Cartier stood over him while he was cringing in the corner, crying and bleeding. In her eyes, he was more bitch than man. It was a final relief for her—executing an ass-whooping that was long overdue.
She exhaled and went to retrieve her cell phone from the kitchen countertop to continue her phone conversation with Apple. Breathing a little hard, she heard Apple ask, “Bitch, you a’ight?”
“No doubt. I’m okay. So what’s good?”
“You tell me. It sounded like World War Three in there.”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle. I just had to beat a bitch nigga’s ass, that’s all—put this bitch nigga in his fuckin’ place,” said Cartier pompously.
Apple laughed. “You had to lay those paws on a nigga, huh? I’m glad to see that you haven’t lost your touch.”
“You already know.”
“It ain’t Christmas, but I got something for when you come through. I’ll be waiting,” Apple said.
Cartier took a deep breath and replied, “Yo, I’ll be back in New York in forty-eight hours. I’m done wit’ this fuckin’ wack-ass city. One.”
17
From the non-descript Toyota Camry, Nick observed Pacho leaving his building and climbing into a dark blue SUV. Where Pacho went, Nick followed. Nick was determined to catch him alone and give him to the same treatment Damon had gotten the other day.
Nick took one final pull from his cigarette and flicked it out the window. He started the car, watched Pacho drive right by him, and then pulled out and moved forward. He stayed a car or two behind the SUV and carefully kept it in sight.
Nick spent the entire day following Pacho around in the city. He spent a few hours in the local bar, and then he met up with a jump-off in Bed-Stuy. He gambled with a few niggas outside a bodega and lost a few hundred dollars. After that, Nick followed Pacho around Brooklyn and watched him collect a few payments.
As dusk settled over Brooklyn, Nick still had his eyes on Pacho from a short distance. It had been a tedious and tiresome task, but Nick was determined to take out the next man and make him disappear. Pacho didn’t have any reason to believe he was being followed, so he continued to move around town like he didn’t have a care in the world.
With nighttime finally covering the metropolis, Nick was back where he started. Pacho arrived back to his Brooklyn home in East New York on one of the quiet blocks in the rowdy neighborhood. Pacho exited his vehicle and made his way back into the house.
The moment Pacho stepped foot into the foyer of his building, Nick lunged at him like a lion pouncing on his prey. Quickly, he placed a taser to Pacho’s neck, sending nearly 50,000 volts into the man and promptly rendering him helpless to defend himself. Pacho collapsed right there, and Nick had his prize.
A few hours later, Pacho hollered from the shock of ice cold H2O jolting him awake. He found himself naked and bound to a metal chair. His restraints barely gave him any wiggle room, but that didn’t stop him from trying to free himself, but to no avail. Whoever kidnapped him had made sure he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Nick walked into the cinder block room where he kept Pacho. The men locked eyes and Pacho tried to keep a gangster attitude, but he was in no position to challenge his captor.
“What the fuck you want wit’ me, nigga?” Pacho growled.
“To talk . . . like I had a talk with your friend, Damon,” Nick replied.
“I ain’t telling you shit!”
“That’s the same thing Damon screamed at me, and then we chatted like friends,” Nick joked.
Pacho scowled and fidgeted in his restraints, but he wasn’t going anywhere.
Nick came threateningly closer to his victim. In his hands, he displayed tools for torture, including an ice pick that had been heated up with a blowtorch. The metal was sizzling.
The sight of it made Pacho cringe. “C’mon, nigga. What the fuck I do to you?” he hollered.
Nick placed the heated ice pick closer to Pacho’s eye. “I just want you to talk, then scream, talk some more, and scream some more.”
Pacho tried to recoil from the threatening tool. His breathing became heavier and then his urine hit the floor like a waterfall. He had peed himself.
Nick laughed and then plunged the hot ice pick into Pacho’s left eye. Pacho’s screaming was piercing and loud, his swift agony bouncing off the concrete walls.
