at the young man as his friend watched, laughing raucously. The few pedestrians along the sidewalk continued on their way without a care or thought of intervening.

The young man continued yanking the pocketbook as the elderly women struggled relentlessly to keep her grip tight. The young man’s face was filled with rage; he yelled profanities and then slapped her hard across the face with his free hand. He cocked his hand back to deliver another slap, but before he could, something shiny in her little hand came down along his face. He closed his eyes and screamed out in agony. She cut him good, and she knew it. She watched him hold his face with both hands, bent over; blood poured from him, trickling between his fingers onto the sidewalk.

The second young man had stopped laughing. She screamed and charged at him with the razor blade in her hand. He had shock written across his face; fear demanded him to flee, and that was exactly what he did, right into oncoming traffic. A black Chevy Tahoe speeding down the street mowed him down, grabbing any life left in his body as the wheels of the SUV passed over him, crushing his bones. The occupants of the SUV made jokes and laughed at the bloodstained mess left behind as the vehicle continued on its way down the street.

There are many different sets of rules and laws to live by to survive in a place like Nighthawk City, not to mention the different governing bodies—official and unofficial—that exact their own set of rules on the masses of this vast city. Yet in spite of all of the above, in my opinion, there are three major rules that one needs to know and follow accordingly. One, do unto others before they do unto you. Two, once you commit yourself to something, do all in your power to see it through to the end. And three, live everyday like it’s your last because here in Nighthawk City, it very well may be.

CHAPTER 1

It was close to midnight. Fabian Nipsey Kirkland was inside his high-priced penthouse. He was lying atop gold satin sheets in his king-size sleigh bed while his fine-looking lady friend kissed his strong chest, proceeding with kisses down to his well-developed abs. One of his two cell phones on the mahogany nightstand next to the bed began ringing. Nipsey sucked his teeth and rolled onto his right side. He reached over and grabbed the ringing gold cell phone. It was his family phone; any incoming call on this phone was a priority, and only two people had this number—his enforcer and his general. He swiped the face of the phone and put it to his ear. Yeah? said Nipsey.

Whatchu doin’? said Iceberg.

I was about to get my steak hooked up till you called, nigga, said Nipsey.

Unh-unh. Don’t be telling my business like that, said Krista, staring at Nipsey. She was perched on her knees, her hands resting on her succulent thighs near his left leg. He looked into her sexy bedroom eyes and then gave her tight high-yellow body the once-over. He rested his gaze on her monumental 32Ds and felt his manhood begin to swell. He smiled and gave her the universal hold on a minute sign by holding up his hand with his index finger extended.

Yo, that’s Krista, huh? said Iceberg.

Yeah, man, said Nipsey, getting annoyed. Now get to the issue.

A’ight, a’ight, said Iceberg. I’m ’bout to see this kangaroo-ass nigga ’bout that guap.

Good. He had more than enough time to get right and give me, me, said Nipsey. Why he wanna hurt my feelings?

I don’t know, said Iceberg. He chuckled. But I’m gonna find out.

All right, make it do what it do, said Nipsey. He grinned.

You already know, said Iceberg. One.

One, said Nipsey. He pressed the screen on the cell and placed it back on the nightstand. He lay back down on the bed.

Now where were we, sexy lady? said Nipsey, staring at her with a big smile on his face. Oh yeah, you was about to hook my steak up.

Nipsey was attractive and of medium height with a milk-chocolate complexion and 360 waves in his hair. His body was well defined, and his teeth were ivory white. He had a few nicks and scars here and there from a few fights as a kid; the marks seemed to give him a ruggedly handsome look.

I shouldn’t do shit for you right now, said Krista with a feigned attitude. She began to slide his boxers down his waist. You wanna tell my business to people and shit.

My bad, said Nipsey. He stared at her in anticipation.

