The streets talk. In Chicago, they don't just talk; they scream through drill music, police scanners, and social media beefs that turn deadly before the sun goes down. King Von was the poster child for this raw, unfiltered reality. Born Dayvon Daquan Bennett, he wasn't just another rapper who adopted a tough persona to sell records. He lived it. People often ask who has King Von killed, and while the internet is flooded with "scoreboards" and "kill counts," the truth is a messy mix of legal records, unproven allegations, and the chilling lore of O'Block.
Von was different. Most rappers hint at violence. Von celebrated it with a level of detail that made listeners—and prosecutors—do a double-take. He was a storyteller. A grim one. His breakout hit "Crazy Story" wasn't just a catchy drill anthem; it felt like a confession set to a beat. But we have to be careful here. There’s a massive gap between what fans say on Reddit and what has actually been proven in a court of law or by the Chicago Police Department (CPD).
The Case of Gakirah "KI" Barnes
If you want to understand the dark gravity of Von's reputation, you have to start with Gakirah Barnes. She was a teenage girl, a member of the STL/EBT gang, and reportedly a prolific shooter herself. She was known as "KI." In April 2014, KI was gunned down on the South Side of Chicago. For years, her death was one of those "open secrets" in the drill scene.
Fast forward to 2021. The CPD released documents that sent shockwaves through the community. According to those records, witnesses identified Dayvon Bennett as the shooter who killed Barnes. The police files stated that "investigation revealed that the victim was killed by Dayvon Bennett." It’s a heavy piece of evidence. However, Von was never charged with the murder while he was alive. By the time the files were made public, he was already dead, killed in a shootout in Atlanta. This leaves us in a weird limbo. Legally, he’s innocent. In the eyes of the police and the streets, the case is basically closed.
It’s tragic. Two kids, barely out of their teens, caught in a cycle of violence that started long before they were born. Barnes was only 17. Von was just beginning to find his footing in a world that would eventually make him a superstar.
Malcolm Stuckey and the 2014 Shooting
Now, let's talk about Malcolm Stuckey. This is a case where Von actually saw the inside of a courtroom. In May 2014, just weeks after the KI shooting, Von and his associate Big Mike were arrested and charged with first-degree murder and attempted murder. The incident happened at a party in Englewood. Two people were wounded, and 19-year-old Malcolm Stuckey was killed.
Von sat in jail for over three years. He was facing a life sentence. He missed the early rise of his best friend Lil Durk. He missed the world. Then, in 2017, the case fell apart.
Witnesses refused to cooperate or changed their stories. It’s a common theme in Chicago—"no snitching" isn't just a slogan; it’s a survival mechanism. Without solid testimony, the state couldn't prove its case. Von walked free. He went straight from the jailhouse to the recording studio, and the rest is history. But the cloud of Malcolm Stuckey’s death never really left him. Fans often point to this as a confirmed "body," even though the jury said otherwise. It’s that blurry line between legal innocence and street reputation that defined his entire career.
The Folklore of the "Scorecard"
The internet is a wild place. If you go on YouTube or TikTok, you’ll find creators who spend hours dissecting Von's lyrics to "prove" he was responsible for five, seven, or even ten murders. Names like Modell, P5, and Bosstrell get thrown around constantly.
Is there truth to it? Honestly, nobody knows for sure except the people who were there.
Von played into it. He was a master of the "sub." He’d tweet something cryptic or drop a line in a song that seemed to reference a specific hit. For example, in "Wait," he raps about seeing a person's eyes before they die. It’s haunting stuff. People analyze these lyrics like they're forensic evidence. But we have to remember that drill music is built on provocation. It’s about being the "biggest, baddest man" in the room. Does that mean he was a serial killer? Or does it mean he knew exactly what his audience wanted to hear?
The reality is likely somewhere in the middle. Von grew up in Parkway Gardens, better known as O'Block. It’s one of the most dangerous stretches of land in Chicago. In that environment, violence isn't an outlier; it's the atmosphere. To survive and gain respect, you often have to be involved in the conflict. Von didn't just survive; he became a leader. That doesn't happen by accident.
Why the Public is Obsessed
Why do we care who has King Von killed? It’s a dark fascination with authenticity. We live in an era where everything feels fake. AI-generated images, scripted reality TV, and industry-plant rappers. King Von felt real. Too real.
