The Cartel 7--Illuminati--Roundtable of Bosses

by Ashley

  She tossed the Walkman onto the adjacent bunk. A few awkward seconds ticked by before the woman gave in. Breeze exhaled as she collapsed onto her bed.

  “I heard about what happened with your baby. That’s fucked up. That’s the only reason why I ain’t all up in your ass right now,” the woman said.

  Breeze found laughter for the first time in days. “Oddly enough, it’s the only reason I’m all in yours right now.”

  They had come to an understanding without coming to blows and Breeze appreciated the empathy.

  * * *

  Breeze refused to leave her cell for three days. It wasn’t until the warden came to force her out of bed to eat that she found the strength in her legs to get up. She entered the mess hall and immediately found Rezzie and Sanchez posted with the Dominican girls at their normal table. Breeze walked over to them, her arms folded across her chest. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair was tucked into the back of her shirt. Her face was pale and sickly from all she had been through. She stood at the edge of the table.

  “What up, Princess?” Rezzie asked.

  Breeze hesitated before scooting in on the other side of the table.

  “You don’t see her trying to sit? Get your ass up. You don’t know who she is?” Sanchez barked at a Spanish girl who was in Breeze’s way.

  “I’m down with whatever this is. I got a daughter to get home to. So whatever protection you’re offering, whatever I got to do…”

  Rezzie laughed.

  “What’s funny?” Breeze asked.

  “Whatever you got to do? Nah, chica, you got it all wrong. It’s whatever you want us to do, for you. We know who your people are. That trump all our shit in here. You’re the queen. You don’t got to do nothing for us. We for you. So, whatever you need. You say the word and that’s that,” Sanchez explained.

  Breeze didn’t respond. “Go get her a tray,” Sanchez ordered the same girl, who was now standing behind Breeze.

  The girl retrieved Breeze’s food and Breeze ate silently, unsure of her new position. Just like that she had been placed in a position of power. These women had respect for her simply because of who she was and even though Breeze knew none of them, somehow trust was established. Somehow, they all were looking at her in admiration, waiting for her to say something, to do something. I’m the boss? she thought, completely perplexed. She kept her poker face strong, bluffing, as if she wasn’t a ball of misery, fear, and heartache.

  She looked up as they watched her and a small smirk spread across her face before quickly disappearing. It was inevitable that Breeze would come into her own. She was Carter Diamond’s only daughter and that was all the protection she needed. I’m the boss.

  * * *

  The ice block that had built around Breeze’s heart had turned her into a different person. As she walked down the darkened cell block her heart thundered. She could hear the emotional storm in her ears. Rage made Breeze feel powerful. It made her merciless. It took away all reasoning. She had never understood how her brother Mecca could do the things he did without remorse, or how Miamor could commit murder without thinking twice. Until now. Something had happened to them that took away their empathy for others. Losing Aurora had hardened her. She was scarred and the part of her that had remained pure over the years was now tainted.

  The guard escorted her down to the kitchen. The prison had never been so silent. In the wee hours of the night when most of the inmates were asleep, Breeze had an agenda in mind. When they arrived at the mess hall, Breeze turned toward the guard and extended her wrists. The guard removed the handcuffs. “You got twenty minutes before the cameras come back on. You’ll need to be back in your cell by then,” the guard said.

  With the promise of riches after her release, it was easy to get a guard or two to bend the rules to her favor. With a family name that carried inherited power, no one wanted to get on Breeze’s bad side. Now that she was willing to use it, she made the rules on her block. She entered the kitchen where Sanchez and Rezzie stood, holding a girl at knifepoint.

  “Say the word,” Rezzie said.

  Breeze walked closer and the girl’s face came into clear view. This bitch almost made me lose my baby, Breeze thought. She instantly recognized her. She was the one responsible for the beating in the shower.

  Breeze stood directly in front of the girl’s face. They were so close to each other that Breeze could smell the fear on her breath. “You should have killed me,” Breeze said. “You should have made sure I never walked out of that shower.”

