Day three... A different meal.
Day five and six, my new Zendaya doesn’t bring her ass to work.
The next day, I arrive at my usual time. The hostess seats me on one of the cracked leather chairs.
When one of the other female waitresses steps over, I give the bitch that look. She knows good and damn well that there will be no tip and scurries along. The bitch steps to the back. Rockwell comes out.
I fix my suit tie just because and give a cocky grin as she steps over. Rocky rolls her eyes just like my Zendaya would when figuring that a dude was about to flirt with her. Instead of saying anything, Rocky pulls wads of cash from her apron.
“Listen dude,” she pauses for a second, then asks, “Do you speak English?”
“Yes ma'am,” I reply.
“Good, I only know the menu.” Rocky shakes her head as if she didn't mean to tell me that. Then her attitude is back as she looks me up and down. “That suit tells me you ain't from around here. Tipping me ten times more than the meal ain't getting you anywhere closer to this,” she smirks while glancing down. “Just because you’re rich, doesn’t mean you can come through tiny neighborhoods, giving what I’m sure are your pennies for a good fuck. Now, please let me know when you're ready.” She turns around.
I glance at an ass so right in her waitress dress that stops mid-thigh. Then I grab her arm. “Wai... Wait.”
Those hazel eyes spark with fear like Zendaya’s would, right before my bitch would make me hit her.
“I'm sorry,” I say, letting her go. “You remind me of somebody.”
“Don't we all,” she says, reclaiming some of that spark that had those hips swaying left to right.
“Here,” I still try to hand her all the money I’ve been giving as a tip. “I wasn’t tryna scare you or anything.”
“I don’t want your money. Next time you come in to Jiménez, sit in another section.” Rocky places a hand on her hip.
I smile. This bitch has me all wrong, but I want her even more now. “Listen, Rocky, you were right. I ain't from around here. But really tho, your perception is wrong. Even in a suit, I ain't just some rich dude stepping into the slums for a prospect. Furthermore, I’ve lived in worse places than this.” I look around. “There was a day when I couldn't afford one of these meals if I saved for two years. That ain't nothing but the truth.”
She glares at me; in fact, the whole muthafucking restaurant eyes me. I take the crumpled hundreds and try to hand them to her.
She plucks a bill out of the stack. “That’s adequate pay for the entire week you’ve been here.”
This bitch is pissing me off, tryna front like she's too good. But those eyes, that face, I'm fucking mesmerized. I've missed Zendaya for so damn long. The way I fucked over Santiago, just for payback, not giving a damn if I died trying. Well, there's nothing I won't do to get with this new Zendaya...
She’s denied me for a week. That’s a’ight; we got more time.
Andres is sitting in the driver seat of the car when I step outside. I open the back door and hop in.
“Big boss, you ready to g-o?”
“Yeah, when we get back to my place,” I tell him, “Look into this girl named Rocky that works at this restaurant.”
Rockwell
Work, work, work. I felt dumb for giving that rich dude back those funds. I've been saving for somewhere nicer to live, a place that has enough room for each of my babies to have their own room.
It's Jiménez Casa a la noche, damn. I'm really working that Spanish. And then I work the tailor shop in la mañana. Two jobs. Mayté helped me get the Jiménez gig. I have a small apartment above the restaurant. Guess you can say I’m on a diet tho, because I can hardly afford to feed myself. Since I refused her money, she mentioned old man Perez for washing clothes. Today I told him about my abilities with a needle and thread, so I'm happy that I can step up my game as a seamstress.
Now I just have to get that guy, whatever the fuck his name is, to leave me the hell alone. Shit, I’m two seconds from tongue kissing one of the other female waitresses when he steps inside just for him to get the picture. No dick for me, ever again. I don't even wanna see the pipe at all. They all pause. The waitresses and chicks walking by stop to stare at Nino when he steps in or out the restaurant. Sure he's got silky cornrows down his back. There’s one silver strike through Nino’s hair, telling me that he really indeed has a cute baby face. I wonder if he’s about 37 or so. His skin is a flawless, dark chocolate and I know someone is custom making his suits. Those are all facts. None of it, not even the hundreds of dollars he's given me in a week makes me want him. If only there was a world where a nigga gave without expecting a return favor...
