THE UNDOING
The funeral overflowed into the streets. Everyone who was someone and many of the nobodies who had been blessed by Big K at one time or another .Even a few enemies came .They couldn't believe someone like BIg K had died and had to see it for themselves.
Luxury cars lined both sides of the church parking lot while rainwater still clung to the pavement from the storm the night before. Men wearing designer suits and expensive watches stood beneath umbrellas whispering quietly while older women in church dresses wiped tears from their faces. All souls touched by the passing of such a great fi gure in the city.
The entire city of Cocoa seemed divided into two emotions at once: One side was suffering from genuine grief .The kind that tore your soul in two. While a fraction of them were anticipating what would happen in the city now that Big K was gone. A lot of the women that lived in low income housing in the hood where Big K was from would have to find other means to get their bills paid as Big K literally had be constant at paying the rent and utilities for 30-40 families in The Peter Young Projects where he had grown up.That was his way of giving back. in Up Town.But now that he lay dead in a casket the reality of it all had settled in on many of the mourners.
Then you had the few people that were mostly men there in a state of disbelief.Making sure that it was Big K in the pine box and not a clone that he had paid to take that trip to see the maker. He had many of the other players in the game on levels that they would have never been on had it not been for the generosity of Big K.
The anticipation came from the haters, the ones who were not really mourning but contemplating how the prices would change and who would take control of the city's cocaine market now that he was deceased?
Out of one thousand or so mourners from all over the Central Florida area and a few from other states wanted to know immediately who would inherit the streets after Big K.They knew that he had two sons but one of them was based in Melbourne .But everyone already had a clue of who the torch would inherit the torch .To be honest it was a no brainer. While both of his sons were smart, intelligent and street wise there was only one that was capable of controlling a multicounty drug distribution ring and that was Alexander Knight..
AK stepped from a black Escalade wearing a tailored suit and dark sunglasses despite the cloudy sky. The moment he exited the vehicle, conversations shifted around him instantly.
People watched him carefully.
Some with respect.
Some with fear.
Others with curiosity.
Big K's son. The oldest boy who looked like a spitting image of his late father .
The future of the organization.
The young hustler federal agents already suspected long before Big K died.
Munchy walked beside him adjusting his tie nervously while scanning the crowd. "You see all these people?" he muttered quietly. A s he co ntinued to scan the faces for dual purposes to see the ones who came to support the family and also the suspects, the ones who had the slight smirk at the corners of their mouth thinking that because Big K was dead that they would finally be able to make some money.
AK nodded once.
Drug dealers from Orlando.
Scammers from Miami.
Old hustlers from Palm Bay.
Even local politicians appeared quietly near the back trying to avoid cameras. Dick Blake stood off to the corner white an all black tuxedo wearing a pair of darked out ray bans .The mayor was one of Big K 's favorite politicians .
Power attracte d power and money attracted everybody.
Especially after death.
As AK approached the church entrance, older men shook his hand carefully while speaking in lowered voices.
"Your daddy was a real one."
"Anything you need, nephew."
"You know we're here for you."
AK thanked them automatically without truly hearing most of it.
Because deep down...
None of this felt real yet. He couldnt eve imagine that his father was gone from th is earth to never return again.
Inside the sanctuary gospel music played softly while photographs of Big K filled projector screens near the altar. Pictures from birthdays. Cookouts. Family gatherings. Street parties.
Two different lives blended together into one complicated legacy.
AK sat silently in the front pew staring at the casket while people filled rows behind him. His mother, who had always played the background in whatever Big K did, cried quietly beside relatives while church mothers whispered prayers under their breath nearby. Asking God for the saving of his soul.
Then finally the pastor stepped toward the pulpit.
"We are gathered today to celebrate the life of Kenneth Knight..." amen? The church was filled with concurrences .
"He was a man of trust, loyalty and respect [ . ] Would have given you the shirt off of his back or even let you walk across a puddle of water in the middle of the road using his shirt off of his back." The words blurred afterward.
AK barely listened.
His eyes stayed locked on the casket.
His father looked peaceful now.
Almost innocent.
Death softened faces strangely.
The same man who once terrified entire neighborhoods now looked quiet enough to finally rest. And for the first time since childhood...
AK felt angry at him.
Not because Big K died.
Because he left him behind carrying everything unfinished.
The pressure.
The enemies.
The expectations.
The streets.
The pastor continued speaking about redemption, forgiveness, and salvation while mourners cried throughout the sanctuary.
AK stared downward silently. Concealing the full gravity of his pain.One that hurt so bad that it feels as if a knife had been stabbed through his heart.
Growing up around Big K taught him many things.
How to count money.
How to read danger.
How to recognize weakness.
How to survive.
But church?
Church always felt distant from their reality.
Men like Big K didn't belong in sermons about redemption.
They belonged in news reports and federal indictments.
Still...
P art of AK wanted to believe his father found peace somewhere. But he couldn't imagine having peace at all with the type of money that his father was receiving on a weekly basis.How could one be at peace when you have to not only watch the people around you but the ones that you couldn't watch were the most dangerous.
Even after everything.
After the funeral service ended, crowds flooded outside into heavy Florida humidity while black luxury vehicles slowly pulled away from the church.
AK stood near the parking lot shaking hands mechanically until a familiar voice interrupted him.
"You holding up?"
Nadine.
Seeing her instantly softened something inside his chest.
She wore a simple black dress with her hair tied neatly back. Nothing flashy. Nothing fake. Just familiar. The kind of familiar streets rarely gave people.
AK shrugged tiredly.
"I'm here."
Nadine studied him carefully.
"That ain't what I asked."
For several seconds he stayed silent.
Then finally:
"I don't know what will happen now."
Nadine stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"You don't gotta become him."
Those words hit harder than she realized.
Because everybody else expected exactly that.
Even AK sometimes expected it himself.
Munchy suddenly approached from nearby.
"AK."
His tone carried urgency.
"We need a slide ."
AK already knew what that meant.
Business.
Street business.
Death never stopped money from moving.
He looked back toward Nadine briefly before leaving.
But something about her words followed him afterward.
You don't gotta become him.
Deep down...
AK wanted to believe that.
He just didn't know how.
He always knew that he wanted to be like his father he had watched him all of his life coming up.The way that he walked the way that he talked ,And even how he had conducted his business both fronts.Private and public.And as he stood there he heard what Nadine was saying and even agreed with the rationale of what she was saying but only from a certain extent.She wasn't from the streets .She didn't know what it meant to be real in street terminology.For him to not follow in his fathers path would be a form of dishonor in its purest term.And the last thing that he wanted to do is have his father rolling over in his grave because of his dishonor.
But deep within himself he could feel a light whisper at his heart which felt like sort of an influence telling him to do as Nadine said and break the chains of what some may call a generational curse ..Then another voice said a bit louder how boring would that be ??The type of things that the game had allowed him to obtain wasn't something that he could just give up to walk a straight and narrow path, could he ?
That day he would leave the funeral with conflicting thoughts.What he didn't know was that the whisper that he felt tugging at his heart was the self accusing spirit attempting to convict his Soul.The life that we socalled thugs portray in the streets was on that was systematically cast upon us to make us believe that there was other way but the drug game .We are brought up in low income housing while the Government convinces our parents that its better to stay home and wait on the Government to issue welfare checks then to get out and get a job to support the family.