Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 3

by K'Aliyah Knight

  “Yeah, it was.” I nod, staring at those succulent lips all the while wondering how fat and wet those lips below get. I look around for a second. It’s too many dudes in here for me to just reach into her pants, slide past her panties and cop a feel. At least not without Rocky being into it. I’d force the bitch, but then again, like I just said, too many muthafuckas in this joint and I haven’t trained her to be my good girl yet.

  “A'ight, Mr. Nino. I haven't spoken with investors in, let's see, eight years or so… Yeah, about that timeframe since it was before my son was born. It was always nice to speak with them, see where their head was before we even considered working with each other. Not that I got the chance,” she says, her tone almost as sad as Zendaya’s was when not having enough funds for school. Man, this bitch right here, is too fucking fine.

  She pulls out a Manila envelope from her large purse. I run my hands together. Pussy is sweet but just glancing at the top page of sketches tells me that Rocky has talent. I need to work the right angle to get at that anyway.

  Damn, I think about my mom for a moment. Before it hurt her to the bone to utter one word, she'd tell me, “Nino, mi amor, make it baby.” Nothing else, just those few Spanish words after some dumb muthafucka would waste more time breaking into our place and steal anything. I still don't fucking understand how dudes in our neighborhood could rob each other. I had no problem taking a life in tourist city for just a loaf of bread. But our own?

  Rockwell pulls out a stack of drawings and places them on the coffee table before me. I pick it up and stare at the first drawing of a female in a royal purple dress. The design is flawless.

  Taking from Santiago has made me a rich man. Not nearly as rich as those fucking cartel dudes, but Zendaya would have a plan if she had survived. Investing. Just like this new Zennie has a plan now. I’ma put stacks on this girl’s talent.

  “You don't like it...” Rockwell asks. She gulps a straw full of Sprite as if realizing the soda doesn't have enough kick.

  “I love it. You got skills.”

  She lets out air and laughs, “Well, then there's more than one page.”

  I look through all the styles of high-class dresses and fashion; each one surprisingly even more bad-ass than the last. For about an hour we grub on nachos, down more drinks and talk about a plan of action. Rocky isn't just a beast with the pen and designing stuff, we talk about producing a label of female clothing and when the market will be most hot to drop it. When she mentions Milan and Paris, I pause.

  “Thinking about Zennie?” she asks with a half-smile.

  I nod. My bitch was always talking about those foreign places. When we were younger, I thought Milan was just a fucking cartoon movie that we couldn't afford tickets to see.

  Everything is all good. I’ve slowed down with the drinking because like I said, I need this bitch to really be on my team before she sees my true colors. I feel tipsy as we lean back and chat. Then, out of the blue I feel something. Coming from where I’m from, you get this intuition. Shit, it’s either survive or die. Learn to perceive shit or get put the fuck down. As Rocky impresses with all the stuff she knows about the fashion world, and when and where to do what, I slowly glance around.

  An all-white linen suit, with white shoes and black wing tips has to be this muthafucka’s fashion statement. An off-white Fedora is slung low over Santiago’s head, but the rim of the hat stops at eye level. Santiago’s eyes are on me. He nods his head and raises a glass of some brown liquid he's drinking.

  Fuck, I’ve been found…

  Rockwell

  I was getting ready to tell the truth and give Nino my full name. Not just Rocky. But Rockwell Medina and let him know of Lorenzo. I wanted to see if he would still want to work with me. This past hour of talking up a game plan has been everything I could’ve ever dreamt of. It’s time to bring my fantasies into realities. Me, a fucking designer? That’s everything I’ve ever wanted, well besides… Renzo. No, wait, that is all I’ve ever wanted. Lorenzo is just a nightmare disguised as a sweet dream.

  But then Nino stiffens beside me. We’ve been siting cattycorner on this love sofa. He’s listened to everything I’ve had to say so far. Nodding his head, responded on occasion. I haven’t had any man listen without wanting something in a long time. His story about Zendaya made me want to root for their love, even though it obviously ended in a tragedy. But now? As his knee grazes mine, I can tell his whole body has shut the fuck down.

