Corey’s face was expressionless. He wasn’t impressed with his son’s words. In fact, he coolly replied with, “Let me guess, that young bitch got you caught up in something.”
Corey knew about Apple. Nick had told him about her, and when he called her a bitch, he could see his son looking disturbed by the word. The slight disrespect toward the woman he loved stirred up some distaste in their visit.
“She’s good peoples,” said Nick.
“I care about you, not her,” Corey replied.
Nick continued to be candid with his father. Corey listened, but he didn’t like his son’s decision. Nick thought Corey would be impressed once he heard about the robbery and the half-million, but he wasn’t.
“She’s a ride-or-die, Pop,” he said in her defense.
“You’re too old to be fuckin’ with some young girl and proclaiming her to be ride-or-die. And this shit she got you caught up in? Not good. It’s gonna break you. You’re pushing your luck, and you need to drop her, Nick. Drop that bitch now before you fuck up and end up in here with me, because that’s what her pussy gonna do to you. That bitch spreads her legs, gives you a taste, and she got you lookin’ at life behind bars or six feet deep,” Corey said.
Corey was wise—been there and done that. Nick didn’t like his father’s approach, but Corey didn’t care. He saw something that Nick couldn’t see, even for a man his age. A bitch like Apple was nothing but trouble, and Nick was about to bite off more than he could chew if he continued to mess with her, despite his reputation on the streets. Good pussy had a way of making even the sharpest men vulnerable.
“You just need to meet her, Pops,” he said.
“No, I don’t. I know her kind already.”
“Her kind?”
“No disrespect, but look at you—you’re blinded by pussy,” said Corey.
“I’m not.”
Corey had never seen his son so flushed and infatuated over a woman. Bitch’s pussy must be made of gold, he thought.
“If this woman really loved you, then she wouldn’t drag you into a war that y’all can’t win. You’re smarter than this, Nick. At least I thought you were.”
Nick continued to protest his father’s words. He didn’t want to hear it, but he remained respectful. They continued to speak like men, never arguing, but agreeing to disagree. He filled Corey in on his plan to take down Scar, Citi, and Cane and ultimately end up with his biggest score.
Corey was adamant about leaving Apple alone before he ended up in jail or dead and, most importantly, to leave Apple’s beef with her. Nick, however, was adamant that it would never come to that. He wouldn’t allow it. He wasn’t going to slip up. He was a cautious man and would continue to be one—and he would retire from the game, but not right now. Also, he felt that Apple did love him like he loved her. She was something special. Nick was sure Corey would change his mind about her if he could meet her and see them together.
Nick knew his father was griping about Apple because he only wanted the best for his son. Growing up, Corey wasn’t there to play catch with him in the backyard, or to teach him how to shave, or drive a car, or personally educate him on women. Nick grew up in the streets and followed in his father’s footsteps. So, the only thing Corey felt he could do for his son was help keep him out of prison or the grave with some fatherly advice.
Nick left the prison that afternoon, but he didn’t leave town just yet. He drove to the nearest motel and paid for a room. He would stay the night and make another visit to Clinton Correctional Facility to see Amir early the next morning. He couldn’t drive all the way to Dannemora, New York and not visit his best friend too.
***
Nick sat at the table and waited for Amir to enter the room. Same shit, different folks this time. While waiting, Nick thought about Corey’s words from the day before. He didn’t want to disappoint his father, but he had to make his own way, and he could never leave Apple. It was like she had a spell on him. He was reaching for a serious payday, and he knew retirement would come soon for him—just this last job and he would become a legit civilian owning his own business.
Amir entered the visiting room standing six feet tall and neatly clad in his prison attire. He was lean with sharp eyes, a gleaming bald head, and a grizzly looking beard. He and Nick exchanged looks of respect. Amir walked Nick’s way looking chill and serious at the same time. Nick stood up when he came close to the table and the two men embraced in a brotherly hug.
“Peace, my brother,” Amir greeted him.
“Peace,” Nick replied.
