“Speaking of Ryan, ain’t nobody heard shit about his whereabouts?” Li’l Momma said.
“Not one word, which worries me somewhat. And what about his bitch?” Bam asked.
“Marisol?”
“Yeah, her. Do you think she knows that you murked her sister?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“Well, maybe you should. You just said you didn’t want us taking any chances, and to always watch our backs to avoid unnecessary pitfalls. I just feel that she could be a problem.”
“So what are you saying?” Cartier asked Li’l Momma, although she already knew what was up.
“I’m saying that after we have our fun today, we got to get back to the business—street business—and tie up all loose ends. We need to get our hit list and start crossing off names, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a walking target. Once all of this is said and done, then we can start focusing back on our legal businesses. But if we’re dead, then that really wouldn’t make any sense now, would it?”
Chapter 20
The Chase
The incessant ringing of Cartier’s cell phone irked her nerves. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning, and she was having a luxurious sleep, dreaming about Lotto numbers and red velvet cake. Ignoring the caller wasn’t enough. They were unstoppable. Finally she gave in and growled, “Hello!” in a hoarse, impatient tone.
“Good morning. Is this Cartier?”
The voice was unfamiliar, so Cartier pulled the phone from her ear to look at the telephone number, which was unrecognizable. She exhaled. “Who’s this?”
“This is Head. Are you ’sleep?”
Immediately Cartier sat straight up in bed and tried to adjust her voice. “No, no, I’m not ’sleep. But how did you get my number?”
Laughing, he said, “Meet me at Lindenwood Diner in an hour for breakfast, and I’ll tell you what you wanna know.”
Cartier panicked. “What are—”
“Don’t be late. I’m not the most patient person.”
“Maaaaa!” Cartier screamed and ran downstairs like a crazy person into her mother’s bedroom, startling Trina.
“What’s wrong?” Trina asked. “God, please tell me that nothing else has happened.”
“Nah, ain’t shit bad happen.” Cartier looked around. “Where’s the kids?”
“They in the kitchen eating breakfast before the school bus comes to pick them up in an hour. Now what happened? Why are you up so early?”
“I need your advice. I met this kid named Head, who’s supposed to know you, a few months back, but I didn’t kick it with him. And also Li’l Momma put on blast that I was married. Well, he just called and asked me to breakfast.”
Trina remembered Head very well. “Did he tell you I used to fuck with his boss?”
“His boss?”
“Yeah, Nut. You sound surprised. Did he tell you that Nut worked for him?”
“Ma, this isn’t about you and Nut. I came down here to ask your advice about me and Head. And, no, he didn’t get into who worked for who, because he was too busy flirting with me.”
“So what you mean, you came to ask my advice?”
“Should I go?”
“Why the fuck not?”
“I would feel really grimy if anyone saw us together. He wants to meet this morning in East New York. What if Wonderful or Blake see us?”
“What the fuck you got to feel guilty about? After you put up with Jason and his steady stream of bitches? You better tell them to kiss your ass!”
“But you know that it’s a double standard. People won’t care that Jason was a habitual cheater. They’ll forget about him and Monya, and they’ll forget that he got shot up in a motel with another mistress. They’ll look at me like I’m a slut. Jason hasn’t even recuperated, and if they see me out on the prowl, I’ll be the slut of Brooklyn.”
Trina couldn’t believe her ears. “Since when you care about what people think? Or double standards, for that matter? At sixteen you started your own cartel and hugged the block better than most niggas. Now you wanna come in here with fear in your voice over what people say about you? I didn’t raise no coward, and you’re turning me off right now. I told you back in the day that you’re supposed to worry when people stop talking about you, because as long as they’re yapping their mouths, it means you’re doing something right. Fuck those haters. Besides, Wonderful and Blake would never come at you sideways. If they stare you down, then you better stare the fuck back. And if I remember Head correctly, he ain’t one to fuck with. If he’s feeling you, then he’ll hold you down. Look, Jason is the past. He made his bed, so now he has to lie in it.”
Cartier had less than twenty minutes to shower and race out the house to drive into East New York to meet with Head. It’s amazing what one could do under pressure. She tossed on a pink Juicy Couture sweatsuit that hugged her figure, pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, and put on a pair of Christian Dior goggle shades to cover any remnants of puffy eyes. She emerged out of her house looking refreshed.
To take the edge off her nerves, she turned on the radio, and Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” rang through the speakers. Cartier abruptly changed the channel to AM to hear the weather report. She liked Beyoncé as much as the next chick, had even seen her in concert twice, but it was time for her to sit her ass down for a minute. She wondered if Beyoncé would ever get tired of screaming and hopping all around the stage.
As Cartier pulled into the mostly empty parking lot, her heart skipped a few beats. She breathed out, knowing she was surely going to run into someone she knew. With her .25 tucked snugly in her Gucci logo shoulder bag, she held her head high and walked in.
“Cartier, so good to see you,” Emanuel the manager greeted her. “I’m so sorry to hear about Jason.”
“Thank you, Emanuel. He’ll be happy to hear that.”
Emanuel had been working there for over a decade, working his way up from bus boy to manager. He adored Jason and his crew because they gave him respect and left great tips to the waiters.