  I hurry the hell up and look in the general direction his eyes are in. I’m out if it's some bitch that's stalking toward us. Hell, I dressed professional, borderline sadity, just to keep our relationship in the right corner. Besides, like I just said, Zennie’s story was heartbreaking. So really, there should be no jaded ex or current tricks stalking Nino.

  But as I'm glance around there's no crazy sidepiece overthinking shit and getting ready to attack us... or just me.

  Nino looks at me funny. “Rocky, you a’ight, girl?”

  “Yeah,” I nod. Now I’m smiling at his peculiar glance. Maybe it's me? I was worried that he wouldn't like my designs. So I’m pulling a Blu-episode, being paranoid over nothing. Anyway, don't ask me why I'm finally considering going into design business. This depression has been a bitch and before that, I couldn't fathom touching Lorenzo's money to start my business. And just before that? Back in the days when my nigga loved me? I put more thought into us than into me. At the time. I didn’t think about my wants or needs; my every thought was Renzo. So now, I'm placing myself in the forefront. I smile, deciding that I’m tripping. Either way, Nino and I have started on the right track. No need to fuck it up.

  “Well, this has been good.” I start to gather the artwork scattered on the coffee table and put it back in the manila envelope. I place inside my Berkin bag—my only designer item—since I was wearing it when I ran away. I add, “It's getting late, Nino.”

  “I should...” Nino pauses. The grin on his handsome dark skin has me reading his thoughts, which are flooded with sex. He pauses for a second, and then says, “I should get you a driver?”

  Damn, I silently thank him for not tryna take it there. I do not intend to ever fuck, no matter how fine he is; yet just bringing it to that point is awkward. Teasingly, I bump shoulders with him. “Yeah, that's what you were going to say?” I ask sardonically, knowing good and well he wanted to take me home. Since I remind him of Zendaya I will make sure that the line isn’t crossed. “Thank you, a driver will be nice, but I don't mind the walk.”

  I start to rise from the low couch.

  Nino stands up. We’re eyelevel, since I’m in heels so he’s not even average male height. Those beautiful dark eyes twinkle, though I don’t think his mind is still on fucking. Nino says, “Rocky, it's almost ten. You think I’ma let you walk home?”

  “I live right across the street and halfway down the block. A five minute walk, if that.”

  He nods. When we get outside, Nino keeps pace with me. “Big boss,” he says, “I'm going to watch you get to your door. Is that a’ight?”

  “Big Boss?” I shake my head as we continue down the street. Jiménez Casa electronic open sign is still flickering. I stop right in front of the restaurant. Inside the big windows, the open-style restaurant is active. Most of the tables have been gathered together for a large party that will probably be kicking it until the morning light. The music is almost as hyped up as the Patrona Lounge.

  “So you live here?” he asks, eyebrow cocked.

  I laugh again.

  “Why you laughing?” Nino asks, giving this crooked grin that would have my pussy dripping, if I otherwise was still attracted to the male species.

  “Just something stupid.” I shake the idiot thoughts from my head. Since he still has this curious look on his face, I feel my cheeks warm while continuing to speak, “Well, dang, Nino since you wanna know. Remember last week? I accused you of breaking into my place. I live right upstairs, above the restaurant.”

  “Oh, yeah I r
emember. You did me wrong,” Nino tells me.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I watch as he begins to back away. “A’ight Big Boss, get yourself upstairs, safe and sound in your place. I'm getting ready to invest in you. After we get started, we gotta move you out this area.”

  I nod. I turn to look upstairs. The porch light is on since I knew it might be past dark before I returned home. To be honest, I don’t even understand how I spoke with Nino for so long. It’s just that Zendaya’s story was so heart-wrenching. The passion he had when speaking about her, that shit was Academy Award worthy. I start up the stairs. Nino stays put for a second. I know the dude is watching my ass while I saunter up. It’s going to take some time from me shutting him down for him to keep it strictly legit. But I think it's nice to have him there while I unlock the door.

  When I open the door, my shoulders jump in a tensed motion. Adrenaline is pumping and squeezing my heart. Fuck, is this a heart attack? I stifle the scream of shock.

  “Rocky? You a’ight?” Nino calls. He starts to climb up the stairs—

  Lorenzo

  We found Rockwell... The moment one of my goons spoke those words I was on one.

