Cartier Cartel, Part 3

by Nisa Santiago

  Quinn greeted her brother at the front door, giving him a loving hug and kiss. He walked into the home and saw Cartier seated on the couch smoking a blunt.

  Cartier looked up at Hector and didn’t say a word.

  He walked over and said, “I heard what went down. My condolences. But best believe I’m gonna have my peoples all over this shit.”

  “Don’t!”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cuz I don’t need ya help, Hector. This is my problem.”

  “You bein’ stubborn, Cartier. I can have my peoples all over this city lookin’ fo’ the people that did this shit.”

  Cartier stood up and glared at Hector. “Stay out my business, Hector. This doesn’t concern you.” Then she stormed off into one of the bedrooms and slammed the door behind her.

  “¿Qué demonios es su problema?” Hector exclaimed, asking his sister in Spanish, “What the fuck is her problem?”

  “Rough day for all of us,” Quinn replied.

  “Yeah? Well, when she feels like my help, call me. Anyway, you be careful out here. I just got word that Rico an’ his crew was killed last night.”

  “Damn!”

  “Yeah, five of ’em executed. Some say they got that nigga for a couple million and some heroin. Some say they got that nigga for a hundred large an’ some ki’s. Word is they got a lynching squad chasin’ whoever is responsible.”

  Quinn pretended to be shocked by the news. She took a seat on the couch. “Ay, that’s fucked up.”

  “It is. But you keep close. Any problems, you let me know, sis.”

  “Will do.”

  Hector hugged Quinn and walked out the place, leaving her with the feeling that she’d gotten away with murder. She went toward the window to watch him leave.

  When he was gone, she went charging into the bedroom where Cartier had disappeared to. “Cartier, what the fuck is wrong wit’ you? My brother is tryin’ to help you. He really cares about you.”

  “I don’t need his help,” she spat.

  “But you need my help though.”

  Cartier glared at her friend. “I can do this without you, too.”

  “No, you fuckin’ can’t.” Quinn then softened her tone. “Look, I know this shit is fucked up, but we gonna find her. And we gonna get this money up fo’ this ransom. And we gonna kill every last muthafucka that was behind this.”

  ***

  Cartier stared at her moms lying almost lifeless in the bed. The pain of seeing such a strong woman now looking so frail was excruciating. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stood over Trina’s bed. The humming of the machines that kept her mother alive resonated throughout the room.

  Trina might as well have been dead, though, because the doctors had stated that she was irreversibly brain dead. Her body lay rigid, her eyes remained shut, and her soul was gone. Connected to a ventilator and several tubes, including one for feeding and another for breathing, Trina looked like something out of The Matrix. And even though she was getting the best care at Jackson Memorial Hospital as they fought to keep her breathing and stable, they couldn’t perform miracles. The inevitable had to happen — Cartier would have to pull the plug on her mother.

  The scene was reminiscent of Monya. Back then, when Monya was in a coma, brain dead after being shot in her head, Cartier was in denial. She felt that Monya would make a miraculous recovery and rejoin the Cartel members. Each day that Monya lingered, clinging onto life, took an unhealthy toll on everyone; especially her mother, Janet. Cartier felt that Janet never fully recovered from her daughter’s early demise. And rightfully so. No parent should ever have to bury their child.

  Trina had died in that apartment, though. This was nothing but a shell of the mother she loved. Trina had fought, but the battle was lost. The damage to her body and to her skull was too extensive.

  Cartier had already signed the papers, giving the doctors permission to pull the plug and end the agony. And she had already made the funeral arrangements for her family. Trina had the right to join her daughters in heaven, so it was only right to bury her mother along with her two sisters.

  Tears continued to trickle down Cartier’s grief-stricken face. She let loose a heavy sigh. She felt her breakdown coming near. Her daughter was missing, and her family was dead — it felt like hell on earth.

  Cartier bent down and planted a kiss on her mother’s pasty cheek as memories of better times came rushing back.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Timmons,” the doctor said to her in a sad tone.

