Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 2 (Loving a Columbian Cartel Thug)

by K'Aliyah Knight

  The back door opens so hard that I feel a chill fighting against the warmth.

  Patrol or the devil, the look is in the eyes and if that ain't the devil in that nigga, then I know nothing! Either way, with thick fingers and long nails, ol’ boy reaches for my neck, but I'm singing. Instead of feeling the pain and the suffocation of him choking me. He’s suddenly pulled back. It's as if his body moves in slow motion in the air, and then he hits the ground. A gang of dudes is kicking him, punching and stabbing him with knives.

  I stop singing. I'm mute.

  God.

  Still.

  Loves.

  Me.

  There are cars all around! Mi familia.

  Sean and Chuey step up, the dudes that had brought down Patrol fall back in line. I see Lorenzo through the thick of it all.

  “Stop!” I shout, but the words aren't mine. These words coming from my lips are the compassion of the Holy Spirit.

  Lorenzo is already bringing Patrol’s body in the air with a grip on his neck, and slams him down on the cement. Lorenzo pulls his gun out as the cops come cruising by. They nod.

  My cuzzo’s nod over to them, and I realize that the po-po were the look out. They creep by at a slow crawl and look into the backseat at me then shake their heads and mash out; they’ve seen enough.

  Lorenzo puts the gun into Patrol’s mouth. My brother says something to him, Patrol shakes his head, spitting up blood.

  “Nah! You ain’t shit. I ain’t fucking wasting my bullet on you!” Lorenzo slips his gun back into his pocket and starts to kick on Patrol. He laughs and says, “Su mi puta? Sí tu eres, mi puta–you my bitch? Yeah, you my bitch. Muthafucka, you better pray that you’re heart stops beating…”

  “Lorenzo,” I say as my brother starts to stomp on Patrol. If the nigga’s not dead, I don't know. Like my brah said, it would be better that Patrol’s heart stops. But I want Lorenzo to stop. I need him to stop. My heart is too full for this right now. I've operated on hate before. Envy. Vengeance. But right now, I'm too at peace for this.

  “Stop!” I shout again, but too many nigga’s are enjoying this shit. That woulda been me. Those words they say, their ideas woulda been mine. These are my goons from Hoover. We grew up this way.

  “Okay, Blu, for you I’ll stop,” Lorenzo says, looking straight through me. Even though there are demons swarming in his eyes too, I know my brah is doing me a favor. Lorenzo's boot smashing Patrol’ skull into the ground, I know the pain. Tears stream down my face as Chuey’s arms wrap around me. I’m almost weightless as he pulls me into a hug. My primos, Chuey and Sean, hug me. We Colombiano’s, we get all teary eyed, even when angered. They hold me, hug me, but I still sense the hatred they have for the Jamaicans. As my familia gives me encouragement, Lorenzo stares down at Patrol. My brah ain’t even in this world right now…

  After Sean blesses me with the Holy Trinity, I let him go and look at Lorenzo. My brother’s hard glare turns toward me. Lorenzo is last to come to me. The demons plaguing him wash away as he steps over. Lorenzo holds me up.

  “My big brah, I love you,” I tell him. Even though my heart is troubled.

  Lorenzo looks at my face. Tenderness, sadness overtakes him and he holds me tighter. “Blu, my baby, Blu man.” I know he wants to cry. But he’s the shot caller. And he's only cried twice in his life. The first was on the day Rockwell was going to get an abortion with the twins. In fact, I knew he would cry over her one day. Nigga ain't gotta tell me, I knew. And one other time when we were little...

  Chapter 10

  LORENZO.

  All my life, mi familia has come first. Don't matter what type of shit is going down. But for the last 24 hours, it feels like I've been on autopilot. When I murked that Jamaican I was off. It was sloppy, but the cops in the area had already taken their cut. So I sit low in this chair, sipping on a triple shot of 1800 while people around me are throwing a function for Blu, wanting to show their love.

  My heart is hard as a rock right now. How the fuck did I, just two months ago, tell this Patrol and Keandre to fuck off? How had I let my sister down so badly?

  I sip the drink and contemplate that shit. I had to be mad because the Feds have been on me for a cool minute. Just out of nowhere. Matter of fact, it was right after Rockwell and I were taken to Ganza’s mansion and my baby mama was finna be murked. Damn, the Feds must’ve been on Tamms Bell-Sica and Salvatore Ganza when they took us. Now the Feds looking at me. Santi ain’t gon’ like that. To make matters worse, I let down Blu.

