It was only a matter of time before it all fell apart for Citi and Cane. With Scar dead, many saw it as their opportunity for a come-up. Miami became a free-for-all of murder and violence. The streets were treacherous and it was becoming a vicious dog-eat-dog world out there.
***
The stolen RAV4 hybrid gripped the bumpy terrain effortlessly. Kola was at the wheel and Cartier and Apple rode with her in the creeping hours of the night, just past 4 a.m.
“We do this shit quick and then bounce,” said Kola.
“Ever since you got down here you actin’ like you runnin’ shit,” Apple replied.
Cartier was going to jump in and try to defuse the situation, but she was tired of playing referee. Since they were teenagers they’d always had this competition going. Both were competitive, and Cartier couldn’t keep wasting her breath mediating.
“Bitch, you lucky I came!”
“Nobody asked you to, though.”
“Keep talkin’ shit and I’ll head up 95 North tonight.”
“Bye, bitch. You think I need you!”
“You gonna always need me!”
Finally the car came to a rolling stop. Cartier swung the door open before the vehicle was in park, which indicated that she was over their bullshit. She walked around to the trunk, which Kola popped.
Apple came around and helped Cartier pull out two heavy trash bags.
“Can we leave it here?” asked Cartier.
“I don’t see why not. Ain’t nobody diggin’ graves. This ain’t the movies.”
Cartier nodded.
Both got back in the car and Kola drove them back to the duplex.
In the morning a golden retriever would find the corpses of Miranda Alvarez and Fred “Floco” Jackson. The trio was tying up loose ends.
39
Miami was a place Citi once called her paradise, but now it was becoming her personal hell. Every day she would receive some bad news—one of her men killed, another stash house robbed, a police raid here and there, and civil war inside her organization. All of her worst fears were coming true.
Many saw Citi as weak without Scar around. Many wanted to claim the throne for themselves. Day by day, the amount of soldiers and money was greatly dwindling. She was losing control, the flood gates had opened, and there was no containing the water rushing from the dam. The crack was widening and unfolding into chaos, and Citi saw no way of stopping it. She felt helpless. Her days felt numbered and it was inevitable that they would soon come for her.
Cane joined her on the terrace. He was finally released from the hospital and he wasn’t in great shape. His body moved differently; wearily and broken. Citi continued to stare off in the distance, looking detached from the world around her. As her concentration was fixed on the moon and heavens, she uttered faintly, “How did this happen? What the fuck did we do? They’re not gonna stop, Cane. They’re gonna keep on coming for us.”
“We need to leave this place, Citi. It ain’t safe here for you or me.”
She sighed heavily. She tried to stay strong, but she was gradually breaking within. She finally looked at her brother and said, “What would Dad do? He was always strong. He taught us to survive and taught us to stay on top—to stay strong, because he was strong until the end. I feel we disappointed him, Cane. Look at us. We’re running.”
Cane frowned. He hated to run, but the walls were closing in around them. No matter where they turned, there was always going to be a threat gunning for them, either from within their own ranks or from outside.
And now the police were investigating their crumbling organization. The violence, the shootings, and murderous home invasions that the trio was committing across Miami had stirred up a hornets’ nest, and the authorities were fed up. Politicians took to the media to lash out at the rising crime and the thugs. The mayor made a harsh statement to the public about fighting crime and executing justice—and he proclaimed that his city would no longer be torn apart by murderous thugs, drug cartels, and violent crimes. Their city was looking bad to the nation, and they refused to have Miami look like the violent 80’s again. The sudden violence would scare away the tourists, and that was money lost—taxes and income gone. The city put together a task force to bring to justice those responsible for the sudden bloodshed, the drugs, and violent robberies.
Citi had to turn off the television. It felt like the mayor of Miami was talking to her. She had come down to Miami with an agenda—get money, get rich, survive, and live a life of luxury. But now there was no more life of luxury. There was no more power and glory. Every day was about her survival, moving carefully, and hoping to one day rebuild.
“Pops is dead, Citi, and he’s been dead for a long time now,” Cane replied.
“Do you think about him?”
“Why? Life moves on, dead or not.”
Citi was upset to hear her brother say that. They were all once very close to their father. Curtis Byrne was once a man everybody respected. He had it all—money, good looks, beautiful kids, and respect. When his demise came, Citi and her brothers didn’t have a choice but to continue where their father had left off. It was their way of keeping his memory alive. Now Citi felt she’d let him down—tarnished his legacy.
“This ain’t gonna be the end of us, sis—best believe that shit,” Cane said wholeheartedly.
She didn’t respond to his statement. She just stood there and looked at the sky. She did her best to fight back the tears. It was hard. She didn’t want to look weak, even though she was with her brother and they were alone.
“What next?” she finally said.
“Like I said, we need to leave here and go someplace else. And not New York. I have to fully recuperate,” he uttered with disdain in his voice, thinking about how Scar fucked him up.
“But that’s our fuckin’ home, Cane.”
She remembered not too long ago he was preaching a different sermon. Now it was “Fuck Miami” and “Fuck New York.”
It was odd, she felt.