They sat down opposite each other.
“Your pops mentioned you were upstate,” Amir said.
“Yeah. You know I can’t come see him without seeing you too,” said Nick.
Amir nodded. “No doubt. But what’s going on with you? I’m hearing shit about you, Nick. Fuckin’ retire, my dude, and don’t get caught up in no dumb shit.”
Nick looked at his friend and thought, Here we go again! Round two!
“I’ll be a’ight, Amir.”
“Cuz you know what you’re doing, right?” Amir quickly interrupted him. “You ready to be in here with me and your pops?”
“So you ready to lecture me?”
“I’m ready to help save your life, Nick. Look, being in here, this shit ain’t life, yo. This shit is a fuckin’ disaster . . . complete dystopia.”
“We make our choices,” Nick replied.
“We do, but this is a fucked-up choice. If I was to do it all over again, I would go to school and work for mine. Allah has shown me the way, and I’m thankful for that. Life in this bitch, it’s hell . . . no place for a black man to be. You got an opportunity to get out and live your life right. So far, you beat the odds, my brother. The way I see it, you’re either pussy whipped or stupid,” Amir said to him.
Nick didn’t take kindly to the harsh statement. He slightly frowned. Amir’s conversion to Islam was nothing new to him. It was a gradual change, but now Amir wanted to dictate his life.
“I’m telling you this not to hurt your feelings, Nick, but because I love you and I don’t want you in here with me,” Amir added. “And the sad thing is, my brother, I’m in here, confined behind these walls and I’m freer than I ever been, while you are the one imprisoned by your actions and your mind. The money you have saved, the untaxed blood money, take it, get out, and just live your life. And if that means not coming here to see me and your pops anymore, so be it. Believe me, your father and me, we made our peace with our choices and we’re living with it.”
Nick couldn’t admit it, but he wanted to live his life with Apple, and if he didn’t help her, he thought another nigga would.
“I hear you, Amir, but we make our own choices. I love this woman, and I’m determined to help her and she’s helping me,” said Nick.
Amir sighed heavily. He realized that he wasn’t getting anywhere with Nick. His friend was hell-bent on moving closer to self destruction.
“So you made your choice to stick with this woman. It’s that serious with her?”
“It is,” Nick replied wholeheartedly.
“Well, the only thing I can say to you now is be careful. I hear things in here, and I’ve heard about this Scar. He’s a grimy dude, Nick—really dangerous.”
“Damn, you work quick. I just told my Pops about dude, and in less than twenty-four you got his whole resume.”
“His jacket is I-95 long, Nick. This nigga done put in his work. I heard he’s a beast on them streets; dangerous, cunning, and takes great pleasure in dropping bodies. It ain’t about the money for him, my brother. This fool a body snatcher.”
Nick’s jaw tightened and his eyes hooded over in anger. Finally, he replied, “So am I.”
12
Cartier was dreaming of her beloved Brooklyn. Her old crew and right hand-bitch, Monya, was there, and it felt
like the good old days. Cartier and Monya were two of the baddest bitches in the game—in Brooklyn period. The Cartier Cartel—her, Monya, Bam, Shanine, and Lil’ Momma—had respect, influence, and power.
Then Head appeared in her dream, and it soon transitioned into a wet dream. She could feel his magnetic touch against her skin. She felt him move his hand between her legs and start to massage her while inserting two fingers inside her. She felt him caress the opening and he stroked her inner flesh with slow, dreamy rubbing motions. Cartier felt each convulsive clench of her pussy around his fingers. Her pussy was throbbing as he fingered her, his mouth licking and sucking on her nipple like he was dying for the taste of her. Her excitement started to build, and her body started to squirm. Her passionate dream of Head felt so real. She could feel herself about to orgasm as he continued to please her.
“Ooooh,” she moaned.
Her body continued to squirm and she felt two fingers slamming in and out of her rapidly.
