Cartier Cartel--Part 4

by Nisa Santiago

  “And what’s your name?” he asked her.

  “Cynthia.” She smiled.

  She was cute and sexy, and her bubble ass against Head’s lap was creating some arousal. The day party was lit like it was New Year’s Eve. The DJ was spinning hit record after hit record, the crowd was amped, and the place was so crowded that it looked like the party was going to spill out into the streets.

  By the time Cartier finally arrived, Head was tipsy and on the fast track to becoming drunk. She moved like a panther through the crowd—confident, sexy, and self-assured. Head fixed his eyes on her from the VIP area. Cartier couldn’t help but to stand out in the crowd. He watched her converse with Barkim and Chemo for a moment, and it didn’t matter who was sitting on his lap; his attention immediately shifted to Cartier. Every step she took, Head watched like a field goal kick in the final seconds of the Super Bowl. He watched her approach the VIP area where he was seated, and the moment she stepped foot into the section, he was on her. He stood up and nearly threw a tipsy Cynthia to the floor.

  The first words out of his mouth to her were, “Damn, you wearing the shit outta that dress.”

  Cartier shook her head dismissively. “Get lost.”

  Head stepped closer, trying to bridge the gap. He was inches from her but felt miles away. Cartier wasn’t trying to connect. He intimately stared in her eyes and saw pain—or was it anger?

  “I know you mad—”

  She chuckled. “Mad? Mad was two weeks ago. Come again.”

  “I know I fucked up, but let me explain myself. Let’s get out of here so we can talk.” Head allowed his hand to brush up against her hip, hoping to spark something.

  Cartier shrugged. “You did explain. You said everything you had to say in all them fuckin’ letters, right? Tonight I’m here to party, not listen to a grown man whine about the past. Excuse me. I see a few niggas who might see a future wit’ me in it. Thank you—next!”

  She tried to push past him and he forcefully grabbed her arm. He loosened his grip when he saw the scowl on her face.

  “I’m trying to be a lady, but you know I can act a fool.”

  “Please don’t do that. You lookin’ too sexy to be out here wildin’. I swear on my life, ma, I’ve been thinking about you every day.”

  Cartier looked at him stoically. His compliment didn’t mean shit to her. “Me? Really? How your Insta-bitch feel about that?” she asked.

  “She’s not a bitch, Cartier.”

  “Oh, you taking up for her?”

  “It’s not even like that, and to keep it one-hundred, we not together. She’s just mad cool,” he said.

  “So y’all fuck buddies,” she countered.

  “Listen, we started off wrong, and I apologize. Let’s let bygones be bygones. If I can forgive you for breaking my fucking heart, then you can get past Pebbles.”

  She laughed. “And you’re serious?”

  “I missed you, Cartier. Let’s go somewhere and talk, watch Netflix and chill for a few days,” he suggested.

  Cartier couldn’t believe what he was saying. She instantly shut him down. Her only reply was, “Boy, bye!”

  She walked off to find a section to sit without Head being up her ass with his pitiful apologies. Barkim and Chemo sent a few bottles her way, and she took delight in being the bitch she was while Head was looking like a lost fool. He couldn’t even play it cool. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but she didn’t care. Tonight was her night to unwind and enjoy life, and she wanted to check in on Harlem to see how she was making out.

  Harlem was making her rounds throughout the club looking gorgeous in a black corset and stilettos and her gorgeous white smile. It looked like she was getting the hang of things. Cartier smiled. Soon, Harlem came to greet her and she gave Cartier a big hug. There were lots of eyes on the two of them. Everyone started to wonder how they knew each other.

  “How are you making out?” Cartier asked her.

  “I’m doing fine; making my rounds and making my tips,” Harlem replied. She flashed Cartier a small wad of cash.

  Cartier smiled. “You a hustler. Go get that money.”