“We’re just getting started,” said Nick in an eerily sinister voice.
Six hours later, Nick pulled up to the remote lake upstate, in the darkened wilderness thick with trees. He opened the trunk to the Camry and removed several black garbage bags from the trunk, each bag containing bloody pieces of Pacho.
Duplicating how he disposed of Damon’s body, he wrapped chicken wire around the garbage bag and tossed several of them into the lake. He subsequently drove ten miles north and buried what was left of Pacho.
Like Damon, he would never be seen again.
Nick added a body to his kill list. Next on his list was Cane. He had the information he needed—a trap house in East New York. And then it would finally be Scar’s time to die.
***
Scar huffed and puffed and closed his eyes in delight as the cute, young thoroughbred slid her full lips up and down around his hard dick.
“Ooooh, keep doin’ that shit, shorty . . . yeah, just like that . . . just like that.”
Seated on the living room couch, his legs spread wide with his pants around his ankles and his dick inside the girl’s gaping mouth, he took a quick swig from the liquor bottle and grabbed a handful of her long, black hair and pushed her face farther into his lap—making her open wider and almost gag. She felt him jerk inside her wet mouth, his flesh growing harder between her lips.
He was ready to come. He was ready to spray his semen like a geyser into her mouth and let her swallow every drop of him. The oral pleasure had his eyes rolling in the back of his head and made him squirm on the couch like he had an itch he couldn’t scratch. His grip around the girl’s long hair tightened. She was in her panties and bra, bent over in his lap, her ass up in the air—pussy protruding.
“Suck that big, fat dick, bitch,” he commanded.
And then his cell phone rang, interrupting his moment. At first, he didn’t want to answer it. He was busy. Let it go to voicemail, he said to himself. The girl continued stroking and blowing on his dick. His phone rang again.
“Fuck!” he cursed.
He looked at the phone and, surprisingly, it was Damon’s baby mama, Stella, calling him.
“Damon didn’t come home! Where is he, Scar? Where the fuck is he?”
“What? Bitch, you call me lookin’ for that nigga like I know where he at. Fuck you callin’ me for wit’ this bullshit?”
“He’s missing!”
“Go find the nigga then.”
“I tried. I called all the precincts, the hospitals, the morgues, and he ain’t in none of them. Where is he?” Stella screamed.
Her screaming put a damper on Scar’s sexual mood. He made the young girl stop sucking his dick and propped himself on the couch. Stella got him upset, and his response was, “You need to fuckin’ call Tina.”
“Who the fuck is Tina?”
“That’s his main bitch!” He ended the call abruptly.
So Damon was missing. Scar didn’t know if the nigga was shacked up with his main bitch or a stripper, or just wanted to go MIA.
***
Not only was Damon missing, but when days went by and they didn’t hear anything from Pacho, Citi and Scar started to grow suspicious. In her gut, Citi knew Pacho was dead. She called his phone numerous times and he wasn’t answering—and then his phone went completely dead. He would have never gone a week without contacting her. She became distraught and depressed. She locked herself in her bedroom most of the time, feeling her heart break. She knew she would never s
ee Pacho alive again.
It was the drug game.
Scar believed Wise’s brothers were seeking retribution for his sudden disappearance, but Cane and Citi weren’t too sure. Wise’s brothers were working men—civilians—and they had no ties to the streets.
Cane was adamant that their disappearance had something to do with the shooters from Junior’s. And though he still hadn’t told Scar and Citi about Takenya, he also wanted to connect their disappearance to her death and his missing money.
“Nah, we’re being targeted,” Cane deduced.
“Then by who?” Scar asked.
“Apple and Cartier,” chimed Citi.
Cane stared at his sister with skepticism. “You need to forget about them,” he said.
“I can’t. Who else would have such hatred for us, or me, to come after us in such a brazen way? I know Apple, and she’s the type of bitch that don’t give a fuck.”