  I’m sitting in the nursery with my baby girls, Lisa and Lola. Picture me, six-foot-two, tryna half squat, half sit at a toddler table. It’s been time for tea for over an hour, and the muscles in my muthafucking thighs are shot.

  “Daddy, daddy, eat, eat,” Lisa commands, giving me more and more plastic croissants for imaginary tea.

  “C’mon, mi corazón,” I say. I’m thinking that these little ass girls need to go to sleep. But nah, the twins have me wrapped around their fingers.

  While Lola pours yet another cup of tea, in the hot pink cup and I don’t resemble anywhere near a Street hustler, let alone a Cartel King, I sip and say, “Oh, this is good.”

  “Señor Mendoza?” one of my soldiers says. He’s been standing at the door for almost ten minutes. The muthafucka acts as if I haven’t noticed. But right now is time for me familia. “Señor Mendoza.”

  He speaks at the same time Lola is offering me a cupcake so I give the dude a look that can kill. That shuts his ass up once more for another ten minutes or so since the twins take turns talking, all geeked up.

  “We’ve found Rockwell,” the goon says, when it’s quiet in the room for a second.

  “Mommy... Mommy,” Lola looks at me as the thug stands there like a soldier, ready for his order.

  I hold onto my emotions, for my baby girls’ sake. Lisa begins to cry, so I hurry up and stand. I quickly stretch my aching legs and pick her up. “Don’t cry, mi amor.”

  Lola tugs on my sweats. “I want Mommy.”

  As I sooth Lisa’s tears, I tell the two minutes older twin, “Yes, Lola, you will see Mommy soon.”

  The tears instantly fade from Lisa’s eyes. Lola says, “We have fun with mommy at Zoo.”

  Even though this shit is killing me that Rockwell has been sneaking to see our kids, I smile and hug her tightly. “Oh, wow, you had fun with mommy at the Zoo?”

  “Yes!” Lisa shouts.

  I look to the goon, “Aye, is my moms here?”

  “No.”

  “Blu and them?” I ask. I need to discuss a few things with Rockwell first. So I don't want to take our girls with us.

  “Si, Señor Medina.”

  When I walk the twins to the pool house, I can already hear mine and my sister’s junior playing video games in the living room.

  Popeye is sitting on the couch, his back to me. The laptop is open with different houses on realtor sites.

  “Sup brah,” I tell him as the girls run around the couch to try and commandeer the boys controllers. They don’t even know how to play the game, but try to fight anyway. I ask, “You find a place yet?”

  “Nowhere that your little sister will live,” he says.

  “Fuck what she's going through. Nigga, you the man of the house, just tell her where to go.” I shrug.

  “Man, nigga, now you know Blu only gets what she want. I'm not tryna hear no lip.”

  “Hear no lip?” We both sigh as the suspect brings her busted ass into the living room.

  Blu has been acting up ever since she caught Rockwell at the Zoo. Her and moms aren’t speaking. And I’m guessing, my peoples must have found Rocky’s location based on searching the surrounding areas of how she had to get home, since Rita wouldn’t let Blu follow her that day.

  Blu is dressed in her usual wife beater and jeans. One long, thick braid hangs lazily over her shoulder. The fuck is wrong with her? Shit, she copped an attitude with me, for not answering her text messages in time.

  “Before you go off,” I tell her, “I need a babysitter.”

  “Why? You just went outta town. That bitch has been MIA for a while so no.”

  “Blu, yo’ muthafucking mouth, mannnn…” Popeye says.

