Return of the Cartier Cartel (16 page)

Bam didn’t want to understand why she’d lied about being the head of The Cartel. All she knew was, she felt good saying it.

****

After Cartier scooped up Bam, they headed to pick up Li’l Momma. Both ladies were going to the used car lot on Northern Boulevard in Queens to buy them some much-needed whips. They’d grown tired of hopping in cabs or waiting for Cartier to come and pick them up. And since business was booming and Jason was out of the picture for the moment, they all decided they needed a distraction.

“So tell us again why we have to buy used?” Li’l Momma asked.

“You don’t have to do shit. But if you were smart, you’d buy used because, for one thing, vehicles are overpriced. The moment you drive off the lot, your car has already depreciated in value, unlike real estate, where property value, if you hold it long enough, will appreciate. And, secondly, these used dealers are the shadiest characters. We can walk in there and drop forty, fifty grand on the table, and they won’t report it to the IRS. Ten thousand dollars or over in cash has to be reported, and guess what, genius? You ain’t ever worked a day in your life. And the most important thing is that you won’t have a car note. If shit gets fucked up, you won’t have the repo man coming in the middle of the night, towing your shit away with your Gucci bag and Louboutin’s in the trunk. So, Li’l Momma, ain’t nobody twisting your arm here. You can easily walk your ass into any dealer you want. I could give less than a fuck.”

“I see somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. All I did was ask a freaking question.”

“A question I already answered.”

Li’l Momma took her finger and drew an imaginary circle around her face. “Stupid girl.” Then she took the same finger and circled Cartier. “Smart girl.” She then rolled her eyes to hammer home that she got the point.

Bam knew Cartier was on edge from catching her smoking the coke. Which Bam felt was Cartier’s own fault for coming early. Still, she didn’t want tension on what was supposed to be a fun day out with the girls, so she decided to stroke Cartier’s ego.

“Yo, Cartier, I’m not trying to be sarcastic here, but you are a smart girl. Like how you know so much about all this shit? Real estate, car value, plots, business? Did you read books or something while being locked down?”

Cartier almost didn’t want to answer such a stupid question.

“I listen. I keep my ears open and listen to other people’s pitfalls. When you hear somebody say what they shoulda done, when you get the same chance, try doing the opposite of what they did, and do what they shoulda did. We ain’t the first chicks to sell drugs, and we won’t be the last. There’s an art to staying ahead of the game, and I refuse for any of us to take the same old fall that most hustlers take. I want better not only for me, my kids, and Trina, but you two as well. We’re all we got, and we’re fam. Y’all are like my blood sisters, and I don’t want to lose any one of you for something careless. Not only do we have to stay alert for the local drug rivals, but the beef that we still have with Ryan, and the feds and five-o are on the list as well.”

“Speaking of Ryan, ain’t nobody heard shit about his whereabouts?” Li’l Momma said.

“Not one word, which worries me somewhat. And what about his bitch?” Bam asked.

“Marisol?”

“Yeah, her. Do you think she knows that you murked her sister?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Well, maybe you should. You just said you didn’t want us taking any chances, and to always watch our backs to avoid unnecessary pitfalls. I just feel that she could be a problem.”

“So what are you saying?” Cartier asked Li’l Momma, although she already knew what was up.

“I’m saying that after we have our fun today, we got to get back to the business—street business—and tie up all loose ends. We need to get our hit list and start crossing off names, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a walking target. Once all of this is said and done, then we can start focusing back on our legal businesses. But if we’re dead, then that really wouldn’t make any sense now, would it?”

Chapter 20

The Chase

The incessant ringing of Cartier’s cell phone irked her nerves. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning, and she was having a luxurious sleep, dreaming about Lotto numbers and red velvet cake. Ignoring the caller wasn’t enough. They were unstoppable. Finally she gave in and growled, “Hello!” in a hoarse, impatient tone.

“Good morning. Is this Cartier?”

The voice was unfamiliar, so Cartier pulled the phone from her ear to look at the telephone number, which was unrecognizable. She exhaled. “Who’s this?”

“This is Head. Are you ’sleep?”

Immediately Cartier sat straight up in bed and tried to adjust her voice. “No, no, I’m not ’sleep. But how did you get my number?”

