Cartier Cartel--Part 4

by Nisa Santiago

  Cartier spent the entire day plotting something devious.

  It was late evening when Cartier stirred Harlem from her sleep and said to her, “You down to do something stupid and reckless tonight?”

  Harlem didn’t know what to say, so she replied, “What is it?”

  “Well, I need a favor,” Cartier said.

  “Okay.” Harlem felt that she owed Cartier, so whatever favor she was asking for, it would be granted.

  “I just need for you to drive for me tonight,” said Cartier.

  Harlem looked befuddled by the request. “A driver?”

  “Yes. I wanna pay a visit to my man.”

  Harlem sighed. She wasn’t down with relationship drama, but she agreed because she was living rent-free and Cartier had paid her debt.

  “Hurry up and get dressed—preferably in all black,” said Cartier.

  Harlem got up and glanced at the time. It was only 10pm. Harlem didn’t realize that she had gone to sleep so early. The one thing she hoped didn’t happen tonight was that she would lose her freedom.

  They exited the building, and Cartier tossed her the car keys. “You drive,” and they got into a dark blue BMW. It wasn’t as fancy as the Bugatti, but it was still a nice car to get around in. Cartier instructed her where to go. “Make a left here . . . turn onto this ramp . . . go a mile down.”

  Harlem did what she was told, and she didn’t ask any questions. It felt like she was in a cheesy gangster movie, with the two of them dressed in black and cruising through the city at night looking for some trouble to get into.

  The Brooklyn block was eerily quiet as a cool breeze chilled the spring air. The two ladies had set up on the block and were stalking a residence from a short distance. Cartier’s eyes were on the property. She wanted to make a glaring statement to that nigga who had wronged her. There was a good chance he wouldn’t show up tonight, but Cartier was willing to wait—even all night if she had to. If they had to pee, then they would squat down low near the car in between the doors.

  “What now?” Harlem asked her.

  “Now we just sit back and wait for him to show up.”

  “That could take all night.”

  Cartier cut her eyes at the young girl. “Do you got somewhere important to be?”

  “No.”

  “Then we sit here and we wait. That’s it.”

  Harlem didn’t have a choice. She huffed and rolled her eyes.

  “Are you serious? You wanna blow out your mouth and complain?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” Cartier barked.

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Then just fuckin’ relax and have my back. That’s all I want from you.”

  Harlem was starting to see another side to the woman. It was a side that was intimidating. She figured it was best to stay still and quiet, and not make any more complaints or annoying noises. She also learned that Cartier had patience. Most likely it wasn’t her first time stalking someone.

  A few hours later, there was still no sign of Head. Harlem was well past the point of impatient, but she didn’t want to upset Cartier. It looked like their little caper was going to go into the morning. But then suddenly, things changed. Cartier noticed a pair of headlights turning onto the street and she kept her attention on the approaching car. Soon, a gray Audi drove right by them and she caught a glimpse of Head behind the wheel. It was about time.

  “This is it,” she said to Harlem.

  She watched him park and eyed him lingering in the driver’s seat for a moment. She wondered what he was waiting for. Did he spot us? Is he plotting against us too? Cartier’s mind was spinning with all kinds of worries. This was supposed to be her sneak attack. He wasn’t supposed to see her coming. What if he comes charging our way blasting? Then what? Cartier knew she wasn’t ready to take Head straight on. He was a savage—a coldblooded killer when he needed to be.

  The driver’s door to the Audi opened and Head climbed out. Harlem started the ignition, threw on the high beams, and she slowly maneuvered the BMW his way, while Cartier donned a ski mask to cover her face and cocked back a Glock 19. Head was looking directly into their line of fire. Cartier leaned out the window clutching the gun, aimed, and fired several shots his way. She witnessed Head take cover behind the Audi. She could have killed him if that was her intent. She had him dead to rights. But she didn’t want him dead. She wanted to scare him. It was petty, but it was payback.