~~~
A week after switching from washing clothes to actually stitching things, even though I wasn’t designing any new items, I was getting into the grove of having two jobs. I came home late one night. The lights from restaurant below are already off. The Jiménez family live a few blocks down, so the upstairs portion was all mine. With a hoodie on my head and second-hand jeans, I climb up the stairs along the side of the building. As soon as I make it to the top step, I notice that the front door is cracked open. My eyes bug out. You’d think I would be smart enough to go downstairs and call the fucking cops, but I run up into the apartment.
Tears stream down my eyes, as I go straight for the bathroom and take the lid off the back of the toilet. MY MONEY! I dip my hands into the dirty ass water, to feel around for the plastic bag that had a few hundreds in it. Nothing is there!
How the fuck did I get her?
I went from loving Lorenzo to being alone in high school. Designer school to loving Lorenzo. Being abandoned by Lorenzo to a white boy. Married… but who gives a fuck, my son loved me the most then. Colombia with Lorenzo and treated like a queen. Then treated like shit. Here I am, alone as usual. But I can’t even fucking survive!
~~~
I awaken to a damp pillowcase. Damn, I must’ve cried through my sleep. I look over at the clock. It’s way past time to open the restaurant this morning. Sometimes I work mornings at the restaurant, afternoons at Perez’s cleaners, and nights back at the restaurant.
The dresser is gone from my bedroom, and then I laugh at myself. Shit, I moved that muthafucka against the front door. The deadbolt lock had been pried open by whoever stole my money, so the dresser kept me safe last night. After a quick shower, and a bowl of no-name cereal, I walk down the street to Perez’s. Since I’m the new assistant seamstress, I go around back, deciding not to say shit to anybody to get to work.
“Rocky… Rocky…” Perez calls after a while.
I place down the work shirt that has been patched up enough times, stand from the chair, and step toward the door. When I see the customer with Perez, that damn stalker from Jiménez Casa, I am just about ready to flip out.
“Why… did… you… uh… change this?” Perez says, holding a linen button up that I had just made, I added a few new custom changes to the design. Even though his broken English is hard to understand, Perez isn’t sounding like the old man who’d once been happy to learn of my capabilities.
Today is not the day, I tell myself. No matter how much working for Perez has helped me double up on savings to take care of my children in the future, I just can’t today. So I try not to let off on the old man, but school him by saying, how I upgraded … as I’m going off, that muthafucka from Jiménez steps beside him in the doorway.
“You!” I snap. “You’re tryna fucking get me fired?”
The buff, dark skinned duded is dressed in an even nicer three piece gray ensemble, worthy of one of the football sportscasters on TV; GQ’d up to a T. He doesn’t reply to whatever the fuck his motivation is, but steps closer to me.
As I frown, he turns around and speaks quickly in their native tongue. The little old man gets ghost. The door closes. Then stalker dude’s eyes roam all over me and fear takes over.
Fuck being in a different country. I no longer have
Lorenzo, none of the Medina’s or even Chuey to check for me. My mind goes to my apartment and how it was broken in just last night. This ain’t no fucking coincidence, so I let his ass know. “Nah, what the fuck have you been doing? Creepy stalker, I’m not afraid of you,” I snap. No matter the fact that we are eye-level with my six-inch heels, telling me that dude ain’t average male height. Those damn arms are as buff as my legs.
“Damn, she finally gives me some attention,” he says. When the muthafucka’s hand sticks out for a shake, I slap it.
“Get the fuck away from me—“
“Nino,” he cuts in. “That’s a hard choice of words, all that cussing for such a beautiful woman.”
“The fuck it look like I wanna shake hands and get to know you, Nino. I’m about to tell the cops who the fuck you are, Ni-no,” I say. My neck rolls, I’m short as hell but standing tall, tho my insides are tightened with fear. “You broke into my place last night, stole my fucking money because I wouldn’t fuck with you!”
