Repercussions & Consequences A Malcolm Young Novel

By Willie Griffin Jr

Repercussions & Consequences tells the story of ex-Special Forces soldier turned CIA operative Malcolm Young. Malcolm is weeks away from retirement when his younger brother and real estate mogul, Malik Young is killed.

 All thoughts of retirement go out the window when Malcolm finds out who and why his brother was killed.

 Using all the skills he learned and with the help of some notable characters, Malcolm sets on a path of vengence that is far reaching. Repercussions & Consequences is an action packed wild ride!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Willie Griffin Jr
• Release date: Nov 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215398159

Willie Griffin Jr

Born and mostly raised in Harlem, NYC, Will is a first time author. He currently lives in Georgia with his wife and their dog.

Book preview

A MALCOLM YOUNG NOVEL

WRITTEN BY WILLIE J GRIFFIN JR

Copyright 2022 by Willie J. Griffin Jr

Repercussions & Consequences

MrGriff Writes Publication

ISBN:979-8-9860694-1-8

First Edition

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 the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

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

‘This one’s for the family,’-Big Pun

Repercussions & Consequences

Harlem, NYC

Malik Young walked out of the Pelham Fritz Recreational Center into the summer heat feeling like he was on top of the world. He had just shared his life story with a group of kids 13 and under, letting them know that they didn’t have to be athletes, entertainers, or dope boys to be successful in life.

At 34 years old, Malik was a self-made multi-millionaire who was born and raised in the area. Although he could pass for an athlete with a height of 6’2 and the build of a light heavyweight boxer and was dressed the part in a navy blue and white Sergio Tacchini sweatsuit and white Air Force 1’s, Malik had made his fortune in real estate and investments over the last decade plus. He owned properties all over New York State and across the country, some commercial and some residential.

As of late, Malik had gotten into teaching others about financial literacy and generational wealth. He had made enough money that his children’s children would not have to work. Rather than be greedy, Malik had chosen to teach people the game and it had been rewarding in a whole other way. Like his older brother used to tell him when they were growing up, ‘A man has to provide, protect and teach.’

Malik smiled at the thought of his brother, Malcolm. The story of Malik could not be told without mention of Malcolm. Malcolm was older by six years and took his responsibility as Malik’s protector very seriously. Especially after the death of their father, Sgt. Bill Young. Malik had idolized his brother growing up and had done his best to be like Malcolm, which had earned him a 2nd degree black belt in martial arts.

You’re good, Mo, asked Brian Sanders, Malik’s bodyguard/driver. Brian was a former Army Ranger who had served with Malcolm and opened his own security firm after he had retired from duty. He had been out of the service for the last five years, but still looked like armed security with his black shades and earpiece. Brian was black man in his mid-forties with a tall, muscular frame and a photographic memory.

I’m good, B, he replied walking to the black Mercedes Benz G wagon. As he got into the back of the vehicle, his cellphone started to vibrate as it had most of the time he had been talking to the kids.

Tell me something good, Milt, Malik greeted his lawyer with a smile.

You’re a go, Milton Greenberg replied with pride in his voice. He had worked diligently to make sure that Malik got not only his approval to be part of the section 8 program, but all the tax cuts that came with it.

And this is why I never complain about paying you, Malik replied with an even bigger smile before disconnecting the call. B, let’s go over to the new spot. This day can’t get any better!

The new spot Malik was referring to, was a building that had been abandoned for at least 2 decades on 116th street and Manhattan Avenue. In the year since he had purchased the property, it had been newly renovated and would be ready to accept the native residents of Harlem that could not afford the new gentrified prices of Harlem.

Detectives Edwin Torres and Michael O’Reilly watched the black G Wagon glide by their unmarked car. They had been watching Malik for the past 2 weeks, learning his habits. The two detectives were part of a gang task force out of the 19th precinct and had been on the force for a combined 42 years, but dirty the last ten.

Neither man could point out what one thing that had put them on their current course, but they were completely corrupt and had indulged in everything from stealing from the evidence room, falsifying reports, assaulting unarmed people, taking bribes, and had graduated to murder for hire.   