  What Cartier didn’t expect was for Head to return fire so soon. Fortunately for them, the high beams threw off his shot, and he took off running. Seeing him run away, Cartier laughed. She found it hilarious. She said to Harlem, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  Harlem couldn’t get away from the scene fast enough. She stared at Cartier with a look that said, This bitch is crazy!

  The next morning Harlem woke up, threw on a T-shirt, and stepped out of the bedroom to find Cartier hanging out on her blow-up bed with a glass of cognac in her hand. Sensing someone was standing behind her, Cartier turned around to find Harlem there.

  “I see you finally woke up,” she said. “How did you sleep?”

  “I slept fine,” Harlem replied.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Cool. Get dressed and we’ll get something nearby. I know a spot, and we need to talk,” Cartier said.

  Before lunch, Cartier made a detour to the furniture warehouse in Brooklyn Heights. It was time to decorate her place. She dropped nearly thirty grand on bedroom sets, a dining room table, a living room set, fashionable chairs, and some high-end décor. It all would be delivered the next day.

  Leaving the furniture store, Cartier was feeling a little altruistic and decided to take Harlem shopping. For the rest of the afternoon, the ladies went in and out of boutiques from 5th to Madison. Since Harlem couldn’t wrap her mind around Cartier’s generosity, she began to feel as though she had earned all these perks. To Harlem, the universe owed her plenty, and Cartier was the vessel through which she would receive her rewards.

  Never once did Cartier mention what had gone down the night before. Harlem didn’t know if Cartier missed her man on purpose or not, but it wasn’t her business. She did log the incident in her mind as a teachable moment. It would be a cold day in hell before Harlem would ever go ape shit over a man.

  After their shopping spree, the ladies ended up at Rao’s on 114th Street to finally eat. The atmosphere was lively, and it was reminiscent of those old Italian movies. Seated at the decorated table, they enjoyed mouthwatering meatballs and the famous marinara.

  Sipping on her champagne, Cartier gazed at Harlem and now things were about to get serious. “Listen, after today, you need to start pulling your own weight around here,” she started.

  Harlem was listening, knowing Cartier was about to drop the bomb on her.

  “What do you need me to do?” she asked.

  “You either need to get a job or you need to go back to school.”

  Harlem was taken aback by the options Cartier threw at her. She was certain that she was going to be asked to do something illegal, maybe turn tricks for Cartier or set some niggas up to get robbed. But get a job or go to school? What was the catch?

  “You want me to do either—why?”

  “Why? Because I want you to win.”

  “Usually people try to take advantage of me,” she said.

  “Well, I’m not those people.”

  “I see that.”

  “So, which one?” Cartier asked.

  “I’ll get a job,” she opted.

  “All right then,” said Cartier.

  Harlem climbed out of the Lyft on 56th Street in Midtown Manhattan and looked at the building that most likely would become her new place of employment. It was nestled in the middle of the block, and it wa
s a well-known nightclub called Escape. It was one of the top clubs in the city, and they were hiring young bottle service girls. Her outfit wasn’t the usual interview wear, as Harlem entered the nightclub dressed in black coochie-cutter shorts, a sleeveless magenta blouse, and heels. Her flat-ironed hair was styled into a long ponytail, and her lips were popping in the new NARS Damned she had picked out on her shopping spree with Cartier.

  The place was huge—bigger than she had expected. The afternoon hour made the club a ghost town, but tonight it would become an entirely different atmosphere with VIPs, blaring music, and pretty girls.

  “You here for the position as a bottle service girl?” asked the woman behind the bar.

  “Yes. I’m Harlem.”

  The woman signaled for her to come closer. Harlem walked to the bar and gaped at the woman’s beauty. She was white with green eyes and long blond hair and she looked to be in her mid-thirties.

  “I’m Michelle,” she said. “Could you turn around for me so I can see what you’re working with?”

