South Beach Cartel

by Nisa Santiago

  “Look what he did to your fuckin’ face,” he griped.

  “I’m a big girl, Pacho. I can handle it. Besides, too many of my men now have open drug cases and some might bitch out and take plea deals. I can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

  They continued to argue. Pacho was being hardheaded. Why couldn’t he understand her point of view? Why couldn’t he see that she was only using Scar? She didn’t love him, but Pacho had a tendency of only seeing shit from his perspective.

  As they fussed about Scar, several hard, rapid knocks on the door caught their immediate attention.

  Pacho went toward the door and shouted, “Who is it?”

  “Yo, open the fuckin’ door, nigga. It’s Scar.”

  Hearing his voice caught both of them by surprise. They stared at each other nervously. Shit! Why was he there? Citi wondered if she had been followed. Did he hear them arguing inside? So many thoughts and worries flooded them both.

  “Go hide in the bedroom,” Pacho told her.

  Citi hurried into the bedroom and hid in the closet while Pacho threw on some jeans and a T-shirt. He closed his bedroom door, reached for his .45 and tucked it into his waistband, and went to open the door.

  Scar stood in front of him with a deadpan gaze. He hadn’t come alone. A goon named Damon was with him. Scar and Damon marched into Pacho’s place without an invitation.

  Closing the door after they entered his place, Pacho turned toward them and said, “What’s good, Scar? Why the sudden appearance?”

  “What, nigga, you ain’t happy to see a nigga? Huh, muthafucka? I’m sayin’, you just got bailed out. I came to check on you, nigga.”

  Pacho’s eyes darted back and forth. The apprehension he felt was thicker than a brick wall. Scar was a psychopath. He was sure that both men were there to murder him. Pacho stood still and kept his eyes fixed on Scar as he leisurely walked around his apartment like he owned the place.

  Scar grinned at Pacho and said, “Nigga, you been fuckin’ already? Damn, it smells like pussy up in here.”

  Pacho ignored the statement. “What’s good, Scar? Is there a problem?”

  “Yeah, there is a problem, in fact,” Scar replied nonchalantly.

  “So talk to me.”

  Scar fleetingly looked at Damon, Damon smirked, and then Scar turned his attention back to Pacho. “Look, we gotta fuck some nigga up.”

  “Who?”

  “Wise,” said Scar.

  “Wise?”

  “He needs to be taken care of for exposing our organization. You already know I can’t let that shit go. He gotta pay for his fuckin’ incompetence.”

  Pacho knew he didn’t have a choice. Once Scar said to do something, you had better do it.

  “A’ight, let’s go see this nigga.”

  “My nigga,” replied Scar.

  As they were about to leave the apartment, Scar pivoted toward Pacho and abruptly asked, “Who you up in here wit’, nigga?”

  Pacho remained cool and replied, “I ain’t got nobody in here.”

  “But I swear I heard you arguing wit’ some bitch before I knocked.”

  “You must have heard the TV,” Pacho said.

  “The TV, huh.”

  “Yeah, the TV.”

  Scar started to walk toward the bedroom door and said, “What bitch you got hiding from me? Cuz you lookin’ mad shook right now, nigga. Lemme find out you got that bitch Monique wit’ the big titties up in here. That bitch definitely knows how to deep throat some dick, nigga. You feel me?”

  Pacho maneuvered himself close to Scar, nearly blocking his path to the door. “You invading my space, nigga. I thought you came here so we can handle our business.”

  Scar stopped short of opening the bedroom door. A sudden smile appeared on his face. “I’m just fuckin’ wit’ you nigga. Calm down.”

  Scar laughed. But Pacho didn’t find his humor amusing.

  6

  Apple couldn’t get Citi out of her head, no matter how hard she tried. The agonizing thought haunted her that a young bitch like Citi had gotten the best of her—taken everything from her, embarrassed her. There was no way she was going to allow that to slide. Without Cartier having her back and Kola playing house, she was alone. She needed Nick to get with the program. She needed his skills, and she was willing to do whatever it took to get her man on her side and stop him from talking about this retirement. She wanted things to happen her way, no matter what.