What’s the play, Bro, Torres asked. He had once been an undercover officer in narcotics but had formed a drug habit and became more criminal than cop. He had pock marked skin and long black hair that he wore in a ponytail. He was getting anxious just sitting and watching.

When the opportunity presents itself, we move, O’Reilly replied as he started the Ford Taurus. He looked like what he was: a white, Irish cop. He had black hair that he wore cut into the semblance of a fade and no facial hair. He had tattoos on both forearms and was a blatant racist.

Neither man was squeamish about killing, as they had been involved in shootings on the job and they found out that it paid quite well in the underworld if that was part of their offered services.

I’m not going to jail for killing this asshole, O’Reilly stated. He was a 5th generation cop with a wife and kids. His justification for being dirty was he had to provide for his family and this one contract was worth a quarter million dollars.

Patience, O’Reilly continued as he navigated through the summertime traffic. We’ll get him soon.

O’Reilly glanced at his partner out the corner of his eye. He had been having a bad feeling about the job shortly after he had accepted it, but a hundred twenty-five thousand dollars cash upfront was persuasive.

But now that the high of the money was gone, the second thoughts were back. This was not some drug dealer or nobody that they were going to kill, there would be consequences if things weren’t done right.

The guy who had ordered the job was getting anxious to get it done and now his partner was too.

Although Malik was not under any threat of violence, Brian drove the G-Wagon like he was trying to lose a car that was following them because he was. He wasn’t surprised to see the same unmarked NYPD car that he had checked out weeks ago. When he had brought it to Malik’s attention, the younger man had made a joke of it.

They probably think I’m a rapper, , Malik had said with a smile.

And that was the difference between the two brothers, from what Brian could tell. Malik gave people the benefit of the doubt while Malcolm did not.

But in Malcolm’s defense, he had been seeing for the last two decades the evil that men do first-hand.

Brian had been working for Malik for all of six months and it was the sweetest gig he had had since first opening shop. Even with the family discount, Brian was making a profit and his hardest task was finding parking for Malik’s G-wagon. He, along with a skeleton crew of his people, had come on board after Malik started becoming a public figure.

Any word from Malcolm, Brian asked as he left the navy-blue Taurus at the light on Malcolm X Ave. He knew he would see that car again on or around Manhattan Ave while Malik handled his business in that area.

Not so far, Malik replied, but he should be video calling me any day now. Big Bro will be home for good!!

I remember when I discharged from the service, Brian said, scanning the street before double parking the truck in front of the newly renovated building. I was so trained to go, I had to open this security firm. It was either this or go mercenary, he continued with a shrug before getting out of the truck.

Malik had heard what the older man was saying loud and clear, but Malcolm’s circumstances were different. He could do whatever he wanted to do because he was financially set. Malik was where he was in life because he had listened to his brother and found his niche.

Even though his circumstances will be different than mine, Brian continued after opening the door for Malik, like he could read his mind, he’ll miss the action.

He’s retiring for a reason, Malik replied as he straightened out his sweatpants. Yo, Javi, he called to a slightly overweight Hispanic man.

Javier Ramirez was Malik’s friend since childhood and business partner in the construction company that had renovated the building. He was doing another walk through to make sure his guys hadn’t missed anything.

The building was six stories with nine units on five floors and three units on the first floor. Each newly renovated unit had four bedrooms and Javi had inspected every one of them.

Tell me something good, Javi greeted with a grin. He had been building apartments and offices since he was sixteen years old. But in the last seven years that they had been partners it had been everything Malik had told him it would be. Hey, Mr. B, he said to Brian.

You know me, man, Malik said brushing imaginary dirt off his shoulders. We can start taking applications, he continued with a grin.

Brian nodded at the other man before turning to the Suburban he had pulled up behind, which held his relief. Inside was a white man named Travis Rayburn. He wore the same shades and suit as Brian, but where Brian was bald, Travis wore his hair combed straight back.

Quiet as usual, , Brian informed, as the other man got out of the company car and handed him the keys.

Quiet is good, Travis commented while glancing over at Malik and his friend still in conversation. You’re sticking around?

Just till you get him back in the truck, then he’s all yours.

