Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug

by K'Aliyah Knight

  I damn near close the door to my Bentley on Justine’s ankle at long-term parking. I really want to get home to my family. Yeah, I don’t give them much attention, but I love them. Besides, I’m agitated by the fact that Justine lives almost in Hoover. “Dial Rockwell,” I command the car phone while doing 90 on the freeway.

  It rings through the speaker. Again and again. I press the end button on my steering wheel.

  “She did say something about helping LaShawn this week...” Justine says.

  As I glare at her, Justine smiles. I've started to learn when she's lying, but right now I can't tell. We pull off the freeway at her exit, and I speed down the bumpy road in a bad neighborhood. Then our bodies lurch forward as someone rams into the back of my brand new Bentley. Through the rearview mirror, all I see is ultra white lights and can’t tell what kind of SUV is behind me.

  Fuming, I skirt over to the curb and hop out. Two Escalades pull over before I can reassess the situation, and a Hummer is right behind. I’m frozen to the asphalt staring at seven guys, and what appears to be bandanas over their faces–but it’s too dark to tell. Fuck!

  “Whadaya want? My mom is Tamara Sica Bell! Tamms Sica! So fuck off,” Maybe I sound like a bitch, but my hands go up too. They should know her name. The North Side of Hoover is miles away though.

  “Hey,” Justine gets out and she's pistol whipped upside the head.

  They say nothing, but step closer to me. I go to my pocket, remembering a defense tip the cops gave at my old prep school. If someone is going to mug you, throw your wallet as far as you can. “You want my wallet–”

  The first punch sends blood and spit out of my mouth. My wallet hits the ground. All the air in my guts is gone. I drop to the asphalt as pain shoots from my spine and the back of my head. Balling up as they continue to beat me...

  Chapter 20

  ROCKWELL

  This was the longest weekend vacation ever, yet it could have gone on forever. My nigga had me so tired that I slept for most of the jet ride home and still don’t know where he took me, but I enjoyed every minute. Wasn't till we hit the freeway from Chicago O’Hare International Airport back to Hoover that I checked my phone. Elisha called with trouble.

  “Rock, I took the boys to church. Ya momma was acting all kindsa cray cray and long story short, Junior is at her house.”

  I sigh, leaning against the headrest in Lorenzo’s Charger. I vaguely remember telling Elisha about me and my mom’s current tense relationship while we puffed on some kush.

  Soon as we get back to the H, we stop at the condos I've lived in most of my life. “Bae, do you wanna come up?” I ask as he got out the car.

  “Nah, ma, you ain’t gotta worry about yo’ mom tripping. Finna post, and roll me a lil’ pokalolo.” Lorenzo sat back and started pulling out his blunt wrappers. I took a long breath and headed to the front door, but it swooped open so quickly.

  “Have you lost your mind?” My mom says through gritted teeth. “I told that bitch not to tell you I had Junior!”

  “Mommy please…” I look past her to Junior. He's standing in the hallway, afraid to move.

  “You had my grandson with that ghetto whore! You–” she stops to look out the window. Then touches her chest like she’s about to have a heart attack. “Dear God, where did I go wrong with you! Rockwell, you were out with that no good thug. After all the things I tried to do to help you get away from that piece of shit! Wish your father was here!”

  “Me too! Junior, grab your things!”

  “He's not going with you. In fact, I knew you were up to no good. I have it in my mind to call CPS. No I’ma call Raphael right now!”

  My mind is blown. What the fuck is wrong with my mommy? “Mom, you can’t call my husband!”

  “Rockwell, go in your room, put some damn clothes on so we can go to the church and pray for your forgiveness!”

  “Mommy, just stop! Junior get your stuff and come on.”

  Soon as he gets to me, Mommy snatches him back. “You ain't going with this whore. This home wrecker.” She pushed Junior and he falls on the floor. When I go to pick him up, I'm pushed onto my ass. Since I’m at the entryway my tailbone hits the doorstep and it hurts. “Mommy, stop!”

  She reaches down to slap me but Lorenzo catches her hand. Lashawn asks, “What you gon’ do? No good thug!”

  “LaShawn make it easy on yaself.” Lorenzo lets her go.