People look at him and see a modern-day outlaw. Like Billy the Kid or Jesse James, he’s become a folk hero for a generation that feels disconnected from traditional authority. There’s a certain magnetism in someone who looks the devil in the eye and doesn't blink. But there’s a cost. A massive, bloody cost.
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Behind every name on a "scorecard" is a family. There are mothers in Chicago who still cry when they see Von’s face on a billboard because they believe he took their child. There are children growing up without fathers because of the war Von was a part of. When we treat these deaths like stats in a video game, we lose our humanity.
The Atlanta Shootout: The End of the Road
The story ended on November 6, 2020. Outside the Monaco Hookah Lounge in Atlanta, a fight broke out between Von’s crew and Quando Rondo’s crew. It was chaotic. Shots were fired. When the smoke cleared, King Von was dying.
He was killed by Timothy Leeks, also known as Lul Timm.
It was a senseless end to a life that was just beginning to change. Von was a father. He was a provider for his neighborhood. He was arguably the most talented storyteller the Chicago drill scene had ever produced. And yet, he died exactly how he lived—in a flurry of violence over a dispute that probably could have been settled with words.
Lul Timm was eventually cleared of the charges under Georgia's "Stand Your Ground" law. It was ruled as defense of others. It’s a bitter irony. The man who many believed was an untouchable "grim reaper" in Chicago was taken out in a parking lot brawl in Georgia.
Understanding the Context of Chicago Drill
To truly understand the question of King Von’s alleged victims, you have to understand the geography of South Side Chicago. We aren't talking about random acts of violence. This is a highly localized, generational war. It’s O’Block vs. STL/EBT. It’s 600 vs. 051 Young Money.
These are people who grew up together. They went to the same schools. They played in the same parks. And then, because of a slight or a previous killing, they became mortal enemies. Von was a product of this "war zone."
- The Cycle: A shooting happens. A "diss track" follows. Another shooting happens in retaliation.
- The Social Media Factor: Twitter and Instagram changed the game. Instead of private beefs, these conflicts are broadcast to millions in real-time.
- The Wealth Gap: For many of these young men, rap is the only way out. But even when they get rich, the ties to the "trench" are hard to break.
Von tried to take his people with him. He was known for giving out thousands of dollars in cash to his neighbors in O'Block. He wanted to be the provider. But he couldn't leave the war behind. He stayed "active" on social media, mocking his rivals and keeping the flames of the conflict alive.
What We Can Learn from the Life of Dayvon Bennett
It’s easy to judge. It’s easy to look at the list of people who has King Von killed and write him off as a monster. But that’s the lazy way out.
Von was a complex human being. He was charismatic, funny, and fiercely loyal. He was also a man who had been hardened by a system that fails young Black men in inner cities every single day. If you want to take something away from his story, let it be this: violence is a trap. It doesn't matter how much money you make or how famous you get; if you live by the sword, the sword is always waiting.
Practical Steps for Fans and Researchers
If you're looking into the history of Chicago drill or the specific allegations against King Von, here is how you should approach the information:
- Verify via Official Records: Always look for CPD reports or court transcripts. Blogs and "drill historians" on YouTube often rely on hearsay and can be incredibly biased.
- Separate the Art from the Person: Enjoy the music for its storytelling and technical skill, but don't feel the need to glorify the real-world violence. You can appreciate "Took Her To The O" without cheering for the deaths it references.
- Support Organizations Working for Peace: If the tragedy of these stories affects you, look into groups like Project Hood or Cure Violence Global. These organizations work on the ground in Chicago to stop the cycle that claimed lives like Malcolm Stuckey, KI, and eventually, King Von himself.
- Look at the Bigger Picture: Recognize that Von’s story is a symptom of systemic issues—lack of economic opportunity, failing school systems, and the proliferation of illegal firearms.
The story of King Von isn't just a "true crime" tale. It's a tragedy of American life. Whether he killed two people or ten, the result is the same: a graveyard full of young men and a community left in mourning. We should remember the music, but we should also remember the cost of the "crazy stories" he told.
The most important thing to do now is to educate yourself on the realities of urban violence and support initiatives that provide young people in Chicago with alternatives to the gang life. Understanding the "why" is just as important as knowing the "who."