  Cartier gave her a handsome tip, sipped on her champagne, and allowed the top ballers to flirt with her. The attention was flattering, but not from Head. She glanced to her right and noticed that he was still watching her, and it was starting to become a bit creepy. When their eyes locked, she would frown at him like there was some kind of bug inside her mouth.

  She only stayed at the party for an hour. She knew that you left them wanting more—and they all wanted more, especially Head. Passing Harlem during her exit, she said, “I’ll see you at the apartment.”

  “Okay. Bye, Cartier.”

  Cartier left the building like the sexy boss bitch that she was. She came, she saw, and she muthafuckin’ conquered.

  Head stumbled to the parking garage where the Audi was parked. It was just after 11pm, and it was awkward to be leaving the club at that hour instead of arriving. Yet, he had a good time. The only low point was getting shaded by Cartier. The short time she was there, she had nothing to say to him, and that bothered him. He slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and headed home. During the drive he thought about Cartier as images of her sexy dress and her stylish haircut flashed through his brain. Thinking about her was making his dick hard.

  Did I fuck up a good thing? he asked himself. Cartier was a natural born hustler, and from the way she handled herself tonight, he knew that Pebbles couldn’t hold a candle to her. Cartier knew how to get money, while Pebbles was too busy spending it. Yet, he made his choice and he was about to go home and climb all over his decision. Cartier had him horny and he wanted to fuck.

  The moment he walked through the front door Head started undressing himself. He went to the master bedroom and saw that there was no need to tap Pebbles on her shoulder. She was already awake, lying there watching TV in a T-shirt and panties. She turned and saw that her man had the hungriest look in his eyes.

  Head peeled away the rest of his clothing and jumped onto the bed and came at her like an animal that hadn’t eaten for days. He pounced on her like a sexual predator, spreading her legs and slamming his hard dick into her like there was a time limit. She immediately became submissive to her man and moaned as he fucked her vigorously. Something about him was different, but Pebbles couldn’t put her finger on it. She couldn’t focus on anything besides the frenzied fuck Head was dishing out, and the thought dissipated while she enjoyed the moment.

  As Head banged her repeatedly, he was wishing he had his hard dick inside Cartier.

  8

  Once again, the morning sun came seeping into Cartier’s bedroom indicating to her that it was going to be another beautiful spring day. Cartier woke up around 10am and lifted herself out of the bed like she was a blossoming flower in a picturesque garden. She felt good. Last night had gone completely her way, and the way she left Head and the other ballers yearning for more of her attention was extremely gratifying. It played out just as she had expected.

  She walked out her bedroom to see that Harlem’s door was closed. She was asleep when Harlem came home. She wanted to see if the girl was up and ask her about her night. When she went to open the door, she found it locked. It was cool. She figured Harlem had a late night and wanted to sleep in. She deserved it.

  Cartier went into the kitchen to start breakfast and to clean up. She was still on a natural high, feeling good and looking good. She thought about whether it would be rude to turn on some music and dance to it while she was cooking and cleaning, but she didn’t want to wake up Harlem. But part of her said, Fuck it! It was her house and she wasn’t about to tiptoe around it for anyone. Cooking and cleaning to music was like a family tradition. When she was young, Trina would always cut on the greats and blast them so loud that it felt like there was a concert happening inside their living room
. Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Gladys Knight, Prince, and Michael Jackson would all croon throughout their apartment.

  Cartier marched over to her high-end stereo system and she knew the perfect album to play. She streamed Beyoncé’s Lemonade and she started to shake her head, sing along to tracks, and dance around her apartment like she was on an episode of Soul Train.

  Niggas are something else, she said to herself. Cartier could relate to the entire album and she repeated some songs verbatim. Listening to a certain track made her think about Jason, her ex-husband, and it brought back feelings of how he had broken her heart in the same way more than once. But unlike Beyoncé, she wasn’t so forgiving. Cartier thought about the time she had emptied her entire clip into that nigga and his fuckin’ mistress. The memory was poignant, but it was a long time ago.