  Mom has her hand back, but is all in his face. “Hit me you Mexican piece of shit! You fucking immigrant! Show my daughter the real you!”

  I'm stunned. Lorenzo helps me up, and then grabs Junior’s backpack that fell as she continues to talk smack. He’s grabbing all of the toys he’d bought Junior that just fell out of Junior’s backpack.

  “Gimme back my family!” Mom grabs his arm again, but Lorenzo yanks his shoulder so hard she almost falls.

  “He hit me.” Mommy slips all extra late as I start out the door sniffling back tears.

  She stays there on the floor in the doorway as I walk past. Knowing sympathy is nowhere near she yells, “I'll tell Raphael!”

  The ride home is quiet. Junior cried himself to sleep. Chuey gets him out the car seeing that me and Lorenzo need a minute. The rest of the dudes get off the porch.

  I look at Lorenzo with tears in my eyes, whisper, “Bae, let me and my son go home, please.”

  “Aight, ma,” Lorenzo says, getting out of the car. He goes to get Junior, and holds our sleeping child in his arms. The sight is a dream, but I just can’t. For a while, I just sit in the passenger seat just thinking.

  Why the fuck was my momma on one? The day me and Lashawn wasn’t cool, this nigga entered my life. Lorenzo was barely a year older, we were just kids, but my momma hated on him with a passion. The more she forbade our friendship, the more he became my life source. My air…

  Now I know my mom has been about the bullshit, always looking at him foul. But the shit she said and tried to pull. I got out the car after asking him to let me and Junior go home.

  Lorenzo was nowhere in sight when I went into the house. My car keys and phone were sitting on the coffee table. Bag of clothes were too. It was like this were a sign for me to kick rocks. Junior sat with Chuey and Sean playing video games. But he got pissy when I told him it was time to go home.

  “Where’s Lorenzo?” Junior asks.

  I look at the homies and they shrug. There’s tension, they wanted to keep it cool and keep the fuck out Lorenzo’s business.

  How it felt like my lungs were crushed. All the while, I was driving home. I just kept remembering telling Lorenzo. “What if Junior is not yours?” So, what if it’s a lie. I have this feeling that Lorenzo is up to no good. I don’t want Junior growing up around Lorenzo if he’s learned to be anything like my Uncle Marcel.

  Nah, let me be real. My mommy scared me into coming home… She reminded me that Lorenzo is just this reoccurring good dream that I have every once in a while. He can’t be Junior’s dad, because he will never stay. At least, that’s what I told myself while leaving his house.

  I snatch up my phone at a red light to keep from crying and see so many calls. The same number has been calling me. I have it in my mind to call and cuss somebody out, then notice a few from Raphael’s mom. She’s crying and I barely make out that we need to meet at the hospital.

  Tamara Sica Bell called last night and well into the morning. I make a U-turn and head to the hospital. Soon as we step inside Junior runs into his grandma’s arms. Raphael’s father looks wore out. Tamms gives Junior to him and comes to me.

  “Is he okay?” My eyes have long ago been red from crying but I'm still worried.

  “He’s alive,” Tamms replies, hugging me. “Before you go inside, we need to have a talk.”

  We step back out and she lights up a Newport.

  “Men are no good. Every once in a while, you will need a release.” She blows the toxins over her shoulder and continues, “Besides my son is a royal asshole, but for the moment put Ra
phael first. For the next couple of months, please put him first.”

  I nod. It sounds like she thinks I'm cheating and begging me not to for a while. I ask, “What happened?”

  “Raphael was carjacked last night.”

  When we step inside two uniform cops are talking to him. My husband’s forehead and chest are bandaged. Raphael’s left leg is in a cast. Damn, I feel bad for him, until I listen to his story, and they mention a female victim.

  “And you are?” the cops ask.

  “His wife.”

  The cop turns back to Raphael saying, “Oh, we were going to question the female you were with now. What relation is she to you? And the lady’s name?”