Travis nodded but said nothing else. It was too much activity on the street for his liking, but their current client had no known threat for him to worry about. And the word was the client could handle himself.

Officers Daniel Baker and Phillip Russo were parked diagonally from the Malik’s building on 116th street, closer to Eighth avenue in a grey Ford Explorer. They were part of the gang task force and had been staked out in their position for the last four hours. Both men felt funny about the order but did it without question. They knew who Malik was and that he was a good guy. They had seen and read the story on the real estate mogul that was also teaching others how to do the same.

Both men had perked up when the G-wagon pulled up and Malik got out. Russo was in the driver seat and caught only a glimpse of Malik as he exited the back of the vehicle. He was a medium built man with a buzz cut. He had on jeans and a t-shirt which barely covered his city issue 9mm.

Be right back, Russo said to his partner before jumping out of the Explorer and jogged across the street to get a positive identification on Malik.

He tried to blend into the summer-time pedestrian traffic but was spotted immediately by one of the two bodyguards that was posted. ‘Shit’, Russo thought as he felt the shades lock on to him. Rather than continue towards Malik’s position Russo walked towards the Harlem Tavern restaurant on Eighth avenue. He walked to the corner before he glanced back to see if the shades were on him still and they were. ‘Shit’, he thought again as he continued walking south across 116th street in an attempt to salvage their surveillance.

But it was for nothing. On his next glance, the Benz truck was turning the corner on Manhattan Avenue. Russo turned and went back to car berating himself the whole way.

Smooth moves, dude, quipped Baker when he got back in the car. He had watched how efficiently the two men had quickly gotten Young out of the area. They moved like soldiers, professionals. He did not know what his commanding officer was into with Young, but if it was not official NYPD business Baker did not want anything else to do with it.

Baker was the last member of the taskforce, and he was black. He had only been on the team for six months and he hated it. Baker considered himself a good cop and had been on the job long enough to know that his fellow officers on the team were not. Russo was decent at best, but Baker did not trust any of them and had already put his transfer request in.

Fuck you, gasped Russo trying to catch his breath. What you see?

His bodyguards are pros, and it was definitely him. My question is why are we sitting on him?

Russo shook his head at the younger man. Baker was the new guy, so he was not in on everything that the task force was involved with. There were still questions of trust, and these types of questions were not helping his cause.

Duh, Russo said sarcastically, we’re gang task force, so he must have some gang activity going on around him. And this is part of an investigation.

Baker knew bullshit when he smelled it and it was heavy in the car, but he played it cool. So, what’s the next step in this investigation?

We wait for him to come back.

One of the advantages of being in real estate, besides the money, was always having somewhere that no one could find him if he did not want to be found.

After being hustled away from his friend like he was the president, Malik wanted to be alone. The explanation that he was given was unacceptable and he had voiced that

What happened? Why did you leave Javi?!, he had demanded from the backseat of his truck as they sped around the corner.

I saw a possible threat, sir. And I didn’t grab your friend because he wasn’t the target, Rayburn had replied calmly. He trusted his instincts and the guy that came trotting onto the sidewalk was suspect.

That’s fucked up, man, Malik said while dialing Javi’s cellphone. You good, Bro?

I’m good, Bro. What did I miss? Javier was truly baffled as to what had happened.

Security is tripping, Malik said loud enough for Travis to hear.

Travis had brought Malik back to his brownstone on 120th street between Lenox and 5th avenues. The brownstone was originally owned by their father and inherited by his children. When they were growing up in it, there were other families also living in the building and their father had acted as a super and enforcer when necessary.

Malik had gotten out of the truck and gone into the building without a word to Brian, who was pulling up behind them or Travis. He was already planning his escape in his head. That is where he worked everything out, in his head.

After their father had died, the brownstone had fallen into bad condition. Most of the families that had been staying there had opted to move out than pay full rent on an apartment with plumbing, heating and/or rodent problems. Malcolm had always said that they owned it and as soon as he got in good with the military, they would have the money to fix it. Malik had stuck to that plan for as long as he could, but as he got older and continued to do his own research, Malik found another way to use their brownstone and start their own legacy.

Malik had applied for a home improvement loan, using the brownstone as collateral, and was given a credit line of three hundred-fifty thousand dollars. Everything from there was playing connect the dots for him after that.