  She sighed heavily. She had grown into her own, long ago shedding that dependent-on-a-man attitude. Supreme had made her into the bitch she was today, and though what happened with her little sister was a tragedy, it seemed like a blessing in disguise for her.

  While staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, Apple slowly peeled away every piece of clothing she had on. Nick was lying in the bedroom watching TV and smoking a blunt. After a couple days she had finally forgiven him. It had been a quiet evening for them. They had been drinking champagne and chilling, but Apple was tired of chilling. She was tired of lying around and not doing anything about her situation. She couldn’t just chill every day and go into retirement with Nick. She was a restless spirit, and she figured that all Nick needed was a little convincing to see things her way.

  She coolly walked out the bathroom naked and smiled flirtatiously at Nick. He couldn’t help but to take in her nakedness. It was a beautiful thing to see and it never got old to him.

  “Damn, baby . . .”

  “I take it you like what you see?” she said.

  “You know I do.” He took a long drag from the blunt and doused it in the ashtray near him on the nightstand. He’d found something else to enjoy for the evening.

  Apple walked toward him with a look in her eyes that would frighten the average man. Nick propped himself against the headboard, knowing the next hour or so was going to blow his mind. Apple was that type of bitch who knew how to keep her nigga happy.

  She joined him on the bed and freed his dick from the slit in his boxer shorts and leaned closer to his erection. Nick fell back as Apple sensually kissed the tip and then took him into her mouth and drew him deeper into her throat.

  “Oh shit . . .” he moaned.

  Her head bobbed up and down as she took him as far as she could into her mouth, holding his giant erection tight and moving her mouth slowly. Apple dragged the flat of her tongue down Nick’s length, all the way to his balls. He continued to groan and squirm a little. This was Apple’s show, and Nick had a front row seat. The moaning continued, as he caressed her face and shoulders and said, “You gonna fuckin’ make me come, baby.”

  As she sucked his dick, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, Nick continued to groan, feeling his muscles tense as her mouth became a powerful vacuum that was trying to milk the come from his balls. Apple had no time to stop or come up for air. She was focused on pleasing her man. Her lips repetitively sucked from the root of his stiff dick, the spit from her mouth becoming a lubricant. She could feel his pre-come leaking on her tongue. It was a treat for her, knowing the best was yet to come.

  “Ooooh . . . oh shit…. Ooooh shit, baby . . . damn it!”

  His moans echoed throughout the bedroom and intensified when Apple took his balls into her mouth, sucking and licking them, and bouncing them around on her tongue. Nick didn’t know what to do with himself. This young girl was putting a hurting on his genitals, but in a good way. He felt her lips stretch around his hard dick and she started to hum. She could feel his dick throbbing repeatedly in her mouth, like the sneakers of an experienced runner hitting the park trail.

  This intense oral action went on for several minutes with Nick looking like he was about to explode from every suck and lick. When Apple finally stopped with her oral blessings, Nick was so hard and so ready to fuck that he looked like a crack fiend who’d just copped a rock. Apple’s pussy was a thu
mping river. She pushed him back on the bed and straddled his body. She took his hard length into her grip and gently slid him inside of her, feeling the dick fill her walls.

  “Fuck me,” she cried out.

  The sensation of the young girl’s pussy was always phenomenal for the forty-year-old gangster. He easily found his rhythm inside of her, his big dick stretching her to new limits. Apple felt him going in and out of her, each thrust pounding her walls like a jack-hammer breaking up concrete. It was how she liked it—rough and taking no prisoners with the pussy.

  “Ooooh, just like that, nigga! Fuck me!” she cried out.

  Nick erupted like a volcano, but not before giving Apple a few orgasms of her own.

  Nick lay beside Apple looking deflated. He was happy with her. She gave him everything he needed—sex, comfort, and conversation. It was good to come home to something so sweet after being in the streets. He held Apple in his arms, the softness of her body and her curves a blissful feeling to him.

  Apple said, “That was nice.”

  “It always is.”

