25
The sign said, “Welcome to Miami.” Apple and Cartier were back and everything looked the same. The weather was perfect and the blue water seemed endless. It was calm and picturesque with the white sandy beaches, the tall palm trees, the beautiful people, and the sun shining brightly over the city—it was awesome. But the girls weren’t there to enjoy the view; they were there for retribution.
Cartier stared out the window aimlessly while Apple did the driving. She had a lot on her mind. Head had gotten into a serious brawl in prison and put two inmates in the hospital. He was charged with aggravated assault and got six months added to his sentence. It was news that broke Cartier’s heart. Dumb muthafucka must love the pen, she thought. He could have come home to some warm and waiting pussy, but the nigga couldn’t control his temper.
Cartier sighed.
Apple knew why her friend was quiet and gloomy. Like she missed Nick, Cartier missed Head—and she wanted some dick. But at least her man was still alive, Apple felt.
“You’ll be okay, Cartier. Don’t think about that nigga. He fucked up.”
Cartier waved her hand in dismissal. “I’m good.”
“I know you are. But you’ll be even better once we hunt this bitch down and fuck her up. We ’bout to get paid, Cartier. You feel me? We didn’t come this far for nothing.”
Cartier slightly smiled. She then asked, “So, what’s the four-one-one on this bitch?”
“Amir told me she’s down here in South Beach doin’ it up—living life out here like she fuckin’ Beyoncé. Every day that bitch gets to breathe, it pisses me off,” Apple proclaimed.
“Damn, I never thought I would be back down here,” Cartier said, suddenly looking reflective.
For Cartier, there were too many memories, some good, but mostly bad. Miami was the place where her daughter, sisters Fendi and Prada, and her mother were murdered. It was where she went to war, and it was where she’d had last seen her best friend. Once upon a time, Cartier was living the high life in Miami, and then with the snap of some fingers, it all went to shit.
“Don’t think about the past, Cartier.”
“I’m tryin’ not to,” she replied.
“Look, we gonna check into a nice fuckin’ hotel, on me of course, get dressed, and then we gonna have us a few drinks. And hey, we might find some cute niggas and do us,” said Apple.
Cartier smiled. She was happy to see her friend was dealing with Nick’s death.
The girls checked into the Retreat Collection in South Beach. They were content with their sophisticated suite overlooking the ocean, and the place featured a rooftop pool and a bar with skyline views.
Cartier toured the room and uttered, “God, I miss this.”
She flopped down on one of the beds and stretched and smiled. The bright, opulent city and the luxurious suite were a far cry from mundane Seattle.
“What made you move to Seattle anyway?” Apple asked her.
“I just needed to get as far away from New York and Miami as possible. We were supposed to be dead, remember?”
“Yeah, but you know me. I couldn’t go that far. I ended up in B-more. It was a’ight but it wasn’t home. Something ’bout New York that other cities can’t duplicate.”
“I swear you ain’t ever lie. I love my fuckin’ borough. Brooklyn is in my bones. You can’t take it outta me.” Cartier thought for a second. “So if we love our home what the fuck are we doin’ here?”
“I don’t give a fuck, Cartier. That bitch played and used us, and I’d rather be dead than to allow Citi to live the good life while I’m still fuckin’ breathing.”
Cartier understood. She had killed for less. She was just grumpy about Head and his additional jail time.
The girls ordered room service, downed a few drinks, and talked and laughed. Apple wanted to go down to the bar and mingle. But Cartier kept in mind why they were in town—to hunt.
“We can’t be seen like that,” Cartier said. “I think we should at least try to keep a low profile.”
After a couple martinis, Apple removed her laptop from her bag and logged on to social media. Again tonight, there was nothing. Citi’s accounts were up, but they were quiet. Apple was out of ideas. Her intel had gotten them this far, and it was now Cartier’s time to put in work.
“So what now?” Apple asked. “It’s been a while now since this bitch posted. She’s smarter than we gave her credit for. How we gonna find this ho?”
Cartier exhaled. Citi and her goons were playing for keeps. It was time for her to get her mind fully in the game. Their lives depended on being a step ahead because in this game if you get caught slippin’, you’re done. Nick was a prime example of how the game will turn on you.
Cartier got serious and leaned forward in her seat. “We know a few things. We know that she’s in South Beach. We know this bitch got money and likes nice things. We know that they should feel safer here than New York because I’m sure they know about Nick. We also know that people like us run in the same circles. So, bitch, I think we know a lot.”
Apple was lost. She didn’t get it. They didn’t know shit. “I don’t follow.”
“Sooner or later this bitch gonna show up at all the hot spots. Think about it. Why does Harlem show up at the Ruckers game each year? Or the car show? Or a Funkmaster Flex party?”
Apple grinned. “’Cause we wanna be seen, bitch.”
“Exactly. What good is being rich if you can’t flaunt it? This Citi bitch will do her rounds, and when she does we’ll pounce.” Cartier was amped. “I wanna punch her fuckin’ lights out before I shove my fuckin’ gun in her mouth.”
“No, bitch! I get to shove my fuckin’ gun in her mouth!”
