Now, every day as soon as my wife comes home, since my mugging she goes to take a shower.
I call Justine again. Before going over what she’s been doing to check on Rockwell’s financial situation at the store, I ask her about my wife again. Justine reminds me that Rocky only goes to work out every day with some cunt named, Ashley.
So, I quickly get down to business. “Why haven't you gotten back to me about Rockwell’s situation?”
“Well, I assumed that taking my time and going over her financials would be the best way to determine where you could take some here and there.”
“I don't want to trim from pennies here and there!”
“It’s a metaphor, Raphael. I mean tens of thousands of dollars. Anymore and Mrs. Bell's going to fire me for incompetence or call the police!”
“Does it sound like I give a fuck if Rocky fires you? Fires... You. Hmmm. What type of insurance does Rockwell have on the business?”
She sighs. “You have a good wife, Raphael. Don't go there.”
The phone clicks in Justine’s face as I hang up. My wife’s store will accidentally catch fire. Maybe… Biting my lip, I try to get away from the guilt to rationalize this.
Do I have a good wife? After watching so much stupid daytime talk shows while being home, I know the top places people cheat. Work. Well Rockwell’s male employees are metro sexual borderline faggots. So, I dial the gym that she frequents. And ask about this Ashley that my wife works out with. Maybe the bitch will tell me who my wife flirts with while working out.
“You'd like to make an appointment with Ashley?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he's in very high demand. Lemme see if I can squeeze you in for at least a consultation.”
“He?”
“Ashley,” the bitch chuckles. “This isn't the first time someone is a little weird about Ashley but it's usually overweight women wanting a female personal trainer. But I promise you, Ashley is the best–”
Click.
Uncle Vido, I rehearse, Got a favor I need to ask. Of course Vido won't burn down my wife's store. He's head over heels for Rockwell. Even old man Sal is. But there are other things Vido will do for his favorite nephew.
Chapter 31
ROCKWELL
A Chevy on 30s pulls up next to my Porsche SUV at the park in my neighborhood. Soon as Lorenzo gets out the car I try to slap his face, but he's too quick and catches my hand. My mind is on how this nigga murked my personal trainer, Ashley, for no muthafucking reason. So, I can’t even feel the poor little white kids staring from the swing set.
“Nah, don’t fucking touch me,” I say, pushing my nigga away like he ain’t shit. Shaking my head, I can barely speak, “You evil...”
Lorenzo’s eyes widen guilty as the antichrist himself.
“Come here,” he tries to pull me in.
“You killed him!”
“Nah. Rocky, come here mommi,” he holds me tightly.
“You didn't have to kill Ashley!” It shocks me even still. I didn’t care about the big ass muscle head, but to die over me. He hadn’t even sampled the cookie.
“The fuck?” All that guilt leaves as he looks at me. Now who is he trying to apologize for killing before I can ask, Lorenzo says, “I ain't ever killed no bitches. Rockwell, wasn't me, I promise. Don't cry, you know I hate that.”
“Ashley was a dude.” I rub the tears from my eyes, feeling confused. “Sure you didn't kill him?”
“Nah. Why you crying, then? Were you fuckin’ him?” he yanks me closer.
I look around the pristine park. We are the only black people, but the look in Lorenzo eye tells me he ain’t getting ready to chill. So I sigh, and say, “Lorenzo, I wasn’t fucking Ashley. He was my personal trainer. But if you didn't…” I stand back and wonder. Raphael knows nothing about my gym sessions with Ashley. I sigh. “Man, I thought Ashley died because of me. He was the hoe of the gym prolly some chick. Speaking of jealous bitches. You better not be seeing that Tranny bitch!”
“A’ight.”
I try to get out of his arms. It’s easier to bang on Lorenzo when he’s not holding me tightly. But I’m sure we really stick out at this park, with him refusing to let me go. “Nah, Renz, miss me with that a’ight shit. I want your word.”
“Man, Rockwell…”
“Lorenzo, if it ain’t my husband, you don’t want me messing with nobody but you,” I snap. And the thing is, I’m not even fucking my husband.
