Luxe

by Ashley Antoinette

  “You’re going in?” Aysha asked.

  “Somebody has to,” Bleu said as she looked left, then right before crossing the street in haste.

  She walked into the station wearily, inspecting her surroundings. Everyone seemed suspect. It all felt like one big conspiracy. She tried to keep her cool as she walked up to the ticketing counter.

  “Excuse me, where can I find unclaimed luggage?” she asked.

  Without even looking at her the woman said, “Lost and found is in the back.”

  Bleu located the office and peeked her head inside. No one was around and a pile of lost luggage sat unattended. Bleu just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Although no eyes were on her, it felt as if she were being watched. She spotted the three duffels and grabbed them quickly, struggling as she flung the straps over her shoulders. The weight of the cocaine caused the straps to dig into her shoulders, but she kept it moving.

  “Ma’am! Excuse me!”

  Bleu froze as she turned around, eyes widened and filled with guilt as her stomach flipped. This was it. She was caught. Her bold ass had walked right into a place of public transportation and scooped three bags full of drugs. Her eyes stung and she could feel the tears coming as the man said, “You need some help with those? It seems like you’re having a hard time.”

  “Help?” Bleu breathed out in relief as she chuckled nervously. “You want to help me? That’s all?” She realized that she was on edge and jumpy. “Thank you, but I’m fine,” she said as she rushed out of the doors. She practically ran across the street to the car.

  “Oh shit, you got it?” Aysha said, impressed.

  “Pull off. I almost shit on myself in there,” Bleu said.

  China looked in her rearview mirror and said, “I guess this will be your first and last run?”

  This close call should have been enough to scare her away from the game, but now that it was over, the thrill of it all had her floating on a natural high. She wouldn’t dare go on the same dummy mission again, but she would do it again … her way. She had found a better way to get bricks across the border and she was going to put it to use.

  * * *

  It took everything in her to keep her cool. She had never held so much money in her hands at one time. Twenty thousand dollars, for one run to Mexico. I’ll do that all day, she thought as she flipped through the bills, making sure she hadn’t miscounted. She felt like she had been to hell and back, but she had to admit it had been worth it. In a short weekend she had made more money than most people see in an entire year. All of her worries had gone out of the window. She clipped off a small stack for herself and then set aside $1,000 for Noah. She made a mental note to drop it on his books before placing the rest of the money inside a white envelope. Taking a pair of scissors, she lifted her mattress and cut a small slit under it, then stuffed the money inside. It would have to be her makeshift safe until she purchased a real one, but she wasn’t worried. China and Aysha had been at this a lot longer than she had. They didn’t need to steal from her; they had their own dough.

  A knock at the door interrupted her. “One second.” She flipped her mattress down and smoothed out her blanket before rushing to the door to answer it.

  “I fucking love you!” Bree shouted as soon as she opened the door. He rushed her, picking her up at her waist and running with her until he slammed her on top of her bed. China and Aysha came waltzing in behind him, smiling as positive energy filled the room. “That shit you pulled at the border was genius! If it wasn’t for you, the run would have been a bust, Detroit,” he stated. He pulled a knot of money out of his True Religions and tossed it at her. “That’s for being on your shit.”

  She snatched the money out of the air and thumbed through the bills in disbelief. Bree played with hundreds as if they were singles. In fact, all the women did. They were reckless and carefree with their spending, as if they had the seeds to money trees.

  “Pretty soon you’ll be so good with the paper you’ll know how to count it on sight. That’s five racks,” Bree said.

  “For improvising?” she said in shock.

  “For improvising,” he confirmed. “If it wasn’t for you, those bricks would have never crossed the border and all three of you would be sitting in a federal jail right now. You made the right move. There’s a reward for that. Cinco sends his appreciation.”

  The mention of Cinco made her cringe. She didn’t want anything from him. Was this a gift to make up for his forcing himself on her? No amount of money could make up for the fact that he was an asshole. She started to decline the extra money. She wanted no favors from Cinco, but this was what she had done it for. The paper. It was all about the money, and she had earned it. Fuck Cinco, she thought.

