Return of the Cartier Cartel (2 page)

“No, no, I totally understand. But whatever Jason has promised this far, he’s always come through, so I know his word is good. I just wish he would call me directly.”

“In this day and age, who memorizes telephone numbers? I’m sure he would if he could, but right now, let’s concentrate on getting him out. There’s a couple of dollars in this for me as well for running all his errands. He needs twenty thousand dollars. Do you have that?”

Cartier wanted to know what this chick was working with. She was hoping for Mari to play Big Willie and toss twenty large in her hand, because she had every intention of not only kicking her ass but also keeping every dime.

“Yes, I have it, but I’m not giving up that much cash. I mean, I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I can offer up the five grand, that’s it. Besides, that won’t be too much trouble, being that it’s still sitting on my dresser. I haven’t had a chance to do my banking yet. I’ve just booked travel to go on a holiday, so things are hectic.”

Book travel? Holiday? This bitch think she is Posh Spice, Cartier thought. “But he said he’d give you back dou—”

“I know what he said, but I say no fucking way!” Suddenly the soft-spoken, eager-to-help woman was no more. “Either I give up the five, or I give nothing. He can take that and get the rest from his wife or some other chick, but that’s as far as I go.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Cartier didn’t know how to play this out without Mari becoming suspicious, so she decided to give her a false sense of control. “I think I know where I can come up with the rest of the money, being that anyone’s investment will be doubled. So do you want to meet me at the jailhouse? Shall I come and pick you up? Tell me, what should we do next?”

“We aren’t going to do anything. Look, Sabrina, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I’m not about to go on this odyssey with you. One girl to the next, I just walked through the door only hours ago. I need my sleep because I have an important evening planned ahead. Why don’t you come over here, pick up the money, and go and spring Jason out of jail? And if you promise to tell him only good things about our talk, then there might be an extra hundred bucks in it for you from me. Are we cool? Are we on the same page, sweetheart?”

“Definitely.”

Cunt.

Chapter 2

Tricks Are for Kids

Cartier couldn’t drive fast enough to Mari’s house. She had to see in person the female with the silky voice her husband was tricking with. Jason dropping that kind of money on a broad was definitely intimidating to her. You didn’t drop that kind of money on a one-night stand. In fact, Mari was garnering more maintenance than Jason’s own household. Jason was putting her before his wife and kids. While he had Cartier and his family living in a two-bedroom closet for three grand a month, his mistress was living in a high-end condo, and he was paying five grand for her pussy.

Mari’s condo was located in Beverly Hills, where apartments ranged anywhere in a soft market from 1.5 to 8 million dollars. It took Cartier a matter of minutes to sum up the situation. Mari was either connected to the rich and famous, or she was rich and perhaps even semi-famous. She most likely met men to maintain her lifestyle, and Jason was exactly the type of asshole she preyed upon.

When Mari opened the door she was everything Cartier didn’t want to see. Her beauty was unblemished. Her creamy, mocha-colored skin, pointy nose, slanted eyes, and high cheekbones gave her an exotic look. She was a mixture of something you couldn’t put your finger on. Her shiny hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her long, flowing white silk bathrobe trimmed in white mink with matching stiletto slippers was something a character in a movie would wear. Cartier wondered, Do women really dress like that for bed?

Cartier was about to pounce on Mari and beat the beauty out of her as she opened the door, but the wide, warm smile radiating from Mari did something unexpected. Cartier’s anger toward her rival subsided, as she stood in awe.

Extending her hand, Mari said, “You must be Sabrina. Welcome to my humble condo.”

“You mean, palace.” Cartier’s eyes scanned the immaculately decorated room. Who is this woman? Cartier thought. And how did Jason land this one? Mari looked to be at least forty years old. You couldn’t actually see it from her face, but her age was in her eyes.

“Come sit down while I go and get the money.”

Cartier got a firsthand view of Mari’s baby grand piano, sheepskin fur rugs, Marilyn Monroe pictures, marble floors, granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances, and she wanted to be upgraded.

Jolting her out of her trance, Mari said, “So, how long have you and Jason been married?”

Cartier was stunned. How did she know?

“I didn’t know until I opened the door. He showed me a picture of you and the kids, cute kids by the way.”

