Preface

The title The Blackavellian Knights is birthed from the phrase Machiavellian, after Niccolò Machiavelli (1469-1527), an Italian historian, statesman, and political philosopher. His amoral, but influential writings on statecraft have turned his name into a synonym for cunning and duplicity.

The Knights were champions of a cause: fervent supporters or defenders of a cause or belief, hence the title, The Blackavellian Knights.

In a society in which the laws of the land seem to protect the criminals over their victims, someone must bring hope to the hopeless by any means necessary. For years, the law has been after the Drug Starr Cartel, which flourishes like a Fortune 500 company. They operate on street corners, in bars, schools, churches, nightclubs and brothels throughout the state. The wares they sell inflict social, economic, mental and or physical deaths to their victims. The goal of their kingpin, Royam, is to become a coast-to-coast operation, and that's only the beginning.

The residents, hostages in their own homes, are afraid to sit on their porches or steps from early evening to the next daylight. There are a few blocks that are under siege 24/7. The cocaine epidemic has increased the crime rate, specifically robberies and break-ins, to an all time high. Our youth, watching in the wings, are lured into this world with the promise of quick money, cars and power. Wanting the respect of women and their peers, our youth seem to have no fear of a quick and senseless death. It's hard to convince those young males to go work for $5.50 an hour when they observe their buddies making $500.00 for an 8-hour shift. Who will stand up to these villains who also seem to have the city government in their back pocket?

Lenny B and So Good, the Blackavellian Knights, have taken up the cause. What's ironic about these anti-heroes is that Lenny B and So Good were previously gang members and drug dealers, so they understand both sides of the coin. So Good experimented with drugs, but only Lenny B became addicted to different substances or people. He hustled with the best of them until he got caught up with his own product. The odyssey has taken Lenny B to hell and his passage back was only granted by the grace of God. He is his own protagonist and antagonist. Like many of us, he is his own worst critic and enemy. There is also a spiritual tug of war going on for Lenny B's soul as he fights the same God that protects him.

So Good is Lenny B's best friend from childhood and is a free spirit. So Good always possessed the ability to say enough is enough. He has been closer than a brother to Lenny B and has never judged him throughout any of his trials and tribulations. So Good would die for Lenny B as Lenny B would for So Good.

Special Thank You Page

I would like to thank God for giving me the ability to create this piece of work. I'd also like to acknowledge those who have inspired, carried and uplifted me over the years through good and bad times. This special thank you page is for those of you who purchased the work of a first time author new to the game and helped make a dream come true. After being rejected by publishing houses, I still felt that I had something to offer to readers. The avenue of self-publishing presented itself and I took advantage of it, not having a clue how to navigate the waters. Many, many mistakes were made along the way but you supported me while I continually worked on perfecting my craft.

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If someone or some group is left off of this page, it is truly unintentional. Send me an email and I will include you or that group on the Special Thanks Page of the sequel.

My parents, Leonard Franklin Sr. and Jennie Anderson,

My siblings youngest to oldest, Marvin, Michael, Regina, Ruby, Larry, Jean, Carol, Lee, and Alex,

My other brothers Eric Jones and Malcolm Williams, Aaron Garrison, Chip Duckery, and Ed Dixon

My children youngest to oldest, Ryan, Karima, Antonio, Aleshia, Kierston, and Jahmar,

Donna Holiday, Paige Anderson, and Elaine Williford,

My Sixth Grade Teachers Mr. John P. Malley and Mr. Richard Slusarski,

My University of Pennsylvania Family,

My Presbyterian Hospital Family,

Last, but most definitely not least, The Gentlemen of Klub KASS.

Chapter One

When the smoke clears, there are thirteen horribly mutilated bodies splattered lifelessly upon God's earth. Windows of businesses and vehicles were shattered by the blast and the ensuing gunplay. The hotel's revolving door was completely destroyed by the grenade. The explosion projected lethal pieces of glass 100 miles per hour killing a newlywed couple out celebrating their eleventh month anniversary. The wife was seven months pregnant. Another pair was caught in the crossfire while enjoying dinner at an outside cafe. The husband, looking the shooter right in the eyes and anticipating the inevitable, tried to shield his wife and child from the bullets, but to no avail. May their souls rest in peace.

The piercing sounds of sirens replace the melodies of violins flowing from the restaurant just moments earlier. It was truly a miracle more innocent bystanders weren't killed. People are crying in the street while assessing the damage to their property. Amazingly, only two thank GOD for sparing their lives. Earlier you would have thought Jesus was Lord and Savior to them all as they screamed His name. Some call loved ones and others call the police. For some, fear is replaced by anger and anger by rage as they recall the incident to anyone who would listen. But no one would dare come near me as I twirl smoking 9-millimeter guns in each hand. I put fresh clips in before inserting them back into the holsters. We won this battle against Drug Starr, but the war isn't over. They've had heavier casualties than us over the years, yet seem to have a cloning machine. For every one that we kill, three seem to take his place.

