“Jesus, give this bitch some strength. Amen, amen.” I clap.
“You're afraid and I know it. Philip asks about you sometimes. He misses you. Popeye does too. So get dressed, eat, put on a happy face.” She doesn't even wait for my reply just goes out humming that old Kirk Franklin ‘Smile’ joint.
My baby wants to see me?
Popeye too?
Tears burn my eye ducts.
~~~
I could barely breathe all morning. Dressed in my Toi's clothes since she was skinner than Lakitha I look at myself in the mirror. There are flowers on the jeans and the shirt is a bit gangsta since I wouldn't wear the rest of my 14-year-old sister clothing. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with Toi’s closet, with her little hoe-self. I could fit Moms clothing, but the bitch locked her bedroom door.
Lakitha pulls up in front of the house in a Chevy Uplander and my sisters get in the back of the van. I bite my lip and get in front.
“Damn, where we going?” I ask as we drop off Lorenza’s little chunky ass at middle school. And Toi says, “I'm in high school sis.”
“Shit Lakitha! You might as well drive a yellow school bus! How we gotta go to all these damn schools around Hoover! I’da made they asses walk.”
“No you wouldn't,” Lakitha says.
“Yeah,” Toi adds, “You used to be a good sister.”
“Um hum,” I continue to gnaw at my lip as Toi mentions she remembers guns going off when we lived in Colombia. The apartment was tiny, walls paper-thin. Toi was a baby and I would pretend to be strong, while singing her to sleep. Later on Lorenzo would get home and ask if everybody was good. He’d calm me because by that time I would want to break down and cry. It was like a domino effect, bigger sibling holding down the smaller ones. But, how the fuck does Toi remember that sad shit?
I’m heated by the time Lakitha pulls into Paco’s Tacos, where Popeye and my baby are supposed to meet us. Now I’m back to reminding myself to breathe.
It’s funny how you take shit for granted till it’s gone. I can’t wait to see Popeye and my son…
Chapter 34
Popeye
While I’m driving toward Paco’s in my Chevy Malibu, Lauren keeps tapping the manila envelope with the divorce papers in her hands.
“Man, chill, I shoulda left your ass at home.” I try to keep my voice down. Four-year-old PJ is sitting in his car seat, legs swinging and can't wait to see his momma. Phillip hasn't seen her in a cool minute, but you can't tell him he won't know Blu when they met.
“You've been looking for that b–ya wife for a long time. Might as well make use of this visit.” Lauren smacks her glossy lips.
“I know,” I reply, pulling down Vermont, with no plans on giving Blu these damn papers today. I got time to divorce her. Sho’ ain't finna lace Lauren down anytime, regardless of the fact. But Lauren is a good mom. PJ calls her that. We been together for almost a year. Shit, Lauren is fine, dark skin and these black marble eyes that had me laying my ass off when we first met. Then she met PJ and he started talking about Blu–it was one of those times that Rockwell and Rita said they had heard from somebody cousin that Blu was somewhere bogus. So PJ nosey ass heard and got all excited telling everybody he knew. So Lauren found out I wasn't one of those niggas to knock up any bitch, and that we were married. I had mad love for Blu. Still do.
Never knew my pops. Moms was good till the drugs became her king. Then my granny adopted me so all I could ever do is pray for both these women. Man, I still can’t believe the coke got to Blu like that. One day, me and Blu is holding down Hoover for Lorenzo while he had to get the fuck away from Rockwell for the latest issue that they had. That was years ago. There hadn’t been no signs that Blu would use the same drugs we slanged.
I swoop into a spot next to Rita’s van and notice nobody is inside. Looking through the rearview mirror, I ask my son, “Ready to see your moms, PJ?”
“Yeah, daddy.” He smiles, with a dimple.
Lauren pretends to smile. Like I said, she's good to my kid. Wouldn't take it any other way. I get out the car. Still walk with a slight limp, but I’m good. Soon as we step inside Blu is seated with Lakitha. I know it’s her. It has to be, even with the hoodie shielding her face. PJ runs to his auntie and gives her a hug. Lauren takes my hand. And now PJ runs to sit on his mom’s lap. My girl and I are still making our way across the room, but I can still hear him shout, “Hi, Pretty Blu!”