Cartier’s anger immediately resurfaced. She was usually the one in control. For years she’d controlled The Cartel, and then her marriage to Jason. She was used to calling the shots, but here this Sherlock Holmes-type tramp was blowing her element of surprise. It was at that moment Cartier realized the hot California sun had fried her street sense. She was furious.

“Bitch, don’t be questioning me! I should—”

The small chrome .22 was enough to silence the feisty Cartier. Her eyes flew open wide like saucers.

“Look, let’s not go there, OK? The yelling and name-calling really isn’t my cup of tea. It’s beneath me. And it should be beneath you as well. You have kids? I mean, what were you planning on doing? Coming over here to fight me? And then what? You can’t say that you’d actually feel better.”

“Well, what would you do? I’m tired of cheap, low-life bitches like yourself fucking around with my husband, knowing that he’s married. Don’t stand here and act like you’re so much above me, when all you are is a high-priced whore! That’s right.” Cartier’s head bobbed up and down. “If you didn’t have the gun, I’d beat you to a pulp, and I know I’d feel good about it. I’m almost tempted to still do that shit. Just because you got a gun don’t mean you’d fucking use it!”

Cartier’s body language tensed up. She was actually thinking about bum-rushing Mari, feeling dissed standing there with a gun pointed at her. How could she live that down? What if Mari told Jason that she’d pulled a gun on his wife and his wife didn’t do shit?

“Two things are certain at this moment. One, if you even gesture impolitely, a bullet will rip into you without hesitation. And, two, please don’t let my manicured fingertips fool you into thinking I can’t handle a weapon. Yes, I did grow up with a platinum spoon in my mouth, but while vacationing in Bora Bora, or the equestrian training, we also shot quail in the summer months in the Hamptons. I’ve said all of this to say, never underestimate your enemy. I will shoot accurately, I will shoot to kill, and I will not feel any remorse, so it’s in your best interest to not make me feel threatened. My trigger finger might jump.”

Cartier realized she might be in over her head. Mari wasn’t following the rules. In Brooklyn, if you had beef, you settled it, scrapping in the streets, and may the best bitch win. This lady was talking about plans, enemies, and quails, the kind of shit Cartier didn’t care to hear.

“If you didn’t have that gun, I’d wipe that cocky look off your face.”

Mari giggled and tossed the envelope with the five grand toward Cartier. “What’s the Brooklyn expression—If if was a fifth, we’d all be fucked up? Luckily for you, I’ve been dealing with all sorts of characters half my life. If you haven’t already figured it out, I get paid for my services, and in my line of business, you have to always be prepared for whatever, whenever.”

“You’re a whore?” Cartier couldn’t believe Jason had resorted to paying for pussy. He was losing all his “cool” points.

“Jason doesn’t think so. Besides, I like to call it a professional companion. Now take the five grand and forget my address because, I promise you, although you might think I’m easy prey for the angry wife, I’m not. I’ve dealt with an assortment of deranged, angry wives, and you are by far the least challenging. You’re still young, dumb, and you have a lot to learn. And if you don’t learn to grow up quickly, the love for your husband will put you in a precarious situation that you can’t get out of. I learned a long time ago the art of war and how to plan out all angles of a situation, to avoid walking head-on into a trap. Instead of getting five grand tossed in your face, it could have very well been lye. Now, please get the fuck out!”

The last line did it. It was too much for Cartier’s ego. No one spoke to her like that. No one!

Cartier lifted her left Nike Air and kicked Mari dead in her “professional” pussy. The sharp pain caused her to double over and drop her weapon to the floor. With all the strength she could muster, Cartier stomped the beauty out, until Mari stopped squirming around on the floor. At one point Cartier’s foot came down so hard, you literally heard bones cracking.

Mari screamed out in an agonizing cry as a few of her ribs broke. She tried as best as she could to ball herself up into a fetal position, but that failed to protect her.

Without thinking, Cartier grabbed Mari’s gun, aimed it point-blank at her head, and pulled the trigger.

Click. Cartier stepped back. Click. Click. Click. She tossed the gun to the ground and grabbed Mari by her long, silky hair and dragged her kicking and screaming into her bedroom. She needed the additional privacy to muffle Mari’s screams.