The two were tipsy as they bickered about who would get to kill Citi. Cartier decided to concede because Apple had taken more than a financial loss because of this bitch. She lost her nigga.
***
The following morning, Apple and Cartier were up bright and early and trolling social media. They found ten eateries that were popular, celebrity driven-hangouts. A few only served breakfast, while some were open through dinner. They also located at least five nightclubs and identified the top shopping center.
“You still got some of your Miami connects down here?” Apple asked Cartier.
“Maybe . . . I need to make a few phone calls.”
“We need to be extra subtle on this. I don’t want to alert this bitch that we’re looking for her.”
“I know. Believe me, I know,” Cartier agreed.
Cartier thought for a moment. It’d been a while since she’d left town. Who could she trust? Hector’s organization had turned on him and never fucked with her. She had made a few contacts, but none she could truly trust. Not with so much on the line.
Cartier made her final decision. “There was this bitch named Diane that used to do my hair. She was connected to all the dope boys. Her salon was always packed. Back then when I was wit’ Hector, she was fuckin’ wit’ this baller named, Rah. He bought her that salon and laundered his drug money there. Now if anyone could point us in the right direction to Citi, I’d bet my life it would be her. Her place is a gossip spot, and bitches are always running their fuckin’ mouths in there.”
“Call that bitch, then. What you waitin’ on?”
Cartier shook her head. “That’s exactly what we won’t do.”
“Why the fuck not?” Apple’s patience had long ago expired.
“Think, Apple.” Cartier stood up and got animated. “How did Citi get the drop on us? That young stupid bitch outsmarted two bitches who’d been in the game for years. What did we do wrong?”
Apple nodded. “Trust. We trusted a bitch we barely knew.”
“Exactly,” said Cartier. She began clapping her hands as she spoke. “Down here we gotta recognize that we don’t trust no-fuckin’-body bu
t us!”
“We go to this Diane bitch and she’ll set our asses up!”
“Get dressed,” said Cartier.
“Where we goin’?”
“Wig shopping.”
Apple smirked. “Lace front or custom?”
Cartier threw a pillow at her. “Bitch, get dressed.”
26
Cartier and Apple drove around the hood of Miami-Dade until they found a local beauty supply store. Liberty Beauty wasn’t far from Pork ‘n’ Beans projects and was owned and operated by Koreans. The establishment thrived in the heart of the ghetto and had steady business seven days a week.
Apple sucked her teeth. “This shit gets to me,” she began as they walked through the aisles looking for cheap wigs. “Do you think we could go to Korea, set some shit up in their neighborhoods, and get rich?”
Cartier shrugged. “This is America.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means I don’t give a fuck. It means that I’m focused right now.”
Apple cut her eyes. “I’m focused too, damn. That don’t mean we can’t chitchat.”
The pair looked up at a buffet of cheap wigs in various lengths and textures modeled by Styrofoam heads. There wasn’t any use in trying to find a cute one.
“Get something long, something that distracts from your face.”
Apple picked up a long Jheri curl looking wig and smirked. She shrugged. “I guess I’ll take this shit here, but is it necessary?”
“Most definitely,” said Cartier. “I already ran through South Beach with a blond bob haircut, and your face done ran through these hoods twice between you and Kola. If we’re gonna start frequenting the hot spots lookin’ for this bitch, we can’t be recognized. If we run into someone we know and it’s unavoidable, then it is what it is. But let’s not advertise that we’re here.”
“Facts.”
Cartier grabbed something similar. Both were ready to bounce when Apple’s burner phone rang.
Apple held up the phone. “This Amir.”
“Cool. Get that, and I’ll go pay for these. Meet me in the car.”
Apple picked up the call and began walking to their vehicle. She listened to the recording before accepting his call.
“Whaddup, Amir?”
“Hey, queen.”
“You got any more info?”
“On what?” he asked as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
“On those peoples.”
“Nah, I was just calling to see what’s up with you. Making sure you’re all right.” He was using his soft, “sexy” voice that irritated Apple.
“Amir, straight up. I don’t have time for this!”
“What you mean?”
She knew she had to speak in riddles, and that was hard because she was a bitch who spoke bluntly. But for the sake of correctional facilities and their right to eavesdrop, she replied with, “Look, I’m down here for our boy—remember him? I’m tryin’ to get this handled.”
Apple hit the alarm on her cream Lexus and got in the driver’s seat. She couldn’t wait for the fifteen-minute call to end.
“You going somewhere?”
“What?”
“I just heard a car alarm. Where you going?”
What the fuck! Apple’s rage had simmered and was now boiling over to erupt. No more Ms. Nice Bitch. She was about to curse his ass out when Cartier got in.
Cartier saw the look on Apple’s face and mouthed, “What happened?”
“Hold on. In fact, call me back later. I’m busy now.”
Apple hung up on him, and the nigga called right back. She continued to let him go straight to voicemail as she calmed herself and steered her car onto the highway. She and Cartier remained silent until Apple was ready to speak. Cartier thought something terrible had happened up North—someone was dead or locked up.
“This nigga Amir is a problem. Dude is a thirsty nigga thinkin’ he can bag a bad bitch like me.”