  “Sorry? Fuck sorry! The people responsible behind this will be sorry a’ight,” she said, staring at her mother.

  The doctor looked confused by Cartier’s statement. He started to jot down a few notes on his clipboard and then said to Cartier, “I know this is hard for you. And I recommend getting some emotional support for yourself after making this difficult decision. I suggest you talk with a professional counselor, a member of clergy, or even a good friend to get those feelings out in the open and begin to deal with them.”

  But Cartier wasn’t listening to the doctor. His advice went in one ear and out the next. Her mind was far away, in a dangerous place. She didn’t give a fuck about emotional support. She wanted revenge and her daughter back. She fixed her eyes on her mother and sadly uttered the words, “I love you.”

  “You’re making the right decision,” the doctor added.

  “Just do the shit,” Cartier spat. “Put her in a better place than here.” She spun on her heels and left out the doorway.

  Waiting outside the hospital in the Range Rover was Li’l Mama. Cartier dried her umpteenth tear for her mother before she climbed into the passenger seat with a hard expression.

  Li’l Mama already knew the state she was in. She took a pull from the Newport and then flicked it out the window. She then looked at Cartier and said, “I know that was hard for you. She was a mother to me, too.”

  “I’ma fuckin’ kill ’em all, Li’l Mama. I swear, I’ma rip whoever’s behind this apart wit’ my bare fuckin’ hands.” Cartier stared aimlessly at the windshield, distraught beyond belief. She didn’t even bother to turn to look at her friend while she spoke. Her mind was plagued with so many horrors.

  “And I’m right here wit’ you, Cartier. I’m here. Let’s fuckin’ do this,” Li’l Mama replied. “What now, though?”

  “Shopping.”

  Li’l Mama looked puzzled. “Shopping?”

  “Just drive. I got a plan.”

  Li’l Mama started the car and made her way out the parking spot, headed toward the nearest shopping district.

  Cartier lit a blunt and glanced at her cell phone, which hadn’t rung for a minute. As the deadline approached, she became even more nervous. But Cartier refused to become some patsy. It was time to hunt and kill.

  ***

  Fearing her phone might be tapped, Cartier went into a MetroPCS store and purchased a few throwaway phones. She couldn’t chance talking on her own phone. The only time it would be used was if the kidnappers called.

  Their next stop was to a car rental service. The ladies needed something a little more inconspicuous; the Range Rover had suddenly become too showy. Cartier sent Li’l Mama into the Hertz car rental near the airport because she didn’t want her name on anything.

  Cartier sat behind the steering wheel of the Range Rover and waited patiently for Li’l Mama to leave the lot with the rental car. She smoked a cigarette, her mind flooded with memories of her family, and thinking about her daughter.

  Who to trust and who not to? she asked herself. If Cartier knew one thing as fact, it would be that this was a revenge murder/kidnapping. It had to be someone from her past. But who? And why? Perhaps even why now?

  She knew her enemies were deadly, but what scared her most — she didn’t know who the enemy was. An unseen foe was horrifying. And these people meant serious business. It could have been someone in her own camp or a disgruntled ally from her past.

  Li’l Mama came rolling out the rental l
ot honking the horn of a clean black Dodge Avenger. Cartier started the ignition to the truck and followed Li’l Mama until they were far away from the rental place. The two then pulled over to the side of the road to talk.

  Cartier stepped out of the truck and walked over to the Avenger. “Two things I need for you to do,” she said. “One, get us a hotel room, someplace quiet and discreet.” She no longer felt safe at Quinn’s place.

  Li’l Mama nodded.

  “And two, I need you to contact Head for me. I need his resources on this one. See if he can look into who’s the mastermind on this.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Cartier stepped away from the car but suddenly returned with an afterthought. “Oh, and contact Janet for me. She needs to know.”

  “It’s gonna hit her hard,” Li’l Mama replied sadly.

  Cartier sighed. “I know.”

  It was something the girls had forgotten to do. Janet was like a mother to them. And it pained the two Brooklyn girls that someone had to deliver the heart-wrenching news to such a close friend.