  With her grits slow cooking in the kitchen, Cartier went into her bedroom and suddenly noticed something. When she had left for the day party yesterday she had four hundred dollars on her nightstand in twenties and fifties. Now there was less than two hundred. As if she wouldn’t notice.

  This little thieving-ass bitch! Cartier thought. If Harlem had stolen money from her when she could have simply asked, then what else had she taken? Cartier started to look around her bedroom, and it didn’t take long for her to find that two of her handbags were missing, along with some shoes and wallets. Harlem hadn’t been there more than a month and it was already going south.

  Cartier stormed out of her bedroom and banged on Harlem’s door so hard that it felt like she was going to take the door off the hinges.

  “Harlem, open the fuckin’ door!” Cartier hollered. “You better open this damn door right now!”

  The door finally swung open, and Harlem gaped at Cartier with a sour look on her face. She was naked. What came as a shock to Cartier was when she looked past Harlem and noticed a naked man in the bed knocked out cold with his legs cocked open and his flaccid dick hanging to the side. It looked like Harlem had put that pussy on him something serious last night and laid him to rest. However, the funky room was messy and Harlem stood there looking defiant. She knew what Cartier’s abrupt visit was about.

  In that moment Cartier saw the girl who had the heart to prostitute her body instead of the innocent. She felt she had been manipulated. Cartier had to shelve the money discussion for now. She was fuming. She pushed past Harlem and marched into the room toward the sleeping man.

  “Nigga, get the fuck up!” she screamed. She yanked the man by his arm, rudely stirring him awake, and dragged him to the floor where he fell with a thump.

  “Get the fuck outta here!” Cartier shouted.

  It was then that she got a clear look at his face. The young man was named Zaire and he quickly jumped up and was ready to react with his own hostility until he caught a good look at Cartier and recognized his surroundings.

  “Yo, Cartier, my bad. You scared the shit outta me. I was ’bout to look for my ninas,” he said.

  Zaire knew Cartier and vice-versa. She didn’t give a fuck, though. She didn’t want him in her home.

  “Get your shit, Zaire, and get the fuck outta here,” she shouted.

  Zaire didn’t hesitate, knowing what was best for him. He hurriedly collected his things, barely got dressed, and rushed out the front door like the place was engulfed in fire. The moment he was out the door, Cartier pivoted and tore into Harlem.

  “You bring that nigga here—into my damn home, you fuckin’ bitch!” she screamed. “You know what the fuck he’s about?”

  Harlem had no idea. She stood there looking naive and stupid.

  “I’ll tell you what he’s about,” Cartier continued. “He’s a grimy muthafucka that goes out there and does home invasions, and you fuckin’ bring him here!”

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” Harlem replied despondently.

  “Sorry? You’ll just fuck anything, I see,” Cartier retorted.

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “You got-damn right it won’t fuckin’ happen again. And by the way, where the fuck is my money and my shit?”

  “I don’t know what you talkin’ about. I didn’t take anything from you,” Harlem replied.

  The remark caused Cartier to stomp her way, looking like she was ready to throw Harlem out the window. She shouted, “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, you stupid bitch!”

  “I didn’t take your shit,” Harlem shouted back.

  Cartier felt that the bitch was ungrateful and that she was trying to play her. She screamed back, “Who took it then?”

  “I don’t know! Maybe you spent it and don’t remember. I ain’t gotta steal shit from you, Cartier. I got a fuckin’ job, and it seems like I’m the only one working in here,” Harlem chided.

  Oh shit! Cartier screamed to herself. The young girl was unquestionably feeling herself. She thought that she was so smart and grown.

  “Bitch, you better watch your mouth in my home,” Cartier warned.

  But Harlem continued her defiant streak. She rolled her eyes like they were marbles rolling around inside of her head and rudely replied, “Bitch, go fuck yourself, cuz I don’t need to take shit from you. So take that shit somewhere else!”

  What the fuck!

