by Ashley
She could feel herself dying slowly. With every minute that passed, her heartbeat slowed down. It was only a matter of time before it gave out. Breeze suffered through the sounds of the night with her eyes closed, but sleep never came. Her nerves were too on edge for her to rest. The ground had not stopped shaking beneath her. Every few hours, another aftershock set off more destruction, shifting the house on top of her and causing her even more pain. The threat of it falling in on her completely was a constant threat. Any second she could be crushed to death, and the impending circumstance caused her body to tremble.
She began to talk to herself just to stay lucid, singing songs that she remembered to stop herself from giving in to the pain. Everything in her just wanted to let the earth swallow her. Exhaustion and fatigue caused her eyelids to become heavy.
Just as the daylight came creeping back across the horizon, she heard the sound of human voices. She strained to listen, thinking that her mind was playing an evil trick on her.
“Hello? Is anyone out there?” she called out at the top of her lungs. When she didn’t hear a response, her heart dropped in disappointment, but the footsteps around her grew increasingly more audible. Straining her ears, she finally confirmed the voices. She could not make out what they were saying, but it didn’t matter; she could not let them pass her by.
“Help! Help me!” she yelled desperately as she pushed against the rock, steel, and slate that imprisoned her. She screamed so loudly that her lungs hurt and she choked on the dust in the air, but she did not stop until she got the attention of the men. After locating her voice underneath the ominous pile, they rushed to her aid.
“Get me out! Get me out!” she cried frantically. “Please hurry!” She panicked as she felt the men lifting the concrete from her body. The closer they got to rescuing her, the more Breeze hyperventilated. Relief washed over her as she wept loudly. She had never been so glad to hear another human voice.
The men worked diligently to dig Breeze out as they spoke in a native Haitian dialect that she could not understand. They had no machines or forklifts, only their bare hands and the strength that God had given them, but that did not stop them from helping Breeze. Although a language barrier stopped them from communicating, they knew what the look in her eyes meant. They could see her pleading with them to get her out.
The more weight that was lifted off of Breeze, the more pain she felt. Her legs were completely useless. The blood flow had been cut off from them, and her light skin had turned a sickening blue.
Once they could maneuver her out, one of the men picked her up, while the others began to dig out Ma’tee.
“No!” she yelled. The men looked at her in confusion, but none of them stopped digging. They refused to leave a man behind. When they finally removed Ma’tee from the rubble, they realized that he was already dead. They debated whether they should carry his body down the mountain, but there was no point in wasting their energy on him. Even if they did take his body to the town, it would just lie out in the streets. No one who died in this tragedy would receive a proper burial, so they figured it best to just let him be.
Breeze let her head rest against the chest of one of the rescuers as they began their descent down the mountain. Not once did she look back. She was eager for help, and expected to be rescued as soon as they finished their descent down the mountain. She was unprepared for the chaos that awaited her in the city of Port-au-Prince. Everything had been destroyed, and there were too many people to help and not enough relief to make a difference.
The men dropped Breeze off at a safety site that had been set up, and went on their way. It was a free for all; everyone was out for self, and the lack of organization gave her no one to turn to. She was left to fend for herself.
The safety site looked more like a demolition site to Breeze. Makeshift tents had been made out of sheets and spare fabric to cover some of the injured people being treated by the doctors. The chaos was overwhelming as Breeze surveyed the aftermath of the quake. Trapped atop the mountain with Ma’tee, she had no idea how big the earthquake really was.
The magnitude of its destruction was unimaginable. Everyone was displaced, everyone was injured, everyone needed help. This natural disaster had destroyed an entire nation of people, so much so that even the organizations that had come to help did not know where to start.
Breeze had been one of the lucky ones. She had made it out of the rubble. She was cut badly, bruised beyond belief, and starving for nutrition, but she was alive, and as she looked around sadly at all of the dead bodies, she realized how grateful she was.