  Cartier climbed back into the Range Rover, and the two went their separate ways. Cartier left Quinn out of the plan, just in case. She was still a new piece to an intricate puzzle, and Cartier was paranoid and didn’t know who to trust.

  Chapter 10

  New York

  “Ooooh, fuck me, daddy! Fuck me!” Janet howled, feeling the young thug’s big dick cram into her juicy pink folds while she fucked him in the cowgirl position.

  She kneeled astride him and leaned forward on her arms, her hands pressed against his hairless chest, while he lay back, giving her control.

  Electricity shot through Janet’s body. Her pussy began to throb and pulse, getting wetter with each stroke. His dick was magnetic. Without saying a word, she lowered her breast into his waiting mouth. He rose up a little while still thrusting vigorous strokes into her and started sucking on her fleshy breast as his hands began to caress her curves.

  “Mmmm, that feels so nice,” she cooed, bouncing on top of him. “Don’t stop. Oh, yeah, feel my tits. Lick them melons, baby.”

  Janet leaned deeper into her lover’s grasp, folding her body across him. Their lips gently parted and their tongues found each other. They kissed passionately. He cupped her ass as she continued to ride him. The fullness of that steel-hard dick inside of her was a sensory overload, and her legs started quivering.

  She took a deep breath and howled out, “I’m fuckin’ coming!” There was moaning, groaning, chanting, and cursing. Janet slid her body against him, his big, black dick ramming every square inch of her pussy. It was absolute pleasure.

  “I’m comin’,” she reiterated loudly.

  Janet froze momentarily. Her G-spot had been hit numerous times. And then it happened — her pussy started flowing freely as she humped against him. She gripped the bed sheets tightly and held on for dear life, her breathing sparse and her body becoming numb. Spent, she collapsed across his chest. He had given her an earth-shattering orgasm.

  “So good,” she muttered to him.

  The two lay motionless for a jiffy, savoring the intense feeling. Janet closed her eyes. She enjoyed the comfort of being nestled against a strong man; his arms wrapped around her, their naked black skin entwined. She could feel his heart thrashing inside his chest. He was sweaty. She was sweaty. The bedroom had heated up a few degrees.

  “I need to open up a damn window.” She pulled herself off of him and went to the window.

  The young man gazed at her ass. For her age, she still had it going on from head to toe.

  Janet lifted the window open and removed a cigarette from her dwindling pack. She lit up, took a deep pull, and exhaled. “That was nice,” she said, looking out the window.

  “It was,” he replied.

  Janet appeared detached for a moment, releasing a heavy sigh, her eyes fixed on the cars moving through the street below her bedroom window. Then her eyes shifted toward the young teenage girls lingering in front of the corner bodega with their hustler boyfriends. There was a time when she was that bitch in the hood, boosting, doing stickups, and fucking niggas for paper. She and Trina had run with the best of them, the alpha dogs in Brooklyn who got money and made a name for themselves in the streets.

  The ringing phone brought her back to reality. She reached for it. “Hello.”

  “Janet!”

  Hearing Li’l Mama’s voice put a smile on Janet’s face. She missed the young, sassy bitch. She knew Li’l Mama was in Miami visiting Cartier. “Li’l Mama, how’s Miami?”

  “I got sad news to tell you.”

  “What the fuck happened now?”

  There was a brief pause, but Li’l Mama was never one to beat around the bush. “Trina’s dead.”

  The unexpected solemn news made Janet gasp. “What?”

  “There’s no easy way to tell you this, but Prada and Fendi are dead too.” Li’l Mama took a deep breath. “It’s really bad down here, Janet.”

  “Ohmygod! What the fuck happened? Where’s Cartier?”

  “She ain’t doin’ too good.”

  “Who the fuck did this?” Janet shouted. “What the fuck is goin’ on down there in Miami?”

  “I don’t know. The day I arrived, it started to jump off. We don’t know who’s behind everything yet. And we don’t know who to turn to.”

