It didn’t take long for Amir to see what was bothering Corey. On the TV in the dayroom, the news showed the video of Nick’s death. The entire room became up in arms because they knew Nick from his visits. They knew he was Corey’s son.
One of the inmates even turned to Amir and said, “Yo, ain’t that your man?”
Amir sat there calmly for a moment, but he was bubbling with rage that his best friend was dead. And then he stood up, and it happened—he erupted. He picked up a chair and threw it across the room, and then he unexpectedly attacked the nearest inmate next to him, punching the man in his face. Then Amir started attacking other inmates. His violent actions quickly incited the other inmates inside the dayroom, and chaos ensued.
The alarm sounded, and guards ran to defuse the violent melee that had erupted. Several guards clad in tactical gear charged into the dayroom and stormed toward Amir, beating him down with their batons until he was subdued.
Bloody and broken, Amir was dragged to solitary confinement, where he would spend the next thirty days—grieving and bitter.
24
Kola stood by her sister’s side five months pregnant. She had to take it easy, but she wanted to be there for Apple—give her comfort and condolences. She held Apple’s hand as they stood near the open grave in the Brooklyn cemetery. Nick’s Onyx Ebony 18-gauge steel casket was readied to be lowered into the ground by the caretakers.
Nick didn’t have many friends. He kept to himself mostly, living a clandestine lifestyle. But Apple wanted to bury her man in style, although there were only a handful of people present. She wanted Nick to be remembered.
The sky was clear, but there was a brisk chill in the air. Kola wasn’t the only one there to give Apple support and comfort. Cartier was there too. There was no way was she going to allow Apple to put her man in the grave alone.
Apple sobbed and grieved. She felt it was all her fault. Nick had his million plus to start his own bar and lounge. He wanted to follow his dream and live a quiet civilian life and stay out of trouble. That is, until she came into the picture and convinced him that there was much more out there—money and her revenge.
One week after his death, the narrative turned on a dime. The media dug up dirt and began smearing Nick’s name because of his past drug arrests and murder and conspiracy to commit murder charges from Malik Noland and Stephanie Hawkins years ago. Then there was Nick’s notorious father and his violent reputation and best friend doing life for drug distribution. The media had a field day slandering his name. Public outcry was no more. No one felt sympathy for him. There were no boycotts, no outrage from the African-American community, no Black Lives Matter movement, no Al Sharpton preaching for justice.
Corey stood close by the grieving girlfriend and his son’s casket. The warden did him a favor and pulled some strings. He was clad in a cheap gray suit and handcuffed with his hands in front of him. U.S. Marshals flanked him and showed some sympathy for the loss of his son.
Slyly, Corey cut his eyes at the woman he believed was responsible for his son’s death. He had nothing but contempt for the young bitch.
After the preacher gave the eulogy and Corey watched his son being lowered into the grave, he went over to Apple to properly introduce himself.
“Can I have a minute of privacy with her, gentlemen?” he asked the U.S. Marshals.
They allowed him one minute to speak to the teary-eyed Apple in private. They took a few steps away but lingered close by.
Apple managed to smile at the old man and introduce herself and embraced him. But Corey stood there aloof and motionless. She thought he was being standoffish to her because he’d never met her and he was in mourning too. She had no idea that Nick had told his father everything.
“I loved your son,” she said.
Corey didn’t care for her words. He had some words of his own to share with her. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “Before I leave this earth, I will personally make sure you join my only son in death.”
She looked at Corey in shock. Did he just threaten my life? she asked herself. It wasn’t the reaction she expected.
Corey saw her quizzical look and added, “You think you can’t be touched because I’m locked up? Think again, bitch. You don’t know me.” With that, he pivoted and walked toward the two marshals, ready to be taken back to his cage in upstate New York.
Apple stood there silently, taking in his words. But she knew why he hated her—the same reason she beat herself up. He blamed her for Nick’s death, and she blamed herself too.
Corey marched silently toward the federal vehicle parked nearby. He’d finally gotten a glimpse of Apple, and it was satisfying to put a face with the name. The U.S. Marshals placed him into the backseat and he stared at Apple with her sister and her friend. The three of them were in a circle near the grave talking about something.
Bitch, he mouthed to himself.
“Take me back to jail. I’m done here,” he said, like he was giving the marshals orders.
The federal vehicle started to move away from the area, and Corey kept his eyes on Apple until she was out of his sight. The bitch was living on borrowed time. He knew a lot of old heads still on the streets with sons and grandsons that could put in some work for him.
***
Apple knew she couldn’t get distracted by grief. Citi was still alive, and she and Cartier had a purpose to carry out. She didn’t have the time to worry about an old man with a grudge. He ain’t gonna do shit! she told herself. Nick was gone and no amount of grieving was going to bring him back. That was facts! She had learned that firsthand when her sister was murdered. The only thing that could comfort Apple was finishing what she and Nick started. Citi still needed to die. She was sure Nick would want this now too.
Sitting alone in her bedroom, Nick was heavy on her mind, as was his father. Apple had planned on picking up where Nick had left off and depositing some money into his father’s commissary each week. She wanted to take care of him. Nick would want that. But since he wanted to get cute at his son’s burial and toss idle threats at her, she thought, Fuck him! Let him rot in jail.