Whatever, said Krista. She tossed his boxers backward over her shoulder. Krista eyed his stiffening cock wantonly as she took hold of it and lowered her face to meet it. She felt his heat in her hand, swayed her auburn hair over her shoulder, and blew gently on the head of his dick. She licked his shaft up and down, worked her tongue in circles around the tip, and then took his long black snake between her juicy lips. She started with short slow strokes; with each stroke, she took more and more of him into her mouth, and her tempo got faster.

Nipsey looked down at Krista, her head moving up and down as she sucked him with full strokes, making most of his dick disappear into her face. He enjoyed the sight of the good-looking model working his dick. She had modeled at a few big-named fashion shows, had been featured in a few music videos, and did some layouts for various magazines.

She was the fourth model he had dated in a two-month period, and he was already starting to get bored. The models he had dated all seemed to be cut from the same cookie dough, with no meaningful substance or original ideas of their own. They couldn’t hold an intelligent conversation on current events with a fifth grader; however, they were beautiful, and that beauty was more than enough to stimulate him physically.

He laid his head back down on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. She held his balls and licked the sides of his dick. Yeah, I like that, said Nipsey. He closed his eyes and went into deep thought.

Nipsey was the leader of the Roots Family, a former two-bit gang that had become—under his leadership and tutelage—a notoriously powerful criminal organization. With seven hundred members, he pretty much ran all black crimes in the east end of Nighthawk City and was slowly acquiring new territory, buying up real estate in the north and south ends, as well as buying tens of millions of dollars’ worth of real estate in the wealthy west end to fortify himself with his plans to rule the city outright. The Roots Family’s criminal activities included selling narcotics, prostitution, extortion, gambling, credit card fraud, welfare fraud, money laundering, fences for stolen goods, selling firearms, contract killings, hijackings, smuggling, and auto-theft rings.

Nipsey also had chapters of the Roots Family on the island nation of Haiti and on the west coast of Africa in Ghana and Liberia. He had established a front company called Black Voyager, an import firm that he used to wash dirty money, operating out of several of his storefronts. This front company was also used to obtain fraudulent visas for Roots Family members in Haiti, Ghana, and Liberia. The hilarious part of this front company was that the president was a crackhead; Nipsey had him sign the incorporation papers. Nipsey exported money, cars, SUVs, pickup trucks, automatic weapons, and body armors to his members abroad. He also exported various other goods to them to be sold on the black market that they controlled in their countries.

The Roots Family abroad had gained major footholds in their respective countries, the main ones being Haiti and Liberia. Some years ago, members in those countries were in armed conflicts with the government and their forces. However, with sound strategies, vigorous determination, and Nipsey supplying arms and munitions, they were victorious. They had cast out both presidents of those countries, thus ensuring their huge rewards and endless opportunities.

And then many years later, the catastrophic magnitude 7.0 earthquake had hit Haiti, leaving three hundred thousand people dead, hundreds of thousands injured, and half a million people displaced. Huge numbers of residences and commercial buildings had collapsed or were severely damaged. Many countries responded to the appeal for humanitarian aid, pledging to give funds and dispatch rescue and medical teams, engineers, and support personnel. Nipsey did his part as well, giving millions of dollars personally. He took a jet flight to the island to help and make sure that his money was aiding the people of Haiti and nobody else. Nipsey was overwhelmed by all the destruction and unsanitary conditions. But his spirit was uplifted, witnessing the strength, beauty, and determination of the Haitian people and all those from other parts of the world who came to help. And he knew in his heart that Haiti would rise again and be as strong as ever.

Nipsey was a man of a few dichotomies—gangster/gentleman, hood/corporate, street-smart/book-smart—an enigma to most, with a welter of legal and illegal companies in Nighthawk City and abroad. His organization was visionary, well managed, efficient, wealthy, merciless, and expanding. Yet for all that he gained and possessed, he had paid a heavy price and had losses.

