Chapter 59
LORENZO
Hands tied above my head, I awake in the attic of Ganza’s mansion as I hang from the ceiling. Nobody is around so I start twisting at the ties. The rope is extra thick, but the knots are sloppy. The door starts to open as I feel the knots loosen. So my arms strain as I hold myself up instead of jumping down from the rope.
“You a tough moulinyan,” this Italian dude in a shiny gray suit says. “Ape looking motherfucker. I would kill you, but I’m waiting for Sal to get done fucking ya bitch so we all can see you die!”
“A’ight.” Lorenzo smiles at him.
The Italian takes out his brace knuckles, “But before we all watch you die, I’ma beat the black off of ya.”
He steps forward. I jump down. As his knuckles connect with my ribs, I grab the muthafucka’s left arm and break it. Man, I can’t even feel the pain, but the hit to my said got my lungs flattening quickly. I quickly get this dude into a headlock.
Ol’ boy begin to chock, and with bicep, I hold this muthafucka until his body goes limp.
Wiping the blood from my eyes leaking from my forehead, I tip toe around all the old furniture. Then I open the door slowly. There ain’t nobody else up here. I go back to the dead muthafucka. Digging in his pocket, while keeping an eye on the hallway, I grab his burner and his phone.
I dial Chuey.
“Who this?”
I whisper, while taking the safety off the Glock. “Aye, Chu–”
“Been calling you, my nigga. Where you at?”
“Sal’s. They got Rockwell somewhere in the house.”
“Damn.”
“Come through with the crew.”
“Say no more.”
Chapter 60
ROCKWELL
Soon as there were shots fired, Raphael disappeared. Bullets flew through the window, and we all jumped up. I had hidden in this old expensive wood carved China cabinet. It was dark and every time a gun went off, my entire body jumped. Which was literally every second, that I had trouble whispering Psalms 23 … “though I walk through the valley of…” I kept saying the verses and slowly the hard sounds of the gun went away.
After what seems like forever, I move shaky hands from my mouth. And then I push at the cabinet door, but it won't open. Did somebody lock me in?
I push and I push and the door gives a little more until I can slowly crawl out of the open space and onto the marble dining room floor. Looking into the dead eyes of Vido, I almost scream. He must have been leaning against the cabinet I hid in. His chest is all bloody and riddled with bullets. One of Lorenzo's crew is right next to him so this was a bad show down.
My breast damn near flop out as I quickly crawl away, finding it difficult in this long evening ball gown. I grab onto the back of the heavy wooden chair at the dining table. My legs are jello with fear and when I see Salvatore slumped on the table before I let out a little sob. There’s a hole clean through his forehead, and his blood along with the upturned bowl of soup is spilled onto the lace tablecloth. At the sound of footsteps, I duck back behind the big dining table not before I see Lorenzo moving by with a gun in hand!
Have I gone crazy? “Bae... Bae!” I'm so scared I scream his name again, but there are more footsteps and a few echoed gunshots from somewhere in this big house. Then Raphael comes into the room and it's too late to sneak back again.
His green eyes are dark and stormy. “So they didn't kill you.” There are no wounds on him, so I guess, my cowardly husband had been creeping around too. Shit, he probably hid just like I had. Because the trick he is, Raphael would have been shot if Lorenzo or his crew saw him.
He comes around the table. I scratch his cheek. Raphael laughs while grabbing my hair, yanking me up.
“Stop! Raphael stop!” I scream at the pain of my roots being pulled.
“You stupid, lucky bitch. Your luck has run out!”
Lorenzo comes into the door, gun ready, but Raphael uses me as a shielded. “Tsk, tsk! You must really like my wife or something.”
He grabs the gun from Sal's cold, dead fingers and puts the cool metal to my forehead. Sal’s blood dribbles down my forehead, into my left eye and cheek as I squirm and silently cry.
“This little cunt belongs to me.” Raphael starts around the table again as Lorenzo silently watches him. “Just let me get by with my wife. Surely, you don’t want this bitch back. And if you do, there’s a slug in here for her.”
“You always been a scary ass muthafucka. Put the gun down and fight.” Lorenzo says dropping his gun.