  I stare at my husband. On second thought, I don't even want to know. Shit, he can keep secrets, I can keep even bigger ones. I step back into the hallway. The cops give me a head nod on their way out about ten minutes later, and then continue on a few doors down. I'm tempted to see what woman was so unlucky enough to be caught into my husband’s web, let alone be beaten with him. Hmmm, a ride or die bitch? I smile smugly, and then step back into Raphael’s hospital room. “So was she a prostitute? Good thing you’re at the hospital nasty muthafucka. You’re getting tested too!”

  ~~~

  My husband’s rib is broken. Besides the crushed leg and fractures to the skull, I’d kill him myself. Yeah, he always has cheated. He’s always done a good job to hide it before. And by now, I’ve been living in cruise control, as long as he keeps it strapped and doesn’t bring me an STD. But who is this chick taking him to The H? Is the hoe somebody that I know? Being disrespected is my only issue, I have no heart when it comes to love because the only man I want to love sho’ doesn’t love me. So not knowing who this hoe is still pisses me off. The broad might be smiling in my face with the smell of Raphael’s tiny ass dick on her lips!

  Paula is in my ear with worry as the manager, until the new designs finally arrive a few days later. A busy weekend had already passed by, less money in the bank. Truth be told, when Lorenzo talked shit about my store, I wanted to toss in the rag then and there. He was right, this had not been my dream, and it was nothing near designing. I had investors already greedily offering proposals for my designs. Then Daddy got hurt on the job and then…

  Instead of dwelling on that, I go quickly into the bedroom I share with my husband as his whiny ass calls.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Come sit with me,” he pats the feather comforter next to him. Poor thing, Raphael wants to use his good looks, but his face is all black and blue.

  “There’s no time to sit. I have to cook, I have to clean, and Junior is almost back from his baseball meeting. Bonita taped the entire game if you would like to watch it.” I end sarcastically.

  “Why isn’t Bonita cooking and cleaning?”

  “Because this is my house!” I shout. Don’t make sense since Bonita is the maid, but Lorenzo is MIA when it comes to my missed calls to him and texts. He might be at the baseball meet, so if he is, a dose of his own medicine will do.

  “Honey, please just sit with me.” Raphael’s beautiful green eyes pull me in. Those damn eyes made it hard for me to trick him into being Junior’s dad. We both have done wrong in this marriage, but I’m scared of lonely. I slowly climb onto the big bed trying not to hurt him.

  He puts an arm around me.

  “Doesn’t it hurt to move?” I grumble, not really wanting to be held.

  “Yes,” he replies, “But my love for you is more than any pain.”

  “What about the whore you got beat on for? I’m sure it was painful. You love her?”

  “Of course not!” He grimaces, pulling my face toward him. “Rockwell, I love you with every bit of my heart.”

  To shut down the bullshit, I kiss Raphael’s lips and get up quickly. He starts to say something but the alarm dings. Someone is coming into the house. I hurry down the stairs to see Bonita and Junior entering. My child has this pathetic look on his face.

  “Aw, did you lose the game?” I pull him into a hug.

  “No, he did awesome!” Bonita is ecstatic. She has been to a few games before and just couldn’t see why I tortured the boy to continue.

  “Lorenzo didn’t come.” Junior drops his baseball mitts onto the marble hallway floor.

  “Oh baby, I’m sorry. Look, it’s not his job to come to your games okay?” I need this convo to change quickly. This is the type of shit that will have me going off on Lorenzo. My worst fear is making up for a dad that’s a rolling stone.

  “But Lorenzo said he’d come to every one of my games.”

  “Let’s go get cleaned up,” I say, ushering him up the stairs. While running my son’s bath water, I call Lorenzo again. And like the past few days, this nigga doesn’t even answer.

  Chapter 21

  LORENZO

  COLOMBIA

  It low key had me feeling some type of way that Rockwell tried to bring Blu’s addiction into the convo. There I was tryna show her a good time, and Rocky was giving me the third degree. Her mentioning Blu sounded just like Moms banging on me saying, “Being a cartel thug had the people I loved marked.” We had a good time at one of the local, low-key spots in my home country tho. I’ll just let her keep thinking that I’m a hustler with a little bit of ‘show money.’ She ain’t ready for the truth yet no way.

  “Sup, my nigga,” Ayo passes the keys to my ride as we step off the jet in Colombia. I had met him in Miami with Santiago’s jet then we rode down. “How the fuck you go from little ass Rockwell to burning bitches down?”