“I need a damn drink,” said Citi.
She turned and went back into the penthouse. The place was too still and quiet. There was no one around—no goons to protect them, no muscle, no associates—just Cane and Citi, standing alone in a big penthouse on South Beach.
Citi poured herself a shot of Grey Goose and guzzled it. Another one was poured and that was guzzled too. She heaved a sigh. It still felt unreal to her; she’d lost so much in such a short period of time.
“We ain’t got time for this, sis. The longer we stay here, the more we put our lives in danger,” Cane warned her.
“I know,” she quietly replied.
For good measure, Cane carried three pistols, each one loaded and cocked back. He would do anything to protect his baby sister.
“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” he said impatiently.
“And go where? Huh? We can’t stay here. You don’t wanna go back home!”
“I don’t have time for this. Let’s go to the bungalow and we can figure things out. Our next move.”
She followed him out the door. She would never look back. That place would quickly be forgotten. The siblings took the elevator down to the lobby, and the entire time, Cane kept a .45 in his hand and by his side. Every step they took was a risky and dangerous one.
They moved through the underground garage and Cane hurried his sister into the passenger seat of the Tahoe and jumped into the driver’s seat. Gun on his lap, he started the vehicle. To say that they were nervous was an understatement. Not only did they have to worry about Apple and her crew, but other rival crews too.
Cane steered the SUV out of the parking garage and onto the public street. His head was on a constant swivel. If anyone moved wrong, Cane was going to light them up. But so far, the coast was clear. He pushed his foot against the accelerator and drove off into the night. There wo
uld be no turning back, only moving forward.
As Cane drove away from the building, Citi took a deep breath and exhaled, and then a few tears trickled from her eyes. She tried to hold everything in for the longest, refusing to cry or show any weakness, but it was difficult. The pain of losing so much was heavy on her.
“We gonna be a’ight, sis. I promise you that,” Cane said.
She wanted to believe him.
40
The Tahoe approached the ratty rented bungalow thirty minutes from the city. It was where Citi and Cane had been hiding out for several weeks. The place wasn’t luxurious, but it was safe and it was comfortable. The bungalow was organized so that bedrooms were on one side and the kitchen and living and dining room were on the other side. There was an attached garage and a few neighbors, but the area was quiet and in the cut.
When given the chance, Cane would drive out for food and supplies. He did whatever he needed to do to keep them safe. Each room had a gun stashed, and they kept themselves isolated from neighbors. Their days spent at the bungalow were mundane and monastic. For Citi, it was like a nightmare. From riches to rags, from power and glory to feeling like she was on the run and a failure. They had no money and no men, no control or clout. Their fall from grace was fast and it was humiliating.
Citi barely left the place, choosing to spend most of her time either in the bedroom sulking or loitering out back, staring at plants and small animals. She sat there quiet and almost trance-like.
Cane stepped out onto the small porch and said, “I think tomorrow we should gas up the truck and head out—maybe Louisiana or Houston. My body ain’t actin’ right, Citi. I can’t stand for long periods of time. A nigga feelin’ weak. Whatever move we gonna make we need to make it now. Let’s get a good night’s rest and leave at first light.”
“Shoulda never came down here,” she uttered sadly.
“Did you hear me? Are you even listening? A nigga fucked up. We should have left weeks ago. Those bitches are still out there tearin’ up the city. We ain’t safe.”
“You think I don’t know this!”
“You act like you don’t. You act like you can’t snap outta whatever fog you’re in,” he hollered.
“So, what’s the plan then?” she asked.
“There is no fuckin’ plan,” Cane proclaimed. “All we need to do is leave! That’s it.”
The plan sounded simple, but her life wasn’t simple. Never had been.
Cane spun around and made his exit, leaving Citi alone. The next morning, to Cane’s aggravation, his sister was gone. And so was their vehicle. Cane had a feeling that she could be one of two places, the penthouse or her favorite restaurant. He called a taxi and headed out.
***
“I’m gonna fuckin’ come!” Citi cried out. “Ugh . . . . Ugh!”
Citi tightly wrapped her legs around Irving, feeling his throbbing dick piston in and out of her like a jackhammer tearing up concrete. She huffed and puffed as Irving fucked her in the missionary position. He fucked her like he missed her, which he did. The two were entangled on her bed like magnets that couldn’t be pulled apart—sucking lips and tongues connecting passionately. It was what she needed—great sex.
“I missed you,” Irving announced.
“I know you did, baby . . . I’m gonna come!”
It was the one excitement Citi had experienced in weeks. Unbeknownst to Cane, she’d reached out to Irving and brought him back to their bungalow. It was somewhat risky, but she needed to see him. Besides, they were leaving today. Sex with him was uplifting and it was the distraction she needed from her hectic life. Irving agreed to see her eagerly and willingly. He thought that maybe she’d lost interest, but when she’d called him out the blue he was excited and relieved.
As they fucked, their minds became awash with waves of lust. They were losing themselves in each other. It was pure bliss—and maybe it was love.
“Aaaah . . . fuck me, Irving,” she cooed.