“Nope. I know my limitations, you fucking ape!” Raphael cocks back the hammer and I close my eyes as he backs up with me. Clearly, he’s too afraid to pass by Lorenzo and out the door. “Stop!”
Lorenzo keeps stepping toward him, unarmed and finally Raphael takes the gun from my head and points it at Lorenzo.
“No!” I scream. Lorenzo pushes me to the side at the same time as he slaps the gun from Raphael’s hand. The gun goes off!
My heart stops, but Lorenzo is already beating on Raphael. He lifts Raphael up by the neck, chocking and punching him with one hand.
“Renz? Kill him!” I shout. I'm scared and want this to all be over.
Lorenzo looks at me for a second and Raphael plants one to his face, so hard Raphael seems to fall with it. Lorenzo climbs on top of him and punches him more. I'm feeling useless so I grab the gun and I aim for Raphael’s head. Even though I had taken shooting lessons with my dude. Hit those targets spot on, but I’m too scared to pull the trigger. Wanting Raphael to be dead so badly, I steady my sight as Lorenzo lifts him up and punched him more. Then Lorenzo slams his skull down as I pull the trigger and the bullet goes straight into Lorenzo's rib.
“Bae!” I scream as Lorenzo keeps bashing Raphael’s head into the marble. “Bae, I shot you...”
There's blood all over Lorenzo's shirt. Sprinkles of skull and Raphael’s blood but right along his side it starts to drench with his own blood where the bullet went into his side.
“Rocky? Cuzzo?” Chuey peeps in with a Tek 9.
“I shot him.”
“Good!” Chuey says.
“No, I shot Lorenzo.”
We both watch as my man continues to bash the back of Raphael’s skull in until it starts to flatten out. The smacking of bone against marble makes my stomach queasy. Lorenzo doesn't say shit when he finally lets go of Raphael’s neck. He just stares down at the blood on his hands and Raphael’s disfigured face.
“I shot him.” I tell Chuey again, hands trembling as he helps me up.
“He a’ight.” Chuey hugs me tightly. “You shaking, girl.”
“Bae, you okay?” I let go of Chuey and go to Lorenzo.
“Nah, ma.” Lorenzo gets up, slowly grimacing as he holds his wound. “I want to kill this muthafucka one more 'gin.”
Chapter 61
RITA
My nephews, Sean and Chuey, come straight into the house with Lorenzo and Rockwell. My sweet little Rocky looks worse for wear in a sheer gown, with blood on it. I gasp until I notice it’s from her having an arm around Lorenzo.
“Where's Junior?” Chuey asks.
“Nelly and them just brought him by,” Toi speaks, getting up from the couch.
I'm pissed. I could smell the gun smoke off Nelly and the guys, when they came by a while ago. Raphael junior had been crying. Nelly had looked down and told him to be strong. Like ya father.
I had known all along Lorenzo was Junior’s father. Guess I shoulda told Rockwell. I thought her being with Raphael would be safe. And it would be easier than telling her the truth about Lorenzo killing Thomas. My desire to be around my grandson started this mess. I should have just left them alone for good and maybe Rockwell wouldn’t have ever known… Now I know bad shit happened with those Italians and my familia. This just means a domino effect of even worse things. Like going back to Colombia...
I hop into action as Lorenzo lies in my bed and Chuey brings me the medicine bag that Roc
kwell told him was under my bathroom sink. Rocky rubs Lorenzo’s face, but he ain’t even feeling it. He’s still so angry.
Chuey looks me in the eye. I look away from Santiago’ son. He was always the smart intellectual one, even as a nino. These days it's sympathy behind my nephew’s features. No matter how much I love him. I hate his bloodline because he's Santiago's oldest... Santiago Louis Mendoza Medina Junior, aka Chuey. Even if he ain’t like his daddy, I hate the little nigga. And I hate my little brother, Santi, with every inch of my heart.
Sighing, I get to work with Rockwell's help.
“Momma Rita. I did this. I accidentally shot Renz,” she sobs.
“Be strong, Rocky,” I tell her.
She nods and pours alcohol on Lorenzo's abdomen.
“It’s okay, ma,” Lorenzo tells her, grimacing to the pain. “You ain’t the first person that shot me, won’t be the last.”