Laughing, he said, “Meet me at Lindenwood Diner in an hour for breakfast, and I’ll tell you what you wanna know.”

Cartier panicked. “What are—”

“Don’t be late. I’m not the most patient person.”

“Maaaaa!” Cartier screamed and ran downstairs like a crazy person into her mother’s bedroom, startling Trina.

“What’s wrong?” Trina asked. “God, please tell me that nothing else has happened.”

“Nah, ain’t shit bad happen.” Cartier looked around. “Where’s the kids?”

“They in the kitchen eating breakfast before the school bus comes to pick them up in an hour. Now what happened? Why are you up so early?”

“I need your advice. I met this kid named Head, who’s supposed to know you, a few months back, but I didn’t kick it with him. And also Li’l Momma put on blast that I was married. Well, he just called and asked me to breakfast.”

Trina remembered Head very well. “Did he tell you I used to fuck with his boss?”

“His boss?”

“Yeah, Nut. You sound surprised. Did he tell you that Nut worked for him?”

“Ma, this isn’t about you and Nut. I came down here to ask your advice about me and Head. And, no, he didn’t get into who worked for who, because he was too busy flirting with me.”

“So what you mean, you came to ask my advice?”

“Should I go?”

“Why the fuck not?”

“I would feel really grimy if anyone saw us together. He wants to meet this morning in East New York. What if Wonderful or Blake see us?”

“What the fuck you got to feel guilty about? After you put up with Jason and his steady stream of bitches? You better tell them to kiss your ass!”

“But you know that it’s a double standard. People won’t care that Jason was a habitual cheater. They’ll forget about him and Monya, and they’ll forget that he got shot up in a motel with another mistress. They’ll look at me like I’m a slut. Jason hasn’t even recuperated, and if they see me out on the prowl, I’ll be the slut of Brooklyn.”

Trina couldn’t believe her ears. “Since when you care about what people think? Or double standards, for that matter? At sixteen you started your own cartel and hugged the block better than most niggas. Now you wanna come in here with fear in your voice over what people say about you? I didn’t raise no coward, and you’re turning me off right now. I told you back in the day that you’re supposed to worry when people stop talking about you, because as long as they’re yapping their mouths, it means you’re doing something right. Fuck those haters. Besides, Wonderful and Blake would never come at you sideways. If they stare you down, then you better stare the fuck back. And if I remember Head correctly, he ain’t one to fuck with. If he’s feeling you, then he’ll hold you down. Look, Jason is the past. He made his bed, so now he has to lie in it.”

Cartier had less than twenty minutes to shower and race out the house to drive into East New York to meet with Head. It’s amazing what one could do under pressure. She tossed on a pink Juicy Couture sweatsuit that hugged her figure, pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, and put on a pair of Christian Dior goggle shades to cover any remnants of puffy eyes. She emerged out of her house looking refreshed.

To take the edge off her nerves, she turned on the radio, and Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” rang through the speakers. Cartier abruptly changed the channel to AM to hear the weather report. She liked Beyoncé as much as the next chick, had even seen her in concert twice, but it was time for her to sit her ass down for a minute. She wondered if Beyoncé would ever get tired of screaming and hopping all around the stage.

As Cartier pulled into the mostly empty parking lot, her heart skipped a few beats. She breathed out, knowing she was surely going to run into someone she knew. With her .25 tucked snugly in her Gucci logo shoulder bag, she held her head high and walked in.

“Cartier, so good to see you,” Emanuel the manager greeted her. “I’m so sorry to hear about Jason.”

“Thank you, Emanuel. He’ll be happy to hear that.”

Emanuel had been working there for over a decade, working his way up from bus boy to manager. He adored Jason and his crew because they gave him respect and left great tips to the waiters.

Cartier’s eyes scanned the room and landed on Head, tucked away in the far corner, a half-smile on his face. Damn, this man is sexy, Cartier thought. He was fine in a manly way. There was a maturity to him that Cartier wasn’t used to.

“How’s your mother?” Emanuel asked as Cartier lingered.

“Huh? Oh, she’s fine.”

“Is someone meeting you here this morning?”

“I found who I’m looking for. Thanks, E. I’ll tell Jason what you said.”