Suddenly, Cartier’s eyes flew open to see a very intoxicated Edward against her—touching her freely. It wasn’t a dream. He was groping her like a horny thirteen-year-old boy. It was his fingers inside of her. Her T-shirt had been lifted up, her tits exposed, as Edward took advantage of her.
With a stiff foot she angrily kicked him off her and he fell off the edge of the bed to the floor.
“Ouch!” he hollered.
“What the fuck is your problem?!” she screamed.
“What is wrong with you?” he shouted.
Cartier jumped from her bed and hurriedly clicked on the lights, and she saw the most hideous sight. Edward was naked except for his knee-high nylon socks. His extremely thin dick was dangling between his puny, hairy balls. She was exposed too. Somehow her panties had been removed and she was feeling the remnants of his saliva on her nipples.
“Are you fuckin’ crazy?” she shouted at him. “You fuckin’ pervert!”
She couldn’t believe that she had ever given this fool some pussy. The thought of his fingers inside of her and his mouth on her nipple while she slept made her fume. The mere sight of him made her want to throw up and then fuck him up for violating her body. But she restrained herself. She knew if she reacted violently, a bitch nigga like him would call the police. The last thing she needed was that kind of heat in her life.
With her face twisted in anger, she spewed, “Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch me again without my permission! You fuckin’ hear me, nigga?”
“Permission?” he whined. “What is this, an authoritarianism?”
He thought he was so smart. He thought he could just touch her without permission and preach his big words to try and intimidate her. But Cartier was smarter than she looked.
“Nigga, my pussy will always be a dictatorship—fuckin’ North Korea, you bitch-ass nigga!” she shouted.
Momentarily, he was confused. Being intoxicated, he didn’t know how they started talking politics.
“Leave me alone!” he exclaimed—and then he stormed out of the bedroom to take a shower.
Cartier was left with bewilderment. She immediately locked her bedroom door. “What the fuck?”
She was literally counting down the days to something new.
She couldn’t go back to sleep because her body felt violated. She heard Edward in the bathroom. She still wanted to punch that bitch nigga in the mouth. Now her body felt awake and aroused. What upset her most was that she was about to come from his abrasive touching. It made her miss Head even more. She sighed deeply and just sat there on her bed for a moment, thinking about her man.
A half-hour later, Edward emerged from the bathroom and walked back to Cartier’s bedroom. He jiggled the doorknob to find it locked. He became incensed. His high was coming down, so he knew better than to pick a fight this late at night with Cartier for two reasons. First, they lived in a high-end building that didn’t tolerate noise complaints. And two, the rent was due in two days, and he didn’t want to give her a reason to withhold it.
The arrangement with Cartier wasn’t working out for him. When she moved in, he thought he would have his cake and eat it too. He would have an unlimited supply of ghetto pussy and she would pay half of all the bills. Pleasure and help with his bills, that’s all she meant to him. There were no special dates, no freebies. It was fifty-fifty between them, along with some perks for him.
But now she wanted to act funky. Did she not know who buttered her bread? Edward felt slighted by the bedroom door being locked. He wanted some pussy. This was his place—his shit! He owned every piece of furniture, every fork and spoon, the bed sheets and the towels. Does she not understand that this is a barter system? he thought. When his blonde white girl was being stubborn or prudish, Cartier was supposed to be his backup plan for receiving pleasure.
The following evening, Edward decided to invite some company over to let out some of his frustration. He and his frat buddies were in the living room drinking and hanging out. Without lowering his voice, he started to gripe about his issues with Cartier to his buddies. He called Cartier a hoochie mama and a whore while she was in her bedroom.
“That whore was an easy fuck,” he boasted to his friends.
His buddies laughed.
“She was, huh?” replied a friend. “Will she fuck a friend too?”
“Maybe. You know how those whores from the ghetto are—so easy and will have sex with anyone, but they can be so damn complicated. I was the one doing that ho a favor. I gave that homeless whore a place to stay. I’m her welfare!” He laughed.
His buddies laughed too.