His big dick was buried in her tight and soft pussy—the best he’d ever had. Citi’s arms embraced his body, holding him close as his body twitched and his dick jerked in and out of her with the throbbing and milking motions of her inner walls. He began moaning and groaning—falling into perpetual bliss with his eyes closed and his mouth latched onto her dark, hard nipple.
“Ugh . . . damn . . . ugh,” he whimpered like a child. “I’m gonna come, Citi . . .”
“Come in me.”
But then his moaning and groaning shifted to a unexpected loud “Ouch! Ouch! What the fuck!”
Their pleasure was suddenly interrupted by Cane standing over them. He had knocked Irving in the back of his head with the pistol.
“What the fuck, Citi?” Cane shouted.
Irving immediately leaped out of the pussy and sprung from the bed in haste. Cane was all over him like flies on shit, trying to knock teeth out of his mouth and put him down violently. He wanted to kill the young boy. Only he couldn’t. It was like a grandfather trying to beat down his grandson.
“Who the fuck is this nigga?” Cane screamed, angrily pointing his gun at Irving.
Citi leaped from the bed and threw herself in front of Irving to keep Cane from killing him.
“Stop it!” she screamed.
“What the fuck is you doing, Citi? Are you crazy bringing this nigga here?”
“I needed to see him,” she protested.
“He’s fuckin’ trouble!”
“Cane, put the fuckin’ gun down!” Citi shouted.
“I should kill this fool right now,” Cane threatened.
Irving stood there bloody and panicking. This wasn’t part of the program, and the look in Cane’s eyes was menacing. He knew her brother wasn’t bluffing.
“Look, I love your sister, man. I ain’t come here for that kind of trouble,” Irving pleaded.
“You got this fool in this fuckin’ crib and in between your fuckin’ legs? This clown-ass nigga? I should kill you, nigga.”
Citi continued to stand between her brother and Irving. The gun was pointed at her, but she knew Cane wasn’t going to shoot her. He would shoot Irving in a heartbeat, though, and she tried to prevent that.
“He could bring trouble back here, Citi.”
“He won’t, Cane. I promise you that. He won’t.”
“How you know that?”
She sighed. “I know. He’s careful, and I trust him.”
Cane still scowled. His arm was still outstretched with the pistol at the end of it. He was itching to blow Irving’s brains against the wall behind him. Irving tried to keep his cool and not shit on himself, but staring down the barrel of a loaded .45 was terrifying. He’d never had a gun pointed at him. He wasn’t about that life.
“Put the fuckin’ gun down, Cane! Stop this shit! He’s cool. He’s with me and he’s not a fuckin’ threat!” she shouted.
Cane seethed, looking crazy and possessed. Citi grew concerned—maybe scared, believing his bi-polar disorder was setting in.
“Cane, please. He’s cool. I trust him,” she pleaded.
Cane stared at them for a moment. His presence was intense. He then exhaled and finally lowered the gun.
“We can’t trust anybody,” said Cane.
“I got lonely and I missed him.”
“We can’t fuck up like this, Citi. We got too much at stake for you to be making fuckin’ booty calls.”
“I know.”
Irving felt somewhat relieved, but he knew that he wasn’t out the fire yet. As long as Cane still gripped that gun, then he was still in harm’s way.
“Get the fuck outta here, nigga!” Cane shouted.
“What? No!” Citi protested.
“You want me to blow his fuckin’ head off right now?” Cane angrily countered.
“It’s cool, Citi. I’ll leave,” Irving
chimed.
“That’s right. Leave, nigga, before I change my mind and take your fuckin’ life right now,” said Cane.
Irving hurriedly collected his things and got dressed. Cane had him shook. He didn’t know that her brother was crazy—a maniac. He was in love with Citi, but he didn’t want to lose his life over her.
Defeated, Irving accelerated toward the door with Citi marching right behind him. Cane kept his eyes on Irving, looking like he was still contemplating whether the man should live or die.
Outside, Citi repeatedly apologized to him for her brother’s actions.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. We’re just going through a lot right now and he’s a bit paranoid,” she said.
“A bit paranoid? Shit, I never had a gun pointed at me before,” he said.
“And it won’t happen again,” she assured him.
He exhaled. “And we were having so much fun.”
She smiled. “We were.”
It was obvious that he didn’t want to leave, and she didn’t want him to go. But Cane was a crazy killer, and Citi didn’t want to put Irving’s life in danger with her brother being unpredictable. Seeing Irving again brought some normalcy into her world.
The two kissed and said their goodbyes, and Irving took off walking.
41
It took them weeks to finally track Citi down, with the help of Christy. Two times a day, her face was splattered across the news as a victim of an apparent hate crime. Scar’s mug shots along with his record were scrutinized and dissected. Soon, just as she said, Christy was able to start advocating for equal rights as the transgender community rallied behind her. Her beautiful face and sultry voice mesmerized everyone as she stood near her lawyer, strong and smart. She had the world eating out the palm of her hand.
Frantically, she called Cartier’s phone. “We need to meet.” Christy felt like someone was watching her, following her from Twist and Floss.
South Beach Cartel Page 24
