Running a drug network in public requires a certain level of audacity. In Kansas City, Missouri, members of the 246 gang did not exactly maintain a low profile. They uploaded videos to YouTube. They had on jewelry. They flashed money. And it was all evidence, as federal prosecutors would later contend.
The streets in Kansas City that initially delineated the 246 gang’s territory—24th, 43rd, and 68th streets—are the source of the gang’s name. According to the government, it was more than just a loose association of street vendors. It was a planned operation that transported marijuana, heroin, cocaine, and oxycodone over the course of eight years, from January 2011 to October 2019. After about six hours of deliberation, a federal jury in the U.S. District Court in Kansas City found four men at the center of that operation guilty: Ladele D. Smith, David J. Duncan IV, Roy Franklin Jr., and Gary O. Toombs.
Duncan and Smith, both of whom were local rappers, were recognized by investigators as gang leaders. It may not seem important, but that detail is crucial. Instead of needing months of ground surveillance, social media provided law enforcement with a window into activity. As part of the prosecution’s case, videos depicting weapons, substantial sums of money, and obvious 246 affiliation—jewelry, clothes, and plate-carrying vests—were presented. Observing someone essentially record their own illegal activity is an odd experience, but it happened here on several occasions.
The origins of some of this activity made the investigation more difficult to write off as a standard drug bust. Within 1,000 feet of George Washington Carver Dual Language School, the gang occupied a home in the 4400 block of Kensington Avenue. There were no long-term residents. The house was functional, a place of employment. In October 2019, police carried out a search warrant and discovered several handguns, heroin, two assault rifles, and a stolen car linked to a drive-by shooting. Beneath a couch cushion was one Glock. Another was on a cabinet in the kitchen.
The same day, Smith was taken into custody at his apartment. Officers discovered jewelry worth more than $40,000, more than $31,000 in cash, and codeine. Two rifles, a Glock, loaded magazines, oxycodone, and $7,100 in cash were found in Duncan’s apartment. These were not quick discoveries. The wide range of firearms—Zastava, Norinco, Century Arms, Glock—indicates that multiple channels should be used rather than just one supplier.
This was not an isolated case. Operation Blockbuster, a different investigation that dismantled a cocaine trafficking ring that obtained goods directly from a Mexican cartel, ran concurrently with it in a different courtroom but in the same general area. Alejandro Corredor, a Colombian national who led the network, had been placing orders for 20 to 50 kilograms of cocaine to be distributed throughout the Kansas City metro area. The money would be transported back to El Paso and then across the border in cars with fake compartments. The group moved more than 800 kilograms of cocaine and made $10 million over the course of four months, according to a drug ledger found during one search. You have that number.
Federal sentences for five of the men involved in that operation ranged from 12 to almost 22 years. Corredor himself was awaiting sentencing after entering a guilty plea. He also acknowledged his involvement in two assassination plots, one of which resulted in a murder.
When combined, these cases provide a picture of Kansas City’s drug economy that goes far beyond any one area. In the 246 case alone, eleven co-defendants entered guilty pleas prior to the start of the main trial. Sentences were dispersed throughout Lee’s Summit, Raytown, and Kansas City, ranging from eighteen months to ten years. Although it’s still unclear how much of the larger supply chain was ever fully mapped, federal investigators were able to uncover enough information.
Stories like this have a propensity to emphasize the dramatic seizures and the sentence figures. These particulars are important. However, what remains is something more subdued: a network that took years to fully document, a drug house that operates across the street from an elementary school, and rap videos that are used as proof. The 246 gang didn’t run away. It simply relied on people not taking it seriously.