When the circulation finally came back to her legs, she walked aimlessly, trying not to stare at the lost children who walked the streets, many in search of parents they would never find. Their cries made her cringe because she knew exactly how it felt to be ripped from those you love.
American camera crews recorded the horrendous tragedy, and even CNN’s Anderson Cooper reported live in an attempt to display what was happening to the world. Haiti had been impoverished for years, but the earthquake had put the international spotlight on the black nation.
Breeze was dumbfounded because although America was reporting on the situation, she never saw one reporter put down their microphones to assist or offer help. When the little red lights of their camera came on and the crew was filming, they were engaged and sympathetic, but when it came down to actually contributing to humanity, they all recoiled selfishly. As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, their concern for the earthquake victims dwindled, proving to Breeze that it was all for show. There were people dying around them, and all they cared about was the story.
She was in desperate need of medical attention, sustaining not only injuries from the quake, but also injuries from being raped by Ma’tee. She was physically, psychologically, and emotionally troubled, but as she looked around her, she realized that that was not only her story, but the story of so many others as well.
There was no food, no water, no relief whatsoever, and Haitian citizens were beginning to get restless. Breeze watched as gangs of individuals looted whatever places were still standing in attempts to find supplies and food. The scarcity of resources was making everyone desperate, and as Breeze noticed a fruit truck being looted, she could not stop herself from following suit. The hunger pangs shooting through her stomach justified her actions as she ran over to the truck and pushed her way to the front to grab her share. After filling her hands with four large oranges, she attempted to run, but was stopped by a woman who was fighting to snatch the fruit from Breeze.
“No,” Breeze protested as she pushed the woman off of her violently. She ran away from the scene and found an empty cot near the safety site. She collapsed as she tore open the fruit and sucked the juices from the inside. She resembled an animal as she ate ravenously, keeping her eyes up as she guarded the only meal she had received in days.
Her heart tore in half when she saw a little girl eyeing her desperately. Breeze knew that her soul had disappeared when she shouted, “What the hell are you looking at? I don’t have anything for you!”
It was then that she realized that Ma’tee really had turned her soul black. Before landing in his company, she had been selfless and giving. Even amongst the worst of predicaments Breeze had always maintained a good heart.
Guilt plagued her as she looked down at the three other pieces of fruit she had stolen. “Here,” she said to the small child as she held out an orange for the girl. The little girl’s eyes lit up as she thankfully took the fruit.
They sat eating the meager meal together as if it would be their last. Breeze did not know what her next move would be. Waiting would be like torture, but she had no other choice. She didn’t know if she was waiting to live or waiting to die; she only hoped that a resolution would eventually come.
Chapter Three
“The connect ain’t fucking with us because we got that federal eye in the sky on us.”
– Zyir
Mecca sa
t back in the large meeting room of the Diamond family mansion. Pretty soon it would belong to someone else. Mecca had put the beautiful property up for sale. It was too hot, and now it was time to rebuild the Diamond legacy somewhere else. Everything had been cleared out except for this one room.
He closed his eyes as his mind drifted back to the days when his father used to hold court for his head lieutenants in that very space. It seemed that his father had run things so smoothly. The Cartel of today was a far cry from the organized crime family his father had started. Now everything around them was chaos, and with Young Carter in jail, Mecca was unsure if he could fill the shoes of the leader and effectively run The Cartel.
It was no longer a family operation. Only one Diamond was left standing, and although Carter was his half-brother, it wasn’t the same. They had suffered too many casualties, and loyalty was a rarity nowadays. His father had ruled with love, whereas now Carter, Mecca, and Zyir were holding down their spot in the streets with fear.
With the spotlight of the feds shining on them, nobody wanted to deal to closely with The Cartel. The streets were talking, and word was out that Carter just might lose his case. Niggas from the bottom to the top were shook, including their coke supplier.
The sound of the foyer door opening snapped him out of his reverie, and he stood to welcome Zyir.