  “You ready to burn down a mall, chick?” Aysha asked. “Now that you’ve got it, you can retire them clothes you been wearing. Time to step your game up, mama.”

  “I can’t. I have class and then work,” Bleu replied as she frowned while biting her bottom lip. She had already missed three days in a row. She wasn’t paying tuition at UCLA. They would pull her scholarship just as quickly as they had given it to her if she didn’t keep up her end of the bargain.

  “Okay, well, while you’re in class, we’ll be riding with the top down on Rodeo,” China said.

  As she watched them leave, she thought, One more day isn’t going to hurt. I can always call in sick to Picante. She rushed to the door and stuck her head out as she yelled, “Hey, I’m coming. Just give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you in the lobby!”

  She rushed to her desk and gathered an envelope and a piece of paper before pulling out her chair. Almost as soon as the money graced her hands she thought of one obligation she had to meet. Noah. She owed him, and she wanted him to know she had his back. The first dollar that she spent would be on him. She jotted down the words quickly before placing it in the envelope and stuffing it in her jacket pocket and rushing out the door.

  14

  Noah,

  I don’t even know if you’re getting my letters. I’ve written you before and you didn’t write me back, so I’m going to keep this one short. I put $500 on your books. It’s against the rules to deposit any more than that per month. I’ll keep sending it, though. On the first of every month until you’re home. I miss you so much. So much has happened since I last saw you. I wish I could talk to you and hear your voice. Tell you what’s been up with me. Things are finally good with me. I miss you every day. L.A. is everything I thought it would be and everything I never thought it would be all at the same time. I wish you were here. I hope you’re okay.

  Always,

  B

  Noah folded the letter and placed it under his mattress. Hearing from her was like tasting a little bit of freedom. She was his rib, and their separation only intensified his feelings for her. He wouldn’t let her know, however … he couldn’t. Putting himself out there and telling her what he was feeling would only make her come running home. Without anyone on the outside to keep her safe she would be easy prey. He smiled as he thought of the money she had sent. Bleu was real. She had kept her word and he loved the shit out of her for that. There were women twice her age who couldn’t hold down a nigga during their bid, but so far Bleu was proving to be thorough. He was grateful for the money because finally he could get himself right.

  Since he had found out that he was Khadafi Langston’s son, things had turned around dramatically. Noah’s father had never done a thing for him in his life, partly because he had no idea he existed, but now that it was known, his last name carried enough weight to guarantee his protection. He had been brought into the fold of Khadafi Langston’s empire … an empire that Noah would inherit upon his release. He was young, so a lot of the old heads hated him from afar, but for the most part he was doing an easy bid. He had an army of goons behind him, which meant protection. On behalf of his father Noah had been labeled street royalty. Nobody wanted those types of problems and the few who did hadn’t stepped to hi
m since the shower incident. A quick stay in the infirmary and a few stitches had put him back on his feet. Inmates and even a few of the guards had offered him gifts just to show respect. Goods were just as valuable as money inside. Everything from food and soap to razor blades had been offered to him as a show of good faith. Once word of who he was spread through the prison his status became legendary, but he wasn’t naïve. Nothing was given freely. If he accepted any of the handouts from any of the other inmates he would owe an unspoken debt. He wasn’t that desperate. Bleu’s $500 would come in handy because he was going to flip it. The prison’s drug trade was practically nonexistent. No one had figured out how to get product on the inside. There was a void in the market, and Noah was looking to fill it. It was the only way he would be able to keep his head above water during the five years. He wasn’t sure if Bleu would ride out his entire sentence with him. Surely she was struggling herself; he had no idea of the newly acquired hustle she had attained. He didn’t want to be a monthly bill to her, so he would flip her money once, which would allow him to eat repeatedly.