Emanuel’s eyes followed Cartier for a moment until he made eye contact with Head. He knew that this wasn’t his business and was wise enough to never repeat anything he saw or overheard in the diner.

“I see you got here on time . . . and looking gorgeous I might say.”

Cartier blushed. “Why wouldn’t I make it on time? I don’t live too far from here.”

“Because your ass was dead sleep, that’s why.”

“I was not!”

“Ma, don’t ever lie to me. Especially on small things. You lie about small things, then you’ll lie about big things, and at the end of the day, you’ll never be one to trust. Don’t ruin who you are, or what we got by being fake.”

“Wait. Slow down. I don’t know who you think I am, but you got me fucked up. If I said I wasn’t ’sleep, who the fuck are you to tell me differently? And right now you’re bugging, talking ’bout what we got. I don’t even know you.”

“And you won’t get to know me.” With that, Head stood up, grabbed his New York Times, and walked out of the diner, leaving Cartier on the spot.

As Head strolled out of the diner, he knew he had her. If there was one thing he knew was true, it was that once you establish boundaries, you’ll always have respect. He told her over the phone that he didn’t tolerate lateness, and she showed up on time. Now he had to break her in, train her as one would a dog. He hated to be so harsh, but that was the only way for strong-minded people to learn. He knew from jump that Cartier was a leader with a dominating personality, and that women like her would always bump heads with a man like himself, so to avoid all the future drama, he set them straight from the get-go.

Head felt that Cartier would play the “I-got-a-man-who-spoils-me-I-don’t-need-you” role, had he not bounced. Now, she’d be second-guessing all her movements. He would bet his fortune that she’d never had a nigga bounce on her. And although it was a bit dramatic, he knew there were three certain things: death, taxes, and that Cartier would definitely call him.

On the drive back home, Cartier was more than humiliated. She was embarrassed, angry, and felt dumb. She replayed what had happened over and over in her head and still didn’t know what hit her. Did she ever think he would play her like that, Cartier Timmons-Payne, the head of The Cartel? Her name was resonating through the streets as well. Who the fuck did this old-school player think he was? This was the second incident she felt she could never live down. The first was Mari pulling a gun on her. Cartier felt like she was slipping. She wasn’t thinking on her feet. She should have never run out of the house like she did. He knew she was married, and here she was running out to meet a nigga she’d met once a few months back. How desperate did she look? And who in the world had given him her number?

Cartier didn’t want to go right back home because she knew Trina would be all up in her grill. She made a U-turn on Linden Boulevard and drove to the local Pathmark supermarket in downtown Brooklyn just to kill time. From there she cruised back on the block to hang out with Bam and Li’l Momma. Although it was still early, both girls came out, and they headed to Sophie’s for a wash and set. Then everyone went their separate ways. Even after hooking up with the girls, Cartier was still breathing fire.

The silence in the luxury vehicle was welcomed as Cartier finally decided to drive home. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to lyrics, wanting to get her thoughts together. She had a lot on her plate. As she sat at the red light about to drive through Conduit Boulevard and make her way on to the Belt Parkway, she heard a faint Pop!

Then Pop! Pop! Pop! Which she ignored, until her back window shattered, scaring the life out of her.

Without even waiting for the light to change, Cartier bolted out in the ongoing traffic. As she raced onto the highway, her head slightly ducked down, she could see what appeared to be a blue Ford Taurus giving chase. But truthfully, right at the moment her hands were trembling. All she wanted to do was get away, and through all the anxiety and angst of the moment, she knew she couldn’t lead the perpetrators to where she lived.

With the Taurus still in sight, she began to dip and weave in and out of traffic, headed toward the Southern State Parkway, hoping she’d made the right decision. Within seconds the state trooper was on her ass. Before pulling over on the shoulder, she drove a few more miles to make sure she was no longer being followed, which certainly annoyed the trooper.

Cartier tried to exit the vehicle, but the trooper immediately barked an order for her to stay in her vehicle.

As he approached, clad in his khaki riding pants, holstered gun now drawn, and a look of contempt plastered on his face, Cartier began to tremble. She’d just remembered she was riding dirty. Quickly she opened her purse and slid out her wallet. Showing a sign of respect, she shut down her ignition and held her hands up high and began to cry.