  The news of Cartier’s family being murdered made Janet’s knees weak. She had to grab the wall to support herself.

  “Another thing, Janet,” Li’l Mama added, her voice cracking from having to break the news. “They kidnapped Christian, and they holdin’ her for ransom.”

  “Oh God!” Janet hollered. “I’m on my way down there on the next plane.”

  “Janet, you don’t have—”

  “Fuck that! I’m comin’.” Janet hung up.

  The young man in the bed was now seated upright and staring at Janet with concern. “You okay?” he asked.

  Janet spun with a hard glare aimed at him and screamed, “No, I’m not fuckin’ okay. You know what? Get the fuck out! Get the fuck out my house!” She started throwing his clothes at him, and then she threw the phone and a few other solid items in his direction. “Get the fuck outta here!”

  He sprung up from the bed and ducked for cover from the barrage of things being thrown his way. A lamp went flying at him like a 757, barely missing his head, smashing into the wall behind him.

  “What the fuck is wrong wit’ you, bitch!” he yelled.

  “Leave!”

  “You fuckin’ crazy bitch!” He hurriedly got dressed and stormed out of Janet’s apartment.

  Janet slammed the door behind him. The minute she was alone, the grief swept her up like a leaflet on a windy day. She was hysterical, and her eyes were flooded with tears. She shook uncontrollably, as she leaned naked against the apartment door. It was Monya and Shanine all over again. Visions of the night she got the call that her only child, Monya and Monya’s friend Shanine were both shot in the head came flooding back. Monya lingered in her coma for months, but Shanine was pronounced dead on the scene.

  Janet started to tear up her apartment, turning over furniture, breaking mirrors, and kicking holes in the wall. When she was finished, she found herself sprawled out across the bathroom floor, still butt naked, her place looking like a hurricane had touched down inside.

  ***

  Sing Sing State Prison

  Ossining, New York

  Clad in his dull gray prison attire, Head frowned as he held the phone to his ear listening to Li’l Mama. He turned his shocked expression away from the other inmates near him. They were chatting up a storm, and it was becoming hard for him to hear.

  “She know who the fuck is behind this?” he snarled into the phone.

  “We don’t know, Head.”

  “This is fucked up.” Head slammed his fist up against the concrete wall out of frustration. He wished his feet could touch ground in Miami to take some of the weight off Cartier. Although s
he had left him stranded to do his bid alone, his heart couldn’t shake her.

  “It is. Right now, we don’t know who to trust or who to turn to. This is why I’m reaching out to you.”

  “Hold on a second.” Head turned around and looked fiercely at the half-dozen inmates chatting and gossiping like bitches behind him. He yelled, “Y’all niggas, shut the fuck up!”

  The men suddenly quieted down to a hush. Head then gave his back to the men and continued with his conversation. No one dared to defy him, knowing about his violent pedigree. Head and Nut were urban legends, and the work they put in on the streets garnered respect. He was a thorough muthafucka with connections, power, and money.

  Head was hurting inside, though. His stone face tightened with anger. “Look, I’ma see what I can do for y’all. I’ma get in contact wit’ one of my dudes and holla at him, so we can get that money up and have him scout fo’ some info and shit.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You tell Cartier to keep her head up —” he paused, and then continued — “and that I still love and miss her.”

  “I will.”

  “Be careful, Li’l Mama. And I’ma get behind this shit.”

  The phone went dead. But Head didn’t walk away yet. He stood near the phone contemplating. From what Li’l Mama had told him, it was hard to know who to pinpoint for where the hit came from. He wondered if any of his enemies were behind the murders. He knew better than to politick with any inmates outside of his crew. There were too many snitches inside, too many big-mouth muthafuckas that talked too much. He kept to himself, mostly reading and going over his case, and the only outside phone calls he made was to his lawyer and a handful of loyal members from his crew.

  He needed to make another phone call. He made a collect call to a reliable soldier from his old hood. The man picked up, and Head instructed him to visit him soon.

  “A’ight, I’m there, my dude,” the soldier with the low, raspy voice said.