  He turned to his cellmate. Noah hadn’t said anything to the old man. In fact, Noah didn’t even know him. Noah’s original cellmate had been moved out in the middle of the night and the old man had moved in. When the switch had occurred only a few words had been spoken.

  “I’m Bookie. I used to run with your pops,” he had said. “You need anything, you let me know.”

  That had been weeks ago and the two hadn’t said much since. Noah kept to himself, as did the old man, both keeping a comfortable distance in the tomb-like cell. It wasn’t until now that Noah actually broke the silence.

  He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees as he folded his hands.

  “You hunched over in contemplation, young buck, might as well speak your piece,” Bookie said as he sat, reading a book, his glasses hanging so far off his nose that they looked as though they would fall off. He had gotten his nickname because his head was always stuffed in a book.

  “You said you know my father,” Noah said.

  “Everybody knows your father, young buck. The whole city. They respected him. Loved him,” Bookie said.

  “The thing I can’t figure out is why you sometimes talk about him in the past tense, but other times … times when you slip up, you talk about him like he’s still alive,” Noah said.

  Bookie looked up from his book but quickly diverted his eyes back to his reading. “Slip of the tongue, I guess,” he dismissed.

  “I want to see him,” Noah said in a hushed tone. “I don’t know why he faked his death, but I know he’s out there. Niggas is too scared and his reputation is too strong for him to be six feet under in a grave somewhere. He owes me. I’ve never asked him for shit. He’s never done shit for me. I’ve never even seen his face. I want one sit-down. That’s it. Tell him to come for a visit.”

  Bookie didn’t respond, just kept reading his book as their usual silence fell over the cell. Noah didn’t need a response, however. Bookie had heard him and he knew that Khadafi would get the message. All he had to do was wait.

  * * *

  A couple days of stunting and flossing turned into an entire week, and as Bleu walked inside Picante, she felt horrible about flaking on Marta. The woman was always busy. She juggled the duties of the busy restaurant as if she had octopus arms, doing eight different things all at once.

  “Nice of you to show your face, Bleu,” Marta said as she took a moment to stop and place her hand on her hip. She was exhausted and she looked at Bleu sternly. “What is all this? You’re fancy fancy now?” she asked as she motioned to Bleu’s upgraded appearance. The girl in a tight-fitted Burberry button-up with Prada heels was not the same young struggling college student Marta had hired. “You hit the lottery?”

  “No, it’s just a few new clothes,” Bleu replied.

  “And a new car?” Marta said with a raised eyebrow as she motioned to the Mercedes that Bleu had parked directly in front of the establishment.

  “Did Iman buy you that?” Marta asked.

  “No!” Bleu replied, louder than she intended to. “God, no! It’s just … I bought it.… I—”

  Marta held her hand up. “No. I don’t want to know and I don’t want you to lie to me, so just stop. You haven’t been here but a few weeks. You were just broke and begging to get this mediocre job, now you’re driving around in foreign cars and wearing five-hundred-dollar shirts,” Marta said. “I don’t want any trouble in my business, Bleu. Perhaps this wasn’t a good fit after all. You clearly don’t need the money anymore, honey.”

  Bleu nodded because she couldn’t see herself working for the measly pay when all she had to do was make a run to Mexico to make racks at a time. Marta was right. Bleu’s brief time at Picante had come to an end, but she didn’t want to leave Marta hanging.

  “I can stick around until you find someone new,” Bleu offered.

  “It’s okay, Bleu,” Marta said. It was as if she could see through Bleu. Marta didn’t know exactly what Bleu had gotten involved in but wasn’t a fool. She had seen how the city of L.A. could turn a good girl bad. “You be careful and you take care of yourself.”

  Bleu nodded as she hugged Marta. “Thank you, Marta. I’ll stop by from time to time to check on you. Those tacos are my favorite,” she said with a soft smile.

