Ugh! He can't even say it. I shake my head. “What if we’re having a son?”
He rubs my belly and says, “Then that’s my lil’ nigga right there. You the one wanted to be surprised, Blu.”
My frown stays on point. Popeye tickles me, and then gives that panty-wetter smile that makes any bitch soft. But I’m that lucky one with the ring, so I’m grinning like a simp. Popeye grips me by the waist; his biceps bulge as he pulls me on top of the pipe. This nigga leans back on our pillows with his arms behind his head like he’s king. My pussy melts down on the dick, hitting all the spots too easily. I start twirling on his joystick till my breath cuts short. Then we switch positions to doggy style. Popeye rubs my ass, gives it a smack and slips inside my pussy. He grabs one of my ass cheeks and then proceeds to set me straight.
~~~
After showering, I dig through the dresser for some tights, since I can't wear anything else. Then I put on one of Popeye’s wifebeaters, even though he trips about my belly stretching them out. Beyoncé's “Run the World (Girls)” song starts ringing from my cell phone. It’s my boujie baby, Rockwell’s anthem. I quickly grab the phone. I'm glad my brah, Lorenzo, just moved back to Colombia because he’d trip if he knew I was still good with her. “Sup, Rocky?”
“Hey Blu,” she says sadly, “I can't make it to the baby shower this weekend.”
“But…” my eyes burn with tears. Blame that on the hormones, but I do love this chick like a sister. Known her damn near my entire life.
Rocky says, “Sorry, I'm just not feeling good, Blu. I can’t get you sick while you’re pregnant.”
“You’re crying?” I ask.
She sniffles and can't even deny it. “Yeah… I'm just so proud of you. All glowy and preggers.”
Her husband sounds like a straight bitch in the background. He doesn't sound like he's taking care of his sick wife. But then again, little mama has never fucked with any nigga but Lorenzo. My brah hurt her so bad this last time that she went and married the first rich dude that walked by.
Something ain’t right. Man, if I thought she wouldn't be mad I’d tell my brother. Lorenzo would come straight to Hoover on the next plane from Colombia. I don’t even know where the fuck they went wrong. So, I sigh and say, “Just take some medicine.”
“I’ll try…” she trails off.
We hang up as I walk down the hallway. I wonder if Rocky might be faking sick because she thinks Lorenzo will be at the baby shower. It’s been a little over a year since Lorenzo showed his ass–I knew from jump it would be my brother that fucked up their hood love. I peep into Granny’s room to see if she wants breakfast. We've been living with Popeye’s granny in this old house since we got married because she’s starting to go blind.
Elisha is sitting on the couch, playing on her cell phone. She see’s me down the hall and says, “Aye preggers, I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Hey girl,” I turn from Granny’s bedroom.
“You know Popeye and Tee Tee, left as soon as Tee Tee dropped me off. Granny left with them, something about going to a church picnic. Later on we need to talk about the next shipment from Lorenzo,” Elisha says, mentioning my brother’s next cocaine drop. Since him and Rockwell are off again, he doesn’t barely come through The H. So, me and Popeye oversee all the trap houses in Hoover.
Elisha adds, “What's up ma? You looking low key sad?”
“Nothing, Elisha.” Shit, I said that too fast as I plop down next to her. Elisha looks at me like she's not going to ask again. I sigh saying, “Rockwell can't make it to my baby shower.”
“Why?” Elisha snaps.
“Rocky just came back from Italy. You know about the designer contract that fell through after what happened to her daddy,” I say, trying to make up for Rocky. Shit, it’s my baby shower, but Elisha is heated. Elisha takes off about how Rockwell has been acting brand new and boujie.
“Let’s go hang out with her. Get her mind off the fashion deal going bad,” I try.
“I tried. As a matter of fact, just yesterday I went by her house. That pussy ass trick she married was sitting right up under us like a bitch. Rocky didn’t say shit.” Elisha smirks, “And you look like you got another excuse for her. Don't even.”
“Okay,” I wave her off before we start bumping heads. We get up as we hear the music blasting outside. I'm excited to see the crib Rockwell bought for me, even though she's not here. Elisha continues to talk shit as the guys get out of the cab off the truck. The Silverado is packed with expensive looking furniture not just a crib, but a bassinet, nightstand and dresser. A whole baby room.
