The Cartel Deluxe Edition

by Ashley

  After shopping and getting me a completely new wardrobe, we headed to the apartment that Anisa shared with her man, Murder. I was tripping at how freely she spent money. She was cashing out on me like it grew on trees, even giving me five stacks to keep in my pocket until I got on my feet. Her carefree attitude regarding money had me wondering what she did, because I knew her ass wasn’t working.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet Murder. He’s really good to me . . . that’s my baby!” Anisa bragged as she smiled and batted her eyelashes.

  I looked at her in high regard. At first glance, no one would have ever been able to tell what she’d been through. She was the shit, and I admired her for being so strong. I would have thought she would have never been able to trust a nigga. I sure as hell never would. A man who had watched us grow for years had betrayed us without a thought. If he could fuck us over, then I didn’t put shit past any other nigga out there. Love wasn’t in the cards for me.

  “What kind of name is Murder?” I asked.

  Anisa laughed and replied, “It fits him . . . trust. That’s the perfect name for that nigga.”

  I shrugged as we parked in her building. “You live here?” I asked as we got out of the car. I looked up at the tall sky rise building.

  Anisa answered, “Only the high life, babe. I’ll put you up on game later. Right now, let’s get you settled.”

  Walking into Anisa’s crib, weed smoke invaded my nostrils, lifting me into a contact high almost immediately.

  “Babe, come out here!” Anisa yelled.

  Murder walked into the room with a blunt hanging from his lips, his aura commanding my attention and respect instantly. Anisa had definitely done well. The nigga was fly. His chocolate complexion and lean figure was attractive. He had a ball player’s height, but was a bit on the skinny side. It looked like Anisa weighed more than he did. His face was average, maybe even a little below average, but when I inventoried a man, I considered more than his looks. The jewels that were hanging around his neck indicated his status, and the fact that he had my sister plushed out in a luxury condo was all the evidence I needed to know that he was getting money. How? I didn’t know, but he was definitely papered up. He walked over to Anisa and kissed her cheek with casual nonchalance. He grabbed a couple Heinekens out of the refrigerator and tossed one to me, then handed one to Anisa.

  “You must be Miamor. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, his strong New Yitty accent complementing his words.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I replied. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

  “Not a problem. You’re family. Anisa put me up on everything that happened, and I respect it. You can set yourself up in the extra room.” Murder sat down on the couch across from me and passed me the blunt.

  Although I had never smoked weed, I accepted it. I had a lot of adjusting to do and a lot to think about as far as my life was concerned, but I didn’t want to stress it. I embraced the temporary relief and put the blunt to my lips. I inhaled deeply. Big mistake! My virgin lungs rejected the weed instantly, and I coughed uncontrollably as I put my hand over my mouth trying to hold the cough in. My shit was on fire, but I was mostly embarrassed, because both Anisa and Murder were cracking up, having a big laugh at my expense.

  “You never smoked before?” Anisa asked as the burning finally eased in my chest.

  I cut my eyes at her and shook my head no. Her ass knew damn well I hadn’t done shit before—fuck, smoke, drive, even flirt with the opposite sex. Hell, I just had gotten out of lockup! I was a virgin to everything . . . green to the game. Everything that the average ’hood chick had experienced by the age of fourteen, I had never been able to do.

  “We about to break you in then,” Murder stated with a small grin.

  Anisa and I sat up all night, catching up on each other’s lives, filling Murder in on our childhood and the few good times we had experienced. He didn’t interrupt, but instead passed the weed back and forth while letting us do our thing. He just sat back and observed like a gangster would. The weed had me so relaxed and I knew that I had found my new favorite pastime.

  By the time daylight crept through the curtains, we were all fucked up. The time had flown by, our reunion making up for the time we were separated. Smoking and drinking all night had me done, but it was the first time that I had felt comfortable in a long time. I was home, and it felt good . . . real good.