Then a thought popped in her head. Apple bolted out of bed, got dressed, and drove to Nick’s apartment. “Please, God . . . I hope the superintendent didn’t clear out his apartment yet.”
Apple couldn’t turn the key in the lock quick enough. She was moving so fast she tripped over her own feet running inside. Nick was messy as hell, which was one reason he always stayed at her place. It took a few minutes for her to locate his stash. Behind the stackable washer and dryer combo were three duffel bags containing his million plus dollars. Sweet Jesus!
“Thank you, baby,” Apple said to Nick.
She had fleeting thought. Maybe she should take a page from Nick’s book and retire.
***
Apple peeled her clothing off and decided to take a hot bubble bath. She sat soaking in the tub, drinking white wine and listening to some R&B. And then, all of a sudden, she was overwhelmed with emotions. She wished Nick was in the bathtub with her, holding her, bathing her, kissing her, and making love to her. He had gone after Scar on her behalf and gotten himself killed. Apple now had more of a reason to hunt Citi and Scar too.
It felt like her tears wouldn’t stop. She had become an emotional wreck with Nick’s abrupt absence. The only thing that was going to take her mind off him was seeing Citi and Scar six feet under.
For the next several weeks, Apple put all of her time and effort into hunting Citi, but the bitch had just disappeared. Her social media had gone silent for weeks, she wasn’t at any of the hot spots in the city, and she hadn’t attended any A-list parties. She was a ghost. But Apple refused to give up.
It was time to change up her game plan—maybe come at Citi a different way. Apple felt she had the help she needed with Cartier back in town. There was no way she was going to allow that
young bitch to keep winning—not while she was still alive.
***
It was over a month before Amir agreed to place Apple on his visiting list. She had written him after finding his contact info with Nick’s personal items she had brought back to her place. Apple still found it hard living without him. Each night she would sleep in one of his shirts just to smell his scent. She would inhale her man and then mourn his loss all over again.
Lately, Apple looked like a hot mess. She was running around in the same jeans, sneakers, and dirty hair pulled back into a ponytail. But on this day, for the ride to Clinton Correctional Facility, she knew she had to pull herself together and represent her man.
Apple got her long hair washed and roller set, got a manicure and pedicure, and pulled a red Gucci dress Nick had bought her from her closet. It was sexy yet conservative enough to not get her kicked off the visit.
She hired a car service to drive the five-hour commute because she didn’t trust herself behind the wheel. Her mind kept drifting off into dark places, reliving the good and bad, happy and sad times of her life’s journey. Apple exhaled. No more fuck-ups.
As Apple walked through each security checkpoint she could feel all eyes on her. Male and female C.O.’s were gawking at the baddest bitch that had come through there in a while. Her beautiful face, high-end gear, and aloof attitude had folks wondering who she was and who she was affiliated with.
Apple sat perched at the visiting table waiting impatiently for Amir. Her long red fingernails tapped repetitively as several minutes ticked by. Nearly an hour had passed, and no one came looking for her. Apple asked a corrections officer if Amir knew he had a visitor waiting and he assured her that he did. Apple watched as the hands on the large, round clock circled until nearly two hours were gone. Her fuckin’ pressure was up.
Finally, she stood up to leave when a lean, bald, powerful figure with a grizzly beard came thundering through. His eyes were filled with hate and rage as they met hers. Apple’s eyes challenged his with the same level of contempt and anger. No-fuckin’-body kept her waiting, especially a nothing nigga with a lukewarm rep from decades ago. She was hardly impressed or intimidated.
Amir sat down without any pleasantries or apologies. He got straight to the point. “What the fuck you want, bitch?”
“Name’s Apple,” she replied. “But Bitch works.”
“You think this shit a game?” Amir’s face was so twisted he almost didn’t look human.
“My man was murdered, so I promise you this is not a fuckin’ game!” Apple told herself she wouldn’t get heated. She needed to remain calm to avenge Nick’s death.
“Your man?” Amir chuckled. “Bitch, he never mentioned you.”
The lie stung.
Apple nodded. She knew Amir was hurting and felt helpless. He would have never agreed to meet with her had Nick not mentioned her to him. Also, his father calling out her name at his funeral was enough confirmation that his son had spoken of her.
Apple ignored his slick remark. “So the reason I’m here is that I need your help—”
“I can’t help—”
“If you would just let me finish we could quickly end this visit. Unless you’d like to drag this shit out.”
Amir had to admit that he had kept her waiting purposely. He was busy making a shank to slice her throat open. Apple wasn’t supposed to leave Clinton alive. But when he saw the young, beautiful girl dressed in red with bright red lipstick, he immediately knew why Nick was open. She was stunning. And now Amir wanted back the two hours he had wasted on the shank.
Amir continued to smirk. He couldn’t show his hand. “Keep talking.”
Apple leaned in and whispered, “We both lost someone we loved. And I’m the first to admit it’s my fault. But Nick was a grown man, and he made his choice to help me, and now he’s gone. I can’t sleep knowing the people who put him in his grave are still out there.”