“Look at this shit Rockwell's sadity ass bought. 3G’s for a crib, but she can’t come through,” Elisha says.
“Chill out, E,” Tee Tee wraps his arms around her from behind. “We gon’ make Rockwell bring her dude to a function. They will be cool when her dude finds out that everybody from The H ain't as evil as you.”
“Evil?” Elisha rolls her eyes.
“Hey,” I cut in. “That's what Popeye used to say about me.”
“Still do,” my husband says under his breath while taking a set of pink lamps off the trunk.
“I got this,” I try to take it from him so he can get the bigger things.
“Nah, you pregnant. Go cook something.”
“Nigga!” I start after him as he heads into the house and places the lamps on the living room floor, when the baby room ain’t too much further. Knowing I have a mouthpiece, Popeye’s lips take to mine. He tongues me down so damn good that I’m speechless and can’t talk shit about how he’s already half ass doing stuff. Then my bae is out the door to help Tee Tee. I start to pick up the two lamps
“C’mon Blu,” Elisha says, “Go make us some breakfast tacos.”
I roll my eyes with a smile. The grin instantly freezes on my face. Every muscle in my body stiffens. My child starts doing Taebo in my belly as guns go off like fireworks outside. Bullets crash through the windows, breaking the mirror over the wall.
BACA. BACA. BACA. The slugs rip through a picture of Jesus, MLK and Obama! I start to run toward the doorway, but Elisha snatches up my wrist.
“Elisha, Popeye is out there. Your nigga Tee Tee is out there!” I scream over more shots that are crashing through the windows and pounding the wooden door. Each shot is so loud that it rips through my heart.
She pulls me to the ground, and holds onto me. I shout at her, “Bitch, I said we gotta go help them.”
Wet, warm liquid gushes down my thighs. My tummy starts to tighten–
Chapter 4
ROCKWELL
On Saturday, we head over to pick up Rita and nine-year-old Lorenza, since they always come to Junior’s tournaments. Lorenza’s the only tomboy of the four Medina girls ever since Blu and Lakitha blossomed. Junior always calls Lorenza his “Tia” ‘cus. She told him to when she was seven, no matter how much Rita warned the girl not to. I haven’t told them that Junior is really their family, but they treat him just like it. So, I can’t complain. My baby doesn’t know it means ‘auntie’ in Spanish.
When we get to the baseball field, it’s all packed out. And my son comes out of the dugout with his uniform and I want to cry. He looks just like an old picture of my daddy, Thomas, and Uncle Marcel. I even used my family name “Townsend” for his baseball jersey. All the Townsend males played at McArthur Park.
“How many photos are you going to take of that boy?” Rita chuckles.
“Till the battery dies,” I grin, take a few pictures and then dial my mom to remind her that her grandson is playing today, but she doesn’t answer.
“How’s LaShawn?” Rita asks.
“My mommy’s a’ight, I guess,” I shrug.
“We have to have a get together soon,” she says.
“Yeah, we do.” I try not to frown, knowing Mommy prolly won’t wanna come, unless we meet at church.
The game hasn’t begun yet, but Junior is shouting at the top of his lungs, “Lorenzo! Lorenzo!”
> My heartbeat is on pause as I look down the bleachers at the entry. Lorenzo steps in with jeans and another thermal that fits well against his muscles, but makes me miss seeing all those tats. Lorenzo nods his head toward Junior, then he looks at me. He glares for a second, looks at his mom and starts toward us with flies following. These hoes can’t even check on their son’s or pay for the kids uniforms, but they can run up after a fine ass nigga.
“Um,” Rita begins, still staring at her son as he chats up them simple hoes. “So, you and Lorenzo are good?”
“Not sure. He came by my shop the other day…he kinda thinks Junior is his.” There’s no more for me to say because Lorenzo is making his way over. Besides, I used to feel uncomfortable when Rita came around. Not like that. Known the Medina’s half my life. Shit, this beautiful woman is ‘Momma’ Rita, and the girls are like my sisters, and Lorenzo... But soon as Junior was born Rita came over, she stared at him so long. She never once asked, but just inserted herself into his life as if it was the normal thing to do. Rita loved Junior like blood. And I was hating on the fact Lorenzo never answered my call, so I didn’t say a word.
