Cartier Cartel--Part 4

by Nisa Santiago

  The cab arrived at Cartier’s place and they climbed out into the late fall breeze. The weather was a direct contrast to where they had just come from—sunny and bright skies with temperatures in the 90’s.

  “We should have stayed in the Bahamas,” Head joked.

  Cartier chuckled and replied, “That would have been nice.”

  They collected their luggage from the trunk of the cab and headed into the building. They were all smiles and looking harmonious together. Walking into the apartment, Cartier knew something was off right away. It wasn’t a threat, but things were quiet during the day and Sana was lounging on the couch doing her crossword puzzles in her underwear. When she saw the newlyweds walk into the apartment, she refused to greet them with “Congratulations” or “Welcome home.” Instead, she frowned at them—mostly at Head, because she didn’t trust him.

  “Sana, put some clothes on,” Cartier barked.

  “I didn’t know y’all were coming home today.”

  “Well, we’re back, and I want you to start walking around my place decently. Head is my husband now, and I’m not gonna continue to play this fuckin’ game with you,” Cartier warned.

  Sana sulked. She removed herself from the couch and started toward her bedroom. Before she could go into the room, Cartier asked her, “Where’s Harlem?”

  “Oh, she packed her things and moved out,” replied Sana indifferently.

  Cartier was surprised by the news. “She did what?”

  “She left.”

  “When?”

  “Soon after y’all left for the Bahamas,” Sana said.

  “Did she leave a message for me? A forwarding address?”

  “No. She was pretty tight-lipped about everything.”

  Cartier reached for her cell phone and Sana said, “Don’t. Her phone doesn’t work and she quit the club.”

  Sana was clueless as to what was going on. Harlem had stopped speaking to her, and she became very private after her breakup with Sincere and the pregnancy. The two girls used to talk and share everything, but then Harlem shut down and started to act differently—depressed and isolating herself. Sana and Cartier were concerned about her behavior, but they couldn’t get her to open up about what was bothering her.

  Cartier was visibly shaken by the news. Head seemed pleased. He said to Cartier, “It’s for the better.”

  She felt it wasn’t. Over the past few months, Cartier had grown attached to Harlem. They had a connection, and she cared about the girl’s well being. Cartier was looking forward to playing auntie to a niece or nephew. But then something changed with Harlem, and Cartier couldn’t put her finger on it.

  For several days, Cartier tried to find Harlem. She went to women’s shelters in every borough, she called Esmeralda, and she spoke with several of Harlem’s coworkers at the club, but to no avail. Harlem was nowhere to be found. It seemed like she had just disappeared.

  A week back from the Bahamas and the threats to Cartier continued. This time two white cards were placed in her mailbox. They bore the same menacing skull with creepy, hollow eyes that seemed to be glaring at her, a jagged dagger, and blood with the handwritten letter E in black ink. Two E’s? Cartier didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t make it stop because she didn’t know where or who they were coming from. Someone had been watching her for a long time now.

  Majestic and Scooter were able to find out that the cardstock was sold in almost any supermarket or office supply store, but who was behind it was still a mystery. And unless Cartier hired someone to covertly watch her back around the clock, it seemed that the chances of catching this elusive person were slim.

  She wanted to tell Head about the cards, but she decided against it. She figured he would try to control her. He would want her locked in the apartment twenty-four seven and would want to keep tabs on her. She refused to have an argument with Head about the cards. He had enough on his plate and she had enough on hers.

  The following day, Cartier met with Majestic and Scooter in the basement of a meat market warehouse in Lower Manhattan. She barked at her two hit men for not finding the culprit or culprits behind the cardstocks. She tossed the recent cards at Majestic’s chest and exclaimed, “When will it stop? I need to fuckin’ know who is behind this shit!”

  “I’m on it, Cartier,” Majestic said.

  “How on it are you? I’m still receiving these bullshit cards! And I’m starting to think that these cards showing up and the hit on my stash house is connected,” she shouted.

  “It might be,” Scooter said.

  She locked eyes on her killers. “I need this to stop now. I want whoever is sending me this shit to be found—dead or alive, I don’t give a fuck. But I want results from both of y’all. Do y’all understand me?”

  “Yeah. We got you,” said Scooter. “Believe me, they gon’ get got, Cartier. It’s our mission to find whoever da fuck they are.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she replied.

  “Oh, you know we keep our promises,” Majestic said.

  Both men wore serious expressions. They were extremely loyal to Cartier, and if they had to take a bullet for anyone, then it would be her. Had they worked for anyone else when the product was taken from the stash house and they weren’t murdered, they would have been murdered. But Cartier believed them. She somewhat trusted them and they wanted to keep their arrangement. If they needed to assault and interrogate every person in the city, then they would. Majestic and Scooter were more determined than ever to find out who was leaving the intimidating notes.

  “Yo, Cartier,” Majestic continued. “This is some psychological bullshit on some other level. Whoever is behind this is touched in the head, maybe deranged. I would feel better if we had a man on you until we find out who’s behind this shit. Maybe two.”