I walk over to view the stiffs. I hear someone moaning in the moonlit alleyway and cautiously go over to investigate with guns drawn. It's Drug Starr's top street lieutenant Shasta. He's in a corner in a fetal position, bleeding. His white terrycloth sweat suit absorbs the blood like a sponge. He foolishly stands up and walks aggressively towards me, shrieking in pain.

Shasta, what's happening, baby boy? You and your boys tried to set me up again? I ask, twirling my pistols a la The Lone Ranger.

Git away from me, Lenny B. says Shasta boldly. I could see the fear in his eyes, but he put on a brave front. I'm not afraid of you. And when I get the chance, I'm going to kill you. screams Shasta. He tries to reach for his gun, but I kick it down the gutter.

Tell your boss his ass is mine for the pain and suffering he's inflicted upon his own people. I'm gonna let you live so that you can deliver my message. On second thought, Bang! Bang! Bang! Now that's just one less bad guy to worry about, I say, while standing over Shasta's lifeless body.

This had to be a set-up. I yell out to my partner So Good, but he doesn't respond. The police and other emergency vehicles are getting closer and we must prepare to leave. As I turn the corner, So Good is lying on the ground and is wounded very badly. I pick him up and attempt to drag him to the car. He is definitely much heavier than he appears. His blood is trickling all over my charcoal-gray Armani double-breasted linen suit that I just got out of the cleaners.

So Good, if you get blood on my new shoes, it's on when you get better, I say to try to lighten the situation. I stop to look at his wounds and assess the damage. He was hit twice in the upper thigh and his private parts spared by centimeters. Fortunately, the bullets entered on a downward angle and went through without shattering any bones. I couldn't take him to the hospital since they would call the cops and file a report. It is very ironic being the good guys and not having the support of the police or politicians. They perceive us as masked vigilantes and say we hinder their investigations by confronting the Cartel. The cops have never physically tried to intervene or arrest us. I guess they figure why get their boys killed if we're willing to sacrifice our lives. They've even supplied us tips (on the down low of course). We are portrayed as part of the problem, not the solution, to the media. And with the upcoming election, the political machine needs a sacrificial lamb and we've been selected. However, most of the citizens support our endeavors.

We continue the trek to the car and finally arrive at my silver Jaguar with convertible top and burgundy leather interior. I position So Good in the back seat and he passes out immediately. I put up the top and windows to be protected by the bulletproof glass. The police helicopter's light brightens the night as it scans the ground searching for suspects fleeing the scene. We pull off.

Though I tried to make him as comfortable as possible, the pain awakens him. He's slipping and sliding across the back seat even though I negotiate the turns slowly and carefully. He's bleeding profusely and gasping for air. His wounds are much more serious than I'd thought. The bullets must have severed a major artery. I pull over and take off my tie to make a tourniquet. I tie it tightly and the bleeding stops temporarily. I grab my cell phone to call my niece Pinky who is also my night club and business manager. She's also So Good's ex-lover.

Pinky, it's Lenny B. Meet me at Klub KASS. Call that shyster doctor that you know and have him bring some blood for So Good. He's been shot twice in the leg. I think he's type A. Bring an oxygen tank, too. If he screws up, I'll shoot him in the head on the spot.

Is he dying? I knew this was going to happen. You get him here in one piece and I'll get Doc here. If he dies, I'm going to kill you. shouts an emotional Pinky.

Lenny B, are we almost back at the club? I'm in pain and need a drink really, really bad. The pain is killing me. You know somebody's gonna pay for this shit. I just got this Nehru Suit tailor-made and it's the first time I've worn it, screams So Good.

You know So Good that alcohol is doing more damage than those bullets. But to answer your question, yes, we are almost there.

We pass the intersection of Broad and Olney Avenues, entering the West Oak Lane section of the city. I'm reminiscing about the Esquire Movie Theater located at Broad Street and Chew Avenue years ago. As young bucks, we made a couple of attempts to enjoy a movie at that location. The residing gang would eventually identify us and try to inflict bodily harm. We'd race back to our own territory barely reaching the borderline in one piece. On a couple of occasions though, those brothers had their minds made up and ran us back five or six blocks deep before the Calvary came to the rescue. They had much, much heart. I have nothing but love and respect for those brothers now, for we all are raising our families and fighting social, moral and economic woes of the past, present and future generations.

