“I’m sure you will come up with a nice name for him.”
“I will.”
Caesar snapped his fingers and the two servants hurried his way. He ordered a few appetizers, opened the bottle of wine, and was about to pour her a glass, but then reminded himself that she was pregnant.
“Not good for baby, right?”
She smiled and nodded.
With their meals in preparation by the chef, the two continued to converse. “I got great news for you,” Caesar said.
“What is that?”
“My wife and I are getting a divorce,” he said.
“I hope it isn’t because of me.”
“No. It was time.”
“Well, I asked Head for a divorce, but he refused to sign the papers.”
“Again, that’s a problem I can easily solve.”
“And like I told you before, I can handle my own problems, Caesar,” she reminded him.
As they talked, Cartier couldn’t deny how incredibly attracted she was to him. Was it her hormones or was it real? But it was his conversation that she really adored. It drew her in like a magnet, along with his power and status.
The dinner went great, but it was getting late and Cartier had a busy day tomorrow.
Caesar wanted her to spend the night with him, but she respectfully declined. It was just too messy right now.
39
The renovations on the brownstone were nearly complete. The money Cartier had invested into the property was worth it. It had nine bedrooms, three floors, and one of the floors was a walkout basement, which would belong to Cartier. The rest of the place was for the young girls to stay. It would become a sanctuary with the latest amenities for troubled teenagers. She wanted to give these girls the best that money could buy. For years she had been harming her community, and she felt it was time to do something constructive. Each floor had three bedrooms, and the house could take in eight girls comfortably. Sana would be on the first floor and would oversee a lot of the day-to-day operations.
Cartier did a walkthrough of the place and she was pleased with the work done so far by the contractors. Things were going great. The paperwork for the grants was almost complete, and she was just waiting for the walkthrough by the state. The home and the renovations had cost her a pretty penny, and almost all the money she had made from South Beach went into the property. The grants were definitely needed.
Linda, the young girl Dr. Smith had told her about, would be the first to live in the Cartier Cartel’s Clubhouse. When Cartier brought her to the brownstone to show her the place, Linda thought she had died and gone to heaven. She fell in love with the place and couldn’t stop smiling. Cartier felt like a mini Oprah Winfrey.
She pointed out a few changes she wanted to her contractor. “Can we knock that wall down to give it more room and light in here?” she asked the contractor.
“It’s feasible, but it might interfere with the building inspection,” he replied.
She wanted the best, therefore she was demanding. As she talked about construction, her cell phone rang in her hand. Glancing at the caller ID, she had no idea who was calling her. She answered anyway.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Good morning, is this Mrs. Jackson?” the person on the other end asked.
Mrs. Jackson. It was her husband’s last name, so she knew the phone call had something to do with Head.
Reluctantly, she replied, “Yes, this is her.”
“I’m sad to inform you, Mrs. Jackson, but your husband had a heart attack in his car and has passed away.”
The news hit Cartier like a ton of bricks falling from a high building. Head was dead? And from a heart attack? Did she hear the lady right? How was that possible?
All of a sudden, what was happening in the brownstone didn’t matter to her. The news of her husband’s death sent her into a downward spiral of sadness. Though she and Head weren’t on good terms, his sudden death was upsetting.
“Excuse me,” she said to the contractor.
She hurried out of the building upset and dashed to her car. The only thing she could think about was Head dying from a heart attack. He was a healthy man and it didn’t seem possible.
It was standing room only. The entire hood came out to show respect to a legend. Hundreds of people gathered inside the Brooklyn funeral home, and Head’s funeral could rival a state senator with the turnout, the flowers, and the showiness. He was an important figure in the community, mostly for the wrong reasons, and everyone wanted to see if it was true. No one could believe a notorious gangster like Head could die from a heart attack, and not by gunfire or while in some pussy at a ripe old age. He was in his mid-forties and was still considered a young man.