Nipsey’s thoughts wandered to the events of the fateful night that had set him on his path to becoming the leader of many men. Many years ago, on a cold dark night, James St. James Kirkland, the leader of the Roots Family—along with his captain, Iceberg—had been ambushed by members of a rival gang called Los Locos. The ambush had taken place on Laurien Street; it was composed of apartments lined with orange brick buildings, which had mostly six stories, and was a neutral zone far from both gangs’ territories. St. James had parked his car; he and Iceberg got out and began to cross the street. St. James caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his left eye; he turned to look, only to see the muzzle flashes of pistols. The two masked shooters had been hiding, crouched in between the front and rear bumpers of two parked cars. They sprang up into the street and ran toward St. James and Iceberg, blasting away.

St. James was shot eight times in the torso and twice in the head, while Iceberg was shot five times in the belly, once in his left arm, and once in his leg. St. James was dead, but Iceberg would manage to survive (barely). And doctors would remove twenty feet of intestine from him.

The two masked assailants had fled from the sprawled bodies in the middle of the street. They got about ten yards down the street before running into an off-duty cop, who gunned them down, killing them both at almost point-blank range. The two masked gunmen were later identified to be Soto, Los Locos’ mean and insanely violent enforcer who had been responsible for fourteen murders in the city, and Diamond Head, his young protégé.

This dreadful night had torn directly into Nipsey’s heart, and it would mark the beginning of a series of murderous gang wars. And these wars would devastate and alter the balance of power among the criminal world of Nighthawk City.

Nipsey stood between his mother and Holly (St. James’s girlfriend and his children’s mother) as she held the hands of her daughters, Jada and Jameka. He listened to all their crying and loud wails as St. James’s casket was lowered into the earth. He glanced around at the large mass of grieving people. There were over a hundred people, and he noticed that most of the members of the Roots Family were there, with the exception of Iceberg, who was in the hospital, and some members who were in prison.

When the burial was completed, Nipsey was greeted by every Roots Family member in attendance, Killer Rob being the last of the bunch. I’m calling a meeting for tonight at nine o’clock, said Killer Rob. It’s mandatory for everybody to be there too.

Yo, I’m there, said Nipsey. We gonna set this shit off.

We’ll talk tonight at the meeting, said Killer Rob. He walked away from him.

Damn, my brother just got put in the dirt, Iceberg’s laid up in the hospital, and this nigga actin’ like he runnin’ shit, thought Nipsey.

The meeting was being held in the Webber Village Housing Project. Nipsey went to the meeting with Warlock, a fellow Roots Family member who was also his best friend. They entered a crowded apartment that was filled with weed smoke and were greeted by fellow gang members with handshakes and hugs. They bumped around people and saw Killer Rob sitting at a table playing blackjack with another gang member near the back of the room. Killer Rob saw them and ended the game by getting up from the table. He climbed up on his chair, ready to start the meeting.

Everybody, shut the fuck up, said Killer Rob. He stood on the chair, staring at everyone. All the talking and joking died down slowly.

First, I want a moment of silence for St. James, said Killer Rob. He glanced around the room at Roots Family members as they bowed their heads. A few moments of silence had gone by.

It’s fucked up what happened to him and Iceberg, said Killer Rob. But I’m happy that the motherfuckers that did it are dead as fuck. That got some cheers and agreeing nods. I’m sure St. James is up there in heaven, laughing at those two assholes, Soto and Diamond Head, burning in hell. More loud cheers. I know that he loved all of us and that he would never want anything fucked up to happen to us. There were a lot of agreeing nods and some chorus chants of true, true.

As bad as I wanna kill those Spanish motherfuckers, I know doing that won’t ever bring St. James back, said Killer Rob. He lowered his head and shook it and then looked back up at his audience. Besides all that, the niggas responsible for killing St. James got what they deserved. I just wish I could’ve been the one to give it to those fuckin’ ‘Germans.’