  * * *

  The ringing of the phone the next morning was like tiny bombs going off inside my head, and when it didn’t stop, I figured that Anisa and Murder were just as hungover as I was. Forcing myself to get out of bed, I got up and made my way to the living room. “Hello?” I answered.

  Before the caller could respond, Murder appeared behind me and snatched the phone from my hand. He hung it up quickly without even seeing who was calling. “Don’t answer the phone, and don’t use this phone. I handle business, and business only on this line,” he said. His tone was stern, and I wanted to ask him who the fuck he thought he was talking to, but I held my tongue. He was letting me stay at his house and had welcomed me with open arms, so I didn’t want to create conflict over something petty. I frowned, but before I could say a word, he went into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. He peeled off five hundred dollars and held them out for me. “Take this and get a cell phone today. Nobody uses this phone, a’ight?” he said as he softened up his tone. I guess he realized that he had been kind of harsh.

  “Yeah, okay,” I said reluctantly. What the fuck is up with that? I thought as I made my way back to my room. I know this nigga don’t got bitches calling here. What else could be so important? I made a mental note to discuss it with Anisa, and went back to sleep.

  I decided to not even bring the phone thing up the next day. Anisa seemed happy, and I wasn’t trying to be the one to break up her happy home. Murder hadn’t really shown me shade. I was just making assumptions, so I swallowed it.

  “Hey, sleepy head,” Anisa greeted as I walked into the kitchen. She set a plate of pancakes and eggs in front of me and kissed the top of my head as if I was her child, before taking a seat herself.

  “Hey, Nis. I’m so fucked up right now,” I said with a half-smile.

  “The food will make you feel a little bit better,” she replied.

  “Did Mommy ever try to contact you?” I asked.

  “She tried,” Anisa said vaguely. She sighed deeply. “Look, it’s like this. I don’t have any family. Family is there for you. They protect you, and Mommy never did none of that. The only family I got is you.”

  “What about Murder?” I questioned curiously. I wanted to know how deep their bond was. I never wanted to see Anisa hurt again . . . not by Murder or anyone else.

  “He’s good to me. I care about him. He makes sure I have everything I need. I’m glad he’s a part of my life, but with him, you can’t really plan ahead. I have to take it as it is today, because one day he’s not going to make it through that door. We both have a clear understanding about where we stand. It works between us because neither of us is looking for love. He doesn’t disrespect me with other chicks or nothing, but if it ever came to that, I’m not tripping. He’s security, and I need that right now, nothing more, nothing less.”

  I couldn’t really understand why she had Murder on a short term relationship plan, but I didn’t question her. She knew him better than I did. In any relationship there is baggage, and she knew what Murder was carrying.

  “Can I borrow your car?” I asked.

  “You know it, babe,” she replied without question.

  That was one of the reasons why I loved her so. She wasn’t on no fake shit. What she had, she was more than willing to share with me. It had always been that way. If there was only two pieces of bread left, we split it and made ghetto-oneslice sandwiches. If she came across a dollar, then she changed it out and we both had fifty cents. I knew that she would give me her last, and it made me love her even more.

  “Where you going?�
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  “I’ve got to stop by the mall and pick up a phone. I answered the phone earlier this morning, and Murder kind of flipped,” I said.

  “Oh, that ain’t shit. He only gives that number to people he does business with. Don’t worry about it. Even he takes his personal calls on a cell phone. Did he come at you wrong?” she asked, getting defensive.

  “No, it wasn’t like that. He just let me know not to answer it. He’s good. I like him. I think he’s cool people,” I said, calming her down.

  “Well, I’m chilling today. You can call me if you need me. My keys are on the table. Don’t crash my shit, Miamor! Your ass probably can’t even drive!” she said jokingly.

  “Bitch, I got my L’s. I took the class in lockup for having good behavior,” I answered as I went to dress.

  “You? Good behavior? I know you’re lying now,” Anisa said. “Not one scratch. Mia! I’m not playing!” she warned, her voice following me out of the room.

  She knew me all too well, because there wasn’t a damn thing legal about me behind a wheel, but I was anxious to spin the block. I just wanted to get out and spread my wings.