The folks inside the funeral home empathized with his widow, Cartier, a street legend in her own right. She sat stoically in the front pew, dressed in all black. Next to her was his Aunt Gloria, who was in tears, grieving over her grandnephew. Flanking Cartier and Gloria in the front pew was Apple and Kola on one side and Sana and Linda on the other. Cartier, looking very pregnant, was poised and surprisingly docile when Mandy, Kandy, Jacki, Melissa, and Harlem showed up to the funeral with their children. Pebbles also arrived with Piper in tow.
Cartier cut her eyes at Harlem, but she kept her cool. The young girl was clad in all black, looking smug. It was ironic how the two of them went from friends to enemies, and all because of a man who was now dead.
Almost every known gangster, drug dealer, thug, and kingpin came to show their respects to the deceased. Barkim and Chemo were there too, and they were both shocked silent by the display of baby mamas and the buffoonery of it all. Head never shared details of his alternate life in Michigan with them.
Even a few of Head’s enemies from back in the day showed their faces at his funeral, coming in peace. Cartier wondered what Head would be thinking right now if he saw some of the people that showed up to his home-going service. In fact, she chuckled at the thought, and those seated by her found her behavior odd.
The gossiping and whispering was nonstop. Folks were talking and criticizing her, hearing about the rumors of the young baby mamas and multiple kids Head had. Some folks even tried to subtly mock Cartier for marrying a womanizer like Head. But she showed no signs of weakness or fatigue.
However, Apple wasn’t so calm. She sat in the pew near Cartier with a scowl on her face. She wanted to rip Head out of his casket and kill him again for playing her friend for a fool. And that’s what Cartier looked like to the public—a fuckin’ fool to become baby mama number seven under these circumstances. It was completely pitiful.
During the service and the eulogy, each woman and child all did their act to prove who loved him more. When the end of the service came, Kandy, Melissa, and especially Harlem all fell frantically on top of Head’s casket, screaming and hollering and moaning—professing their undying love for him.
“Oh God, please bring him back to me! Oh God, I miss him. I need him, God. What am I gonna do without him?” Harlem cried out.
“I’m going to always love you, Daddy,” Kandy cried out expressively.
Jacki cried out, “I can’t live without you!” before she threw herself on the floor and wailed like a police siren.
God was cursed for being so cruel and all the theatrics one could see at a hood funeral were in full swing. Harlem had a new tattoo of Head’s name on her shoulder. When Mandy and Kandy saw it, they went and got matching initial tattoos on their wrists, and Melissa put his date of death in roman numerals on her ring finger. Their kids were crying and showing out too, emulating the actions of their mothers. Meanwhile, Pebbles and Cartier sat stone-faced during the service, not shedding a single tear in public.
Watching the young baby mamas act up at Head’s funeral when Cartier was the only female with his last name really opened Pebbles’ eyes. She was one of them too—one of the du
mb-ass baby mamas that Head used and controlled. She felt ashamed of herself.
After watching the pallbearers carry the casket outside and place it into the hearse, Pebbles went over to Cartier. She felt it was the right time to approach the wife—not to beef, but to talk—woman to woman.
“Cartier, can we talk for a minute?” she asked politely.
Cartier looked her way with a blank gaze. Pebbles stood in front of her holding her baby and looking meek.
“Sure,” Cartier replied.
Pebbles went to her to not only offer her condolences, but also to apologize.
“He loved you deeply, Cartier,” said Pebbles. “Before he died, I didn’t want anything to do with him. I changed my locks and was finally done with Head. And right now, hand to God on my child’s life, I’m a better woman and I really want us to become friends for our children. I wanted to apologize.”
Cartier could see that Pebbles was serious. Her watery eyes didn’t lie. She was ready to move on too. Cartier felt she was growing, and Head’s death was the rite of passage into a better life for herself. There was still room for growth and change, and it started with forgiving Pebbles.