“You need to chill.”
“Don’t tell me to fuckin’ chill!” she shouted.
“What the fuck is wrong wit’ you, Citi? Why you tripping?” Scar asked.
“Because we’re being targeted by these bitches and y’all actin’ like I’m fuckin’ delusional and stupid,” she rebuked.
“We ain’t calling you stupid,” said Cane.
“Then what the fuck? You think I’m delusional then?”
“I don’t know what you are right now, but you need to calm down,” Cane said.
“Fuck y’all both!”
She stormed out of the room. She was upset. She was emotional. So much was happening, and with Damon and Pacho missing—and most likely dead—Citi felt that no one was safe, especially not her. New York was becoming too hot. She could hide behind an army, but Apple and Cartier were deadly and determined bitches. If they were alive, they were out for revenge.
Scar didn’t care who it was that was trying to kill them, he just wanted to murder people. It’s what he did best.
18
This Nick. Get at me,” she heard his voicemail greeting say for the umpteenth time.
Apple frowned. For some reason, her man was ghosting her. It had been a couple weeks since she’d seen or heard from him. He had just up and disappeared and he wasn’t answering his cell phone. Apple feared she had pushed him too far with her thirst for revenge. Now faced with the choice of losing Nick to another bitch or seeking retribution, a strong part of her wanted her nigga back.
Apple had gone by his apartment with her set of keys numerous times at various times of day and night, and he wasn’t there and his SUV was nowhere in sight. The only evidence that he had been there were the dirty dishes, clothes strewn around, and current newspapers. Apple hated feeling like she was stalking a nigga, but she had a bad feeling. When someone in the game goes missing for more than twenty-four hours, they’re dead. They are not locked up, in the hospital, or laying up with some random bitch.
Apple didn’t know what to think. This was Nicholas Davis. He had survived these streets longer than most. He couldn’t be dead. And if he wasn’t, then where the fuck was he?
She paced around the bedroom with the phone clutched tightly in her hand and continued to reach out to him, but she continued to get the same results—his voicemail.
She was tempted to leave him another nasty voicemail but thought against it. Apple couldn’t shake the butterflies in her stomach about someone murdering Nick but tried to convince herself otherwise. It was easier to be mad than sad. Instead, she sent him a text:
Nigga, where are you? Call me ASAP.
She tossed her phone on the bed and continued to pout.
It was night, it was cold, and she felt lonely. She wanted some dick tonight but had to pacify herself with her fingers. Apple finger-fucked herself and tried to imagine it was Nick, but her self-pleasuring couldn’t come close to what she and her boo shared in the bedroom. Ultimately, she forced herself to go to sleep sexually frustrated. She had a busy day tomorrow. Cartier was flying back to New York, and Apple couldn’t wait to catch up with her and reminisce on old times. From there, Apple wanted to continue her plot to destroy Citi.
***
The following morning, Apple was up early, and still, Nick wasn’t by her side. She had slept intermittently throughout the night; tossing and turning. Her heart was heavy and she had an ominous feeling as she looked at her cell phone. No message from Nick. She sighed and dialed his number again, but like so many times before, her call went straight to his voicemail.
“You fuckin’ bitch!” she shouted.
She needed to get it together. Apple couldn’t fret about Nick right now. He was a grown man and he could take care of himself, she believed. Whatever the reason for his impulsive disappearance, she figured the nigga had a damn good reason for it.
Her cell phone rang, but it wasn’t Nick. She answered with, “Hey bitch, you back in town, right?”
“Fo’ sure,” Cartier replied. “My plane landed this morning. I’m on my way to a hotel.”
“Cool. We can link up in Brooklyn at that diner you like after you check in.”
“You mean Lindenwood? By the movie theater?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Apple said.
“Cool, what time?”
“This afternoon, say around three?” said Apple. “And I miss you, bitch.”
“I miss you too,” Cartier said.