  Putting on brand new Seven jeans, red stilettos, and a white Ralph Lauren top, I dressed and applied M•A•C cosmetics. I admired myself in the mirror. Everything about me screamed fly, and I knew it. I was only eighteen, so yes, I was arrogant as hell and itching to get into something.

  Before I could even hit the door, Anisa stopped me.

  “Run them L’s, Miamor. I want to see your license before you hop in my car,” she said seriously as she sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, rolling a spliff. Murder was stretched out on the couch behind her, his hat dipped low, pistol on his waistline, and flipping the channels on the seventy-two-inch plasma TV.

  “Anisa, ain’t nobody gon’ crash your car. Stop tripping. I’m just going to the mall,” I pleaded.

  “I’ll take her. I’m going that way anyway. I got to pick up a new joint for that job I’m into tonight,” Murder said as he stood.

  “Fine by me, long as my shit come back in one piece,” Anisa said. “I’ll teach you how to drive later this week, and take you to handle the official paperwork. The last thing you need is to run into Jake out there with no license. You just got out. I’m just trying to keep you out, sis.”

  I rolled my eyes. She could tell I had an attitude. Anisa knew she was wrong for sticking me with a babysitter, but I obliged and followed Murder out of the condo. We didn’t talk until we got to the parking lot. He tossed me her keys and gave me a smile.

  “I’m driving?” I asked in surprise.

  “Fuck I look like, your chauffer?” he asked smoothly as he stepped into the car. “Anisa’s your big sister. She’s overprotective. I’ma teach you how to drive.”

  I was geeked and all smiles as I got into Anisa’s car. Murder leaned his seat back and put one foot on the dash. “Do you!” he said with a grin.

  I turned the ignition and adjusted the seat. Anisa was a little bit taller than me. Once I was comfortable, I put the car in reverse and backed out slowly. My heart was beating out of my chest, only because Anisa’s ass had made me nervous.

  “Relax, you’re good, ma. You control the car, not the other way around,” Murder reassured.

  I nodded my head, took a deep breath and switched gears to drive before pulling out of the parking lot. Murder was silent as I crept down the streets of New York. Impatient drivers flew past me and I stuck up my middle finger as they drove by, causing Murder to laugh. “What?” I asked as I laughed too.

  “Nothing, ma . . . nothing at all. Concentrate on the road. Fuck whoever’s behind you,” he said.

  I put in a CD, and the sounds of R&B filled the car. The music eased some of my apprehension, and I relaxed behind the wheel, as my foot became heavier on the gas pedal. Before you knew it, I was cruising, snapping my fingers to the beat, while Murder rode shotgun, never interrupting my flow. The fact that he trusted my driving made me trust myself, and all of my fears went out of the window. I was whipping through the ’hood like I had been doing it for years. I was on cloud nine as I listened to Keyshia Cole’s latest joint. I had never been in a relationship before, so I couldn’t relate to the lyrics in the song, but it didn’t stop my head from spinning from the feelings homegirl was screaming through the speakers. I couldn’t see myself giving my heart to anybody, but I was feeling the song as if my heart had been broken a thousand times. Before I knew it, I was pulling into the mall.

  “See, it’s easy,” Murder stated. He had to be the coolest nigga I’d ever met. He was so laid back, yet his demeanor was so ’hood. “Come on, don’t have me in this mu’fucka all day. You can hit up all the shoe shops and shit with Nis. But me and you, we in and out. Cool?”

  “Okay,” I responded, but in and out became a day full of me tearing up the mall and Murder carrying my bags. I couldn’t help it. The little shopping spree that Anisa had given me the day before hadn’t quenched my thirst.

  Murder wanted to complain, but he didn’t. I could tell from the look on his face that shopping wasn’t really his thing. He allowed me to shop until I grew tired, and I felt like I had a personal bodyguard with me the way he was mean mugging niggas who were trying to get at me.