Still from the side angle, I can’t see Blu’s face and her voice is shaky as she says “Hi,” back, giving him a hug.
Then our eyes meet and even behind all the sadness, I know exactly how much I still love this dumb girl.
Chapter 35
LORENZO
No matter how many is on my crew, I trust my closest. My cuzzo’s Chuey and Sean stay strapped. Y’all already know Trinidad is a little beast with the burner. Ayo ass came up from Miami since the goons down there were on Santiago’s payroll long before my Tio put me on. Nelly and Nacho rolled too. Guess my number seven is what it is when we all got ready.
Three bulletproof Chargers creep through north Hoover with Ayo, Sean, and me at the wheels. It’s just me and Trini in my ride, and my bitch has a smile on her face like we are finna trick-or-treating.
She already has three guns tucked in her jeans and leather jacket and is readying my Mossberg. Soon as we hit 197th Street, our Uzi’s began to bust in the dusk of the evening. Down three blocks, bullets riddle the air and people walking by.
As we make it toward Ganza’s restaurant, all three of our Chargers surround the place, blocking every exit. With me and Trini right in the front. Just to fuck with these Italians, my Charger stops right at the restaurant window. Bullets crash through from inside the restaurant and thump against the car’s bulletproof window ceil.
“Papi, they gunnin’ for us,” Trinidad says.
I nod slowly. At the sound of Chuey and Sean breaking through the alley entrance, and Nelly, Nacho and Ayo on the West side entrance, we open the doors, crouch down and start shooting back through the window.
The spot is active. Me and Trini mash forward toward the front of the brick building. My Glock empties. I grab another clip from my jean pocket as Trinidad leans over and kisses me.
“Damn, mommi,” I lick the taste of her lips off my mouth. Okay, so killing gets a nigga’s dick hard. Rocky doesn’t have to know. Now, back to the situation at hand, I bust off a few more rounds. When the fireworks aren’t so active, I grab my Mossberg shotgun and step into the front door, Timberlands crunching on glass. A gang of dead or dying Italians are laying on the ground. Some spitting up blood, others trying to crawl away, and still others are dead to the world. I lit one up slithering right before me. The slug tears a hole into the back of dude’s head, while buckshots sprayed across his back. The goon stopped moving, permanently.
“Where’s Ganza?” I ask, looking around the restaurant. My cell phone buzzes. I snatch it out and look at the text messages. Five of them for all of Sal’s trap houses being set ablaze. None of my goons identified Salvatore before his spots blew up. There are a few fat ass, old school Italians laid out on the floor with guns in their hands. At most tables are families, young and old, some sprawled on the tables of food. A few little ass kids, but it’s on them for their parents taking them to a known drug dealers restaurant. My jaw tenses. None of those fat fucks is Salvatore.
“That muthafucka ain’t even here,” Ayo sighs.
I stop right before one dude, so bold as to start to take out his gun. His stomach is half blown away; blood drenched all over his white button up and suit.
“Fuck you!” he shouts, starting to cock back the trigger.
“Fuck me, mi amigo?” I ask, allowing his shaky hand to come up. Before he can target me, I grab his arm and break it at two spots. The Italian’s elbow juts out of his suit jacket as he screams loudly. Patiently I wait for him to stop crying since he’s the sole survivor. “Okay, mi amigo, you good, you good? I’ma need you to
stop bitching up. Where the fuck is Ganza?”
“Fu–”
I grab his fat cheeks and press my boot into his chest wound. “The fuck? I thought we was good for a second when you stopped crying. Now, where is Ganza?”
He spits blood into my face.
With the Mossberg pointed at ol’ boy’s kneecap, I wipe my face with the back of my hand. My crew stands around. Trinidad kicks him in the gut, “Nasty muthafucka!” she shouts.
“Stupid cunt,” he says weakly. I pump the Mossberg.
“Okay… okay!” he shouts.
“Where Sal Ganza?” I ask again.
His eyes begin to close, his face pales from loss of blood.
My phone begins to ring. It’s the tone that only Pookie has. The cops are minutes away. Damn, it has been a while since we shot up the streets while coming through. So I know my team that set fire to all of Sal’s trap houses got the northside so active that it has taken a while for the po-po to even head toward here. I bust slugs into both of dude’s kneecaps and we out.
