It was past midnight when the four returned to the Duplex, with Brianna gently led away by Romie to the girls’ quarters to recover from her trauma while Darlow and Kofi quickly made their way to their office to discuss the discovery. Darlow had simply told Kofi at the hospital that he had confirmed it was Rex, promising to give him further info once they arrived.
As far as the Mrs. Graham angle was concerned, that wasn’t their business. They’d leave that to Mr. Graham, who was beyond livid, swearing he’d call his lawyers to begin proceedings to dissolve their marriage as soon as possible.
“So, what he talk?” Kofi asked once they entered the office, taking a seat on the couch.
Darlow, leaning against the edge of the kitchen counter, exhaled sharply. “He didn’t even bother denying it. He said, and I quote, ‘Business is business. And as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to regret.’ In his eyes, this is not an attack on us. Ibi profitable business move.”
Kofi’s eyes narrowed. “Ah. This guy… is he serious? You beat up our financier, and you say it’s just business? Herh, this nigga paaa. No be last week nor wey we say we prefer it if Duplex and Basilisk Garrison go dey dema own lanes? No overlaps, no drama. No be so we talk?”
Darlow’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So norr we talk, chale. But ibi like this Rex nigga no dey see am so. He thinks he can cross us and get away with it.” He pushed himself off the counter and began pacing the room. “The man get vim go touch wana big man oo, Kofi. Our money guy. Bro, we can’t let this slide. We cannot. We no fit lef am so. I won’t allow it.”
Kofi leaned forward, a look of uncertainty on his face. “I get you, Darlow, I do, but chale, this no be some small-time kwasia we go quench one time like we take do Owusu last week. This Rex guy be dangerous pass. If we strike, e never go stop for there. E go escalate.”
Darlow stopped pacing and turned to face Kofi, fire in his eyes. “You think I don’t know that, bigman? Massa, I know paaa, I know. But tell me, what message do we send if we let this go? That he can step on us and we’ll just be silent? What stops him from moving further and doing more stupid shit? Before you realize, then he dey target wana niggas some, then he go take that bullshit ‘business is business’ excuse cover ein body. Kofi, forget. We need to strike, and we need to strike hard. Let him know there are consequences for messing with us. We’re the Duplex, and no matter who you are, you don’t fuck with us and get away with it!”
Kofi nodded slowly, seeing his boss’ point. Indeed, if they gave the man an inch, it wouldn’t be long before he demanded a mile. And they could not allow that, not in the slightest. They were their own cartel and they answered to no one.
He nodded. “Alright, you’re right. We need to let him know he no fit to fuck around plus we. So you get plan?”
Darlow stared at him, a sinister smirk crossing his face. “Guy, ibi simple plan I get. Very simple plan. If you do me, I do you, man no go vex. So, tomorrow evening, here’s what we do…”
***
My peoples are you with me where you at?
In the front, in the back, killa-bees on attack!
My peoples are you with me where you at?
Smoking meth, hitting cats on the block with the gats!
It was early evening, and in the comfy Porsche car, Koni and Benyi were on their way to their favorite waakye spot. Wu-Tang Clan’s “The Mystery of Chessboxing” blasted through the car, and Koni, behind the wheel, was in his element, bopping his head wildly to the old tune. As a New York boy, these old hip-hop tunes were a solid part of his upbringing, and there was no better way to get him hyped up than to put on a classic by Wu-Tang, Nas, Notorious B.I.G., or any OG rapper from the city he grew up in.
“This is what we call music, nigga!” he yelled excitedly. “This right here, this is the shit! The best ever! This is motherfucking hip-hop!”
Benyi, usually the quieter of the two, was caught up in the fervor of the moment. His eyes we lit up with the same fire that burned in Koni’s words as he nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, chale, no lies there, you’re right,” he replied, his voice gaining momentum. “Nothing like this old shit. The Nineties gave us timeless shit. Like, uh, Mobb Deep’s ‘Shook Ones Part 2’. That track? Classic. Hardest fucking beat on the planet. And don’t even get me started on ‘N.Y. State of Mind’ by Nas. That’s the essence of hip-hop right there.”
“Couldn’t have said it better, my nigga! The motherfuckin essence of hip-hop in 5 minutes. Nas never released it as a single, but bruh, we bumped that shit like crazy in the hood! Couldn’t go a day without hearing that opening line: rappers I monkey flip ’em with the funky rhythm, I be kickin…“
“I can only imagine how hot it was, man. Even here in GH, that shit went hard. How much more in New York?”
“Haha, you know hip-hop transcends locations. That’s just what it is, my nigga!”