  Breeze stepped back. “Make it hurt,” she said simply. Breeze watched unflinchingly as Rezzie took the knife and dug it into the girl’s back. She stabbed her repeatedly and then put the knife in the dishwasher, and removed evidence that they were ever present. Breeze bent down and looked the girl in her eyes. The girl tried to speak as blood backed up in her mouth. “This is for my daughter, bitch.”

  “Diamond, let’s go, ma,” Sanchez said.

  Breeze turned and followed them out of the kitchen.

  “We’re family. We’re riding for you, whatever, whenever. The bitch disrespected. The example is set.”

  Sanchez threw her arm around Breeze’s shoulder and they walked out united. Revenge hadn’t been as sweet as Breeze expected, but it was necessary. She knew her heart wouldn’t be healed until she had her daughter back in her arms, but to get there she had to survive on the inside and this is what it took. Sanchez and Rezzie had put her on the throne. She had a gang of rough ones standing behind her and Breeze only hoped that this place didn’t strip her of everything. She wanted her daughter to know her as she was, but she could slowly feel herself changing, becoming tainted, and there was no avoiding that.

  CHAPTER 14

  C.J.’s hands flew with such swiftness that he barely felt the sting as they connected with his target. The raw piece of butchered meat hung in the freezer and was the perfect punching bag for a young fighter. Estes wanted C.J. to get used to the feeling of punching flesh. He had to be desensitized to the feeling so that he didn’t hesitate in the pit and allow his opponent to gain the upper hand. C.J.’s knuckles were numb to the pain as he punched, landing vicious blows. Estes sat back and watched, coaching him, training him to be a prizefighter. C.J. might have been young, but that was a plus in Estes’s eyes. He had a lot of time to develop his skills. C.J. was a unique fighter. Not only was he unafraid to go in for the punch, but he was fast on his feet and his agility made it hard for other fighters to land a punch. He was good at both offense and defense. Estes saw nothing but potential in the young man.

  “When you’re in the pit, you’re an animal. Nobody can beat you,” Estes said as he stood outside the freezer watching C.J. train. The determination in this young boy was unbelievable. “You’ve got heart,” Estes said. “That’s enough for the day.”

  “I can keep going,” C.J. said, winded, as he continued to fight. He liked the feeling of the adrenaline that coursed through him when he was in the pit. Baraka’s face flashed through his mind. He saw Leena’s body, his mother’s face on the news, the man that had come and split him and Mo up. All his frustrations mounted when he fought, culminating into one huge ball of fury, and when his fists connected it was the ultimate therapy for him. He fought the things that he could do nothing about. Fighting gave him an outlet for the anger and hurt he had built up inside. He hid it well. Even his father never picked up on it when he called, but deep inside C.J. felt like a leaf blowing in the wind. He had no roots; therefore, he could end up any place at any time. No place felt like home, oddly enough, until now. Here with Estes, an old man, who wasn’t particularly happy about C.J.’s presence, who was the most genuine and consistent person in his life right now. They shared a love for fighting. Now that he had discovered it, he only wanted to be the best. Estes wanted to teach the best and live out his childhood dreams through C.J. It worked out for them both.

  Estes chuckled. “Leave some meat on the bones for another day,” Estes said. “I’m
calling council with a few gentlemen. I want you there. You are to be seen, not heard.”

  “You want me to set up, like last time?” C.J. asked.

  “No, kid. I want you present. You learn the game by being a part of the game. With hands like yours you’ll never have to live the lifestyle, but it’s nonnegotiable that you soak up the knowledge. You come from it, so you must know how to deal with it, if it ever comes to your door. The tailor will be here in an hour. Go clean up,” Estes said sternly.

  C.J. rushed up the stairs. It was hard for him to hide the excitement he felt about the gathering this evening. He was getting on Estes’s good side and opening a part of Estes that no one had touched since the death of his son. Even the love he had for his sweet Taryn couldn’t fill the hole that had been left in his heart after the murder of his only heir. C.J. with his resilience and the heart of a lion was warming the ice walls that Estes had built. To be extended the invitation to sit at Estes’s table meant that eventually Estes would break bread with him. He was just too young for the task at hand, but C.J. knew when the time came he would step into the game. Carter had always told C.J. not to follow in his footsteps, but C.J. wanted nothing more than to not only follow but surpass him.