“Oh, you thought shit was sweet.” The first punch nearly broke Mari’s jaw. “You wanna play gangsta bitch! Next time, load your fucking pistol. Now I’ma whip your ass, and you’ll wish you had bullets in that burner!”

Cartier was beyond frustrated on so many levels. As much as she tried to leave the hood and hood life behind and live for her kids, she just kept getting dragged back into the game. Not only did Jason’s actions keep bringing out her bad side, but she realized there wasn’t any way she could be two separate people. She couldn’t be Missus Homebody raising two kids, and also the head of The Cartel, with a beef to settle. The old Cartier would have never walked into that trap. She could have been killed, murdered by a mistress, all over Jason’s dirty dick.

After leaving Mari beaten and bloodied, Cartier sat in traffic on Interstate 405. At that moment, she vowed to not only embrace who she was, but also to never, ever get caught slipping again.

Chapter 3

Queen B

Back at the apartment, Cartier couldn’t believe Jason was still asleep. She’d left the kids with Elaine, an elderly woman who lived on the ground floor of the complex. She decided to confront Jason before picking up her babies. She really didn’t know what would go down once she confronted Jason about Mari, and she saw no need to subject them to any hostility. What she did know was, she was mad as hell for being disrespected. Words couldn’t describe how she felt about her husband’s mistress pulling a gun on her. Sure, Cartier whipped her ass, but her pride was bruised, her ego was damaged, and her feelings were hurt. But what Cartier hated to admit was that Mari was right. She did run over there unprepared, without a clue as to who this woman was. She could have walked directly into a trap and be dead, just as Monya and Shanine had run into a trap.

Cartier looked at Jason with disgust. “Get up!” she roared, startling her sleeping husband.

“Damn, Cartier. What the fuck? Why you gotta be screamin’ and shit like that? You know a nigga just came in.”

“Get the fuck up because we need to talk,” Cartier stated through gritted teeth.

Jason tossed his eyes in the air and shook his head. He was in no mood for Cartier’s constant bickering. He thought he’d scream if he had to hear one more time about the hood’s whodunit mystery. Yeah, when it all first went down, he was just as amped on finding out who shot the girls. But now, in Cali, he’d mellowed out.

Last night he’d kicked it with Jamie Foxx. For all Jason knew, he could get a bit part in a movie or something, so he decided to share this news with his wife. He sat up in bed, oblivious to his wife’s anger. All he had on his mind was reliving last night.

“Yo, check it, ma. Last night I was at Ecco, and guess who the fuck I was kickin’ it with all night? Guess.” Not allowing Cartier to actually guess, Jason blurted out, “Jamie Foxx! Me and dude was poppin’ bottles and makin’ it rain all night up in the bitch. I mean, everybody was all on my dick!”

At that moment Cartier realized that Jason was too far gone for reasoning, arguing, or pleading. He was a full-fledged groupie, and she no longer wanted any part of him. She walked over to the closet and began tossing clothes into her suitcase, just enough to tide her over in New York until she went shopping.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked in a panic.

“Me and the kids are leaving. Tonight. We’re moving back to New York.”

“No, the fuck, you’re not!”

“Watch me.”

“You’re not taking my kids back to all of that bullshit. I won’t allow it.”

“OK, no problem. Then they can both stay here with you and Mari. I’ll come and visit them on the holidays. But I am going back to New York, and if you try to stop me, I’ll fuck you up!”

Jason paused for a second, searching for the right words. He knew he was busted, but he didn’t know whether this was about his cheating or if it was about Monya and Shanine.

“So that’s what this is about? Some bitch I don’t give a fuck about? You gonna let a bitch run you out of town? I thought—”

The slap was swift and accurate. As Jason tumbled backwards, Cartier spotted the empty Corona bottle he had left on the dresser from the previous evening and broke it on the wall. In a series of rapid events, Cartier had the jagged bottle tucked snugly at Jason’s throat, his eyes exuding fear.

“If you ever go against me again for any reason, whether for a bitch or a nigga, I promise you that you won’t live to regret it. Now, I said we’re leaving. We got a muthafuckin’ murder to solve. Now get your silly ass showered and dressed ’cause we’re catching the red-eye out of this bitch. Tonight!”