  Damn, my baby Rocky got me in a situation and she's too naive to know it.

  The shawty walking around in a bra and thong refills my glass. I nod in her direction and get to sipping. Popeye comes in the house and nods at me.

  “Where ya mini-me?” I ask about my nephew.

  “Phillip is asleep at my cousin’s house,” Popeye says, eyes roaming.

  Nigga looking around like he on a mission. He’s waiting on Blu. Got me proud that Blu stupid ass picked a good dude. But shit, I'm not sure if he wanna try and do right by Blu now. Morals had his ass looking for his wife. And fuck that, I'm not sure my lil’ sister’s stupid ass wanna do right by this nigga and they baby, but they're married. He's fam.

  Homegirl comes to offer him a drink. His eyes bug out. He doesn't even respond. Now this bitch will talk head when niggas get to stuttering because she's so muthafuckin’ fine. But we all look to see what his eyes are on. Blu.

  My sister’s hair is in those two Pocahontas braids I used to laugh at when we was little because she had been ugly and buckteeth. She's wearing a blue dress that we got on the way over and some bangles.

  “Lorenzo, I just tried to call mom...” Blu stops talking when she sees Popeye. Even the crowd of people go silent. The folks that came for food are waiting to see what these two finna do.

  Chapter 11

  POPEYE

  I’ve been up for forty-eight hours. It took Chuey’s call, Sean’s call, and a damn group of nigga’s to tell me that Blu had been found. I had gone to a seedy hotel on the East of Chicago after that Jamaican clerk finally gave up Patrol. My heart almost broke when I pulled in the lot to see an ambulance and a bunch of police cruisers. Next, I saw a Mexican chick crying over her lover as her husband was placed in handcuffs.

  Less than an hour ago, I got a call that Blu had been found. So, I’m headed to one of Lorenzo’s trap houses, and calling Jaylen on the way.

  “Aye Jaylen, tell Phillip his mommy is coming home,” I say soon as my cousin answers the phone. Ain’t too sure if Blu is going to want to come home but damn, it’s the only thought I have while mashing through a red light. Less than five miles away and I can’t get to her any sooner.

  “Nigga, you for real?” Jaylen says excitedly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh Lawd, I’m so happy,” Jaylen chats until I pull up and get out.

  Music is bumping. The grill is blazed in the backyard and ribs are seasoned just right. Soon as I step through the door, I see Lorenzo. The homie looks like he had a rough day. Damn, I look down at myself and I’m even worse. Same button up, with a few sprinkles of blood from ol’ boy I had murked at the restaurant earlier today. Jeans from the beginning of the week, because my mind ain’t been right.

  And then I see Blu.

  All I want to do is apologize. Why didn’t I save my girl? Blu tries to hide her bruises behind two braids. It makes my eyes burn. I’ve never been that nigga that just wants to go out and murk muthafuckas for no reason. I’ve always thought things through, made choices, bodied dudes as a last resort. Right now, I wanna go out and kill any Jamaican dude I see cross my path.

  “Popeye…” Blu begins, biting her lip as she looks at me.

  “Damn Ma,” I’m starting to apologize for not saving her, when the door busts open. Rockwell’s best friend, Elisha, runs through the house with Nelly.

  She flips her cornrows and says, “I’ve been calling Rocky all day. That trick said she’d call me this morning when th
ey got there!”

  Lorenzo gets up slowly, “Fuck,” he says, as the color drains from his face. “Blu, Moms called. You talk to her?”

  Before Blu can respond, Elisha’s hysterical ass keeps shouting, “Lorenzo, tell me she talked to you! Nigga, you supposed to keep my girl safe!” She bucks up on him. And right now, the situation I’m in with Blu doesn’t matter.

  Chapter 12

  ROCKWELL.

  Rita had stepped onto the plane yesterday with a gat to the back of her head and a handsome man holding it. Soon as he saw all of us scared, he put down the gun. Now tell me why they’re acting all cool? Like Usher and Little John’s back in the day joint, “Lovers and Friends.”