Chapter 36
TRINIDAD
In my living room, Lorenzo, Chuey, Ayo and I chop it up about how we gon’ finish off the rest of them damn mafia bitches while they’re guard is down. He has people looking high and low for Salvatore Ganza.
“All those muthafuckas trap houses on the north side have caught the heat, wherever dude is, he’s shitting bricks,” I say. Now, I am so in love with how my cartel thug has been beasting. When Lorenzo is on, that nigga is on.
He looks at me hard and says, “Nah, fuck that. I ain’t cool with just letting ol’ boy crawl somewhere and I hide. And how the fuck I look letting Sal go out by some muthafucking smoke inhalation or some other speculation. Pookie has been laying low with the search for Sal while the entire precinct is looking for somebody to point the finger. He can’t even confirm if one of those burnt bodies at the trap houses are Sal. There were little ass kids at Ganza’s restaurant so the DA is on one.”
I rub the back of my neck, and say, “Man, we need to fucking find Sal.”
Ayo nods, “Not finding dude ain’t even a muthafuckin' option, Lorenzo. Every eye is on the street, and we got ears around each corner. Sal dead, he already know.”
“Santiago is happy as hell,” Chuey adds.
“Our peoples just crossed that Italian line and are already setting up shop. We just need to smoke out Sal,” Lorenzo replies, rubbing his hands.
“You got this,” I say. I want to rub my nigga’s back. He’s so heated right now so fucking untouchable.
Ayo stands, “Man, I’ma prolly go read that blog about the latest shit. Get some literary entertainment in then head back to Miami.”
The dudes stand up and start for the door.
As Chuey and Ayo step outside, to stop Lorenzo from leaving I ask, “Lorenzo, I got a question.”
“Speak,” he says, sounding brand new.
“Bae, it’s cold as ice out there, close the door,” I say in a sexy voice.
This nigga acts as if he’s on the run. He does as I requested, then stands there with his hands in his pockets. Why is Lorenzo even tryna front? I keep my eyes from narrowing. The other day when Rockwell stopped by his house, I had enough respect to just step off. But I knew after we hit up the Ganza’s and them last night, Lorenzo was tryna avoid me. This nigga went off with another bitch. And I know he likes to fuck hard after a kill.
“Trini, you got shit to do. No rest until we find Sal,” he says.
“Yeah, but you’re horny, Lorenzo.” I lick my lips, pussy already tingling. “You always wanna fuck after we make a come up. We went through hard. Did I handle mine, papi?”
“You know it, Trinidad.” This nigga rubs his eyes like he’s tired.
“So you really into that girl again. Got a bitch that will hold you down. Die for you! Murk on any of these niggas and don't care what you do all day as long as you come home to me! Nigga I love you! But you–”
He gives me that look so I shut up. My heart is breaking. I fucking stopped chopping up pussy! This is my first dick right here, and I’m lost to it! In the past, I’ve been able to keep cool. This muthafucka has me saying the ‘L’ word. Big Kesha never heard that creep out of my mouth. Now I’m going crazy. I chuckle, remembering how I was forced to ‘help out’ my momma’s boyfriends when she didn’t feel like it. Hated dick all my life. But this nigga right here. Dark caramel. Eleven inches of fun, veins woven all throughout that big dope dick. I’ma die without it.
Lorenzo looks at me crazy. He just doesn’t understand. I try to play off the craziness by turning this into a sexy game. I touch his cheek. “You tired? You wanna go home? Okay boo, get past me.” Then I plant myself in front of the door and lean back.
He chuckles, feeling comfortable again. “You think you bad, mommi?”
I step away from the door and caress his cheek. “I'm ya bad bitch. No hesitation. Can't nobody touch this. I belong to you, Lorenzo.”
Yes. My dude loves when I tell him that.
“You Papi’s bad bitch, huh?” Lorenzo asks, picking me up.
“What you want, you got,” I assure while he brings me into my bedroom and puts me down near the foot of the bed. While I start to unbutton my jeans, Lorenzo tears the wife beater from my chest. No bra on, my nipples are hard, waiting for his touch.
“Nigga, where you wanna put the dick?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed and unbuckling his pants.