“What do you want me to do, shorty? You see I’m just a black man in a cage.”
Apple nodded at the obvious. “You are. But you’re also in the one place that information is traded freely. Everybody knows that gossip is disseminated first through iron bars before it even hits the streets, and right now I can’t find that slippery bitch Citi or her nigga Scar.”
Amir was ambivalent. Pretty bitches were manipulative. He knew she had purposely come up there looking like a beauty queen to get his dick hard and ask him to beg Corey to back off. She just fucked up his head when she mentioned Scar and Citi. This was a bold bitch. Did she not know that Corey’s threat was authentic—that the old head still held weight on them streets?
“Yo, what about Nick’s money?”
It was literally the million-dollar question. And how Apple answered would determine if Amir would give her a matching bow-tie to go with that red dress.
Apple was not surprised that he knew about Nick’s cash. She also knew that money ruled everything.
She shrugged. “Nick left over a million. You want it? It’s yours. Just help me find the whereabouts of Bonnie and Clyde. That’s all I want—retribution for my man so he can sleep in peace.”
Amir was impressed that she was straight up about how much cash Nick had accumulated. But he knew she wasn’t going to give up that much money to a jail bird. No one would. But he played along.
“Nah, queen, you can’t actually drop all that in my account, but you will hit me and his pops off until that shit runs out or you die. Nick would have wanted that.”
“I know. And I’ve already blessed both y’all accounts. Check it when this visit is over.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Any information you hear just call this number and tell me. It’s a burner phone so you can speak freely. It won’t trace back to me.” Apple covertly slid a piece of paper his way, and he took it.
“You do know that our conversations are taped?”
“And?” Apple sucked her teeth. He was acting like an amateur. “So, they get you on a murder conspiracy? So, what? You already got life, nigga. What they gonna do? Bring you back from the dead and retry you?”
He chuckled. Apple wasn’t a dumb bitch. “I’m lookin’ out for you. I can handle mine.”
“As can I.”
Amir was beginning to warm up to her. “I’ll see what I can do to help you on my end, but I promise you Corey won’t be as forgiving.”
“Fuck him. And I say that respectfully, of course.”
Shorty was tugging at his heartstrings. If Nick hadn’t been like a brother, Amir would have pushed up.
“All right, I’ll help you. I’ll see what I can dig up.” Amir stared deeply into Apple’s pretty eyes, and she didn’t look away. “But one thing though, queen. Revenge is like a mistress. She will always try to take more than you’re willing to give. You keep looking for an eye for an eye—”
Apple completed his sentence, “And everyone will go blind. Yes, so I’ve heard.”
***
Amir quickly turned into a stalker. He repeatedly called Apple’s burner phone, yet he never had any solid intel on Citi. Fifteen-minute calls morphed into hour long marathons with him chitchatting like they were best friends. At first, she welcomed his calls, excited about the prospect of getting closer to her prey. And when he had no information, she stayed on the phone with him because she liked the stories he would tell her about Nick and their childhood together in Harlem. But when those stories ran out and Amir began repeating the same shit, Apple knew she was being played for a fool.
The next dozen or more telephone calls from Amir went straight to her voicemail. She could hear the frustration in his voice. His tone and cadence had changed. The first messages his voice was soft and flirty like she was his bitch. “Queen, where you at? I miss hearing your voice.” The next batch his tone was normal—he wasn’t trying to seduce her. The message was bri
ef. “Cut ya phone on so we can politick.”
The last messages were laced with anger. Amir’s voice was gruff and demanding. She was no longer his queen, and he was no longer on that religious shit. “Yo, shorty, I see you playin’ games wit’ a nigga. I got that for you, so you better open up this line before a nigga move on!”
Apple laughed. Niggas were all the same. She let him stew a couple more days before answering. As soon as she said hello she could feel his relief. Amir claimed he knew where to locate her problem but could only tell her in person because those peoples could be listening, talking about the feds or anyone in law enforcement. Apple was tired of his fuckin’ games. Her nigga was dead and his best friend would fuck her if he had the chance.
“Fuck those peoples. Just give me the deets,” she demanded.
“I said in person,” he repeated.
“Amir, I’m not wasting ten hours of valuable time making a round trip for the information you can give me now in seconds, real-time, real talk. You made me a promise, and you owe this to your so-called brother that’s rotting in the ground. Now once this situation is handled, I promise I’ll come through at least once a month—show you some love like Nick used to do. Let people know you got peoples out here that care about you. But I can’t focus until I get this shit off my mind.”
Apple was lying through her straight teeth. This nigga would never see her black ass again unless she failed on her mission and her face was plastered across the television screen as a Jane Doe. But Amir fell for it and gave up all the information he had gathered. He wanted to hold out for a visit this week but settled for less and warned, “Next time a nigga call you better answer your phone.”
Energized by the new development, Apple immediately called Cartier and told her that Citi had resurfaced and that she was doing it really big.
“Where that ho at?” Cartier asked.
“South Beach. You ready to take a road trip?”
“Absolutely.”
South Beach Cartel Page 14