Cartier’s eyes scanned the room and landed on Head, tucked away in the far corner, a half-smile on his face. Damn, this man is sexy, Cartier thought. He was fine in a manly way. There was a maturity to him that Cartier wasn’t used to.
“How’s your mother?” Emanuel asked as Cartier lingered.
“Huh? Oh, she’s fine.”
“Is someone meeting you here this morning?”
“I found who I’m looking for. Thanks, E. I’ll tell Jason what you said.”
Emanuel’s eyes followed Cartier for a moment until he made eye contact with Head. He knew that this wasn’t his business and was wise enough to never repeat anything he saw or overheard in the diner.
“I see you got here on time . . . and looking gorgeous I might say.”
Cartier blushed. “Why wouldn’t I make it on time? I don’t live too far from here.”
“Because your ass was dead sleep, that’s why.”
“I was not!”
“Ma, don’t ever lie to me. Especially on small things. You lie about small things, then you’ll lie about big things, and at the end of the day, you’ll never be one to trust. Don’t ruin who you are, or what we got by being fake.”
“Wait. Slow down. I don’t know who you think I am, but you got me fucked up. If I said I wasn’t ’sleep, who the fuck are you to tell me differently? And right now you’re bugging, talking ’bout what we got. I don’t even know you.”
“And you won’t get to know me.” With that, Head stood up, grabbed his New York Times, and walked out of the diner, leaving Cartier on the spot.
As Head strolled out of the diner, he knew he had her. If there was one thing he knew was true, it was that once you establish boundaries, you’ll always have respect. He told her over the phone that he didn’t tolerate lateness, and she showed up on time. Now he had to break her in, train her as one would a dog. He hated to be so harsh, but that was
the only way for strong-minded people to learn. He knew from jump that Cartier was a leader with a dominating personality, and that women like her would always bump heads with a man like himself, so to avoid all the future drama, he set them straight from the get-go.
Head felt that Cartier would play the “I-got-a-man-who-spoils-me-I-don’t-need-you” role, had he not bounced. Now, she’d be second-guessing all her movements. He would bet his fortune that she’d never had a nigga bounce on her. And although it was a bit dramatic, he knew there were three certain things: death, taxes, and that Cartier would definitely call him.
On the drive back home, Cartier was more than humiliated. She was embarrassed, angry, and felt dumb. She replayed what had happened over and over in her head and still didn’t know what hit her. Did she ever think he would play her like that, Cartier Timmons-Payne, the head of The Cartel? Her name was resonating through the streets as well. Who the fuck did this old-school player think he was? This was the second incident she felt she could never live down. The first was Mari pulling a gun on her. Cartier felt like she was slipping. She wasn’t thinking on her feet. She should have never run out of the house like she did. He knew she was married, and here she was running out to meet a nigga she’d met once a few months back. How desperate did she look? And who in the world had given him her number?
Cartier didn’t want to go right back home because she knew Trina would be all up in her grill. She made a U-turn on Linden Boulevard and drove to the local Pathmark supermarket in downtown Brooklyn just to kill time. From there she cruised back on the block to hang out with Bam and Li’l Momma. Although it was still early, both girls came out, and they headed to Sophie’s for a wash and set. Then everyone went their separate ways. Even after hooking up with the girls, Cartier was still breathing fire.
The silence in the luxury vehicle was welcomed as Cartier finally decided to drive home. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to lyrics, wanting to get her thoughts together. She had a lot on her plate. As she sat at the red light about to drive through Conduit Boulevard and make her way on to the Belt Parkway, she heard a faint Pop!
Then Pop! Pop! Pop! Which she ignored, until her back window shattered, scaring the life out of her.
Without even waiting for the light to change, Cartier bolted out in the ongoing traffic. As she raced onto the highway, her head slightly ducked down, she could see what appeared to be a blue Ford Taurus giving chase. But truthfully, right at the moment her hands were trembling. All she wanted to do was get away, and through all the anxiety and angst of the moment, she knew she couldn’t lead the perpetrators to where she lived.
With the Taurus still in sight, she began to dip and weave in and out of traffic, headed toward the Southern State Parkway, hoping she’d made the right decision. Within seconds the state trooper was on her ass. Before pulling over on the shoulder, she drove a few more miles to make sure she was no longer being followed, which certainly annoyed the trooper.
Cartier tried to exit the vehicle, but the trooper immediately barked an order for her to stay in her vehicle.
As he approached, clad in his khaki riding pants, holstered gun now drawn, and a look of contempt plastered on his face, Cartier began to tremble. She’d just remembered she was riding dirty. Quickly she opened her purse and slid out her wallet. Showing a sign of respect, she shut down her ignition and held her hands up high and began to cry.
“Officer, I was trying to get your attention!”
“Driving one hundred twenty miles per hour would do exactly that. Step out of the car and put your hands behind your back.”
“What? Why?”
“Look, ma’am, step out of the car and put your hands behind your back. You’re being arrested for driving eighty miles over the legal speed limit.”
“Somebody just tried to kill me and I’m going to jail?”