The two continued their journey, waxing lyrical about hip-hop in the nineties. Caught up in the sweet bubble of nostalgia, however, they hardly noticed that a car was intently following them.
***
“Boss, we’re right behind them.”
Darlow nodded, a devious smirk spreading across his face as he held the phone to his ear. “Perfect, Gillie, perfect. Just keep tabs on them till they arrive at their destination. And remember, no need to unalive them. We’re sending a message. Let them know it. Loud and clear. You come for the Duplex, and we’ll fuck you up.”
“No worries, boss. Them go hear am. Live and coloured.”
“Thank you, my guy. Make me proud.”
***
The scent of waakye filled the air as the car parked near the joint. As always, Yaa Atta’s spot was occupied, with a number of regular folks looking to get their share of the delicious food on sale. Benyi stepped out of the car, and nodded to Koni with a casual “I got this, I’ll be back in a sec,” before heading towards the food stand.
Koni sat back, knowing his wait wouldn’t be long. Benyi had secured one of the young ladies in the joint a while ago, and all he needed to do was show up; she’d immediately attend to him. It often irritated a number of people who had been in line for long, but given Benyi’s ever-cold facial expression, the last thing anyone wanted to try was challenge him.
Left alone in the car, he tapped the steering wheel to the beat of “Protect Ya Neck” now playing. rapping along under his breath, his voice occasionally rising to match the intensity of the lyrics, he was completely absorbed in the moment, transported back to the good old days in the hood.
So it was no surprise that he didn’t notice the group of four guys, looking rough around the edges, passing by his car.
Benyi had just handed over the cash to the lady serving him, and began to move back to the car when suddenly, the group of men surrounded him.
One of them, clearly the leader, spoke with a sneer, “See am. You figure sey you be hard guy, eh?”
Benyi instantly bristled, annoyed by the sudden attention directed at him. He obviously had no idea who these guys were, and had no interest in engaging them. “Can you get the fuck outta my way?” he asked calmly, trying to keep his cool.
“Herh, see ein morda! You no dey respect?”
“Aboa, make who fuck off? Fuck you!”
“Foolish guy!”
“You Basilisk niggas no get sense…”
The atmosphere shifted from casual to tense in a heartbeat. Other buyers and bystanders looked on with concern as these guys surrounded Benyi, raining nasty invectives on him.
The escalating commotion caught Koni’s attention. Finally noticing there was a crowd around Benyi, he muttered, “Who the fuck are those niggas?”
He started to open the car door, his instincts kicking in.
Suddenly, the sound of gunshots shattered the air.
Benyi crumpled to the ground, clutching his leg, a scream of pain escaping his lips. Chaos erupted as people scattered, food trays and chairs knocked over in the ensuing panic.
Koni’s heart raced as he slammed the door shut, stunned at this sudden attack. Where had this come from?
“What the fucking hell!” he gasped. “Who’s behind–“
Before he could complete the question, the sound of bullets ricocheted off the car. He ducked down, crawling to the back seat for cover.
Whoever these dudes were, they had him and Benyi as their targets.
“Benyi!” he yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the gunfire and the screams. The glass of the driver’s side shattered, showering him with shards.
The shooters, now standing by the car, judging by how loud their voices sounded now, were roaring threats.
“Don’t ever fuck with us, you hear?”
“You touch one of us, you touch us all!”
“We are not your bitches!”
“Fuck with the Duplex and die, you hear?”
With those bloodthirsty declarations, he heard the sound of running, indicating their exit. A few more seconds, and silence had taken over the chaos of the past minute.
Still in his crouched position at the back seat, Koni waited until he was sure the immediate danger had passed. Satisfied after a few more seconds, he then scrambled out of the car, and ran towards Benyi.
His man lay on the ground, writhing in pain but still alive, blood seeping out of the gunshot wound on his thigh.
“Benyi, hold on, man, lemme get you outta here,” Koni stuttered, trying to sound calm despite the panic clawing at his chest. He took off his shirt and applied pressure to Benyi’s wound with a piece of his shirt, his eyes scanning the now deserted waakye spot. “You gon be ayt, man. Lemme just get you back to the base.”
As he lifted a shaken and wincing Benyi up, Koni shook his head, remembering all the guys had yelled at him in the car.
It could not be clearer; these were guys from the Duplex. They had tracked them down and roughed them up in a case of retaliation for the hit on their financier.
These motherfuckers don’t know what they’re getting themselves into…
Oh boy! It’s kicking off now, isn’t it? This will piss Rex off big time, and it’s only gonna get uglier…