  “You do that, honey. I’ll always have a warm plate waiting for you,” Marta replied. As Bleu walked out, she felt like she had disappointed her own mother. She turned and waved as she hopped into her new Benz and pulled out into traffic. She was living large. A small taste of the good life was enough to turn her out. Now that she knew what it was like to live enormous, she could never see herself living dormant ever again.

  15

  Bleu sat in the bus terminal, her eyes dancing around the room as she made a mental note of everything around her. She didn’t know why no one had figured it out before her. Cinco had girls going across the border with ten bricks, fifteen at the most, when he could have had each girl carrying ten times that much. When Bleu had retrieved the luggage from the first run she had noticed how unsecure the bus station was. There was no security checkpoint, no checking of the bags. They hadn’t even checked her I.D. when she had picked up her luggage from lost and found. It was literally a smuggler’s dream. She wasn’t foolish enough to move anything without testing it first, so as she sat with her bus ticket to Tijuana in her hand she observed everything.

  “Bus Eleven-Twenty-Eight now loading for Tijuana. All passengers please make your way to gate seven,” the voice came over the loudspeaker, and Bleu jumped to her feet and grabbed her bag. That was the one perk about bus travel. She carried her own belongings all the way to the door of the bus. It wasn’t until she was ready to board did a carrier take it from her. She watched intently as they put her bag under the bus. They don’t scan it or nothing, she thought in amazement. There were no dogs, no X-ray machines … nothing. Bleu could practically see the profit she was about to make. She had gotten twenty thousand for a light run. With the type of weight she was planning to move she would see a hundred grand easy for every trip she took. She took a deep breath as she took a window seat. The thought of so much money gave her anxiety as she leaned her head back against the headrest. Champagne dreams filled her mind as the bus rolled away from the station.

  Tijuana and its dirty streets, its run-down buildings, and its corrupt government intimidated Bleu, and as she stepped off of the bus she started to second-guess herself. At least when she had come with Aysha and China she had them to back her up. Now that she was solo she felt like a sitting duck. She was trying to play a big boy’s game, but she was vulnerable … she could feel it, and her senses were kicked into overdrive. She didn’t want her name to be flagged by customs, so she knew that she had to at least spend one night in Tijuana. She hadn’t thought of what she would do to occupy her time, and now that she was here she knew this couldn’t be a dry run. Fuck a test trip. She had seen all she h
ad needed to see to know that she was coming back across the border with bricks. Why waste the opportunity? she thought.

  She walked with her duffel bag slung over her arm as she made her way up the desolate street. She had no idea how to get in contact with Cinco, but she was here now. It was too late to turn back.

  I have to call Bree, she thought, knowing that he was the only person who could put her in touch with Cinco. Bree organized the runs. He was the one Cinco did business with. If she was going to dive in headfirst, she would have to go through Bree. It was only right. He was a distributor. Once the cocaine made it into the States, it went to Bree, who then played middleman to various dealers around the city. Once the dope was sold, Bree kept his cut and then sent the majority of the cash back across the border to Cinco. Bleu hadn’t yet handled the money, partly because Bree didn’t trust her with it. He always sent China to pay Cinco, and Bleu was good with that. They all had their parts to play, and if all went as planned, Bleu’s role would be moving weight. She could feel herself becoming good at it. She was a thinker, and once she had gotten her footing in the game she would be able to come up with a better strategy. She didn’t want to be responsible for the money. That was too much temptation.

  She walked into a run-down hotel and she frowned at its appearance. Its once-white walls were now a pale yellow and the smell of mold reeked in the air. She traveled light, with just enough money to eat and sleep. The last thing she needed was to be robbed in Mexico. She wanted to be discreet as possible. She already stuck out like a sore thumb; being flashy would only get her into trouble. She walked up to the front desk.

  “Hola, señorita. ¿Puedo ayudarte en algo?” the clerk said.

  Bleu didn’t know a lick of Spanish, and the confused expression on her face gave her away. “I just need a room … one night?” she said as she held up a finger as she frowned, hoping that he understood.