  I shake my head, saying, “See now, you finna make me take off my belt. Remember the last time I had to beat your ass up and down the muthafucking street? Shit, big brah don’t play that.”

  ~~~

  My wife has been less than two hours away by jet. Now I'm sitting in the dark on a raggedy old wooden stool, smack dab in the middle of the place she's been hiding out at. Since the porch light is on, I glare at Rockwell’s bulging eyes. I’m feeling the silhouette of her curvaceous frame dressed in yellow, damn. I always thought my wife was so beautiful in that color. It brings out the gold in her eyes, and glow of her caramel skin tone.

  I hear some dude, tryna claim my bitch. “Rocky? You a’ight?”

  Rocky’s eyes fall to the Glock that’s on my lap as I hear footsteps. Yeah, come right on up muthafucka. I’ma blast his brains out the instant I whatever dude she’s fucking.

  Then she turns around saying, “No Nino, I'm good. I thought I saw... a rat.”

  “You sure?” he asks.

  “Yeah, Rocky, you sure,” I tell her, teeth gritted. I glare at the Rolex on my wrist as jealousy overwhelms me.

  “Yeah,” she says hesitantly, closing the door behind her.

  “Damn, you wasn't going to invite your dude up?” I ask. “You saved Chuey’s life last time. Don't think me or my peeples can't find your new boo thang.”

  Shit, I used to be a nigga of few words now Rockwell stalks into her bedroom. My wife has me feeling ghost just as she did the first time I met her walking into the projects, tag game popping, with her uncle in tow.

  I wait, but she doesn't come back out. After a few minutes, I place my gat on the stool and step into the room. She's digging through drawers as if her life depends on it.

  “I'm looking for the divorce papers, if that's what you wanna know, Renzo!” Rockwell says through gritted teeth while snatching open drawer after drawer. Opening, digging, slamming them closed.

  As she searches the old dresser Rocky snaps, “I hid the divorce papers from myself so I didn't have to think about how the greatest love ever known had failed so bad. But I'm so through with your grimy ass it ain't even sad anymore.” She snatched out another drawer; some cheap cardboard wood that yanks out and slams down on her toe.

  “Fuck!” she screams, hobbling toward the bed.

  I rub the back of my neck then step out the room. In the kitchen, I’m at least a head taller than the light-blue, old school refrigerator. I open the freezer door, and grab a bag of frozen vegetables. I'm back into the bedroom in two steps.

  “I don't need you or your help,” Rockwell says, rolling her eyes over the frozen mixed carrots, corn and green beans that I try to hand over. Man, her reaction takes me back in the day. I’d do something wrong, she’d twist her ankle tryna run away from a nigga, or whatnot. Then I would have to help her up, carry her home and jokingly let her ass know that it’s her karma. This shit ain’t like that no more. There ain’t finna be no more joking. Rocky’s golden eyes are all glossed with tears as she smiles at the bullshit I’m dishing.

  I huff, as she continues to wince, while sitting at the edge of the be
d.

  “Nigga, get ghost.”

  Yeah, that’s some old school shit. But … that ain’t even us anymore.

  I stand there, ignoring her hate, and holding out the bag. “Girl, just take it.”

  “Nope, I don’t need your help.”

  “Oh well, you finna get it today,” I reply, my stance just as hard as this girl’s issues. And, I can’t even tell lil’ mama to get over herself, because Lord knows in the past, Rocky blew everything out of proportion. I kneel down and slowly place the bag on top of her foot where a whelp is forming and it's starting to redden. Damn, my beautiful girl and these pretty ass feet stay unblemished, except for this new gash.

  When I hear sniffling, I look up. Rockwell is holding a pillow to her chest as she silently cries. I reach up and try to kiss the tears away. The movement is automatic since I've been doing so for almost a lifetime. Rockwell turns her head away from my love. It instantly reminds me that shit ain't right between us. It hasn't been right since we moved to Colombia.

  “I'm sorry, ma,” I tell her while kissing her ear instead. That soft earlobe used to be Rocky’s G-spot. But all I wanna do is confess that we should be King and Queen. Fuck the cartel. But just her as my queen and me as her king, that's how we should be... But if lil’ mama wanna keep those gums clamped, I ain’t finna bitch up.

  “Why are you sorry, Renzo?” Rockwell says after a while. She can hardly speak with the sniffling.

  Pain grips at my chest, just to think about it. There’s nobody to blame. Nobody to murk; nothing can change the past. I look up and tell her, “Our son...”

  The hardness in Rockwell’s eyes waver for a second. Then she gets brand new, the girl that I never really fucking knew. “You mean my son.”

  “I know he was our son, Rocky!” I shout at her then instantly feel that was fucked up on my part. I stand up. I hadn’t even laid eyes on my don. After the argument that Rockwell and I had while in her hospital room, I got Doctor Socorro to get a DNA test done ASAP. The bitch had the nerve to look at me funny, but was smart enough to understand that it had to be done.