“Damn right–”
“Fuck any chick you want, except for that bitch.”
“Aight.”
When he leans in to kiss me, my arm breaks free and my hand blocks it. “That don’t even sound right to me. Like you will tell me anything, Lorenzo.”
“Girl, every since we started fucking, I was only fucking you. You the one with a muthafucking ring on ya finger now.”
“Okay, adios!”
Lorenzo grabs my arm and pulls me into the front seat of his truck and blocks the door. “Do we need to start over with you locked in my house?”
“Try me dude. These legs will be closed shut. Would you like these teeth.” I grin.
“See now, don’t go there about my dick. If you ever pulled a move like that–”
“Then what, big homie?”” I bare my teeth to let him know there will be chomping instead of sucking going on if he fucks me over. “You through with me? Ha! I’m through with you, Lorenzo.”
“Say what you want Rocky. That’s ya problem, you talk that shit, but you going to always come right on back to the pipe. But you gon’ fuck up and not get the dick no more and that's a promise.”
I chuckle like his threats don’t mean shit. Then I look away and say, “Promise, not Tranny?”
“It ain't even like that Rockwell. She works for me.”
“All my brain can register is a promise.” I fold my arms. Is this dude for real! “How long have I loved you? Been stupid as fuck over you? At least do me this one thing. Don’t fuck with that transvestite looking hoe.”
“See you get too jealous. That's what got you in this situation now. We coulda been together way back, but your jealousy and ya moms–”
“I came to you when I was preg–When I was… when we were supposed to be invincible! If you gave a fuck about me, you wouldn’t have pushed me away...”
He turns off. I can tell Lorenzo ain't never been much for talking and I think I took his ass to the limit today. Must have hit a cord with him, since he even mentioned me being jealous. So instead of arguing about the worst day of my life, I reply, “Okay, Lorenzo. So it's too late. I'm married. Let me go then.”
“Not till them DNA papers come back.”
“Even if Junior ain't yours, you still ain't finna let me go. You ain't gon’ love me. I'ma be married and committing adultery. Defying God, because I've never loved Raphael anywhere near as much as I loved you. So I'll be at your mercy till you get tired of me again or go back to Colombia.” I lie. Yes, Junior is his. But I want to know that it ain’t just our child that will keep him. This nigga was coming and going as he pleased as we grew up. No matter how strong our love was, I want to know if Lorenzo would stay regardless.
“Nah, you mine, Rocky.” He reaches in and holds me close. My eyes close, my head lying against his strong chest and Lorenzo can keep me safe from anything in the world.
“Renz, we’re both just stuck on stupid. In our minds, we’re seeing each other as the teens we once were, bae. Look, I know you cared about me once. I damn sure ain’t finna stop loving you, but we’re toxic. Just lie to me. Or tell me your version of how this shit is going down.”
“Man, Rocky what you mean?”
“I mean. If I stay, you will come and go as you please. But I got this muthafucking ring,” I hold up my wedding band “I’ve made vows, Renz. Just tell me you don’t care and maybe I'll have strength enough to drop you... At least till I see you again. Lorenzo, this shit has been happening for a lifetime.”
He wipes away my te
ars. Even his affection won't push me away. It all points to my nigga loving me.
“I’ma stop fuckin’ Trinidad.” The kisses he plants on my lips seal the deal. I’m fucked. If it don't work with Lorenzo this time, I might as well be dead.
Chapter 32
LORENZO
All day I keep seeing Rockwell crying. My girl got a good heart crying over some personal trainer just because she thought I bodied the dude. That shit got me tossing back a shot of henny wondering what she gon’ do if she knew my guilt at that moment? Man, I know one day I gotta tell her…
Did you kill him...? Soon as Rockwell came to me with that shit, I was ready to confess right there. Almost slipped up and told her, all over some bitch ass personal trainer named Ashley! I slam the glass down on the counter, tools clatter and the bottle goes crashing to the floor as I sit in the garage at my spot.