  Now, we’re standing in a shack, somebody would call it home. Anyway, ol’ boy opens his mouth and his grill looks like it costs more than my wardrobe. Javier walks back and forth speaking Spanish into his phone. Dang, Lorenzo was right about me learning Spanish.

  “Mama Rita,” I whisper, “You know this dude?”

  “Javier is finding somebody to get us to Colombia. It's easy to get into Cuba, ain't too easy to get the fuck out tho.”

  I fold my arms. “Okay, but Javier just had a gun to ya head, now he switched it up like y’all good. Why the hell are we here?”

  “Because my Javier is in love with me and he's going to get us out,” she whispers.

  “But, Mama Rita–”

  Rita waves me off. “Didn't I tell you about him when you were little. I said stay the fuck away from a street pharmacist, stay away from cartel thugs. The story about me and Javier?”

  “Wha...” I hold Junior closer, vaguely remembering some of the stuff she’d said. Mind you, Rita would be sipping on some wine and Lorenzo would be blazed at the age of 14, so maybe I had some contact high and thought it was a joke. “Um yeah? The cartel dude from Cuba? But that wasn't real.”

  She nods.

  “Wait a fucking minute. You stole this dude’s cocaine and ran off,” I whisper through gritted teeth. Shaking my head, I remember back to all the stories Rita would say when she would be high. Straight soaring through the clouds and the stories were like the sky was the limit. Those stories couldn’t be true. I look at Javier, pacing back and forth like this dude is making a deal. I do not trust him. But he has a cute green frog tattoo on his bicep. Rita told me about it years ago. “Mama Rita, you have to be kidding me?”

  “Nope. Stole almost 20 kilos of his coke. You don't know how much that is do you?”

  “Hell nah, but I know crack heads that would sell their own mama for one hit!” I cover Junior’s ears as I speak.

  “Chill Rocky. We should be in Colombia by dinnertime.”

  “At least if we could call Lorenzo...”

  “Javier won't allow that Rockwell. Even if he’s not about to put down a few broads and little Junior, these guys and my familia are competition.” She puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me this take it easy look before saying, “You're carrying my grandbabies. My kids are here. Would I let Javier hurt us? He doesn't have a phone line to call out of the country. Soon as we touch down in my neck of the woods, we will call Lorenzo. Let's just hope he isn't murdering everybody looking for us. He's not a nice person when worried about his girls.”