  For a moment, they shared some pillow talk. Apple said, “I believe in you, baby, and your bar, but a bar is going to take a lot of capital to start and to upkeep. A million dollars is hardly enough money to retire off nowadays.”

  Nick remained silent, choosing to listen to the young girl rather than get defensive.

  She continued with, “What if we make this worth it for you? This is easy money, baby—no different than any other lick you hit. We go in quick, rob that bitch’s trap houses, and kill that ho. That way we both get what we want. I’m telling you, baby, there’s too much money in this to pass up. If you wanna retire, then retire with a few million instead of just one.”

  Nick knew that he was being seduced. “How many millions are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know, but I heard she flipped our money and she’s now doing bigger things wit’ it. She got a whole fuckin’ drug crew—underlings, trap houses, and all that. She might be holding over fifty million—maybe more—to be running that kind of operation. We can snatch a small taste of that in one night,” she proclaimed.

  It wasn’t a figure Nick was expecting to hear—fifty million or more. He could open a franchise with that kind of money in his reach. He started salivating as Apple continued to tell him about Citi’s operation and her riches. Apple had done her homework. Shit, it took him decades to save a cool million, and there was a chance he could double that in one night. Maybe retirement needed to be put on hold.

  Apple continued to give Nick the details she’d gathered, and Nick said that he would start to do his own investigation. Thing is, he believed Apple, but he also believed to never trust any information but your own. If he did decide to get on board, he reasoned this would be the one and only stick-up for him, one murder for her, and then he would be out of the game for real this time. With the kind of money Apple was talking about, he would be set for life.

  “I have one request, though,” she said.

  “Oh, you do?”

  “What we take from that bitch, we split it three ways.”

  Nick was baffled by her request. “Three ways?”

  “I have a friend, Cartier, and she deserves her share too,” she said.

  “No!” he flat out told her. “We’re taking all the risk here and you want to split it with some bitch that I don’t know? It’s not happening.”

  He was sweet on Apple, but he wasn’t a fool.

  Reluctantly, she agreed it’d be just the two of them. Besides, Apple had given Cartier a chance to be down, but she would rather stay out west and play it safe.

  7

  Dusk settled over the Brooklyn neighborhood of Bushwick on a cool and quiet night in the infamous hood. Scar took a few pulls from the blunt as he sat in the backseat of the dark green GMC. Damon was the driver and Pacho sat shotgun. Scar took one last pull of weed and leaned forward to hand the blunt to Damon. Pacho slightly flinched.

  Scar laughed and asked, “Nigga, you good?”

  “Yeah, I’m good, Scar,” said Pacho.

  “Fuck you actin’ nervous for then, nigga?”

  “I got a lot on my mind.”

  “I bet you do.” Scar laughed.

  Damon took a few strong pulls from the blunt and then shared it with Pacho. Pacho needed the high right now, but at the same time he felt like he needed to stay sober. Fuck it. He took a few hits from the blunt, not wanting to make Scar suspicious.

  Pacho knew he was in a daunting predicament. Scar was seated directly behind him, and he had no idea what he had planned. Scar could easily put a bullet or a knife into the back of his head, and Pacho would have no way to defend himself.

  Damn, would Scar really kill me over some pussy? He really liked Citi and she liked him. The sex was great and she was good peoples. Pacho knew she was only using Scar for his murderous reputation, but it started to have an effect on him.

  Pacho took in the potent strain of weed and it slightly rumbled inside of him. He exhaled. I did nothing wrong, he said to himself. But at the same time, he tried to have eyes in the back of his head.

  “So, was that bitch’s pussy and throat good at ya crib, nigga?” Scar asked Pacho out of the blue.

  “What? What you mean?” Pacho unwillingly responded.

  “You lookin’ spaced out right now, nigga. I figure you got pussy on ya mind. That bitch’s sex game must got you trippin’ and shit, nigga.” Scar laughed.

  “Nah, I’m just focused and ready to handle some business, ya know what I’m sayin’?” he replied.

  “Yeah, I know what ya sayin’.”

  Pacho passed the burning blunt back to Scar. He was a killer and Scar was a killer, so if Scar did try to make a move on him, Pacho knew he needed to be ready. They were like two wolves in the wild, eyes glaring and slightly snarling at each other over the female.