“Hold up, mi Hermosa—my beautiful, broke in what?” Nino asks as if this muthafucka is just learning English. Nah, he’s spoken very well when I told him off at the restaurant. I just continue to give him the evil eye, while considering how I am going to knock him the fuck out then get to the po’po. Old man Perez came at me foul, he had to be scared of Nino.
“Mi Hermosa, por favor, please,” Nino speaks in a sincere voice, “Tell me what happened last night?”
His hand goes to my shoulder as my eyes roam around the room for a sharp object. I don’t trust dude. He is too muthafucking suave.
Nino leans into me, his cologne is intoxicatingly sexy, but I don’t give a fuck. He picks up the letter opener on the desk behind me and my heart nearly sinks.
“Here,” Nino says, “You appeared to be searching for some sort of weapon…”
I glare at the long, steel knife in his hand.
“Right now, Rocky, you’ve dealt with the type of bullshit that makes muthafuckas go crazy and shoot somebody up for stepping into their place and taking from them. You feel violated,” he tells me. Damn, that’s right. “Somebody stole from you, and you don’t know who.”
My throat finally unclamps, so I call it as I see it. “You stole from me…”
“You think I went into your home and took from you while you were away because you wouldn’t show me no play at Jiménez Casa,” he asks with a half smile. That fucking smile makes his baby face even easier to trust. Then Nino leans back into me while placing the letter opener back on the desk. “Can’t say that it was me, Rocky. But I know how it feels to have someone come into your house and take from you…”
Lorenzo
The worst thoughts roamed through my head the morning after I found out Chuey was my brah and Santiago had raped my mind. That Jerry Springer type of bullshit should have had me running the streets murking niggas, just be cause. My game is off. After Rocky had taken Chuey to the hospital, my wife hadn't been heard from again.
My goons paid Chuey a visit at the hospital for a few days, but he's been in a coma. Then the worst came. Had Santiago taken Rocky? Where was my bitch?
She finally answered my text a week later.
ROCKWELL: Renzo, by now you can tell that I'm doing me for a while…
LORENZO: And ya kids? I typed the text, teeth gritted while leaning over the railing of our bedroom.
Rockwell called me straight back. “Don't bring our children into this, Renzo.”
“Where you at?” I ask, looking at the choppy ocean off in the distance.
Click.
“Ain't this some bullshit.” I glance at the phone as if the sound effects of Rocky hanging up weren’t enough.
“Mayté,” I tell myself, eyes narrowed. When I first considered my tia, I didn’t put much thought into it. Not that I haven’t been searching hi and lo for my baby mama. Shit, no matter what Rocky has done, or hasn’t done, nobody on this muthafucking earth is going to lay hands on her. How the fuck do I keep her safe when I don’t know where the fuck she is? So back to Mayté, I need to pay her a visit.
I check in on Lisa and Lila in their nursery. The little old lady that Rockwell hired to teach them is sitting across from them, instructing them on sign language. Damn, my little girls are going to be smart as hell. Lorenzo Junior is in school, so the rest of the house is quiet. A few of my goons have rotated breaks at the pool since Rocky has been gone. The music is on and there are bitches galore. Since they work so hard, I allow for party time. Right now, I cut the sound system and all the play stops.
With a one-track mind, my only mission is getting my wife back, then I can vindicate my moms. Fire flashes before my mind as I consider how Rocky has provided Santiago with God knows how long to live. Though some of my crew is still searching for him, Rockwell and her safety come first.
“Aye, who said they thought they saw Chuey’s moms come through the hospital that night?”
“One of the nurses,” a goon says.
Two of the females that are playing around the pool take my talking as a sign to come over. “Who brought these bitches over?”
I push one onto the ground and elbow the other. “My fucking wife is missing and y'all wanna bring y'all Thot-astic asses over here?”
They whimper back over to the other guys. In Spanish, I dig in on these bitches saying, “The fuck I look like fucking hoes and don't know where my wife is!” I'm ‘bout to shout about murking a goon every day until they find Rockwell, but I tell them to get rid of the hoes so we can check on my Tia Mayté.
We climb into three Escalades and head up the hill to Santiago’s home. Since that muthafucka is in hiding, he hasn't even had the lawn taken care of for Mayté. The flower garden that surrounds the perimeter is all fucked over.