  Cartier didn’t want to do it, but the young bitch had already said too much. Harlem didn’t see the punch coming; it struck her just as fast as lightning would have—no warning, just blast and fire that damn near took Harlem out of her skin. She went stumbling backwards, and Cartier pounced on her like a cat on a mouse.

  “You gonna fuckin’ respect me!” Cartier yelled.

  Harlem went down like she was Joe Frazier against Ali, and Cartier continued to beat fire out her ass. The fight was one-sided. Harlem had no chance in defending herself. While she was on the ground, Cartier dragged her across the floor like she was a rag doll and continued to punch her repeatedly.

  “What, bitch? I told you, don’t fuckin’ disrespect me, especially in my fuckin’ place,” Cartier shouted. “You fuckin’ trick!”

  “Get off me!” Harlem screamed.

  “You done, bitch?”

  When Cartier finally let off her ass and gave her some breathing room, Harlem picked herself up from the floor with hurt and pain in her eyes. “You think you’re so much better than me and Esmeralda? You’re using me too! Just like her!”

  Cartier didn’t understand. She scowled and thought, How dare this no-rent-paying, no-food-paying, no-paying-at-all little bitch gonna say some dumb shit like that?

  “You used me that night. You made me an accomplice to that attempted murder on your ex,” she exclaimed.

  Whoa! Cartier thought. Did she really just take it there? She felt that she had two choices with Harlem—kill the bitch or kick her out.

  “You know what, you ungrateful bitch? Get the fuck out!” Cartier shouted. “I don’t want you here anymore.”

  Cartier started stomping around the bedroom and grabbing anything that belonged to Harlem. She tossed all of it into the hallway like yesterday’s trash. Next, she pulled Harlem out into the hallway and slammed the door behind her.

  “I hate you!” Harlem screamed at the top of her lungs from the other side of the door.

  Cartier exhaled. Being back in Brooklyn wasn’t unfolding as she planned. And not only that, her damn grits were burning on the stove.

  Cartier stood in the Cypress Hill Cemetery in Brooklyn visiting her best friend, Monya. She held a bouquet of white roses in her hand. It was a depressing moment for her. So much time had passed since her friend’s death. She didn’t say much. She just stared down at the headstone and wondered how things would have been different had they been born under different circumstances. The choices they had made, the things they had done, and the men they had fucked with had led to their downfalls.

  She sighed heavily and said, “I’m sorry, Monya. I’m sorry this
happened to you. It’s not right that you’re in the ground.”

  She crouched and placed the bouquet of white roses on her friend’s grave. She then explained that Head was finally home from jail and already giving her problems.

  “I think you would have liked him,” said Cartier.

  She chuckled and thought, Monya, you always loved complicated relationships.

  Cartier continued with, “I’ve killed too many, Monya. I got too much blood on my hands. I’ve lost everything that I’ve ever loved—you, our crew, my moms, siblings, and what was the most precious thing to me, my baby girl. If I don’t get out now then I know I’m next.”

  Cartier stood at her friend’s grave for a long moment reflecting on her life and her mistakes. There were too many to count.

  The sun sank low in the sky with the light gradually draining away. The warmth of the day had been replaced by a cool breeze. As Cartier’s eyes were fixed on the headstone, she all of a sudden felt strange. A dark feeling hovered over her, and she didn’t like it. The feeling was something that she couldn’t shake off; it felt attached to her like the skin she was in. She looked around and carefully took in her surroundings, noticing a few others in the sparsely populated area, and she shuddered. She wondered why she was feeling so weird.

  She continued her talk with Monya. “As long as I’m keeping it real, I did something that I don’t really understand myself, which was opening up my door to a stranger. This chick, she’s a little thief and not like us. We hustled for ours. She doesn’t boost merchandise, which I could respect. She’s the sneaky kind of thief that will dig in your wallet while you sleep.”

  Cartier paused for a moment to think about her actions. She concluded, “I think I looked out for her ’cause she reminded me of you.”

  Cartier smiled, looking down at the gravesite as if she actually heard Monya reply, Bitch, ain’t no-fuckin’-body like me.