At Quinn’s home, Cartier was furious. Their take was disappointing — less than twenty thousand. “I don’t fuckin’ believe this shit!” Cartier shouted. For so many lives taken down tonight, it hardly seemed to be a fair exchange. She felt her little girl was as good as dead.
“Hector must have picked up the money earlier,” Quinn speculated, looking clueless for a moment.
“What fuckin’ now?” Li’l Mama asked.
Chapter 13
The police lights outside the meth lab in West Little Havana were dizzying and blinding. It seemed like every cop in Miami had flooded the area. Yellow crime scene tape looped the investigated area, and the looky-loos, held back only by the tape and uniformed officers, were out gazing at the tragic event.
The dark Dodge came to a stop at the flood of glaring lights. Detectives Sharp and Lam climbed out of the car in their dark suits and headed toward the madness with a cool, easy stride. Everywhere they turned, there was a cop or examiner around, and the media was just arriving at the scene to film some coverage of the bloodshed.
Sharp and Lam made their way toward the house of horror, where they met with their supervisor on the porch, Lieutenant March. He stared at both men grimly and shook his head. Clad in a Miami PD police vest, his holstered Glock 19 clinging to his hip, he said, “I hope y’all two have cast-iron stomachs. It’s like fuckin’ Baghdad in there.”
“That bad, huh?” Lam said.
“See for yourself.” Lieutenant March stepped aside and allowed Sharp and Lam to tread into the nightmare.
Once inside, they were met with scattered bodies in the living room.
“Ghost Ridas, I see.” Sharp was able to identify the dead men by their distinctive gang tattoos.
“Yeah, it looks that way,” Lam confirmed.
“Rival gang?” March asked.
“It’s likely. One of our informants stated they’re at war with the Miami Gotti Boys. This all has to be connected to Rico.” Detective Sharp assessed.
“Or just a robbery. Some down-on-your-luck goons looking for a quick come up.” Detective Lam wasn’t ruling anything out.
Next, they went into the kitchen to see the naked girls lying facedown on the floor. Sharp took in everything. He tried to absorb as much as he could. He felt his heart drop for the dead young women, who looked no older than nineteen or twenty.
“We have two more dead in the basement,” March said to them. “Whoever did this are fuckin’ monsters.”
Lam uttered, “Fuckin’ overkill.”
“No argument there,” Sharp replied.
Their eyes shifted everywhere in the home, and then they descended into the lower belly of the nightmare, where the detectives observed the two dead chemists, both shot point-blank in the head.
“Nice setup,” Lam said, gazing at the makeshift lab.
“So, what you think?” Lieutenant March asked his prized homicide detective.
Sharp looked around the cemented basement, which had good ventilation and was well lit. The equipment the chemists used was high-end, and the mixture of supplies definitely was coming in the truckloads. He continued to roam the house before he could speculate on what had happened.
A few minutes later, he said, “I don’t know. It was either an ambush, caught off guard situation. Or it could have been a push-in robbery/homicide. My best guess and from what the streets are saying, this has everything to do with MGB. Only a crew of that magnitude with a history of such violence could have pulled this off.”
“So is this about turf? Payback for Rico? Or just the old fashioned stick up?” March inquired, looking perplexed.
“Could be about all three,” Detective Sharp assessed. “In these drug wars, at the end of the day nothing ever really makes sense.”
“You think our other home invasion is definitely linked, huh?” Lam asked.
Sharp didn’t answer his partner. He stood in the center of the chaos, trying to read the crime scene. He had a knack for putting all the pieces together. He stood looking aloof for a moment. He was trained in observing the minor things, reading body language and having the dead speak to him.
“Something definitely triggered this kind of violence,” Sharp repeated. “We gotta trace back to something we missed. This definitely wasn’t random.” He released a heavy sigh.
The coroners started to bring in multiple body bags into the house.