The two women hugged each other. And then something Pebbles said popped into Cartier’s mind. Did Pebbles say that she wanted to become friends?
40
Inside the hotel suite in New York, Harlem was living large now that Head was dead. She ordered room service, ran herself a soothing, warm bubble bath, and took advantage of her new life. Now that Head was dead and gone, she had taken over his Michigan operation. She knew the business like the back of her hand, and she had access to all of his connections. The icing on the cake was that the silly Flint bitches were now all under her thumb and allowed her to call the shots. But there was one problem, and it was Kandy. She was becoming increasingly vocal about why Harlem was in charge, whereas Mandy, Jacki and Melissa needed someone to take charge.
Harlem was relaxing on the king size bed with Henry, Jr. and decided to make a video call to her mother in Africa to show off her new life.
Eden came through the cell phone with a large smile for her daughter and her Ethiopian accent.
“Daughter, how is things?” she spoke.
“Hey Mom, everything is perfect,” Harlem greeted.
“How’s my grandbaby?”
“He’s fine. He’s so good too. Hardly gives me any trouble at all.”
“That’s how you were as a baby. We had no issues with you. You were a good girl.”
Harlem beamed from the compliment. “And it’s done. It’s finally done. Thank you.”
“Great.”
Harlem spoke freely on the encrypted line about how easy it was to murder Head after he continually professed his love for the ghetto Cartier. At first, Harlem was possessive over Cartier and she wanted her to leave Head alone. When Head began secretly flirting with Harlem and she knew he had money, her allegiance toward Cartier began to dissipate. She was far from dumb and naïve. When Harlem found the D on Cartier’s car and saw the look of shock on her face, and then Cartier mentioned the O at the cemetery, Harlem knew that someone was trying to spook her. Harlem waited for more notes, but none came. Then one day she decided to pick up where the anonymous stalker had left off and she created her own message: You’re Dead, resending the D that she had originally confiscated.
Harlem wanted Cartier to stay away from Head. When that didn’t happen, she told Head that it was Cartier who had shot at him, and her mother told her to send the letter exposing their situation. She did what she was told, and Cartier came running to Flint looking for the culprit. Although it did get Cartier to finally see what Head was really up to and allowed her to let him go, it didn’t push Head’s hand to murder Cartier, nor did it stop Head from loving her. He obsessed over her and it seemed his sanity was fleeting. Almost every day Head threatened to kick them all out so he could go back to Brooklyn and leave them all with nothing.
Eden advised her daughter to kill him. She told her how to mix the white oleander poison in his drink, watch him die, and then take over everything he’d built.
“There is no need to go after Cartier,” Eden had told her daughter. “She has nothing but a baby. Just focus on the money, Harlem.”
Harlem wouldn’t listen. Her ego couldn’t erase Head’s words about Cartier. It didn’t matter that Cartier was the hand that fed her—that she was the one person who cared enough to get Harlem off the streets and put down ten thousand dollars to pay a debt for a stranger she had met in jail. Cartier treated her like a sister, but all those acts of kindness from Cartier had long ago been forgotten.
Killing Head and getting away with it had made Harlem feel powerful, the same power Cartier must have felt when she beat her ass and kicked her out on the street after giving her a taste of the good life. The way Harlem remembered the slight, she had to beg and grovel to get back inside the apartment. The only thing Harlem cared about now was eliminating what she felt was a threat. Cartier. Who knew what Cartier would be capable of once she gave birth? What if Cartier decided to seek revenge for Harlem fucking Head under her roof? What if she tried to take over his business? No, Cartier was a liability, and she needed to die.
With the Cartier Cartel’s Clubhouse finally up and running, the eight girls who moved in were astonished that they had something so special. It was all for them, and they were thankful. Sana was thankful too. Because of Cartier, she did an entire 180 with her life and her way of thinking. Cartier was a needed blessing in her life, and she wanted to take full advantage of it, unlike Harlem, who became deceitful and cunning. She thought the bitch wasn’t going to be heard from or seen again. So Sana was shocked to get a phone call from Harlem in the middle of the day, asking her to meet her at Mickey’s in Lower Manhattan at 3pm.