I grab another Tequila bottle and pour myself a shot. Taking that shit to the head as these muthafuckas look at me like I’m crazy. My closest are here for a meeting.
My nigga Kesha, rubs her dusty ass dreads and begins to give the breakdown on my construction companies aspect of my business and how I keep my shit legit. Kesha is one of my oldest homies, known her since she got out of juvey. She ain’t had no parents so I sent over a few of Marcel’s jobs her way. And she was first on my crew when I started in Hoover. Kesha could handle a gun better than most of these niggas, and unlike Trinidad, we could keep is strictly about the money. We saved each other lives a few times over the years.
“How you rearrange things down at the factory?” I ask, since Tio had sent a bigger shipment than usual. He expected us to take over all of Hoover. I stop myself from taking another shot. I need Rocky out of my mind right now. Can’t concentrate on how my girl was crying.
“Lorenzo, tell Santi good looking out. The H is ready.”
For a while, everything goes good. We’re chatting it up about how that imaginary line on the north side keeps pushing back. Sal has less and less space. So I was in a good mood, until that bitch Salvatore calls…
My eyelid twitches. I’ve been having Pookie search for Sal Ganza for a cool minute. Every time he tries, Salvatore’s name comes up restricted. Pookie had said it didn’t look good, that maybe the Feds had a lock on all of Salvatore Ganza’s information, and for me to sit tight. Let the streets do the talking.
Now, the oldhead is on my phone. I put it on the counter and turn on the speaker.
“Aye, kid, you been lookin’ for me?” Salvatore says, with this authentic Robert De Niro tone.
“Kid?” My eyebrow raises, that’s the bullshit I once called Rocky when she wasn’t about the business. Rubbing my hands together, I play along with him, “Yessir, I wanted to invite you to a function.”
“A function?” Sal spits the words back. “Where do you young motherfuckers come from?”
“Nah, you already know, Sal. You know exactly where I come from and I can tell from the stuttering in your voice, dude. Gon’ sit down somewhere, mi amigo.”
“Listen here, every once in a while I get one of yous. You Cubans or El Salvadorians trying to put me outta business.” He continues. For a second I look over at my team like is this old muthafucka saying what he’s saying. Sal sounds like he just wants to own the north until he dies. He continues to talk, and I’m thinking this old dude is senile.
“So you saying when your old ass croaks I can come back and take over the north side?” I laugh. This muthafucka got me looking sideways.
“I’m saying, that time and time again–”
“Look, I don’t usually do this, mi amigo, but I’m thinking of putting your old ass on the payroll since you tryna strong arm the muthafucking north side–”
“I own the north side,” Sal replies, his voice blaring through the speakers.
“But, you ain’t working the set to its full potential. Sal, I’m saying, maybe you should join the team. Shit, you just said the game has fallen off for the Italians. They ain’t making y’all asses like they used too. Those are your words. So how ‘bout this, you gimme your set, and I’ll make sure you have a nice little retirement.”
“You think I’m stupid!”
I grin. Soon as my eyes lay on Salvatore, está muerto.“Nah, mi amigo. Come through. I ain’t one to sit and chat on the phone like no bitch.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck me? Man, get the fuck outta here with the bullshit. You just disrespecting, I ain’t no fucking Cuban, or no got damn El Salvadorian. But since your old ass seems to not be all there no more lemme show you that Colombian hospitality. Come through.”
“You keep comin for me, you little shit and I’m going to take you out! You, your family, and everyone that you know!” Salvatore shouts, finally reclaiming some of that aggression he had in the beginning of the convo.
That shit makes my blood boil. To tell me you coming for me. The fuck I got to give. If you ever catch me slipping, that’s my life. But to threaten my familia? I take a quick shot to the head and let that shit burn down my chest.
“Okay, mi amigo. I’ve invited you to a function, and to be honest, a nigga only just begun to test the waters on my muthafucking north side. Like I said, either come through or someone will bring you to me. Do you really want my peeples to find you? Big tip, since I got mad respect for those old stories, I used to grow up with. Well, you gon’ wanna come to me before we find you.”