He continued to call Cartier all types of disrespectful names but stopped short of calling her a bitch. Ingrate, parasite, low-class—he went in on his female roommate to his friends while Cartier was listening to the noise and disrespect from her bedroom. She could have easily gone into the living room and shut him down and embarrassed him in front of his corny friends, but she decided against it. He was hurt. He had gotten a taste of some good pussy—something his white bitch couldn’t give him—and he became addicted. She laughed at how he was hiding his feelings behind hateful words. The man needed a psychiatric evaluation for real.
The next morning, Edward left early for work. Cartier emerged from her bedroom and went into the kitchen to find a note that indicated that she could no longer eat any of his food. Cartier was somewhat taken aback by the note, but she laughed. The man took his sweet time to list all the food that he’d purchased.
So immature, she thought. She sighed at Edward’s pettiness. Shit like this made her miss a real nigga.
Cartier left the note affixed to the fridge. If he wanted it down, then he would have to remove it himself. Just to be spiteful, she went inside the fridge and made herself a wonderful breakfast from Edward’s food.
13
It was late at night, and Apple couldn’t sleep. She sat at her laptop and embedded herself into Citi’s world. Apple clicked on one photo, and then the next, and the next. She was stalking Citi’s Facebook page again and her Instagram too. She carefully observed Citi in each photo, trying to pinpoint locales. Each picture with Citi popping bottles in nightclubs, vacationing in exotic locations like Bermuda and Bali, and showing off Birkin and Gucci bags made Apple see blood red. Citi was living the good life on her stolen money.
Apple took her time to analyze everything about the bitch and try to pinpoint her next move, but she stumbled onto one problem. Citi wasn’t as dumb as Apple thought her to be. None of the pictures on her social media pages were posted in real time. Some of the pictures were months, maybe a year old.
“Fuck!” Apple mumbled.
“Bae, come get some sleep,” Nick called out from her bedroom.
“I’ll be in there in a minute,” she replied. She continued to click on a few more pictures and studied them like she was a photography expert. Still, there wasn’t anything she could use.
Giving up for the night, she logged out of her computer and joined Nick in the bedroom. Tomorrow would be a new day for her.
In the bed, Nick said to her, “C’mere, let me help you get your mind off that bitch.”
He disappeared beneath the covers, maneuvered his face between her spreading legs, and ate her out for nearly an hour. Apple had no complaints at all.
***
It was Apple and Nick’s time-out from the chaos. Nick wanted to do something special for Apple, so he decided to take her out to eat at a nice restaurant. Apple had a thing for cheesecake, so they went to the legendary Junior’s restaurant in Downtown Brooklyn. The two of them sat inside the rust-colored booth near the wooden bar and enjoyed a hearty meal, drinks, and the restaurant’s well-known cheesecake. Times like this made them feel like a normal, loving couple.
The night was growing late, so they decided to complete their date night by driving back to Manhattan and strolling through Times Square—and then maybe later, get into some freaky shit.
Nick climbed behind the wheel of his SUV with Apple sitting shotgun and looking content with her man. Nick started the vehicle, but before he could pull out of the parking spot across the street from Junior’s on Flatbush Avenue, he noticed a garishly colored Range Rover drive by them, followed by a dark green Yukon. Both vehicles then busted a quick U-turn on the wide avenue.
Apple and Nick watched the Range Rover and Yukon come to a stop near Junior’s. It was like fate. Citi and Scar were in the Range Rover, and two of their shooters were in the Yukon. It was after midnight, and the night was cold, and Nick and Apple had the urge to suddenly heat things up in Downtown Brooklyn.
From across the street, Apple and Nick observed Citi and Scar climb out of the Range Rover. The two looked like they were out to enjoy a late night meal at the same restaurant Nick and Apple had just come from. Apple saw her opportunity to strike. They had the upper-hand, and Apple wasn’t about to let this chance at revenge pass her by. Nick was on the same page. Nick reached for the Glock 19 under his seat, and Apple already had a 9mm in her hand.
South Beach Cartel Page 8