Javier’s whole family was in the construction business, so he had his brownstone repaired for an even hundred thousand. Rather than stop there, Malik found another brownstone in despair and bought it from for the city for a low price, using his credit line from the bank. It had cost him another one hundred-twenty-five thousand, again using Javier’s people to repair it.

Malik had owned the second property for less than six months before someone made an offer on it. The older white man had attempted to lowball him after Malik had shown him around the empty brownstone. Martin Bloom was attempting to get the whole building for less than a million dollars, but his budget was four million. Malik negotiated from a position of power, even though he had a payment due on his loan and got the whole four million from Bloom. After paying off his loan, Malik never looked back.

Malik walked into the foyer of his completely rebuilt and modelled home. He had brought the tenants out and had it gutted. Now it was a three-story mansion in the city with a rooftop deck complete with pool and grill station. There were eight bedrooms and the same number of bathrooms in the house, along with a formal dining room, study, living room, den and a huge eat in kitchen. There were sliding doors at the back of the breakfast nook that led to a patio with a fire pit. The basement apartment had been converted into a fully equipped gym and a steam room.

Baby, he called as he stepped into the formal living room that had a fireplace along the left side of the room and a wall mounted 70" tv above it. The living room was a sunken one and was framed by a huge reclining leather sectional sofa with an ottoman in the middle.

It was too much house for just Malik, so he lived there with his long-time girlfriend, Layla Jones, their 3year-old son, Micah and their live-in nanny, Marie. Layla had known Malik since junior high school and his girlfriend since high school. She was the complexion of brown sugar, with shoulder length black hair and a natural coke bottle shape.

Before he could call out again, the screen pad next to the elevator lit up and a doorbell chime could be heard throughout the house. At the screen, Malik could see that Brian was at the door.

I’m starting to rethink this situation, Malik said. I can’t be getting hustled away at every little thing and leaving Javi out there like that was cold!

Brian shook his head on the screen. Can I come in and have this conversation?

The door buzzed open in response and Brian walked into the house. He had been inside the house before but was stunned by its elegance every time he stepped across the threshold.

There was black artwork on all the walls and every room he had seen was spacious.

Mo, Brian said when he saw him standing by the elevator. Travis is a professional and he saw a possible threat. He did exactly what he’s supposed to do in that situation. As far as leaving Javi, he wasn’t who we’re paid to protect, Brian said bluntly.

Thanks for your honesty, Malik replied. But I thought we were better than that. Leading the other man to the sectional.

Brian shook his head. Javier was fine, Mo. I stayed behind and made sure he was good. The priority was getting you out safely. You are always the priority.

Now it was Malik’s turn to shake his head. Like I said, man, I’m having second thoughts

Second thoughts about what, asked Layla as she stepped off the elevator. She was dressed in a Dior one piece jumper that hugged her curves like an old friend. Both men stood up as she approached the sectional where the men were seated.

About this security thing, Malik said after kissing his lady. Treated me like I was Obama.

And you mad about that, Layla asked incredulously. Isn’t that what you pay them for? Baby, you are tripping.

They left Javi on the stoop, Malik said in his defense.

Something happened to Javi, Layla asked Brian, ready to go angry black woman on him. Javi was also her childhood friend that had grown to become like family. Many nights Javi and his wife, Juanita, and their three children had been spent in the Young house.

Javi is fine, Brian replied immediately. Travis saw some activity that he didn’t like and made the call to extract you. I stand by his call, Mo. He’s former secret service so he knows his stuff.

Layla looked at Malik for an explanation and got silence in return. He saw he was wrong when he sat and thought about it. Alright, I might’ve overreacted a bit.

It’s all good, Mo. I know this is still new to you, but anything we do is to keep you safe out on the street. So, we’re good, Brian asked.

We’re good, Malik confirmed. Tell Travis my bad, but if anything were to jump off and I’m with Javi, don’t leave him behind.

Roger that. Brian replied before shaking Malik’s hand and making his exit. He understood the younger man’s frustration, but he had hired them to do a job and they would do that job to the very best of their ability.