  “The fuck you mean?” I ask, getting into the driver’s side.

  This nigga chuckles, and holds up his cell phone. “This blog is named after the Phantom.”

  “Nigga, you sitting here reading blogs when we getting ready to give Santi a rundown of New York and Florida?”

  “Yeah, I like to read, and the muthafucka that’s posting about what’s going on in Hoover make’s yo’ ass look good. The dude posted about that Maserati being burnt to a crisp with that Italian dude that got you for some counterfeit money.” Ayo busts up laughing, “Man, this story was so raw, feel like I was there. The writer mentioned how there were just teeth and a few bones of the Italian dude in the driver’s seat. The bitch at his side had been burning alive and five months pregnant. The blogger is calling you a sociopath.”

  I nod my head, not interested at all.

  “Lorenzo, shit, you is a muthafucking psycho. He gave the break down about your behaviors. All y’all Colombians start out affection and giving and shit, then when somebody fuck you over, it’s like a light switch.”

  “Ayo, I don’t even need to know all that.”

  “I’m just saying, this blogger got the Phantom down to a tee.”

  Ayo stops chatting me up as I give him that look. Ayo rubs his hands together and says, “Okay, I’m just thinking this would make a good HBO documentary, but anyway Santiago is ready for this deal man. We need to take all of Illi, finally.”

  “Where’s Trek and Shamika?” I ask as we hit up the coastline toward vibrant green mountains, where my mansion and Tio Santiago’s mansion are located.

  “You know how they do. Come down from Harlem like they’re on vacation away from the kids. Trek and Shamika will come thru when Santiago gives the signal. For now let's live it up.”

  I nod my head. We ride to my beach house overlooking the coast. My peoples already got shit active. The chef knows what I like when I arrive and hoes are lying in the pool waiting for me. That's the life when I come home.

  After showering and eating what my sexy chef has prepared I sit at the long table on the balcony. My mind is on Rocky and my don. Soon I’ma have to let her ass know that she need to come home. This is home.

  “Thought Chuey was working The H for you...” Purrs my main bitch, Janyca takes a seat on my lap. She murmurs how much she missed me while kissing my lips. She be on me tougher than Trinidad and I'm fixing to have to set her aside, but Janyca begins to ch
op up the plan. That’s why I keep her around. Man, her mindset got a nigga dick hard. Smart bitch; analyst in every since of the word.

  So she’s giving me some good info, when Santiago and his crew get here with sub machine guns and rifles like they ain't safe at a nigga’s spot. I stand up as I look at these dudes’ mean dark faces.

  “Come the fuck on, mi amigos! Move,” Santiago stands there in a white linen suit and waves everybody from the table. He watches Janyca’s ass sway away as does Ayo. When he notices his crew stands there, he points his gun in their direction. “This is my muthafuckin', familia! I said everybody,” he cusses in Spanish.

  And we stand there on a veranda overlooking the ocean on a beautiful ass day. Mean mugging the fuck outta each other. He's the leader of the Mendoza De Dios Cartel. His hands go to my neck and he kisses my forehead real hard. We Colombianos can be so passionate, but this muthafucka wants something.

  “Nah, Tio Santi, you know I don't take orders.”

  He lets me go, and drags a hand through his slick black hair. “Yous lost me five milli last week with your impromptu visit to Illinois, and you don’t take orders. Any other man would be begging for his life. Pero usted es como un hijo para mí–But you are like a son to me. Now, how the fuck is Blu?”

  “Good.”

  “Where is she?” He looks expectant. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, speak to me. We should be celebrating that my niece has been found.”

  With no emotion, I reply, “Moms has her.”

  “My little big sister? What? I thought Margarita washed her hands of all of us,” He says, rubbing his hands together with a laugh. “And that is why you stayed. They tell me the lovely Townsend girl has caught your eye again. What is this, the world’s longest romance?” He asks of Rockwell.

  “Man, I apologize for the missed funds.” I really do feel bad. Had Trinidad’s ass working on fixing the missed deal. “Found Blu when I took her home, I learned that Rita is really good friends with Rockwell after all the shit she's done to our family.”

  He shrugs. “The girl sic'd her Uncle Marcel on you. Just forgive her. I've had bitches try to murder me. And they still love me.” He pulls up his button up and shows me a bullet wound on his stomach. “So just ride this shit out. And no worries about last week. Please sit.”