“You want it, Lorenzo,” I ask, flipping over as he takes his boxers off. I toot my ass in the air, and open my cheeks wide. Damn, I’ma be shitting all kindsa crazy tomorrow, but for now, I moan as his big dick goes into my pussy, getting all wet. Then the pipe comes out and slams into my asshole. He grips my ponytail and I bounce back on his dick, my cheeks clapping against him. CLAP. CLAP. CLAP
Chapter 37
ROCKWELL
Never in my life did I think I'd wake up wanting to kill a bitch. I mean just wrapping my fingers around Trinidad’s scrawny neck is all that I want to do. This psychotic bitch has been texting me thot memes from Facebook about nigga’s needing a bunch of love. I’m tempted to send her funky ass a T D Jakes or Joel Osteen meme about bitches needing to love themselves.
I open up shop and Paula steps inside with her college backpack looking like I shoulda brought coffee as usual. Her mouth is open to talk shit about the missed caffeine fix, till she sees my eyelid twitching.
“Damn boss lady, good morning to you,” Paula says, dropping her Louis V backpack under the cash register counter. “Dang… The silent treatment? I had something to tell you!”
I smirk. “It's too early for gossip.”
“Uhn-uhn boo boo, lemme tell you, last night one of ya friends came in and bought the whole intimates section. I mean she bought all the damn lingerie. Dropped almost 20 Gs!”
“Who?” My frown is still on point. I could give a fuck if one bitch spent as much as we make in a day.
Paula snaps her fingers. “Uh that Zoe Saldana looking chick... Trinidad.”
My face is blank. “She said we was cool?”
“Yeah....” The word slowly rolls past Paula’s thick lips as she realizes that Trinidad and I ain’t good.
I'm so angry I can't even speak. For an hour we don’t even speak, but get to work. While we’re changing manikins for the winter fur coat spritzer I get a FaceTime call from guess the fuck who?
“Hey Trick.” She smiles into the phone.
“Bitch I told you to stop fucking texting me! Now you’re calling?”
“Shhh,” Trini whispers. “Our nigga is asleep.” She holds the FaceTime camera away to show me one of my outfits. “Just called to thank you. Girl you got that fashion on point.”
Now here I am looking like boo boo the fool over Lorenzo.
Trinidad smirks then shows me Lorenzo sleep in her bed. Nigga is all kindsa comfortable with his big arms and legs all stretched out. Then she hangs up and texts a picture of him in her bed–saying, just so I had something to
keep. I consider forwarding the picture to his phone, but nah. Let him wait. Lorenzo can wonder why I haven't come around. He can pull that stunt and come to my home. This time I will scream for Raphael. I'll tell my husband that this thug has come into our house to rape me–a stranger, mind you–and steal from us! I won't know Mr. Medina. I'm cool on dude.
And don’t let Tamara or the rest of the Sica family be over there too. Yeah, that's what I’ma do if that no good cheating bastard comes around. He only had one hoe not to mess with. Just one. My eyelid continues to twitch, as I text back to Trinidad. Smiley face. Nothing else. See I could tell the trick at least a man wants me. The rock on my finger is heavy as fuck. Actually, I take a picture of my ring finger and send it with the simple words 7 carats. That is all…
CRUNCH.
~~~
“Aye Kid.” Those words stop me in my tracks. Been a hot minute since Lorenzo called me Kid. I’m in the parking lot of the mall, getting ready to go home. All day yesterday, by the grace of God and because of a new design label being introduced to my store, I kept this nigga from my mind. Now, I turn around in my Manolo’s and put my hands in my jeans. Rolling my eyes, I ask, “Nigga what?”
Damn, try not to take in Lorenzo’s biceps dripping in tats as he stands there in a black button up, and jeans. The diamonds in his ears are blinding–and remind me that this grimy muthafucka is hustling some type of way. I try not to eye him up as Lorenzo steps up to me saying, “So you ain't returning a nigga’s calls?”
“Bye Lorenzo.” I wave him off, my ass strutting away quickly. Fuck piercing dark eyes, and lips that know just how to work my body.
“C'mon, I miss you.” He keeps stride with me as we walk through the outdoor mall.
“Go mess with one of ya hoes. See nigga, now this is getting old. That used to be my line when we were teens, Renz. I'm done.” Two rows away from my Porsche, I stop, and wave him away. “POOF… Be gone!”
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug Page 14