As Brian stood at the top of the stairs and looked to his left, he saw a Latino man of average height and build jog up to a car and get in but paid no further attention to the man or the car as he checked his right side before walking down the stairs to Travis who was standing by the G-wagon.

Malik apologizes for blowing up back there, Brian stated to his subordinate, but what did you see that made you evacuate like that?

White male, armed, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, Rayburn replied like the trained professional he was. Now that I think of it, he might’ve been a cop, he continued. Probably was a cop. Our current employer is legit, right?

Couldn’t get any more legit, Brother, Brian affirmed. You don’t read the paper? The newspaper story was the reason that Malik felt the need to get security. The kid could handle himself but needed someone to watch his back just in case someone got ideas.

His check clears just fine for me, boss, Rayburn said with his hands raised in surrender. But why are the cops on him like this?

Brian had no answer for that and said so. Good question. Keep your eyes peeled until I find somethings out.

Only way to operate. You know if he’s going back out or can I park the tank?

I’m off duty, Brian said walking to his Charger which was double parked in front of the G-wagon. Go ask him.

As he got into his car, Brian realized he had not seen a car pull out from the block where the Latino man with the bad skin had gotten into. He said nothing to Rayburn as he pulled into traffic and circled the block looking for the dark colored sedan the man had gotten into.

Detectives Torres and O’Reilly were on the clock for their jobs with the NYPD, but still out stalking Malik Young. Torres had been looking for a back way into the house when the Benz truck had pulled up abruptly out front. O’Reilly had called his partner immediately with the new development while wondering if the man who had ordered the job gotten that impatient.

Russo, O’Reilly had barked into his radio. What happened?

I tried to confirm the I.D., but his bodyguards made me, Russo admitted sheepishly.

O’Reilly bit back his curse. Although neither man had questioned their assignment, O’Reilly knew that his subordinates knew exactly who they were surveilling and that was too much already.

Don’t worry about it, kid, O’Reilly lied, but next time just follow orders. O’Reilly picked up his burner phone to call Torres and inform him of Russo’s blunder.

Shortly after he hung up the phone Torres was knocking on the glass and opening the door. He was slightly out of breath from the jog around the block and took a minute before speaking.

What I miss, he asked finally.

Keystone cops spooked his bodyguards. Anything on a back entrance?

Nothing, Torres said shaking his head. No way to get to the back of his property.

Okay, O’Reilly said with a sigh. We’re going to have to do him on duty and that means shutting down our side shit while Internal Affairs goes up our ass with a magnifying glass.

Torres was about to put in his two cents when a car horn blew next to them and a man in a dark colored Charger was waving to get their attention.

Who the fuck is that guy, Torres asked bewildered, but looking directly into the car.

Probably looking for a parking spot, O’Reilly answered while holding his badge up to his closed window, revealing the badge number. What you think, he asked, turning to his partner of seven years.

We do what we have to, Torres said with a shrug.

133rd street and 7th avenue looked like a car show with all the exotic cars parked or idling near the club named City of Lights. It had only been open a few months, but it had already become the hang out spot for dope boys and people who had money like dope boys.

Inside the club, the DJ was playing all the right music and the dancefloor was packed. Bottle girls moved through the club like fireflies, dressed in black bodysuits with painted on smiles. Their smiles only became genuine when they were tipped without being fondled and it seemed the only respectable men in the club were in the center section of V.I.P.

Malik, Javi and two of Javi’s cousins were seated there with chilled bottles of champagne in buckets on their table. Malik had come out to celebrate despite the earlier fiasco and Javi had brought his cousins as his bodyguards. Mike and Paulie were brothers with Mike being older by a year but were both built like middle linemen for a professional football team.

You have anything lined up next, Javi asked, hoping for once Malik was taking a break. He had a few jobs going on that he needed to manage personally.

Nah, Malik said looking around the club and seeing quite a few familiar faces. Getting ready for Mal to come home for good.

Uh-oh! Black Jason Bourn will be in the hood, Javi said excited. He remembered Malcolm fondly from growing up. Unlike his older siblings, Malcolm looked after his kid brother and his friends. How soon?

Should be a couple weeks, Malik said sipping his champagne before feeling a tap on