Carl Weber’s Kingpins:
Miami
Nikki Turner
www.urbanbooks.net
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Carl Weber’s Kingpins: Miami
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1 - Six Years Ago in Virginia
CHAPTER 2 - Nine Years Later
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 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31 - Glen Allen, Virginia
CHAPTER 32
Copyright Page
Carl Weber’s Kingpins:
Miami
Nikki Turner
PROLOGUE
“This is Lisa Sanchez, reporting to you live from WYGH Action News, Miami, from the scene of Miami Memorial Cemetery where a young, vibrant, beautiful socialite is being laid to rest, as her promising life has been taken far too soon. Annalise Pierre-Louis, the sister of notorious, well-known drug kingpin Fitz Pierre-Louis, was tragically murdered five days ago.”
Without appearing to, Fitz scanned the area and took in the debacle that surrounded this sad event. Inside, it all angered him, but he was a man who knew how to hide his emotions. He was pissed at the fact that not only was his sister gone, but these folks had turned her burial into a media spectacle.
Helicopters circled around, and the military tanks lined up, while countless camera crews, paparazzi, and reporters from all over the nation had been camped out since the wee hours of this chilly Miami morning. The cold had been record-breaking that winter, and this Tuesday was the coldest day that Miami had seen in its history. Fitz shivered yet kept his face muscles immobile, as he adjusted the Hermes scarf that matched his casket-sharp custom Hermès suit.
In spite of the “inclement weather,” or the media feeding frenzy, not a soul had been deterred from showing up to pay their respects to Annalise Pierre-Louis. Even social media was screaming.
In a serious tone, the brunette anchorwoman continued her broadcast. “Annalise was a native and graduate from the University of Miami. She was a philanthropist who created so many programs and opportunities for the children in the Haitian community, so her premature, tragic death comes as a shock to many.” Lisa paused, looking directly into the camera. She tossed her long, dark hair then continued. “But the gruesome details of her murder lead many to believe that she’s an innocent casualty of an ongoing drug war between rival drug factions.”
Lisa moved a little to the left as the camera focused on her backdrop, where the SWAT team was marching to their positions. “As you may notice, U.S. Army tanks and heightened security are present. This is an effort to prevent more outbreaks of violence. The mayor has devoted much of the city’s resources, including the police’s SWAT team, DEA officers, and even the Coast Guard on standby, to this effort, as this funeral service and the city of Miami are under siege at this very moment.”
The newscaster delivered the news as empathetically as she knew how. “Anonymous tips have been pouring in with threats of acts of violence, which are expected today on this sad and tragic occasion. This is sending a widespread wave of fear that the retaliation will be coming swiftly. With a smorgasbord of mourners, ranging from some world-renowned singers, athletes, socialites, and political dignitaries leading all the way to the White House, security has been truly beefed up.”
The camera began to focus on various celebrities as Lisa continued delivering her point of view. “Along with noted heads of the core organized crime families are, we are sure, some of the nations most notorious underworld representatives, who have flown in from as far south as Cuba, Peru, and Colombia . . . all with one motive—to pay their respects to the Pierre-Louis family.”
She looked into the camera with compassion written all over her face as the camera turned to a massive fleet of black limousines and high-end foreign automobiles, which filled a two-mile procession as they cruised down the parkway and onto the cemetery grounds. Rolls Royces, Range Rovers, Escalades, Bentleys, BMWs, Jaguars, McLarens, Maserati, Lamborghini, and Ferrari kept the hired valets busy and vigilant.
Between the authorities and Annalise’s family, security was tighter than a pair of size two, no-stretch jeans on a big booty.
As the crowd continued to gather, Señor Manuella of Peru sat graveside with aviator sunglasses covering his eyes and a blank expression on his face. Standing behind him, back ramrod straight, was Annalise’s brother, Fitz.
Fitz stood six feet three inches tall, scanning the crowd while maintaining a poker face for his family. He was keeping himself together because he was fully aware that all eyes were on him—not only the paparazzi’s and the alphabet boys’—FEDS, DEA, CIA, ATF, IRS—but enemies’ and friends’ alike.
The underworld had given Fitz the title Scarface of the Millennium. He, like Scarface, wasn’t born with a silver spoon, but he had managed to win the admiration, love, and undying loyalty and respect of Señor Manuella, who was the cold, callous, infamous, sociopathic head of the Peruvian Cartel. The story went that Señor Manuella, who had no biological children of his own, met young Fitz one day when there was an attempt on his life. Having not a clue who Señor Manuella was, Fitz innocently told him about the hit. Not only was Señor Manuella eternally grateful, but he saw great potential in the little boy. From that moment, he took Fitz under his wing as his godson, and with Fitz’s mother’s blessing, he eventually adopted the Haitian-born boy. Señor Manuella embraced him as his own son, and when he was old enough, he passed the torch to his adopted son, making him the successor of his enormous heroin organization that supplied over seventy-five percent of the product to the United States.
So, the execution-style hit on Annalise had sent a message of direct disrespect to Señor Manuella