After we bandage him up we step out the room and Chuey and Sean are already packing up my children's luggage and taking them outside. As the door keeps opening for them to come in and out, I notice two cream colored Escalades in front of my house.
“Tia,” Sean says, “pack your things.”
I look at Santiago’s youngest son. He was always the sweetest, naive one. Unlike Chuey, it takes long for things to sink in.
“Nope. I'm not going.” I shake my head. Over twenty years ago I made up a storm. It was the best thing to do, under the circumstance. This “made up” tragedy usually stopped the questions from people because nobody wants to chat about something as tragic as a hurricane taking away everything you own. Or people would get curious like Rockwell, people that truly care and want to know. Either way, this story has kept me from my beloved home. My parent’s resting site. My devil of a younger brother. Shoulda lasted a lifetime and I'm hell bent on keeping it that way.
Chuey gives me that look again; a mixture of pleading and apologizing for the past. “C'mon Tia, mi amor, please.”
“You have to go,” Rockwell says. “Until they fix this mess with the Italians.”
I give her a skeptical look. Even she's too afraid to say until all these Italians are murdered.
“I don't have to go. My life, my job, everything is here.”
Chapter 62
Rockwell.
Soon as I told Rita I was still pregnant with twins, she changed her mind. Lorenzo picked me up and hugged me for so long, telling me just how much he loved me. He grimaced too the pain of holding my weight and didn’t even listen to Rita’s concern for his stitches to heal. Then Rita told me to come help her gather mementos. And I was happy I hadn’t aborted Lorenzo’s kids. I knew he loved family more than anything. So if we never made it, I would one day send him a photo of our adult twins just to rub it in, but I couldn’t murder them just as much as I couldn’t do Junior no harm.
While she packed, I can still remember her words. ‘Look around you,’ she had said while putting her family Bible on the top of her luggage and zipping it up. ‘Anybody that is not in this house– besides Blu– should not be trusted.’
I had nodded. Now, I’m looking out the window, as we head to get my mom and then Blu before going to the airport to leave for Miami.
I'm getting out the car, trying to get the words to say to my mom. I want Mommy to come too but I can't shake the feeling of fear. And it ain't the fear I have of my mom hating my love for Lorenzo. Something tells me Colombia won't be the safe place we are all looking for.
I knock on the door and look back. Lorenza and Junior are sitting in the back. Chuey is in the driver seat and Rita stares at me as if she wants the warning she gave me to sink in. My man gives me a reassuring look though I had asked him to stay in the car.
The door opens a tad, and Mommy glares at me. “So, I see you with that nigga still.”
“Mommy–”
“You're so stupid, his little cum bucket.”
“Mommy, listen to me.” Tears sting my eyes. “Raphael tried to kill me.”
“After what you did to break up a happy home? I would too.”
“You know, it never was happy. Raphael was on drugs. He tried–”
“Lorenzo sells drugs, you stupid bitch. Gon’ with him, straight to hell if that’s what you want!”
“But Raphael was going to have me killed and get the insurance money. He was going to take Junior. I know Raphael wouldn’t have cared about you seeing your own grandson!”
“Lies!” She shakes her head. “Ya father is rolling over in his grave right now.”
“Jesus please,” I shake my head wondering how God will allow this woman who claims to be so God fearing to stoop so low.
“You're fucking dead to me, you stupid whore. Repent to God, then maybe I can forgive you.”
“Forgive me!”
The door slams in my face. Lorenzo is out the car and starting up the steps. The look in his eyes tells me my mommy is coming with us no matter what–if that is what I want. But I shake my head. “No, just leave her.”
“Rocky, I know you. You gon’ be worried about her till them Sica and Ganzas are dead. We can just make her come, and you can talk some sense into her later.”
“No.” I rub the tears from my eyes. She won’t accept my babies from Lorenzo, that’s a given. She barely accepted Junior, and if she knew Raphael Junior was Lorenzo’s child… man, I don’t even know. I hold my arms around my still flat abdomen, thanking God that I stayed safe.
“A’ight, bae. I love you.” Lorenzo kisses my forehead and then crouches down, pulls up my shirt to plant two kisses to my belly. My eyes mist with happy tears. Now he’s said it so many times today, but I love these words that he professes. Could he ever say ‘I love you’ too much? Never.