Detective Sharp, hit with a deep sadness, continued to scrutinize everything in the room. The murders were becoming more and more vicious, and the bodies were piling up.
“We gonna find these animals,” Lam said. “And we need to find them soon.”
Chapter 14
Janet stepped off the plane in a foul mood. Already she hated the city. She wanted to scream out, “Fuck Miami!” It had taken away her best friend Trina and two of her daughters, and Christian was kidnapped.
She made it her business to fly down and get to the bottom of things, and not a damn thing was going to stop her from coming. And she was willing to die to get Christian back. She was still a baby, still innocent and pure. She could only imagine how scared that child was and the horrors she was enduring.
Passengers poured into the busy terminal like a charge of electricity. Everyone seemed so vibrant and on cloud nine. Janet didn’t have time to waste. She wheeled her carry-on luggage behind the stream of people, looking stunning in a figure-flattering black jumpsuit with a double V-cut, revealing ample cleavage and strutting in her black pumps.
The noise was giving her a headache, especially the suited white man talking in a high pitch on his phone beside her. She hissed. She felt like striking him upside is head just because of his whiney tone.
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Cartier’s number, walking briskly toward the terminal exit as she heard the phone ringing.
It was a warm, cloudless morning. She stepped outside into the sweltering city’s heat, her eyebrows knitted tight in anger. “Pick up, bitch,” she said to herself, her heels click-clacking against the gleamed flooring.
“Hello?”
“Cartier, I’m here. I need your location ’cuz I’m ’bout to jump into a cab and head your way.”
“We’re at the Motel 6 right off the Florida Turnpike, room 202.”
“Motel 6?” Janet was taken aback. She figured she would be given a lavish overtop address, but then remembered that the Motel 6 was only temporary, because of the murders.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Ok, I’ll be there once I get into a cab. And keep your head up, Cartier. I’m here now.”
A lot had to be done, and Janet was determined to get it done. But how? was the question. Miami wasn’t her city, but she brought with her that Brooklyn attitude and her wicked street smarts. And, together, she and Cartier were going to turn Miami upside down looking for that little girl.
She threw her luggage into the trunk and climbed into the backseat in one of several cabs idling outside the terminal. She told the driver her destination. He nodded and maneuvered his way out the airport and toward the freeway then merged onto the traffic on Dolphin Expressway.
Janet looked at the tall palm trees and sprawling developments, the towering city looming in the distance. Everything about Miami seemed to be in direct contrast with New York.
It was hot. She rolled down the window to let a cool breeze waft into the cab. “How long?” she asked the driver.
“’Bout twenty minutes, ma’am,” the driver said in his thick Caribbean accent.
She sighed and leaned into the seat. She checked her phone for messages, but there were none.
She could hear the engine roaring underneath the hood. The driver had a lead foot, and she was pleased. He was swerving in and out of lanes, hitting speeds up to seventy in the sparse early-morning traffic.
The cab pulled into the curved entryway in front of the Motel 6. The place was a stone’s throw from the freeway.
Janet paid the driver his fee, and he removed her bag
from the trunk. She stared at the six-story structure, the motel’s logo perched on top, the exterior hallway and long white railings on each floor. A cluster of palm trees decorated the front entrance. It wasn’t the Ritz or Sheraton, but it seemed adequate.
She made her way inside. The lobby was quiet and quaint, no marble flooring, or extravagant structures like towering waterfalls and stoned statues. There was complimentary fresh brewed coffee in the lobby.
Janet strolled past the clerk behind a stretched reception desk cluttered with pamphlets and various things. The clerk raised her head from the computer screen, noticed the luggage she was wheeling, and didn’t attempt to say anything or ask questions. She went on with her business.
Janet pushed for the elevator and waited. It didn’t take long. She stepped inside and pushed for the second floor. It was a short lift to the second floor. She stepped out and searched for room 202. It was the last door down the exterior hallway. To her right were the teal room doors, and to her left, a two-story drop over the railing, and beyond that, a bland and boring part of Miami. There was an off-brand gas station next door, a few local businesses across the street, and farther down, the Southland Mall. And across the highway, sprawling middle-class homes that stretched for miles.