Finally the angry trooper observed the broken window. “What happened?” The tone in his voice dropped a few octaves.
Cartier needed to lay this on thick. She still had five years on paper, and if she got arrested, they would certainly find her .25, which might be traced back to a murder and attempted murder if the police decided to do a ballistics test.
“I dropped my children off at school and went to run a few errands at the local shopping center. When I came out, I must have interrupted a shootout with some thugs because, before I knew it, I was being shot at.” More tears. “I didn’t know what to do. When I saw they were still following me, I began speeding, hoping to alert the police and scare them off.”
“Exactly where were you?”
“I was just about to get on the Belt Parkway. Oh my God! What if my kids were in the car? They could have been killed.” Cartier looked up and gave the cop full eye contact. Her eyes pleaded for him to believe her partially true story.
“You can put your hands down, ma’am. Sit tight in the car and I’ll be back.”
The trooper began to walk off but turned back around. Cartier was watching his every move in her side view mirror. Her heart plummeted.
“Are you hurt? Do you need any medical attention?”
“I’m a little shaken up, but no, I’m not shot.”
“Did you happen to get the license plate of the vehicle that shot at you?”
“It all happened too fast. There wasn’t any way I could get a license plate from my position. I was looking straight ahead, but I can give you an accurate description of the vehicle.”
The trooper pulled out his pad. “OK. Could you hand me your license and registration?”
Cartier nodded her head yes and reached for her wallet.
“What type of vehicle was it?”
“A green Nissan Pathfinder. Maybe around a 1992-1998, before they changed the body to resemble the Q-45 truck. Do you know which one I’m talking about?” There wasn’t any way Cartier was involving the police in her beef.
For some reason the trooper looked amused. He flashed a smile, softening the hard lines on his mean face.
Cartier sat perched on the shoulder of the Southern State Parkway for another thirty minutes before she was allowed to leave, but not before the trooper casually asked if she would voluntarily submit to popping her trunk, which she was more than happy to do.
Once again she decided to not go home. She needed to get with The Cartel and fill them in on what just gone down and how close she came to getting locked down. First thing on her list was to get rid of her dirty piece. The second thing would be to start burying muthafuckas.
Chapter 21
Can I Get a’ Encore
The blazing heat outside couldn’t compare to how heated Cartier was. After she dropped the car off at the Mercedes dealer to repair the window, she grabbed a loaner car and headed back to Bed-Stuy, where she asked Bam and Li’l Momma to meet her at Janet’s house.
Janet welcomed the company. Her weary eyes hadn’t been outside her apartment for weeks. She was still grappling over the finality of her daughter’s death. She embraced Cartier and led her into the living room, which had seen better days.
“You sounded hype on the phone,” Janet said. “Tell me what went down.”
“They tryin’ to get at me. Muthafuckas just shot out my back window.”
“What?” Janet replied, amazed that someone could be so brazen in broad daylight. “Did you get a chance to see who it was?”
“Nah. I only saw the make and model of the car. It was a Ford Taurus with tinted windows.”
“Well, you know it was Ryan,” Janet deduced. “Even if he wasn’t actually the one bucking shots, he was certainly the one who ordered the hit.”
Cartier shook her head as the realization sunk in. All along Jason was supposed to handle Ryan, and now that assignment had shifted to her. She was more than ready to step up to the plate, knowing if she didn’t get at Ryan quick, then there would be another funeral for yet another Cartel member.
“I just can’t believe that pussy muthafucka is running around ordering hits and murdering
people. Ryan was the most bitch nigga anyone could know. Now he’s out here like a thoroughbred. He gotta be stopped.”
“Y’all fuckin’ around,” Janet said. “You know the hood says that you don’t go to war unless you got your money right. Well, y’all got your money right. Use it to get at that faggot.”
“Cartier, as long as Ryan is alive, we’re all marked for death. I’m with you on whatever decision you make. A lot is at stake here. Not only did he kill Shanine and Monya, but if he gets at you, then it’s only a matter of days before me and Bam are next. He ain’t God. He can be stopped too. I can’t sit around while this punk decides my date of death,” Li’l Momma stated. “Right now, if I’m talking real talk, I’m scared to go home most nights. I’m leery as hell and always looking over my shoulders, waiting for a gun to be tossed in my face.”
“I feel you,” Cartier retorted as she took in everyone’s worries.
“Put that paper up,” Janet said. “Flush him out. Money talks and bullshit walks. Find out where he gets his hair cut, grocery-shops, goes to the gym. Shit, if y’all need me and Trina to beat the block with y’all, you know we’re down for whatever. ‘Ain’t no shook hands in Brook-land’ has always been our motto. And I’m telling you girls now, I can’t go to another funeral. God forbid something happens to any of you girls, I won’t be there. I just can’t.” Janet looked off out the window as her heart broke into a million pieces.
“There won’t be any more funerals for The Cartel,” Bam finally spoke up. “We’re gonna get that bastard. Right, Cartier?”
Cartier nodded her head. “And Marisol, she’s gotta get it too.”
“Marisol?” Janet wasn’t sure where she’d heard the name before. “Is that Ryan’s chick?”
Return of the Cartier Cartel (Part 2) Page 13