I try to rid myself of mommy’s words as we head to Loveland Rehab, and maybe even Rita’s. It all just makes me uncomfortable. Soon as I get there, Popeye’s Malibu is out front. Rita gets out and hugs Phillip, who is just awaking in the car. Me and Popeye step into the rehab.
“Hi, Phillip Tatum and Rocky to see Blu Medina Tatum,” Popeye says, pulling out his wallet.
“Rockwell Bell,” I murmur my last name as they ask to see my ID too. Then the receptionist says, “Just a sec.” She gets up and walks away.
Popeye and I look at each other and shrug. The head Director comes out. “Hello Mr. Tatum, Mrs. Bell...”
Bell. Damn, I hate my name!
“Well, unfortunately Miss Tatum chose not to finish the program.”
“What the fuck man,” Lorenzo is behind us as he steps in and the sliding glass doors zip closed.
“Chill,” I comfort and rub his back, knowing he is going to start.
“I don't think so.” I began. “Blu–”
The doctor is no longer looking at me, but at Lorenzo since this is a confidential placement. “And you are?” The doctor looks at Lorenzo.
“Lorenzo Medina. I'm paying for this overpriced bullshit. And she–”
“I'm sorry sir, but you're going to have to leave before anything escalates.” The Director looks ready to flee.
“I can't fucking believe this shit!” Lorenzo sounds like a strict father as he starts back out.
I hurry after him then look to Popeye. He looks so hurt. “Nah, she didn't leave. I know it, Popeye.”
“It's a’ight, Rocky.” Popeye follows. “Blu told me not to expect much.”
“Fuck you mean she didn’t leave Rockwell?” Lorenzo opens the door to the Escalade extra rough. “ Don't expect shit from no crackheads.”
“Renz, something is wrong.” I try to reason with him. I know he’s worried about Blu being somewhere on the streets an easy target for the Ganza mafia. “Bae…Popeye, both of y’all, listen!” I begin as Popeye starts to get in his own car.
Popeye is trying to look low-key hurt, but I know that nigga is in the same pain he was when they broke apart.
After they both give me their attention, I speak, “Blu said it was death or making it! She called me and said she wasn't g
on’ do no drugs. Okay! She said she'd slit her wrist before it!”
“Man Rockwell, you just wanna believe shit. Chill with that tho’.” Lorenzo closes the door. “That girl had gamed me up, telling me how she wanted to change on her way over. Rocky, she just played us.”
“Rocky,” Popeye starts, sitting in his car. “I wanna believe Blu would be strong and keep pushing on. You always got a positive outlook and shit. So as you say, if she ain't here then where?”
I stand there with tears in my eyes as he shrugs. Blu is my sister! But I can’t answer that question. And I know Lorenzo hurting because he can’t keep her safe. Popeye either. I get in the back seat and we again get on the road.
Final stop the airport.
Chapter 63
Blu
My cheek is hot and throbbing. I notice the redness and puffiness just looking down from around my eyes. Even though the dirty curtains are pulled closed, there’s enough sunlight streaming through the holes to see that I’m in a seedy ass motel. Water stains are on the ceiling and roaches crawl freely on the walls.
Flashbacks from being at Loveland rehab haunt me. I had been asleep on the second night–guess I really never made it past two muthafuckin’ days still–when something hard and cool went to my forehead. A Jamaican voice cut through the dark night and told me not to make a peep as he held a sawed off shotgun to my head. He snuck me out of the rehab, with nobody knowing.
The same very voice asks, “You afraid, gyal?”
And I look up from my restraints in the wooden chair I’m tied to. He had said his name was Keandre after picking me up and taking me out of Loveland at gunpoint! He is dark as night, with long, thin, neat dreads, and a bunch of gruff on his face.
“Let me go,” I plead.
“My boy from my village, Kwamie–you know ‘em as Black or Nacho is dead. Me otha friend, Kwamie’s baby brah, he come to Hoover few months ago to work with Nacho/Black. Kwamie and his lil’ brah, they like brah’s to me! Now they both dead.”
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug Page 21