“Not interested,” Sana said. “What you did to Cartier was unforgivable and there is no excuse.”
“Please, Sana. I have something really important to tell you. You need to know.”
Harlem ended the call abruptly. What Harlem said piqued Sana’s interest, and for a moment, she debated if she should meet with Harlem or not. She was loyal to Cartier, but Harlem’s tone and relentlessness to meet made her wonder.
“Fuck it,” Sana uttered. She decided that she would meet with Harlem and hear what she had to say.
From the cut, Harlem watched Sana leave the brownstone fifteen minutes after 2pm. It was predicted. She smiled. Her plan was coming to fruition. It was risky being back in Brooklyn and seeing Cartier again, but Harlem was determined to win.
Five minutes after Sana left, she marched toward the beautiful brownstone in Park Slope, entered the wrought iron gate, and knocked on Cartier’s door on the ground floor. It was the same brownstone she had followed Cartier to after the funeral, when the limousine had dropped her off.
Harlem took a deep breath. She was ready for anything. The door opened and she stood face-to-face with Cartier, who was shocked that she was there—and with her baby boy in her arms. Harlem chanced that there wouldn’t be a physical attack if she brought Henry, Jr. with her. She was right.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Harlem?” Cartier growled at her.
“Please, I need to talk to you, Cartier. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go,” she pleaded.
“And you have the nerve to come here!”
“I’m sorry for what happened. I want to explain everything to you.”
She didn’t want to let the traitor into her home, but Harlem continued to tug at her heart, especially while holding her baby in her arms. Cartier once loved her, and now Harlem was trying to play the victim.
“Please, I just need to talk. I have so much to tell you,” she continued to plead.
Relenting, Cartier allowed her into the home.
Inside, Cartier didn’t want to beat around the bush and play host to her. She g
lared at Harlem and said, “Talk.”
She was due any day now and was easily aggravated. She felt bloated and swollen, her feet hurt, and she was gassy. She didn’t have the patience for Harlem’s bullshit.
“I’m sorry, but it was Head. He used me and he manipulated me. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Harlem said.
She continued to beg for forgiveness and tried to explain herself by putting all of the blame on Head. Now that he was dead, he wasn’t there to defend himself. It got so real and emotional with Harlem that she started to leak tears from her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Cartier. After everything you did for me, I didn’t mean for any of this to go down like that,” she explained with great remorse.
“Listen, let me make you some coffee, since I know how you Ethiopians love coffee, and we can continue talking,” said Cartier.
“Thank you. I would definitely like that.”
She followed Cartier into the kitchen. She continued to tug at Cartier’s heart. As Cartier was about to make the coffee, Harlem said, “You know what? Instead of coffee, can you make me some tea?”
Befuddled by the request, Cartier responded, “Tea?”
“Yes. With honey and lemon,” she added.
“Since when did you start drinking tea? Are you English now?”
“No, but since my pregnancy and having the baby, tea has been something that I crave,” she explained.
It made sense. Cartier knew firsthand how pregnancy could change a woman’s taste and appetite.
Cartier waddled back and forth in the kitchen making Harlem and herself some tea. Just as Cartier was ready to plop down, Harlem stood up with Henry’s bottle in her hand and asked if Cartier could place the milk in the fridge. While Cartier was busy with the bottle, Harlem cleverly slipped some oleander into the teapot. Cartier then poured both of them a cup and joined Harlem at the table. Though she was bitter with the young girl, Cartier felt the need to reconcile with her. Maybe she was right, and Head got into her head and influenced her. Head did have the gift of gab and he knew how to use persuasion well. Harlem was a young and vulnerable girl and she didn’t stand a chance against him.
Cartier Cartel--Part 4 Page 24