Bernice, if I remember, opens the door. She had been Mayté’s nurse since I was two feet tall. I doubt Mayté had left the house that night. Maybe Rocky was speaking to any woman in the hospital.
Her eyebrow cocks. “What brings you by unannounced and mobbing deep?”
“Came to see my Tia.”
Her smile twitches. This bitch has an attitude.
Before she can talk more shit, Mayté is walking down the left side of the double staircase.
“Praise Jesus, hallelujah, you can walk,” I sarcastically address my auntie.
“Yes, all praise goes to God.” Mayté smiles. “I'm glad that your status hasn't likened you to God. Mendoza De Dios... I always was impartial to the cartel title.”
“Look, as much as I would like to chat, I came to ask you about my wife.”
“Your pretty property? Oh, it's too bad you can't chat. I assumed you made a million each second. Seems like that amount of funds provides ample time to talk, so maybe you’re just too busy for your little old tia.” Mayté shrugs.
I chuckle. “Now, I've only ever showed you respect”.
Mayte’s dark brown eyes sparkle with hard tears. “MY SON was beaten by you and your goons last year. This year it's a COMA. At this very second, there’s no telling when Chuey will awaken!”
“Tia, I’ma need you to lower your voice.”
“I wish I had as much balls as your madre. Margarita had been through hell and back but takes no souvenirs. She isn't prideful or—”
“Where the fuck is Rocky!” I cut in, not at all wanting to hear the bullshit.
My aunt folds her arms then frowns up at me saying, “I can't help you until you help yourself.”
My hands ball. I don't hit females. I don't hit females. That shit becomes a broken record within my brain as this woman accuses me of abuse and anything else she can think of.
“Man, I'm not even finna get into my relationship with my muthafucking wife, with yo’ ass! Tia. Wherever Rocky is, she better be safe. If I find out yo ass had something to do with her leaving and she gets hurt, you finna really find out the monster I can be.”
Mayté glares at me for a second. She sniffles a few tears, and then dots the back of her hand along
her teary eyes. Sneering, she says, “I already know you.”
“Read me all you want, Mayté. Read me.” The look in my eyes shuts my Tia down so I don't even have to tell this bitch another word…
Nino
Damn, I fucking hate that I had to lie to Zendaya, I mean Rocky, just to get her to smile. Telling her I hadn’t stolen from her was the truth. But Andres went all through Rocky’s place. Found out that the bitch didn’t have no dude, she had to be all alone. No pictures on the wall or in frames, no nothing. He took the pocket change pesos that Rocky had stashed in her toilet. Shit, where I’m from that is one of the prime places to get stole on.
I had anticipated stepping up to her later on that evening at Jiménez Casa, or the night after that. I wanted to show the girl that didn’t have shit to her name, the finer things in life. Women change their mind about how they don’t want to be fucked with when they’re stuck in a situation. I just didn’t know Rocky works at Perez too.
I lean into Rocky. If this were Zendaya, we’d already be fucking. I place the letter opener back on the desk without touching her soft, sexy ass body. Getting this bitch to trust me ain’t gonna be easy, I can tell. Her guard is way up.
“Can’t say that it was me, Rocky. But I know how it feels to have someone come into your house and take from you,” I tell her, glancing deep into her eyes while licking my lips. “Remember, I told you I came from… what y’all Americans say: The wrong side of the train?”
“Wrong side of the tracks,” Rocky mumbles, and I can see a faint flicker of a smile, even though I pretended to not know what the fuck I was just talking about. I know all the lingo from listening to Zendaya talk about places she wanted to travel to. RVing around the USA had been amongst the top five.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I grin, showing her that I can play nice too. I let Rocky know that she’s had it bad for a while, and offer to take her out this evening.
A deep sigh makes those sexy ass breasts rise and fall, as I see from my peripheral, but I keep my eyes on those golden ones. Ain’t nothing in this world that is going to stop me from getting my Zendaya back. Maybe I’ve already said that, but feeling Rocky’s body soften gets me closer to my goal.
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 3 Page 13