  Cartier thought about the request. She could handle herself when she knew who she was at war with, but this was an unknown enemy. They had the advantage—the element of surprise.

  Cartier nodded. “Who I got on payroll that you’d trust wit’ your life?”

  Majestic grinned. “Other than me and Scooter, I’m feelin’ Lil Foe and Roddy.”

  Cartier bought a Tahoe and tinted out the windows to hide the vehicle’s occupants. Lil Foe and Roddy were now reassigned to watch her back. Head loved this. His wife being driven around the boroughs protected was a statement to the hood.

  While cruising through the city on a breezy fall afternoon, Cartier seemed preoccupied by something. The SUV came to a stop at a red light at a busy intersection on 7th Avenue. Something instantly brought Cartier out of her trance. She fixed her eyes on a young woman pushing a baby stroller. The child looked to be a year old, and she was a pretty little girl with a head full of black hair. Seeing the mother and the baby walking across the street made Cartier think about Christian. She missed her daughter greatly and she fell into deep sadness thinking about the tragic way her baby was snatched from her. Though it happened years ago and she had long ago gotten revenge, it still haunted Cartier like it happened yesterday.

  “I want another baby,” Cartier said to herself.

  “Now is not a good time for you to get pregnant. Are you crazy? A baby?” Head griped.

  “You’re calling me crazy for wanting to have your baby?” Cartier retorted.

  “It’s not like that, Cartier. I’m just saying, these are difficult times right now. You got your thing going on strong, and what if we go to war and you’re pregnant? It ain’t gonna be a good look.”

  He was talking, trying to make sense, but Cartier wasn’t listening. In fact, she became more incensed.

  “You don’t want me to have a baby because that bitch Pebbles is already carrying your baby?!”

  The situation brought back ugly memories of her and Jason. She painfully remembered being locked up while she was carrying Christian and believ
ing that she was the only one pregnant by Jason. Shockingly, her best friend Monya beat her to it. It was an ugly reminder to Cartier that niggas ain’t shit. Now, years later, she found herself in a somewhat similar situation.

  “How you gonna have a baby when you’re running one of the largest drug distributions in the city?” he asked, wanting to change her mind.

  “I know how to separate my personal life and my business.”

  “Yeah, and speaking on business, now that we’re married, I need to know things about your business just in case something happens.”

  “If something happens?” Cartier responded with a raised eyebrow. “You mean to me? What’s gonna happen? I have men who know what to do, Head.”

  “I’m your husband and you don’t trust me?”

  “Let’s not mingle our businesses. Okay? I’m not asking you about Michigan.”

  Head had told her that he was opening up a string of car washes with a partner that he had done time with and it was going to be huge. Head explained the cost of opening a business was cheaper out there and since the water crisis, easier. It wasn’t a lie. Eventually he was going to own a string of car washes, all part of his black-owned business portfolio.

  “That’s different, Cartier. I’m legit and you know this. You still wanna play Scarface out there on them streets,” he argued.

  He wondered if she had any safety deposit boxes and where her new trap houses were. They were probative things that in a normal situation and marriage should be shared.

  “Nigga, don’t try to change the subject. This isn’t about my thug life. It’s about you not wanting me to get pregnant, even though your mistress is!” she yelled.

  Head hated the word “mistress.” He cringed each time she said it.

  Cartier longed for this baby, but then something in her gut told her to chill out. And she did. She stormed out of the bedroom and left the apartment in a fit of rage, slamming the door behind her.

  Sana watched her leave. She had heard them arguing in the bedroom, and she knew Head was not the type of man she wanted.

  26

  Head was out of town again—back in Flint. He would be gone for weeks each month, allegedly building his car wash business from the ground up. Cartier was increasingly thinking about a baby. It wasn’t right for Pebbles to be carrying her husband’s baby and not her.

  She had called Head in Flint to bring it up again, but he was reluctant to speak about it. Whenever she would call, there was a lot of noise in the background and he would always say that he couldn’t talk because he was working. But Cartier was adamant to talk, exclaiming into the phone, “Too fuckin’ bad. We need to talk about this! Why can’t you give me a baby? I’m your wife!”

  Every other word recently was wife or mistress. Head had erupted with rage, screaming, “I told you, Cartier, leave the fuckin’ issue alone! I don’t wanna talk about no fuckin’ baby right now! I’m busy. Don’t fuckin’ call me about this shit anymore!”

  Cartier was shocked by how angry his reaction was. She didn’t know why he was so opposed to building their family. Cartier felt like a fool. These are things you discuss before the marriage.

  Sana knocked on Cartier’s bedroom door and asked from the hallway, “Cartier, are you okay in there?”

  “I’m fine,” Cartier replied.

  “Do you need anything? If you do, I got you. If you want to talk, we can do that too.”

  Sana opened the door and walked into the bedroom. She could tell that Cartier had a lot on her mind. She was sitting on the bed with an open bottle of wine and listening to old Toni Braxton songs. Sana joined her on the bed and took a drink of wine from the bottle. With Harlem gone, Sana and Cartier had become even closer.

  “You okay, Cartier?”

  “I’m just sitting here enjoying some time to myself and thinking, that’s all, Sana,” Cartier responded.