They ended their conversation and Apple stood up and started to get ready for her busy day. With Cartier back in New York, it made things much easier for her. She and Cartier had always been on the same level, and Apple felt stronger about executing revenge on Citi with Cartier on board.
She opened her closet door and started removing ten-thousand-dollar stacks from the closet and tossing the cash onto the bed. In total, she placed $120,000 into a knapsack before heading out.
Apple maneuvered her car into the parking lot at Lindenwood Diner that afternoon and parked. The diner wasn’t busy that weekday afternoon. Apple climbed out of her car looking dressed for a date with her man, rather than a meeting with a female friend. Clad in a cute Versace dress that highlighted her curvy figure and her stilettos striking the pavement like she was on the catwalk, she entered the restaurant looking classy carrying the knapsack that contained over a hundred thousand dollars.
Cartier was already there, seated at a window booth near the back of the restaurant. The two girls spotted each other and grinned. Apple strutted her way with a smile on her face, and Cartier slid from out the booth to stand and hug her friend.
“Damn, you lookin’ all sexy and shit,” Cartier complimented Apple.
“And you lookin’ like a bitch that just came back from Seattle,” Apple joked.
“Oh, fuck you, bitch.”
“The blonde hair is cute, though.”
The two shared a needed laugh. They sat opposite each other in the booth and started to catch up on lost and old times from when they were young and wild. Subtly, Apple handed Cartier the knapsack underneath the table. Cartier took a peek inside and smiled, knowing where the money came from.
“Good lookin’ out,” she uttered.
“Absolutely.”
“So, the bitch is six feet under, I assume,” Cartier said.
“No, not yet. I’m workin’ on it.”
“So, you’re toying with this slippery bitch?”
“I was gettin’ us our reparations.”
“And I appreciate this more than I can express. Financially, I’m fucked up, so this right here will hold me down for a minute. But it doesn’t matter if it’s gonna cost you your life. No doubt you can hold ya own, Apple, but that bitch has something you don’t,” Cartier said.
“Like what?”
“A team of thorough killers. I would just feel better if you waited until you had a stable of loyal goons to protect you.”
&nb
sp; Apple understood where her friend was coming from, but she replied with, “I have the best killer in town—my man, Nick.” She conveniently left out that he was missing.
“Nick? Where he from? I know of him?”
“He’s low-key and from Harlem. You may know him ’cause he’s on that Brooklyn shit, but he’s much older than us.”
“Brooklyn shit?”
“Yeah, he takes money from the best in the game and leaves no witnesses. He’s not interested in flooding the streets wit’ that potent shit or making himself known. Nick is the best body snatcher I know. His father ran wit’ Nicky Barnes and them niggas. His pedigree is official.”
“Head might know him. I’ll ask when the nigga finally gets home.”
“So y’all cool?”
“Dude tryin’ to play hard-to-get-his-dick, but he knows what’s really good, though.” Cartier smirked. “But back to Nick and that psycho bitch, Citi. Nick is only one man, Apple. Think this shit through.”
“Trust and believe we have. We depending on brains rather than brawn to take that bitch down,” said Apple.
“It’s gonna take something.” Cartier shook her head because she could see that Apple had tunnel vision. “Just promise me that you will be careful.”
“Don’t you mean we, Cartier?” Apple said. She had just given Cartier a knapsack full of cash. Nothing in life was free. Apple was bartering that money for Cartier’s participation. She didn’t say those words, but she didn’t think she had to.
Cartier remained silent and deep in thought as she sipped on her milkshake. She knew Apple would try to pull her back into the game if ever she got out. Apple had a hard time letting things go. After thinking it over, Cartier realized that Citi deserved the business end of her .380 and she would feel better bussing her gun by Apple’s side than over her casket dropping red roses.
“Okay, I’m here for you, Apple. But this shit can’t be fuckin’ reckless.”
“It won’t be. I’m thinking ahead just like you.”
South Beach Cartel Page 11