She knocked hard.
The door to the room opened, and Janet stood face to face with Cartier. She already saw the wear and tear happening with her friend. It looked like Cartier had lost weight. Her hair was in disarray. She was clothed in booty shorts, a T-shirt, and tube socks, and her eyes were red.
“You look like shit,” Janet said.
Before she could walk inside, Cartier collapsed into her arms and started to cry.
Janet clutched her tight and embraced her lovingly. “I’m here, baby. I’m here to help out wit’ this,” she said.
“I’m lost, Janet. I don’t know what to fuckin’ do any more. They got my baby,” Cartier wailed. “They got my baby.”
The ladies went inside the room. Li’l Mama was seated on the bed, pulling on a blunt. She greeted Janet with a head nod. It was a painful moment for everyone.
Janet continued to hold Cartier in her arms, consoling her friend. She surveyed the room, four pistols on the wooden, round table along with scattered junk food. The shades were closed, and the room reeked of weed. The television was on, showing the news, but it was on mute.
Ironically, the screen was displaying the women’s most recent work — the thirteen bodies found in a meth lab. Neither girl paid the news any attention; they wanted to forget about the other night.
Janet took a seat on the bed. She had to be the strong one. Even though the news hit her hard, reminding her of the loss of her own child Monya two years earlier, she was determined not to appear crushed.
Cartier finally took a breather from her own pain just to ask about Jason Jr.
“He’s fine. He’s in sleep-away camp for three weeks. The bus picked the kids up two days ago.”
“Why didn’t you mention it to me?” Cartier asked.
“I mentioned it to Trina. Ain’t no need for me to be repeatin’ shit.”
Cartier nodded, suddenly looking off toward the window at the mention of her slain mother.
Li’l Mama began filling Janet with information about their past escapades — the murders and stickups.
Janet uttered, “Y’all bitches did what you had to do. Trina and I would have done the same thing in the same situation. Don’t sweat it.”
Today was the day that Cartier expected a phone call from the kidnappers. Was her daughter still alive? Minutes felt like years for her, but she yearned for that phone to ring.
Li’l Mama continued to tell Janet about the high ransom Christian’s kidnappers were asking for, and even mentioned Quinn.
Janet asked with a raised brow, “Who’s Quinn?”
“She’s cool peoples,” Cartier said, immediately.
“And you trust this bitch?”
“Exactly!” Li’l Mama stated.
“I ain’t got any reason to doubt her right now. She’s been on point since we met.”
“And how long have you known this bitch?” Janet felt as if she had to be overprotective.
“A few months.”
Janet sucked her teeth. “Where she at now?”
“It was her brother’s spot we hit last night. So she wit’ her people, makin’ sure everything cool and that we’re not suspected.”
“A’ight, look, first, a bitch is hungry. Li’l Mama, run and get us somethin’ to eat.”
Li’l Mama nodded.
“And then we just gotta wait for the phone call to happen,” Janet said. “We gonna get this shit wrapped up. These muthafuckas don’t know who they fucking wit’.”
***
Hours went by, and nothing. It was reaching noon, and not a single phone call came through. Cartier began to worry. She needed to know something. The lack of communication from her daughter’s kidnappers was killing her inside. It felt like her intestines were tied into one big knot and someone was pulling from both ends.
Li’l Mama was waiting on word from Head. The muscle he sent should have already arrived into Miami, but so far, there was no show and no word. She didn’t want to worry. Miami was a long drive from New York. She took a sip of Vitamin Water and nibbled at her breakfast.
Quinn called Cartier’s phone, informing her that some FedEx package had come for her. She’d signed for it and wanted to drop it by the motel. Curiosity got the best of both girls, as Quinn was on her way to drop it off.
“Why aren’t they fuckin’ calling?”