  Harlem did so, slowly turning around and showing Michelle her lovely figure.

  “You’re pretty, sexy, and exotic. Where are you from?” Michelle asked.

  “I was born here, but my parents are from Ethiopia.”

  “It shows. Have you ever worked in a nightclub before?”

  Harlem shook her head.

  “It’s a demanding task, and when it comes to my girls, I ask for three things—professionalism and courtesy when it comes to our guests; a pretty, smiling face at all times; and don’t be late,” Michelle said.

  “Then I’m your girl.”

  Michelle stared at her for a moment, taking in everything about her. She would be an asset to the venue.

  “The money can be great if you know how to handle yourself, and our VIP clientele can be huge tippers if you play your cards right. I don’t mind the girls flirting with our clubbers and our high-profile customers, but don’t fuck our clientele—mixing business and pleasure isn’t good, and I don’t allow it. One fuck and you’re fired,” Michelle warned. “You go by my rules and we’ll be okay.”

  “I understand, and I’m ready to work.”

  “Good. You can start tonight.”

  Harlem smiled. She knew that only the prettiest girls landed the position because they got the best tips. It was well known that Jay-Z had once tipped a bottle service girl eleven grand, and another girl fifty thousand. Harlem was hyped and ready to make that money.

  6

  Head drove the bullet-riddled Audi into the auto body shop on Ralph Avenue and hopped out to greet Ray, the owner of the place.

  “My nigga! Long time no see,” Ray said, giving Head dap and embracing him in a brotherly hug.

  “I ain’t been a nigger in a while,” Head replied. “But what’s up, though?”

  “True. I hear you, black man.”

  “I hope so, ’cause we can’t keep spreading propaganda to our youth. We gotta teach them that we’re not niggers or niggas. Our history doesn’t start at slavery—” Head puffed out his chest and adjusted his Yankees fitted—“As the original race, the black man has a duty to correct the infiltrated minds of our brothers and sisters. You feel me?”

  Ray nodded. Here we go, he thought. He had watched this scene play out a thousand times. Dude comes home after doing a long bid in jail, and overnight he’s the conscious, self-aware Asiatic black man. Ray gave Head ninety days outside before all this supreme wisdom wore off.

  Ray looked at the car and asked, “Damn. What happened?”

  “Some bullshit that I’m about to correct,” Head replied.

  “Just got home and you made some friends already,” Ray joked.

  “I’m not even in the joking mood right now. Muthafuckas tried to come at me outside my great aunt’s place the other night,” said Head. “This is what I’m talking about. Brothers are misguided!”

  “Damn. For real?” Ray said and took another look at the botched vehicle. He whistled. “So how you gonna handle this situation? You gonna sit down and politick—shake hands and squash whatever this is like men? ’Cause this black-on-black violence ain’t the move. I know you been locked down for a while, but nowadays the movement is Black Lives Matter. I know you’re above all this material shit, and killing a black man over a car is unethical, right? I’m only asking so I’ll know what to tell the youth.”

  Head had to use all his restraint not to put paws on Ray. He knew he was trying to undermine his teachings and play him out.

  “Why you assuming that a brother is behind this attack? For all I know, the white devil has masterminded this very act to try to pull me out my character and grab my hammers so I could end up doing life in a cage. Those alphabet boys been on me hard for half my life. That’s real talk.”

  Ray weighed whether he should mention that it was Head who implicated the black man in the shooting. He replied, “The feds shooting up cars now? Damn, Head—”

  “It’s Henry.”

  Ray smirked. “What?”

  “My name. I don’t go by Head anymore. That name represents my former self. My born name is Henry Jackson after my great-grandfather who owned businesses and was a pillar in the black community.”

  Ray erupted in laughter. His fat gut was heaving in and out rapidly as he struggled to talk. His voice rose to a feminine level. “Yoooo! Henry . . . Henry . . . nah, man, you gotta change that to something powerful like Muhammad or Khalid.”