“That’s what got ya pressure up?” Cartier chuckled. “You know he ain’t that crazy, though. I know plenty lonely bitches who done linked up wit’ these lifers.”
“That shit won’t ever be me.” Apple rolled her eyes. “And you should hear his fake ass wit’ that ‘queen’ this and that and all his fuckin’ preachin’ like he’s book smart. You dumb, nigga. That’s why you got caught. You’s a stupid muthafucka!”
Cartier laughed harder. She had missed Apple.
“And you think he give a fuck I just buried my nigga, who was also his best friend?”
“That’s when they pounce. They come at you when they think a bitch all vulnerable.”
“I can’t do this shit any longer,” Apple stated. “I was only keepin’ the line open just in case he found new intel on Citi. But evidently, this nigga is too busy climbing up my asshole to focus on that bitch. I’ma get rid of this fuckin’ burner. Fuck him. You hungry?”
Cartier nodded. “We got our wigs, now let’s head to one of the hotspots on our list. Who knows? We just might see that bitch. That should cheer ya ass up!”
***
Apple and Cartier walked through a popular eatery on Ocean Avenue with their cheap, frizzy wigs. The place was packed, and they had to wait forty minutes for a table. They didn’t care. They were scoping out the area. Once inside, they saw a couple Yankee players, a Miami Dolphins football player, and a few B-list actors. The hostess offered up that J-Lo was there earlier that day looking gorgeous.
Once they were seated and their food and drinks were ordered, Cartier got serious. She leaned in and said, “I’ve been thinkin’ about Amir.”
Apple cut her eyes. “Are you tryin’ to ruin my meal?”
“He can still be useful.”
“How you figure? Unless he can give us an exact address to find that cum-guzzling thief, then I’m deadin’ him.”
“Put your feelings aside. We’re still down one man. Nick should be here too, Apple. So maybe Amir could connect us wit’ some killers.”
Apple thought for a minute. She liked what she was hearing. “We’d have to put them on payroll.”
“Or give them some pussy,” Cartier joked. “’Cuz don’t nobody do shit for free.”
***
The next time Amir called, which was shortly after their meal, Apple picked up. She, too, now had the soft, ‘sexy’ voice on.
“Yo, shorty, what the fuck happened earlier?”
“We got ambushed.”
“Say word?” Amir was still using nineties vernacular.
“Word up,” Apple played along. “We all right, though. But it was close.”
“Was it that problem we discussed?”
“Of course. Who else?”
“True. True. Now you got a nigga worried, queen. I wish I was there for you.”
“Me too,” Apple replied in her sexiest voice. “But it’s good to hear your voice.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, you’re the only one who knows what I’m goin’ through. And like I said, if I make it outta this, I’m headin’ your way.”
“Listen, real talk. I don’t know if I should even be saying some shit like this.”
“What is it? Just say it.”
“I’ve been thinking about you since you left. You and that red dress . . . those red lips . . .” Amir lowered his voice. “Got me having them dreams, if you know what I’m saying.”
“I do . . .” Apple wanted to jump out a window. This was so pathetic in her eyes. “But like I said, as soon as I’m done I’m headin’ home. I wanna see you too.”
“Leave now and come see a brother.”
“You know I can’t. Besides, things are heating up, and we’re outnumbered. I only have one person watchin’ my back, and those peoples got a whole team on their side.”
“One female, a good friend.”
Amir shook his head rapidly. “Nick said you were a hothead. I just figured that with that bread, you’d have a squad.”
Apple exhaled. “I know, but I didn’t have time. No niggas I could trust. New York can sometimes be a small place.”
“Apple, give me until tomorrow to see what I come up with.”
“What do you mean?” Apple feigned ignorance.
“Just sit tight. I’ll call you this time tomorrow.”
“Uhhh, ok. Tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow, queen.”
***
The next day Amir called with the news Apple and Cartier had hoped for. Amir had two dudes who had been released from Clinton within the last thirty days and were strapped for cash. They were starving out on the streets. They couldn’t get gainful employment because of their records and they were too old to hug the block. They had pulled off a few robberies, but that didn’t net them any real money.
“They good wit’ that thang-thang?” Apple asked, talking in riddles.
“Thoroughbreds,” replied, Amir. “And they know how to take orders.”
“Good. Send them our way.”
“Nah, not so fast,” Amir added some bass to his voice and spoke with authority. “If your company’s hiring, just note that they’re highly sought after, and you may become involved in a bidding war.”
Apple snorted. “A biddin’ war, huh?”
“Yeah. You know construction jobs are pricey. Any remodel nowadays will have you breaking open that piggy bank.”
“So how much we talkin’?”
“A quarter.”
“Twenty-five hundred a week?”
Amir laughed. “For that three-story brownstone? No way, queen. Each floor is a problem. Especially with that killer fireplace that can’t be extinguished. It was a tough sell, but two-hundred and fifty thousand will do it. A full demolish, and then you’re free to rebuild.”
Apple knew she was being hustled. For that kind of money, she could hire a dozen goons.
“That won’t be an issue.”
Amir was still in business mode. He spoke with authority and was loving it. “That number is per man. No negotiating.”
South Beach Cartel Page 15