Killer Rob was a very charismatic person, yet he had never killed anyone in his life, and the extent of his gunplay had been shooting a civilian woman in the leg by accident in a drive-by. He was more of a hustler than a shooter, and here he was, trying to hustle the leader position of the Roots Family.

I want y’all to know that I spoke with Vinnie, the leader of Los Locos, and he swore on his colors and on his mama that his brothers acted on their own without his say-so or knowledge, said Killer Rob. And I believe him. Nipsey was in total disbelief and flushed with anger. He shouldered through people to get closer to Killer Rob, followed by Warlock.

Neither one of us wants any more of our brothers to die, and we’re doing what we can to avoid a war, said Killer Rob. I mean, let’s be real. A war ain’t good for nobody. And it definitely ain’t good for business.

So the truth comes out. This bitch-ass nigga doesn’t want a war because it’ll interfere with his petty fuckin’ crack sales, thought Nipsey.

Nipsey and Warlock walked toward Killer Rob, and as they approached, he got down off the chair. Nipsey turned around to speak to his brothers, with Warlock flanked to his right. Yo, I don’t agree with none of that shit, said Nipsey, infuriated. He swatted his hand down at the air in front of him. If we don’t hit them motherfuckers back now, everybody out this bitch gonna think we soft.

Nipsey, I know St. James was your brother and that you want revenge, said Killer Rob. He put a sympathetic hand on Nipsey’s shoulders.

It ain’t about that, said Nipsey. He brushed Killer Rob’s hand off his shoulder and turned to face him, staring him in the eyes. You’re my brother. And so are all these niggas.

Nipsey looked around the room at his brothers and then back at Killer Rob. If those ‘Germans’ would’ve bodied you or anybody else in this room, I’d be screaming for war, just like I am right now, said Nipsey. Most of the Roots Family members nodded in agreement and approval of Nipsey’s words.

I hear you, said Killer Rob. He shrugged with a smirk on his face. But ain’t nobody going to war.

All right, said Nipsey, disappointed. He turned away from him and took a step. Suddenly, Nipsey whirled around, producing a chrome .380 in his hand. He fired point-blank into Killer Rob’s face, giving him a third eye. His body dropped to the dusty floor. A few gang members reacted by pulling out their pistols, but Warlock already had his MAC-10 out and was ready to spray.

Nipsey turned, facing all the Roots Family members in the room with his gun in his right hand, down by his side. He scanned all the shocked faces he could see and then the faces of his brothers with their pistols leveled at him. He focused his eye directly at them. You won’t pull out your straps to go to war, but you’ll pull ’em on me? said Nipsey in disbelief. What the fuck should I expect? Y’all niggas can’t even be bothered to protect your own captain when he can’t protect himself. And that’s why his mother been sittin’ in his hospital room day and night strapped.

Nipsey was boiling; he began tapping the side of his leg with the .380 in his hand. I’m takin’ these fuckin’ Germans to war, he said. And if any of y’all decide that you want to represent the Roots Family, I’ll be at my dead brother’s house till twelve midnight. Nipsey walked toward the crowd, and it parted like the Red Sea under Moses, followed by Warlock, who looked back constantly over his shoulder until they exited the apartment door.

Nipsey and Warlock were at St. James’s house, sitting on the front porch. They were smoking chocolate Thai Buddha and listening to Time 4 Sum Aksion by Redman, blaring through the speakers of a silver boom box. You think any of them niggas gonna show? said Warlock. His MAC-10 rested on his lap.

Who knows, man? said Nipsey. He puffed the blunt and then held it toward Warlock.

Warlock reached for the blunt. Fuck it, man. We just go out together, he said. He took a long pull on the blunt.

Nipsey was moved by his best friend’s undying loyalty. He glanced at his watch, which read 11:47 pm, and released a hard breath from between his lips. Ain’t none of these niggas comin’, said Nipsey in disgust.