“What’s good, fam?” Zyir greeted as he embraced Mecca briefly.
“You tell me. How’s that paper looking?” Mecca asked.
As The Cartel’s most trusted lieutenant, Zyir’s ear was glued to the street. There was nothing that got by him. Mecca had been forced to lay low because of his beef with Emilio Estes, so it was up to Zyir to ensure that their presence remained known in the streets.
“Shit is slow. Carter’s case got everybody running scared. The connect ain’t fucking with us because we got that federal eye in the sky on us, nah mean?”
“What about the niggas that owe us money?” Mecca asked irritably. It seemed as if everything they had built was now on the downfall.
“Oh, I got that cake… believe that. Ain’t nobody skipping out on the bill, but nobody’s re-upping. It’s like niggas is cutting ties. Nobody wants to be associated with a sinking ship. Niggas only loyal when the getting is good. I mean, we still got a few men who standing tall, but I ain’t gon’ lie. Shit ain’t sweet,” Zyir informed. “With everything seized, that shoebox money running real low. Carter’s lawyer expecting another payment today, and even my stash is hurting.”
Mecca knew that things would get tight for everybody with Carter locked up. The government had frozen all of their legitimate accounts; even Diamond Realty profits could not be touched until a resolution to Carter’s case was reached. Everyone, including Mecca, was living temporarily off of whatever money had flown under the radar; but random money that had been stashed in safes wasn’t enough for men who spent it as if it grew on trees. Between the two of them, they had a little over a million dollars, but with Carter’s case eating into their finances and a paranoid cocaine connection, that large sum of petty cash was dwindling by the day.
“What time do you have to meet the lawyers?” Mecca asked.
“In about an hour. After that, I plan on checking in with Carter. I need to let him know what’s going on, and he’s been asking me to check for his chick, Miamor,” Zyir replied.
“Tell him to stop looking,” Mecca stated coldly.
“What?” Zyir questioned. “You know he ain’t gonna stop looking for her. That’s his bitch.”
Mecca removed the scowl from his face and replied, “I heard she left town, so tell him to stop worrying about a bitch. We gotta keep his mind right so he can beat this case.”
Overwhelmed and worried about the state of his family’s empire, Mecca sighed. “I’ll drop that payment off to the lawyer. You holla at Carter. Let him know what’s been going on. See what he want us to do to stay afloat.”
As Mecca watched Zyir leave, he collapsed back into his father’s chair. The throne that he had sat on for many years seemed too big for Mecca, the responsibilities of heading The Cartel too daunting for a hothead like Mecca. Mecca was built to be in the game. He was a goon, a killer, and his natural born hustle was innate, but being the leader had never been his forte. That role had better suited his twin brother, Money.
The thought of Monroe brought tears to his eyes. He had hardened himself to insanity after he had murdered his brother, but the extreme guilt that still plagued him over his actions always broke him down. On the rare moments when he was alone and had time to reflect, he remembered that fateful night, and he mourned the lost of his other half. Monroe was his only weakness-and his murder was a secret that Mecca would take to his grave.
Zyir sat across from Carter, six inches of glass separating them from one another, and Zyir felt a sense of despair on behalf of his mentor. Carter was his brother, and in a way, the only father figure that Zyir had ever had. It pained Zyir to see him confined, his usual designer threads replaced by an orange jumpsuit.
Carter had taught Zyir everything he knew about the game. Carter had groomed him for this exact moment because he understood that the game did not last forever, and once he met his downfall, he was confident that Zyir would be able to take his place.
“How you holding up?” Zyir asked as he gripped the telephone, obviously uncomfortable within the confines of the federal penitentiary. There was something about being behind those walls that terrified Zyir, despite the fact that his own freedom wasn’t at risk.
“Wipe that sad look off your face, li’l nigga. You look like you’re standing over my casket or something,” Carter joked charismatically while smirking.