  A knock at the door startled C.J. as he pulled a T-shirt over his head. He opened the door and stood in astonishment as a team of people flooded into the room. C.J. had always seen his father and uncles in thousand-dollar suits and shiny shoes. You dress for the position you want, Carter had told him. It was no different on the streets. Just because they weren’t corporate didn’t mean they didn’t aspire to power. Instead of working for that corner office and hanging degrees on their walls, the men of the Cartel worked for the throne and hung notches of respect on their belt. They were two different games, but at the end of the day, first impressions mattered.

  A thin, olive-toned man with hair that was pulled up into a sleek bun entered the room. The crow’s-feet around his eyes were stressed as he smiled kindly at C.J. He had the shiniest shoes C.J. had ever seen. He wore measurer’s tape around his neck and barked instructions to the two women who entered the room to assist.

  “You put fresh balls in a suit. Always. Go clean yourself and I’ll be prepared when you get out,” the man said bluntly.

  C.J. shriveled in embarrassment and the assistants snickered in amusement as he retreated to the bathroom. He washed himself quickly, too quickly in fact because when he exited the shower, Estes was present and shook his head.

  “Back in there,” he ordered and nodded toward the bathroom. “A man must take pride in his appearance. Cleanliness is next to godliness. Don’t rush.”

  Taking Estes’s advice more seriously, he took his time the second time around. He emerged in underwear and an undershirt as Estes picked out ties and jackets. He was so particular he picked out the socks.

  “I thought this was just for one night?” C.J. asked as he looked at all the options.

  “There will be many nights like this. You’ll need an entire wardrobe,” Estes said seriously. “The ladies will take care of your casual wear once you’re sized.”

  “Can I wear a red tie?” C.J. asked.

  “Are you a clown?” Estes replied. He normally taught with a sternness that made grown men insecure, but C.J. soaked up all the lessons without any hard feelings.

  “Black?” C.J. said, seeking Estes’s approval.

  “Black,” Estes confirmed before walking out of the room.

  C.J. stood there for an hour as the tailor and the ladies worked around him. When they were finished, he was sharp in a feather-gray Tom Ford suit with a white shirt and gray tie. It was as adventurous in color as they would let him get.

  “It feels too tight,” C.J. said as he pulled at the collar.

  “It’s as it should be,” the tailor said. “Be still before you catch a pin. You let me do what I do best and just relax.” A few more minutes exhausted C.J.’s patience. He had been through a lot and was mature in a lot of ways, but in that way, he measured up exactly at eight years old.

  When he was finally permitted to look in the mirror he felt like a man. His chest swelled with pride and he tried his hardest to contain the smile. Men don’t wear their hearts on their sleeve. Carter’s words played in his head and he wished his father could see him now.

  The party was less inclusive than the first one C.J. had attended. Instead of being outside near the beautiful Caribbean Sea that played backyard to the villa, it was held inside where a poker table had been set. As C.J. entered the room, the scent of tobacco filled his lungs as smoke from freshly rolled Cuban cigars wafted into the air. The ten men sat around the table, focused, silent, as they each eyed their cards. The shiny Ferragamo shoes he wore announced his arrival before he could find his voice.

  C.J. may have dressed the part, but he felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. His discomfort was immeasurable, but his poker face was stronger than any player at the table. Each player had a man standing behind him, a bodyguard, arms folded in front of him, handgun tucked securely in the back of his waistline.

  “Stand behind me.” Estes’s stern voice boomed and C.J. followed suit, his young heart pounding so hard that he thought the others could see it through the expensive jacket he wore.

  A large man with a rotund belly tittered. He reminded C.J. of a stuffed pig. He had gotten comfortable and removed his suit jacket, but the buttons on the oxford shirt beneath were holding on for dear life. His stomach bounced jovially as he continued. “That’s who you trust with your life? Against all these killers in the room?” He bellowed in laughter.