Lorenzo finally has enough of all the fuck faces from hoes and comes up. He hugs Lorenza. It’s kinda weird, because his little sister hesitates. This nigga had asked to name her after him when we were kids and Rita got pregnant. Lorenza was like our baby. I make sure to get ghost during the holidays when I think Lorenzo will be coming home, but the way they acting is like they haven’t had a family function in a while. Then he hugs Rita. Seems to me, Momma Rita was just looking at the camera photos not paying any attention, but if they weren’t related I would swear she was tryna keep her distance.
Maybe I’m just inserting my confused feelings here? Lorenzo acknowledges me with a head nod and sits down on the opposite side of Lorenza.
Could this day get more uncomfortable? Hell nah! Here comes Elisha, my bestie since day one–toddlers. She jumped in when some hoes tried to take me down back in the day for being too muthafuckin’ cute! We haven’t been cool since I moved back from Italy. Anyway, she starts up the bleachers, looks at me all cray-cray like, and sits a few rows in front.
Chapter 5
LORENZO
“Sup, E!” I shout. Fuck what Elisha’s going through. Don’t know if her and somebody got issues, but she ain’t finna sit right in front of me and not say shit. All the nigga’s she done fucked in my crew, since my nig Tee Tee died. She gon’ just walk by? No respect?
Nah.
She turns around as one of my goons, Nacho, steps up. Real dark, ugly dude with nappy dreads. He says, “Sup, my nigga.”
I nod his way, “Check ya hoe.”
“Nah, dude,” Elisha stands and takes a few steps. “Don’t a nigga check me, that’s on my nigga Tee Tee, RIP! Don’t even think some nigga fixin’ to check me!”
“Bitch,” I start. Used to be respectful to this hoe out of respect for Rockwell. And I ain’t cool with anybody that cop an attitude for no reason. I always had mad respect for Tee Tee. But I ain’t feeling this today. “Calm the fuck down, Elisha. Look at me like that again and we gon’ have a fuckin’ problem.”
Elisha starts laughing as my mom tells me not to call a woman out her name.
“It’s cool, Mrs. Medina. I’m all good. A bitch like me wondering why you still good with a sneaky as fuck, don’t got love for the hood, hoe like that!” She points to Rockwell.
“Excuse me,” Rockwell stands up.
“What you gon’ do, Miss Thang. Miss French bitch? Excuse me, I mean wannabe Italian hoe, couldn’t even make it as a designer, tryna fake it!” Elisha stay poppin’ off at the mouth. Even I’m low-key heated for a second, but I ain’t checking for Rockwell. So, it’s like that between these two? This shit makes me smile.
“Grow up, Elisha.” Rockwell looks toward the field.
“Go back to Italy. Try ya luck again. See if somebody wants Rocky’s prissy ass designs instead of having a store full of e’erbody else shit!”
Rock shakes her head. “We are at a kid’s baseball game.”
“Meet me in the parking lot, then.” Elisha starts past me toward Rockwell, knowing good and well Rocky can’t fight. I’ma just watch this shit unravel, and enjoy it.
“C’mon, E. The game just started.” Rockwell sighs.
“Don’t call me, E. Bitch! With ya whack ass clothing store. Couldn’t get an invite to the grand opening?”
“Why you so worried about my clothing store? Say I couldn’t make it, but I pull more money in an hour at Rock With It than you make in a month, right?” Rocky gets up. “You ain’t finna call me no bitch. Elisha, that’s all I know.”
“You sure about that?” Elisha starts to pull off her fake gold hoops, but Nacho grabs her by the waist and carries her down the bleachers.
“So,” I ask, with a smile, “What the fuck happened to y’all?”
Rockwell shrugs, rolling those sexy ass cat eyes.
~~~
At half time, I step out the piece and call my primo, Chuey.
“Sup?” Chuey says.
“Cuzzo, I’ma need you out my crib. Have ya bitch clean up my place. Y’all gotta go.”
“Damn, nigga, by when?” he asks.
“Two hours.”
“Maaan, you want my girl to clean this shit out in a few hours?”
“Nigga, told you to get a new crib. You got money. Fucked my sexy ass realtor. So now you gon’ have to make my shit look presentable and get ghost.”