Soon as I got off the phone, I call my police informant, Pookie. Soon as we started digging in on Sal’s territory this dude got ghost. Shit, I haven’t even got active yet. Sal hasn’t left a paper trail, hasn’t used a credit card in years. He couldn’t find the bitch, but has a few cops on the payroll roaming the streets. My ears got ears too. But these muthafuckas must be sleeping. I tossed my cell phone at the 90 inch TV and the screen cracked.
“Kesha, line these muthafuckas up!” I say.
Kesha comes back a few minutes later with all my crew from the general area. Twenty muthafuckin’ goons stand before me in the garage. Big dudes, chins up. I look around and can’t even with these dudes. “Yo’ simp, pussy ass niggas can't find one muthafucka. Uno. That's all. Say something! Donde está Salvatore Ganza?!”
These niggas supposed to stay ready. Slacking ass muthafuckas got me shaking my head. Damn, I can feel the keys to the entire state in my hands. All I need is to take out Santiago’s team. They’re crumbling but not fast enough.
Chapter 33
BLU
The days of being stuck under Mom’s thumb are hard. I notice that Lakitha has taken on my role that I once held when Lorenzo worked for our Tio Santiago in Colombia. Just like us, kid number 3 started to hold down the fam. Except Moms isn't out working hard, thinking her oldest was holding us down at home. Nah, Lorenzo used to take care of us. Buy us shit, with “drug money” as Moms would have angrily said if she knew. When I was nine, I acted like Moms. My three younger sisters were disciplined well, and Lorenzo paid me to make sure the house was clean and safe while he was out with our Tio Santi.
Now Lakitha gets the young'ns ready for school, talks about menstrual cycles and shit and even has time to give me words of wisdom. Moms has taken family leave from her RN placement at Hoover Community.
“You know what Blu. Can't nobody make you do shit,” Lakitha says, sitting on the edge of my bed. Even when she cusses she sounds like an uppity ass trick.
“Damn right,” I shout then feel stupid. Why am I stuck in this house then?
“You gotta want the best for yourself, hermana. It's all on you,” Lakitha tries.
“LaLa take your fat ass on. Go do some homework or something.”
“Actually, me and my 4.2 GPA graduated from Hoover High last summer. Thanks for forgetting to come. Furthermore, I'll be beginning Spellman University come springtime since the stupid high school messed up my transcripts. But you can make this next graduation of mine. Or the one after that for my PhD.”
“Okay chubby. Go eat a Twinkie.” I try to shoo
her away.
“Suppose I am going to be dealing with the freshmen fifteen soon…”
“What?” I snap, this chick is even more bougie than Rockwell.
“Stress weight gained during college. You can put your mind on some enlightenment and let that be your motivation.”
“Go!” I reach out to slap this bitch, but for a chubby chick she moves real quick.
~~~
The next morning, I'm up when they unlock my bedroom door. Lakitha steps inside with a plate of pancakes, eggs and bacon. “Rise and shine.”
“Bitch, get outta here with that shit!”
“First off, you need to be happy that Popeye agreed to let PJ see you today and why you looking funny.”
She pauses as I wonder who PJ is for a minute. Oh my son Phillip Junior. I had always called him Phillip or Jr. “Like I said get the fuck out! Soon as I step out this bitch, I'm going straight to the pipe. Don’t wanna see no damn Phillip or Popeye! Okay, bitch!”
“No, not okay. My momma named me Lakitha. If you ever feel the need to say the ‘b word’ it won't be with me because that I am not. I am 5'7, 215, nappy hair, black and Colombian, sophisticated, and a damn good sister to all mi familia. Treat me with the respect that I have always given you!” She gets up in my face. “Okay, hermana?”
I smirk. “Yup, bitch. A’ight by me.”
“Lemme take a second,” she pauses and looks up at the ceiling. In Spanish like when moms is frustrated, Lakitha pleads, “Jesus, give me strength.”
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug Page 13