  I frown, and then smile. I’m glad he forced me to show him some love before we took off. Dear God, keep my man safe. I pray for Blu like I've been doing on a daily and pray that the dreams won't come... Just my luck…

  ~~~

  Somehow, the dreams take over me again. Not even sure how or why I even allowed myself to be comfortable enough on the raggedy ass plane that Javier got us on, but with Junior nodding off beside me. Lorenza on my other side, all fat and feeling like a pillow, I get super comfortable. They sandwich me with their heads on my shoulder, I end up falling asleep too.

  Each month Lorenzo would buy our twin baby girls something. Month one was ironically one-carat diamond earrings. Month two of my pregnancy, it was kicks with real diamonds encrusted in them; the cutest little Nike shoes, decked out. Month thre,e he bought them “pimp” bottles. While I was getting ready for the doctor’s appointment for the four-month checkup, Lorenzo was rummaging around in the walk in closet of our home in Miami.

  “Bae, bae!” I started for the door to the closet while putting on my five-carat diamond earrings. I’m smiling and happy as hell. Even though my nigga was buying our unborn babies extravagant ass gifts, I was happy.

  “Rocky, gimme a minute.” He had that type of voice where you know a nigga is tryna be sneaky.

  “Aw, hell nah.” I hurried the fuck up and opened the door. “I hear some bitch, nigga who you talking to on the phone.”

  “Rockwell, damn,” Lorenzo held his hand over the cell phone receiver.

  His looks had me scared, but I was turnt the fuck up as I snatched the phone from him. Whoever this hoe was that had him sneaking in the closet to talk on the phone was finna get it. I put the phone to my ear, “Bitch–”

  “Hello, Rockwell Bell,” my mother in law said. “So glad to hear your mousy voice.”

  “What do you want?” I said perfectly, though I was shocked to hear from Raphael’s mother.

  “Nothing my dea,.” Tamms replids. She started spouting off an address that I know. One that I’ve known half my life.

  “That’s Elisha’s house…that’s my best friend’s home. She hasn’t done shit to you!”

  “Of course she hasn’t. Do you miss Raphael?” Tamms asked of my deceased husband. “Trick, I’m waiting. Do you miss my son?”

  “No. He was mean. He beat on me. Raphael was going to have me killed and take my son. He even burnt down my fashion store.”

  “Correction, Raphael was going to make you pay for your sins. And bring my grandbaby home!”

  “Junior–Lorenzo Junior is not your grandson.”

  “That child has been with me for almost five precious years. Blood or not, Junior is mine. So, you’ve had Raphael Junior’s name changed. I have to go. Please check out the lovely text that I just left you.”

  CLICK. She hung up.

  “Rock,y gimme the phone,” Lorenzo said.

  “So Tamms has been texting you,” I asked, exiting out of the call app and going to the text app. “And what is she tryna do to Elisha!”

  “Don’t worry about that, Rocky. Elisha has Nelly, now gimme–”

  Before Lorenzo could snatch his phone back, I’m staring at a video that Tamms texted him. My mommy’s head is in Tamm’s hands. My mommy’s beautiful brown face is an ashen gray. Blood and tendons from her neck are just streaming down Tamm’s cold, white hands! Tamms looks as if she has no care in the world as she said, “You know, LaShawn had always been a good mom. Her last words?” Tamms stops for a second to wipe blood onto her white pantsuit, “LaShawn’s last words were that she loves you, Rockwell. I've asked you to return Raphael Junior and this is only the beginning of what I shall do until I see my grandchild again.”

  My hands shook as I sobbed. Lorenzo held me tightly. But no matter what, I would never get the image of my mommy’s lifeless open eyes out of my mind. It would forever torment my dreams.

  “Rocky,” Toi says softly, sitting backwards on her knees in the chair on the row in front of me.

  “You had a bad dream,” Lorenza frowns with her chubby cheeks.

  “Sing to my mommy,” Junior asks. Even though Lorenza is the closest in age to her nephew, who is 5, she always has been the best auntie to him. He just expects her singing will save me.

  “No baby, please.” I get up from the seat.

  Toi follows. “We tryna be here for you Rocky. When you need... You always have been there for my fam, Rocky. Say something.”

  My heart is hurting, I just want to cry and cry. No matter how many times Lorenzo had told me it wasn't good for the babies. No matter how many times he’s promised to get Tamms, I really didn't care. If another muthafucka never died over me, I wouldn't give a shit. What I wouldn’t give to have my man here by my side.<
br />
  So, instead of responding to Toi, I sit in the bathroom stall of a tiny plane as my chest heaves. “Mommy, I've done it all wrong. I've fallen for the wrong type of nigga, but you knew I loved Lorenzo from jump. You told me from the beginning not to mess with him, but I couldn’t be without him. Mommy, I’m so sorry. God could forgive me for that, right?”

  I just keep thinking about mommy always hating on my friendship with Lorenzo when we were kids. Even Rita said never fall for a cartel thug…

  Chapter 13

  RITA.

  “Get up.” I stand in the doorway of the tiny restroom that Rockwell tried to hide herself in after the last nightmare. My face is cold as stone. Yes, I'm being hard but this shit is a must. I hand Rockwell some tissue paper. She gets the same love, respect, and advice as all my five kids. Ask me, after Rocky hit puberty, I had six kids. Taught her how to be a woman when LaShawn wanted to make sure Rockwell didn't know about the birds and the bees. Or the blood between the thighs.

  “Yes, Mama Rita?” She shoves away the horrors of the nightmare and listens.

  “We need to talk while everyone is resting.” I look around. The plane had been airborne for a few hours. Based on Florida time, it's about 11 pm.

  All my girls have made Junior their center. They're keeping him safe even in sleep and my baby Lorenza is mama hen to her nephew.

  Even still, we take a seat toward the back.

  “Rocky, where I'm from, you slit your throat after disrespecting the fam,” I begin. I try to word it nicely for Rockwell because she's a scary little thing. But the time has come for her to know that these niggas strive off fear. Their motivation is worse than any demons daydream.

  “Wha- what?” she sniffles; hazel eyes become red-rimmed with even more tears.

  “When I was six, I seen it for the first time. My papi was León Mendoza.”

  “King Le... the… the cartel dude from the 80s and the 90s?” Rockwell’s bottom lip drops.