Zyir loosened up a little and chuckled a bit before replying, “Just don’t feel right, nah mean? Looking at you through this glass. We working on that as we speak. Got your legal peoples working around the clock on your case.”
Carter respected Zyir for his loyalty and support. Carter wasn’t an optimist, however. He was a realist, and he wanted to prepare his little nigga for his potential conviction.
“Zy… Carter cleared his throat and rubbed his growing goatee as he stared intently at his protégé. You know there’s a possibility that this could all end badly for me.
Zyir shook his head in denial and replied, “Nah, fam. Shit is going to work itself out. Before you know it, you’ll be home.”
Carter nodded his head and didn’t press the issue further. He just wanted to put it out there. He knew Zyir like the back of his hand. He had planted the seed in Zyir’s head, and knew that Zyir would make the necessary plans just in case.
“Why hasn’t Miamor been to see me? I can’t reach her by phone. Have you heard from her?” Carter inquired.
Zyir shook his head. He hated to be the one to tell him the news, but thought he deserved to know. “Mecca heard she skipped town right after your arrest,” Zyir stated.
Carter frowned and replied, “Skipped town?” The news was disturbing to hear. Nothing about it resonated as true in his heart. His case had nothing to do with her, and he knew that the only time a bitch was leaving town was if she was running away with a bag full of money. Miamor never had access to his paper, and he had never involved her in his illegal dealings, so she had no reason to run. It didn’t make sense to him, but he knew that he was in no position to worry about her whereabouts. If and when he got out of prison, he would handle the situation; until then, he stored the information in his mental Rolodex.
After Zyir informed him of the state of The Cartel, their visit was cut short. He had a lot to think about. He had played the game for many years, and now it seemed that it had finally caught up to him. His judgment day had arrived.
Mecca emerged from the family mansion cautiously as he looked around him in paranoia. He knew that his grandfather, Emilio Estes, would not stop until his head was on a platter, and that his power was far reaching. Mecca had no idea who Estes was going to send at him, so he watched his back wherever he went. He
slid into his Lamborghini and left rubber in his path as he sped off toward the lawyer’s office.
Alton Beckham was a defense attorney who had been on retainer from the very beginning. A friend to his father, Mecca knew that Beckham was Young Carter’s best chance of getting off. His unscrupulous morals and greed for money were the main reasons why he was so beneficial to his clients.
Mecca walked into his office, where Beckham’s receptionist greeted him. She stood to greet Mecca.
“Hello, Mr. Diamond. If you’ll have a seat, Mr. Beckham has another client in his office, but-”
Before she could even finish her sentence, Mecca bypassed the secretary as if she were invisible and walked directly into Beckham’s office.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beckham,” the secretary stated as she rushed inside behind Mecca. “I told him he had to wait.”
“I don’t wait,” Mecca stated simply as he took a seat next to the client that was already sitting, with no regard for the meeting that he was interrupting.
Beckham stood up from behind his desk. “It’s okay, Tracy. Mr. Diamond is always welcome.” He then turned to his client and extended his hand. “I apologize, but I’m going to have to cut our meeting short. You can reschedule out front.” Knowing exactly who Mecca Diamond was, the other client didn’t protest before walking out of the room.
Once the office was clear, Beckham got down to business. He loosened his tie and sat back in his plush leather chair as he reached underneath his desk, pulling out a bottle of cognac. He poured two glasses and then held one out to Mecca.
Mecca smirked at the Jewish lawyer before him. “Every time I accept a drink from you, bad news follows.” Mecca was only half joking. He knew that Beckham was a beast in the courtroom, but he was a snake outside of it. He offered his expertise, but it came at a hefty price.
“Carter’s case requires more time than I previously anticipated. The federal prosecutor really has a hard-on for your brother. He’s doing everything he can in order to send Carter away. They don’t just want a conviction; they want a life sentence, and they want to make an example out of The Cartel. In order for me to prepare the best defense, I’m going to have to go up on my price.”