Cartier stared at the time. It was ten minutes after one. She was very edgy. She barely broke half a million for the ransom. Failure plagued her mind and heart. Seated at the edge of the bed with cell phone in hand, she gazed at Janet, maybe looking for answers or some advice.
“They gonna call,” Janet said.
Knocking at the door made them jumpy.
Li’l Mama stood up, picked up the pistol from the table, and proceeded to the door carefully. She cocked it back and looked through the peephole.
“Quinn.” Li’l Mama turned the locks and let her inside.
Quinn walked into the room holding the small FedEx package. “Any word?” she asked.
Cartier shook her head.
Quinn placed the package in her lap.
“What is this?” Cartier asked.
“Don’t know. It came this morning, no return address.”
As Cartier was about to open the package, the cell phone rang. She snatched it up and answered frantically. “Yeah!” It felt like rocks were in her throat
“I told you, don’t fuck with us!” the distorted voice hissed sharply.
“W-what? What did I do?”
“You violated specific orders — I told you not to bring in any outside goons or your daughter is dead.”
“But I-I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t,” she cried out. “Please don’t hurt her.”
“Don’t fuckin’ lie to us!”
“Oh God!”
“Have you received our package?”
Cartier stared at the small box in her lap. She was baffled. “I have it wit’ me.”
“Open our gift then.”
Cartier at once tore open the package and then looked aghast at the content inside. She screamed and tossed the box off her lap onto the bed, leaping from where she sat.
Li’l Mama and everyone else rushed over to see what was inside. They all became horror-struck at the human hands inside.
Cartier started crying, fearing the hands belonged to her daughter. But at second glance, it was clear they belonged to someone older — an adult male.
“You fuckin’ bastard!” she shouted into the phone.
“Next time, I’ll send you your daughter’s hands. They’re soft and precious, you know. I’ll cut this little bitch’s shit off from the wrist down,” the voice said in a malicious tone.
“I swear to God,” Cartier screamed, “if y
ou fuckin’ touch one hair on her head, I will hunt you down and kill you!”
“You’re in no position to make threats. I’m done fuckin’ around with you. If your jailbird lover interferes again, we will kill her. If he even attempts to find out about us, not only will I butcher this little bitch nice and slow, I will come back for you and do the same. Got me, bitch?”
“Please, just don’t hurt her. Let me talk to her.”
“You didn’t answer the fuckin’ question.”
“Yes, I understand.” The tears were rivers coming down Cartier’s face. She had never felt so helpless or defenseless. “Can I talk to her?”
“Do you have our money?”
Cartier hesitated. “I only have half of it.”
“That’s not enough!” he exclaimed.
“I can get the rest. I just need more time. I can get it.”
“Time? You ran out of time.”
“No!” Cartier said frantically. “Please, I have five hundred thousand. I can get you the rest.”
“We want our money. But I’ll do you a favor. Make the drop today, and that will give your daughter one more week.”
“I want to hear from my daughter first. I want proof of life.”
“Proof of life.” He chuckled. It was cold and sinister.
The phone went silent, and then Cartier heard, “Mommy.”
“Baby, I’m here. Talk to me,” Cartier cried out.
“Mommy, I’m scared. I’m scared, Mommy.” Christian’s voice was shaky and faint.
“Christian, don’t be scared. Where are you?”
“There’s your proof of life. We will text you the location and time. Don’t fuck with us!” The caller hung up.
Cartier was hysterical. She broke down, falling to her knees, her eyes flooded with tears, and her face washed with unbelievable grief. Knowing her baby was still alive stirred up some hope inside of her.
“What happened? What they say?” Li’l Mama asked.
“What’s goin’ on wit’ the drop?” Quinn asked.
Cartier was planted on her knees, in surrender. She choked up in tears and couldn’t answer any questions right away. Hearing her daughter’s voice had made things more painful.
Cartier Cartel, Part 3 Page 9