  “You ready to leave?” I asked. “We’ve been here all day and you haven’t bought one thing.”

  He sighed and gave me a half smile. “Nah, go ahead. Get whatever you want, ma,” he said. “It’s on me.”

  I was like a kid in a candy store, picking up everything that I had neglected to get when I had gone shopping with Anisa. By the time I was done, it was dark outside, and as we walked to the car, Murder asked, “You hungry?”

  “I could eat,” I responded.

  Murder put the bags in the trunk and walked around to the driver’s side.

  “I’m not driving?” I asked.

  He put his hand up and I tossed him the keys. “Nah, I don’t got time to coach you through it right now, sis. I got to get to my man before his spot close. Then we’ll go grab some food. Call Anisa and see if she’s hungry.”

  I called Anisa, and she declined our invitation to dinner. “I don’t feel like getting dressed. Y’all go ahead. Just bring me back something,” she said.

  I agreed, and then disconnected the call with her. “She said bring her something back,” I told Murder.

  I reached for the radio to turn it up, but Murder popped my CD out and tossed it in the back seat. “Driver picks the music,” he said smugly as he ruffled my hair. I slapped his hand away and laughed as he turned the radio all the way up.

  “. . . While I’m watching every nigga watching me closely, My shit is butter . . .”

  Jay-Z’s lyrics filled the interior, and no words were spoken, but it was a comfortable vibe between us, and the more I became acquainted with Murder, the more questions I had.

  He drove until he pulled up to a pawnshop way out in Queens. I looked around the dark alley we were parked in. A chill went up and down my spine, but I shook the feeling of fear. “Get out,” he instructed. He popped the trunk and pulled out a pillowcase, then entered the building from the rear.

  When we got inside, an older white man with wire rimmed glasses sat behind a counter. “Who’s the girl?” he asked immediately, causing my heart to flutter. The old man shot me a look of suspicion that had me feeling out of place.

  “She’s good. I vouch for her. She’s my li’l sister. Don’t worry about her. Let’s just handle this business, just like every other time,” Murder stated with authority.

  “You always come alone,” the man insisted, still eyeing me.

  I pretended as if I wasn’t paying attention, but I was picking up on it all. I was so aware of my surroundings, that the sound of the seconds ticking by on the clock made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “Come on, Schultz, you know me. This ain’t a new routine. I don’t do bad business, and I’d never bring heat to your establishment. She’s with me. S
he’s cool,” Murder stated, never showing an ounce of intimidation. He put the pillowcase on the countertop, removed three pistols and then placed two thick wads of money next to them. “I need to make these disappear, and I need another one. An automatic.”

  The man rose, then locked the front door, flipping the sign to closed. “Follow me,” he said.

  Murder grabbed my hand and I reluctantly followed him down a long hallway, then down a flight of steps. It was so dark that I couldn’t see in front of me, and there was a strong pungent smell in the air. I wanted to cough, but I didn’t. My breathing was labored, and I held onto Murder’s hand a little tighter for reassurance. Where the fuck is this nigga taking me? What type of shit he into? Has Anisa ever been here? I asked myself as a thousand and one questions plagued my mind. I didn’t know what I was about to see and when the old man turned on the dim light, and I sighed in relief and released Murder’s hand. I felt foolish for letting my imagination run wild. The old basement walls were filled with guns; all types, sizes, and calibers, along with three large barrels that contained some type of liquid.

  The man gently placed the three pistols Murder had given him into a metal crate, then slowly lowered them into the barrel. The liquid bubbled and sizzled for a couple minutes before making the guns disappear. He then pointed to the arsenal of weapons behind him and said, “Take your pick. What would you like this time?”

  Murder quickly wrapped up his business and led me back out to the alley. Once we were safely back in the car, I turned to him and said, “What was that all about?”

  “Don’t worry about it, ma. That’s not for you. The only reason I let you come inside is because it was dark and I didn’t want you in the car for that long. That’s the last thing I need is to fuck a nigga up over you in the middle of Queens. You still hungry?”