  Sana smiled. “Well, you don’t have to be by yourself. I can be your company.”

  Cartier smiled too.

  “Are you thinking about Head?” Sana asked.

  Cartier took the wine bottle back from Sana and took a gulp before replying, “I’m thinking about a lot of things.”

  They were quiet for a moment, feeling Toni’s pain as she sang another sad love song.

  Sana broke their silence when she asked, “Do you ever ask yourself what your purpose is?”

  “Purpose? What you trying to say?” Cartier immediately became defensive.

  “It’s a discussion we had last week in class. My professor broached the subject in a philosophical and spiritual way and asked if any of us had an innate feeling that we were meant to do more with our lives. And if so, did we have a specific purpose that we were moving toward?”

  Cartier didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t want to sound stupid, so she answered the question with a question.

  “What about you?”

  Sana replied, “I’ve been thinking for days on this, and I think I was placed on earth to eventually help the elderly. In what capacity, I don’t know yet. But I know that I’ll be a voice and will make a difference.”

  Now Cartier understood. What was her purpose? How could she make a difference and, most importantly, did she want to?

  “Let me think on it and get back to you.”

  Sana grinned and nodded. She stood to leave when Cartier said, “And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Making me think about something other than my troubles. If only for a moment.”

  After pouring herself three more glasses of wine, Cartier decided who she should call—who she could talk to. She dialed his number and Caesar answered.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Can we talk?”

  “Of course, Cartier. I’m here for you,” he replied.

  The next day, Cartier found herself parking her Bugatti outside of a towering high-rise in Lower Manhattan. She got out of her car and stared up at the structure. It reminded her of her place in Miami. It was the best money could buy. This location was one of many for Caesar. He had homes, properties, and penthouse suites throughout the country. His net worth was rumored to be in the hundreds of millions—maybe even billions, but no one knew exactly. However, it was clear that he was exceptionally rich and powerful.

  It was the first day of winter, so she bundled up in an expensive mink. Under it she wore a cream Chloé wool V-neck dress and ankle boots that showed off her shapely legs and cleavage. Cartier entered the ornate lobby, where she was greeted by the doorman. She informed him who she was there to see, and he called up to the penthouse suite to confirm her arrival.

  After hanging up, he said to her, “He’s expecting you.”

  She smiled and strutted through the lobby with her heels click-clacking loudly against the marble floor and pressed for the elevator. Once inside, she pushed for the top floor and sighed with nervousness. She didn’t know what to expect tonight with Caesar. Things had been moving smoothly with them with only that one hiccup—that robbery. But arriving at his place, and being dressed the way she was dressed, she figured it might send him the wrong signals. She wanted his company tonight. She wanted to talk to Caesar and be able to express herself. Head had her fucked up, and she wanted to escape.

  The elevator ascended straight to the penthouse suite without any stops. When the gold doors opened, she was instantly greeted by one of Caesar’s men, Manolo. He nodded and told her to follow him.

  Everything inside the penthouse suite was top-of-the-line and 3,000 square feet of absolute luxury. There were four bedrooms and a huge terrace with a private bar and barbecue overlooking the city. The place had a panoramic view of the metropolis, and there was a fireplace in the dining room along with a baby grand piano.

  “I’m glad you came,” she heard Caesar say behind her as she removed her mink and folded it over her arm.


  She turned and saw him entering the grand room with a wide smile on his face. He was wearing a Disney shirt and jeans and he was barefoot, looking comfortable in his home.

  “I’m glad to be here,” Cartier responded.

  “So, is everything okay with you? When we talked yesterday, you sounded quite upset.”

  She took another deep breath and locked eyes with him. Simply staring at Caesar made Cartier erupt into emotions. The tears started to fall from her eyes, and she dropped her coat on the floor. She was a strong bitch—respected and powerful, but for some reason she couldn’t control her emotions. She was all over the place.

  Caesar pulled her in close and allowed her to cry in his arms with her face against his chest. “It’s okay. You can tell me anything,” he said.

  She didn’t know where to start. He invited her to sit on the couch with him. He ordered his men and the staff to give them some privacy. Alone, Cartier finally opened up to him, telling Caesar all about her troubles with Head. He listened intently. He cared.

  “You are a very beautiful woman, Cartier, and no man should have the authority to upset you like this,” Caesar told her. “And if you need it to go away, it can go away.”

  “No. I love him, Caesar. Please.”

  “You love him, but does he love you the same?”

  She didn’t answer him. Instead, she sat there close to him in silence, maybe pondering the question inside her mind. Caesar kept his eyes fixed on her and started to gently stroke her hands. His touch slowly reached to her wrists and then he smoothly touched her thighs.

  “I’m here for you, Cartier. You want a problem to go away, it can go away. You want it to stay, and then it will stay,” he assured her.

  She smiled. It happened quickly but subtly, nearly catching her off guard. Caesar leaned closer to her, pressing his lips against hers almost unwittingly and kissed her. She didn’t resist. They kissed passionately as Caesar’s hands roamed across her fine body and began to undress her bit by bit.