About five minutes later, a procession of three station wagons and five vans came slowly down the street. Nipsey did not like the way it looked, his instincts screaming at him. He reached down into the duffel bag full of guns beside his foot and pulled out an AK-47 assault rifle. He and Warlock got to their feet and took up defensive positions on the porch. They held their weapons at the ready as the procession of vehicles got closer to the house. They did not recognize the vehicles, their hearts raced, and their fingers yearned frantically to squeeze the triggers of their guns.

The lead station wagon of the procession stopped in front of the house. It felt like an eternity had passed before the passenger front door of the station wagon opened, and a scrawny person clad in black clothing, gloves, and sneakers emerged from the car. He walked toward the sidewalk in front of the house, and Nipsey and Warlock recognized him immediately. It was Rhino, the youngest member of the Roots Family who, at the not-so-innocent age of fourteen, already had his hands stained with several people’s blood.

Nipsey and Warlock walked off the porch, carrying their firearms at waist level, as Rhino entered the gate of the front yard. Yo, what the fuck? said Rhino nervously. He raised his gloved hands in the air.

Put ya fuckin’ hands down, said Warlock with a grin. Rhino lowered his hands and smiled.

What up, man? said Nipsey. He stepped closer to Rhino.

Yo, we here and ready to roll, said Rhino. Some niggas is already out there puttin’ in work as we speak. And Shawnie and Jarod is at the hospital, watching over Iceberg.

Nipsey’s heart was uplifted, and he felt elated. A big grin formed on his face. Everybody got straps? he said.

Everybody except me, said Rhino. He sucked his teeth. Niggas wanna be tight with all the guns.

How the fuck you ready to roll and you ain’t got no damn gun? said Warlock.

Rhino sucked his teeth again. Man, my moms found the last gat that I had in the house and got rid of it.

Nipsey shook his head. Warlock walked away from them and went up the stairs of the front porch. He grabbed the duffel bag full of guns and came back down the stairs to Nipsey and Rhino. He dropped the duffel bag in front of Rhino’s feet. Hurry up and grab somethin’, said Warlock impatiently.

Rhino knelt down and unzipped the duffel bag, and his eyes lit up as he stared at the assortment of guns. He grabbed a 9 mm Glock and a 9 mm Browning and stuffed them both into his belt. He grabbed a long-barreled .357 Magnum, stood up with the gun in his hand, and felt ten feet tall.

Damn, you only got two hands, said Nipsey teasingly.

I’m puttin’ bodies on all these muthafuckas, said Rhino gleefully.

Go tell them, niggas, that it’s SOS [shoot on sight] on Los Locos, said Nipsey.

Rhino turned and ran away from Nipsey and Warlock into the street, yelling, SOS! Then he ran back to the station wagon he rode in and got in; the driver sped down the street, beeping the horn of the car. The whole procession drove down the street beeping their horns, and a few gang members in the vehicles fired their guns out of the windows up into the dark night sky.

Warlock picked up the duffel bag, and he and Nipsey got into a stolen Acura Legend coupe. Warlock looked over at Nipsey from the driver’s seat. Let’s show these motherfuckers what this war shit is all about, he said with a grin.

Let’s do it, said Nipsey. He was sitting in the passenger seat with his AK-47 resting on the car floor stock down, with the barrel between his legs. Warlock started the car, and they drove off into the night, two hunters in search of their prey.

The gang war carried on for three months. Murder and mayhem plagued the city. Ambushes, drive-by shootings, and stabbings would claim the lives of gang members on both sides, not to mention the numerous civilians caught in the cross fire. While both sides bore losses, the Roots Family suffered far less casualties than Los Locos, who outnumbered them three to one, but they possessed a powerful boldness as well as sound strategy and a gift for appearing with their guns blazing when and where their enemies least expected it.

The beginning of the end of the war came on a bright, sunny morning. Nipsey was seated in the passenger seat of a van packed with seven gang members. He had a huge .44 Magnum resting