Prior to The Blackavellian Knights going out on missions, we rendezvous at Klub KASS located above 19th Street and Cheltenham Avenue. We travel down Cheltenham Avenue; make a right, then a left onto Adams Avenue to the Roosevelt Boulevard, up Route 73 and then exit the city via the Tacony-Palmyra Bridge into New Jersey. We would exchange cars at one of our properties and then re-enter into Philadelphia either over the Benjamin Franklin or the Walt Whitman Bridge. We'd go do our thang and then reverse the route. We have alternate escape routes along the way and cut off drivers to assist us in sticky situations. This makes it harder for our enemies to track us, and that includes the police.

Klub KASS is the premiere nightclub in town. It is the place where the players play. It is the house where the big dogs come when they desire to get off of the porch. Our clientele includes everyone from pimps, gangsters, hustlers, athletes, city officials, musicians, models, singers, lawyers, congressmen, and on a good night, a few ministers on the down low. You may think this is an odd collection of people, but remember what they say, Birds of a feather flock together.

We don't really care what you do, but you must have style. It is where you come to freak or be freaked, but with class. You have to be clean to even walk in the door. And if you aren't, you are kindly turned away. And if there is a lady on your arm, she better be the Crème de la Crème, or you would hear about it on the street the next day. I tell you, the FBI, CIA, or CNN has nothing on the street grapevine when it comes to finding out what's going on or down. On any given day, the 'Vine's' accuracy rate is no less than eight-five to ninety percent on the money.

Two nights a week we set up for club style dancing. We have the best DJ on any continent, DJ Just Rite. He is our homeboy and owner of Just Rite Productions, based out of North Carolina. He has a staff of fifty people who travel coast to coast to do their thang. His company supplies entertainment for banquets, weddings, religious ceremonies for the upper echelon crowds, musicians, actors, athletes, etc. We feature live jazz three nights a week and are especially interested in promoting local talent. We have a casino operation on the lower level. It is on an invitation-basis only. We serve only top shelf liquor, beer and champagne, and only the best cuisine. So if you are looking for a hamburger, you had best be going to Wendy's. You see, to be seen in our spot means that you were on the A-list.

So Good and I gutted three separate but connected abandonminiums to house the club. . An abandonminium is a vacant, sealed or unsealed structure used to squat in and conduct drug activities. In our instance, they were warehouses. I have spent time in such establishments during my active addiction phase. There was no running water or heat. The windows were usually broken. There was makeshift furniture constructed out of crates and boxes or whatever furniture was left behind. The stench of discarded garbage, feces, urine and trash filled the rooms. The bathroom facilities were wherever you made them.

The city didn't realize that they were actually doing us a favor when they boarded up the places. It provided cover from curious pedestrians in the summertime and shielded us from the cold in the winter.

Drugs were sold and used and acquired by any means necessary. As in any society, there is a hierarchy and it is strictly adhered to. If you ignored it, you could be thrown out, seriously hurt or even killed. Every so often, there would be an attempt to take over the top dog spot and to the winner would go the spoils, which meant you get a break down from any transaction that takes place in the house. The loser would be banished from the house altogether. Many people have died, been raped and or tortured all for the sake of the drug. In an instant, you could go from being the predator to being the prey. It's amazing how something that can fit between your fingertips could make you live in such conditions, to be close to what you need, at any price. It was where we called home. It is where we ran to when the sun came up. It was our mausoleum. You would think that this activity would discourage people from coming, but it attracted addicts like magnets. And I know, because I was a card member. If it were not for the grace of God, I'd either be the doorman or a dead man.

We had to make sure that it was structurally sound for our plans, which required approval from the Licenses and Inspections department. After obtaining permission, we hired an architect and our dream began to take shape. We then installed a spiral staircase, chandeliers, wall-to-wall carpeting, an elevator, marble and hard wood floors and the works. There's an enclosed swimming pool on the roof for pool parties. We also have a V.I.P room for special guests or events and a restaurant called The Euphoria Room run by our Head Chef Angela.

We recently added a 5-star motel with 15 units for rent. Each room has a jacuzzi and the rooms on the upper floors have balconies, complete with deck furniture and a grill. We also provide room and limousine service. There are escape tunnels if something jumps off that we can't handle. Yes, we are doing well for African-American men in America.

I could rake in the money from a beach on an island. But I made a vow that if I ever escaped from the hell between my ears that I would try to make a difference in the war against drugs. I know that it is God that spares my life. I know that any and everything that I have is because of Him. That also is part of the dilemma. I know my lifestyle is not