  “He can hold his own,” Estes replied. “Don’t you worry.”

  “A little dark for this circle, eh?” the man pushed.

  Estes folded his cards and stared intently across the table. He didn’t speak but his steely gaze burned through the air. Everyone at the table tensed as they waited for him to react. Silence was worse than protest with Estes. C.J. didn’t realize he was holding his breath until his lungs began to beg him to exhale.

  “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Estes,” the pig conceded. The temperature felt like it had been cranked up to hell and suddenly the suit felt like it had shrunk a size.

  “Stand up,” Estes said.

  “Emilio…” the pig started.

  “Stand,” Estes repeated. His tone of voice was calm, but that stare was still so intense.

  The fat man grunted and scooted his chair back as he threw down his cards and struggled to his feet. He stood and then swept his arms out as if to say, What now?

  “C.J., take a seat,” Estes said.

  “I … um … I don’t know how to play,” C.J. stammered.

  “I’ve got fifty grand in the pot, Emilio!” the pig objected, turning red as his anger rose.

  “Then you better hope he plays the cards right,” Estes said. “You disrespect my grandson in his home”—he put the cigar in his mouth and pulled the tobacco smoke into his lungs, holding it until he felt a slight burn—“my home, and you expect to keep a seat at this table?”

  The pig wanted to object further but gruffed in displeasure instead as he looked on.

  “Quit your bitching, we’re at the river,” Estes said, referring to the last card in the game.

  The cards were nothing more than pictures to C.J. He held them in his hands, sweat forming on his nervous brow as his stomach felt twisted and hollow, his mouth dry, and his eyes stinging as if he wanted to cry. He was just starting to get on Estes’s good side. If he messed this up, if he made Estes look bad, he would prove worthless.

  Is he going to send me back? C.J. thought. He could feel the eyes of the other men on him and he didn’t look up. He was too intimidated to look anywhere else except his cards. The most he had played was tunk, a game he had learned from Mo, and the most he had risked was pieces of candy. The sweet goodness had been their pot and it had been all in fun. The money sitting in the middle of the table made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t know the
rules to this game, and although he could sometimes outwit his older cousin, there was no way he could beat these men. What happens if I lose?

  The dealer pulled the last card and the men went around the table revealing their hands. C.J. observed wide-eyed, not knowing what to expect next. When it was his turn he sat the cards on the green, velvet tabletop. He was the last to go.

  “I’ll be damned,” Estes said.

  C.J.’s eyebrows rose in worry as the men laughed around him. Suddenly, he felt the pig wrap his arms around him.

  “This kid is worth something!” The man was jovial as he realized C.J. was holding three of a kind. It was a decent hand and enough to take the pot. “Ha!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “I understand why you keep him around. In the pits! At the card table! He’s good luck!”

  Estes sat back in his seat. “That’s the kid’s seat, the kid’s hand, the kid’s pot,” Estes said.

  The man released C.J. and slammed both palms on the table.

  “It’s the price you pay for disrespect,” Estes said. “Unless you would like to cover it the other way.”

  The threat came out so effortlessly that C.J. almost missed it, but the way the gruff man’s eyes widened in dread couldn’t be lost. The other players remained silent, not wanting to get in the middle of Estes’s affairs as everyone waited for the pig to respond. Nostrils flared, ire flickered in the big man’s eyes, but he didn’t dare protest. The man snatched up his suit jacket from the back of the chair C.J. sat in and stormed out. Estes didn’t even turn to watch him leave. He had enough guards positioned throughout the villa that there was no need to worry. He always made sure his safety was accounted for, even when among those he trusted.

  Estes nodded to the pot. “It’s yours. We’ll establish a Swiss for you in the morning,” Estes said.

  C.J. nodded and even though his thoughts were, What’s a Swiss? he dared not ask.

  Estes motioned for one of his men to come clear the pot and said, “Let’s deal.”