“Man, you ain’t been to ya house in months.” Chuey sighs. “What you got going? Bringing by some prissy bitch that can’t stand a lil’ dirt.”
“Get ‘er done.” I hang up as my moms steps out to the parking lot.
“I see that you have the same mentality as León and Santi,” Rita says smugly.
“The fuck! You mean your pops and brother? Your fucking blood, Moms, damn!” I never cuss in my moms presence, but she trying me with the bullshit today. She’s been hating on my abuelo, her padre León. And I don’t know what the fuck is up with this sibling rivalry with her younger brother, Santiago.
Rita just rolls her eyes and says, “I thought I kept you away from Santiago after León died. But you’re just like them. You the one talking about blood, but you put money over your family, Lorenzo–”
“Man, you act like I’m running around making it rain in the hood,” I shake my head, trying not to feel some type of way about how Rita sees me. Never been one to splurge, I have a few mansions from Cali to Miami and up to New York, but I stay laced up with new kicks and always ride a Chevy.
“Lorenzo, all your life I’ve told you that cartel shit ain’t no joke.” Rita shakes her head in disbelief. “You still went back! Now, your greedy ass got your sister all fucked up. Go! Dejarnos solo– leave the rest of us alone.”
“The rest of y’all, huh? Nah, fuck that Margarita Medina Mendoza.” I pop off the name her pops gave her, but moms named us all Medina like her mom. “You wasn’t gon’ tell me I have a son?”
Moms takes a deep breath as if she’s trying not to take flight. Mendoza is never mentioned. Mendoza De Dios Cartel is so far gone to Rita that shit doesn’t make any sense. There’s a rage in her eyes that I don’t even know. Rita says, “Junior might be, or he might not be yours. Moreover, I’ve prayed many nights that Junior is not.”
“Prayed?” I reply. That makes me chuckle and shake my head. “Moms, you the Christian. Why you can’t forgive me?” I pound my chest.
Rita sighs. I think she realizes this is our longest convo since me and Rocky. Her eyes continue to shift to the ground, and then Rita finally says, “Because Lorenzo, you ruin things. I’m not mad at you. That’s the lifestyle. Santiago, León, and the men that came before them are… they’re just like you. Will you please just stay away from Rockwell and Junior?”
That shit hurts me to my core. I don’t know what the fuck all the Mendoza dudes have done in our family. Santiago only talks of his big sister with respect. I
f I knew this was more than just some jealousy over who took the Colombiano cartel throne, I’d be all about it. The fuck I’m let my tio hurt my moms for? But nah, I think Rita just hates the lifestyle that she grew up in. She’d been a Colombiana princess and one day just fell off. So I decide to let my moms bullshit about my Tio slide. But for Rita to have the audacity to ask me to stay away from Rocky and Junior. Nah. I should be walking away but I have to know one thing.
I say, “Moms, look me in my eyes and say you’re not mad at me then.”
She steps close to me and glares me dead in the eye. “Lorenzo Henry Medina, I have come to learn that loving a cartel thug like you has everyone else marked. I tried and tried with you, Lorenzo. Now you mean nothing to me. So, if you mean nothing, why would I be mad at you?”
Damn, I nod my head. This is the Colombiano way. First, it's all loving and affectionate but when you aren’t doing what your padres want, you get no love.
Rita’s eyes stay locked onto mine as she continues, “Now, what I want you to do is leave Rockwell and Raphael Junior alone. If he’s your son, I’m good. If he’s not. Trust me, I’m so very good with that. From day one, I've had an awesome relationship with them. If you have one ounce of care in your body–if you remember how much Rockwell meant to you as a child, then you won’t ruin this. Hasta nunca–good riddance!”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “Not till Rockwell shows me those papers that Junior is not my son. I’m a man of my word, Ma. That’s how you raised me–”
“I fucked up!” she scoffs, hands raised above her head. “I raised you wrong! You and that idiota Blu were mistakes. My first son, my first daughter. Y’all two are just like twins, just born a year apart. When you was a kid, I could always expect Blu would be running right up under you. Whenever you wanted to be bothered, Blu was your shadow. So yeah, I fucked up. It took a while, but I got it right with the rest of my three kids.”
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug Page 3