  Finally, they spotted who they’d come there for. Wise was exiting his building and he was alone.

  “There that nigga go right there,” said Damon.

  “Yeah, yeah, roll up on that nigga, Damon,” Scar said.

  Damon slowly moved the vehicle parallel to the sidewalk with all eyes on Wise walking alone. Scar rolled his window down and hollered, “Yo, Wise! C’mere, nigga. Come take a ride wit’ us.”

  Wise spun around to see Scar calling his name from the backseat of the GMC. The look on Wise’s face said it all—Oh shit! He appeared to be nervous and hesitant.

  Scar kept his eyes fixed on Wise, knowing the nigga didn’t have a choice. “Yo, what the fuck you standing there for, nigga? Get in the fuckin’ truck and let’s go,” Scar shouted. “What the fuck? Nigga lookin’ all retarded and shit.”

  “I got some shit to do, Scar. It’s important,” Wise replied.

  Wise was testing his patience. “We important, nigga!”

  “I’m sayin’, Scar . . .”

  Scar and Damon quickly exited the truck and approached Wise with a bully’s stance and surrounded him. Scar said, “I’m gonna have to insist that you go for a ride wit’ us, nigga.”

  Damon hastily lifted Wise’s shirt and removed the gun Wise had tucked in his waistband. Wise found himself in a fucked-up situation. They weren’t giving him a choice—not even a chance to react and defend himself. Pacho sat and watched it unfold from the front seat, reluctant to get involved.

  “Yo, y’all gonna do me like this?” Wise exclaimed.

  “Nigga, just get in the fuckin’ truck so we can go for a ride and talk. That’s all, nigga. We just gotta make a fuckin’ run. Why you wanna make shit difficult?”

  Wise stared silently their way. He nodded and apprehensively climbed into the backseat of the truck with Scar. He knew it was a lie, but he didn’t have a choice. Scar was a crazy muthafucka who didn’t take no for an answer. Even the most hardcore killers feared him.r />
  The four men drove off. Immediately, Wise started to run his mouth, trying his best to talk his way out of the inevitable.

  “Yo Scar, that shit ain’t my fault. I got knocked on a humble, you know what I’m sayin’? And I ain’t say shit to nobody. Shit, nigga, you know I got a family to support—a little girl, and she’s all I got,” Wise proclaimed.

  “Nigga, why you talkin’ so much? I’m sayin’, you talkin’ like you nervous ’bout sumthin’, nigga. You nervous, Wise?”

  “Do I need to be nervous?” Wise replied.

  Scar laughed. “Wise, you my nigga, fo’ sure. Ain’t shit gonna happen to you,” Scar said in what sounded like a sincere tone.

  “I’m just sayin’, Scar . . . we good, right? Y’all my niggas and I know I fucked up gettin’ knocked, but I’m gonna be more careful. And I’m gonna pay back all y’all losses. Whatever is owed take that shit out my cut each week. Just don’t do me this way. I gotta look out fo’ my little girl, you know what I’m sayin’?”

  Wise was trying to say all kind of things to tug on their heart strings, but they remained silent.

  Damon navigated the vehicle through the city and rode through the Holland tunnel. The duration of the long ride from Brooklyn to New Jersey gave Wise and Pacho a lot to think about—or worry about. Why were they in New Jersey? Where were they going? Scar was saying nothing to them at all, but he wanted everyone to be cool.

  They traveled south on the New Jersey Turnpike and ended up in a thickly wooded area called Wharton State Forest. It was a few miles north of Atlantic City.

  Damon maneuvered the vehicle off the main road and onto a narrow dirt road that seemed to close in on them with towering trees that seemed limitless. The area was dark and thick and consumed by absolute silence except for the humming of the engine, and there was nothing around for miles. They traveled a mile into no-man’s land and finally came to a stop at a small open area. It seemed like they’d been swallowed up by the forest.

  Damon killed the engine and Scar ordered everyone to get out the truck. Wise looked hesitant. In a secluded area like this, it seemed his death was inevitable.