  Head’s cold stare zeroed in on Ray. “Are you done?”

  “Yeah.” Ray adjusted his clothes and got back into business mode.

  “This is a huge inconvenience. Now I gotta hear shit from my lady about her car getting shot up,” Head added. “But you got me? Can you take care of things?”

  Ray moved closer to the car and did a minor inspection of it. He then looked at Head and said, “I got you. I can get this fixed and back to new in no time. You going through insurance?”

  “Nah, so don’t hurt my pockets.”

  “You’re in good hands.”

  Head was grateful. He had a lot of making up to do to Pebbles. He had to kiss her ass because he couldn’t go back to his aunt’s place. Pebbles owned a condo in Battery Park in Lower Manhattan, and he felt it was safer for him to stay there.

  “So, are you back in business?” Ray asked him.

  Head smirked and patted Ray’s chest and waist. “You wired up?”

  “Come on, man. This me.”

  “Nah. Never again will I push poison to our people. I’m working on some different things, my brother,” Head said.

  “Different things, huh? Like what?”

  “I’m on a different path—a path that’s a lot more righteous and life affirming out in Michigan. You feel me?”

  Ray had no idea what he was talking about, but still, he replied nonchalantly, “Yeah, I feel you.”

  “What’s the estimate for the damage?” asked Head.

  “Give me a day. I’ll get back at you.”

  “Cool, do that. I appreciate it.”

  “No doubt. You know I got you,” replied Ray.

  The two dapped each other and embraced in another brotherly hug, and Head left the shop. To Ray, Head seemed like a carbon copy of one of those fraudulently woke niggas—nothing but a snake oil salesman hiding behind racist rhetoric and narcissistic ideals.

  “Oh shit, I’m gonna come!” Head huffed.

  Pebbles had been riding him for a moment and she soon had him about to explode.

  “Come, baby . . .oooh, I want you to come for me, baby,” she moaned as she felt his hard dick thrusting in and out of her, making her legs quiver.

  It took a few more pumps inside of her before he finally exploded, releasing pent up energy. Head exhaled and he looked like a balloon deflating. Pebbles plopped down beside him, placing her head
on his chest, and Head wrapped his arms around her. They cuddled. She wanted some pillow talk, but Head looked like he was ready to go to sleep on her already.

  “Bae, wake up,” she said, trying to stir him awake. “You gonna fuck me and go to sleep that fast?”

  “It’s been a long day,” he said.

  “So, talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  “About anything.”

  Head sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for Pebbles’ emotions. He was holding her in his arms, wasn’t that enough for tonight? But he guessed that she wanted to feel like his woman and she wanted to know what was going on in his life. Head was comfortable at Pebbles’ place and things were going well. The sex was good, they had been cooking dinner together, and it felt like they were an actual couple. But to Head, something was missing. Pebbles was a sweet girl, and she was very territorial over him, but he felt that she was hiding something from him and he wanted to know what it was.

  “So, is my car gonna be ready tomorrow?” she asked him.

  “That’s what Ray’s telling me.”

  “And you have no idea who came at you?”

  “You already know the answer to that,” Head said.

  “Well, you know this is your home, baby. I got you. You take care of me and I’m gonna always take care of you. I love you.”

  Head continued to caress her shoulders.

  She expected to hear him say it, and his silence disappointed her. “You not gonna say ‘I love you’ back? Especially after I gave you some pussy?”

  “Pebbles, I’m fuckin’ tired, all right? And I’m not tryin’ to argue with you right now,” he griped.

  She replied with an attitude, “You wasn’t too tired to fuck me a moment ago,” and then she angrily removed herself from the bed and stormed into the next room, slamming the door behind her.

  Head didn’t chase after her. He figured she needed some time to herself to calm down. No matter how upset Pebbles was with him, Head knew she wasn’t going anywhere. She needed him more than he needed her.