“It won’t take long,” Detective Sharp chimed in.
Detective Sharp was a strikingly handsome black male detective in his mid- forties. He stood six-three with a trimmed beard and was dressed in a two-button wool blazer and a chestnut fedora. “Could we get your name, please?”
In a low, barely audible voice, she replied, “Cartier . . . Cartier Timmons.”
“Okay, thank you. Do you have any idea who’s responsible for this? A friend, relative? There doesn’t seem to be any forced entry.”
Quinn and Li’l Mama frowned at the detectives.
“Can’t this fuckin’ wait?” Li’l Mama barked.
Sharp replied coolly, “We want to catch these monsters, and the more information we have, the better our chances of apprehending them.”
“She ain’t up to talkin’ right now,” Quinn intervened. “Look at her.”
Detective Sharp sighed heavily. “We’re just trying to do our job here, ladies,” he said gently.
“Well, now is not the time to do it,” Li’l Mama stated. “She lost her whole fuckin’ family, and y’all wanna interrogate her now? It ain’t fuckin’ happenin’!”
Both detectives looked at each other.
Detective Sharp knew it was never easy to get a witness or family member to cooperate after the tragic loss of a family member. He reached into his suit’s inner pocket and pulled out a card. “Ladies, here’s my card. You need to contact me as soon as possible. But we gonna need a statement from someone in this room.”
Quinn volunteered. She went with the detectives in the next room, while Li’l Mama stayed behind to comfort Cartier, who didn’t want to tell them about Christian being kidnapped. She feared that police involvement would guarantee her little girl’s death. It was eating her up inside that she couldn’t protect her daughter. She’d failed her. But she was determined to find her daughter, via the streets if possible.
She stood up and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows in the room. She then slid back the door to the balcony and stepped out onto the long, square platform. Li’l Mama followed her outside. Cartier stood erect and gazed at the multihued skyline of Miami, her eyes transfixed at the city, while damn near half of Miami-Dade was running through her home investigating the violent homicides.
“Cartier, you gonna be okay?” Li’l Mama asked.
“My daughter’s out there somewhere, Li’l Mama,” she said softly. “I gotta find her.”
“We gonna find her. I’m here, Cartier, and you know I’ll tear this muthafuckin’ city apart to find Cee Cee. And whoever’s responsible for this shit, hell is gonna feel like fuckin’ heaven when we get done wit’ them,” Li’l Mama growled.
Cartier didn’t respond. She was spent. She kept her sad gaze fixed on the city of Miami, thinking how vast it looked. Would she ever see Christian again? How were the kidnappers treating her? Was she afraid? Being fed? Tortured? A million uncertainties darted back and forth in her mind. She gripped the railing tightly, anger and hatred flowing through her like a shot of electricity. Once again, someone had had the audacity to come at her and destroy her family.
“Whoever’s behind this shit, they are fuckin’ dead,” she said through clenched teeth. “They don’t know who they fucked wit’!”
Li’l Mama nodded in agreement.
Quinn soon joined them on the balcony. She informed them it was time to leave. The cops had a job to do, and the trio had theirs to do also.
***
Little Havana was home to many Cuban immigrants, as well as many residents from Central and South America. It was also home to Quinn. She felt safe in the Latin neighborhood because her brother and the Ghost Ridas carried a strong influence among the residents and the underworld.
Quinn pulled into the narrow driveway of the brown, split-level home with the stucco rooftop in her black Yukon, which sat on 24-inch chrome rims. The windows were tinted, making it hard to see the occupants inside. It was after midnight, and the streets were pretty much barren. Quinn lived near Maximo Gomez Park, where elderly residents played high-speed dominoes, and the heady scent of the many cigars smoked there lingered like a thick fog.
Quinn, Li’l Mama, and Cartier climbed out of the truck and walked toward the front entrance. Inside was heavily furnished with plush carpeting, a plasma TV, high-end stereo system, and expensive artwork.
Cartier took a seat on the leather couch and continued to be silent. She had a lot to think about.
“We need to call my brother, Cartier. You know we need help on this. My vatos will be down.”
“She already said she don’t need your brother’s help, so don’t even bring it up again. I’m here. And together Cartier and I can handle this shit!”
“And what you plan to do, huh? You don’t even know this fuckin’ city. This is my town — I run shit here. Estamos dispuestos a matar mierda.”
“Speak English, please. I don’t understand that crazy tongue-twisting shit.”
“I said, we are ready to kill shit.” Quinn exhaled. “We take care of our own in Miami.”
“This is how you take care of your own? By letting my homegirl’s family get murdered and her daughter kidnapped? Whatever. The way we do shit back in Brooklyn—”
“This ain’t fuckin’ Brooklyn, Li’l Mama. This is Miami. Shit gets real down here.”
“And we don’t get fuckin’ real in New York? Bitch, you better recognize who the fuck I am. Me and Cartier ran shit up top. Best believe that shit, bitch!” Li’l Mama said, slapping her hands together. She glared at Quinn. “Matter of fact, why is this bitch a fuckin’ factor, Cartier? She ain’t one of us. Why she in ya fuckin’ circle? Ain’t no fuckin’ trust to outsiders.”
Quinn glared back. She’d known Li’l Mama for less than a day and was ready to punch her in the face and fuck her up.
“Anyway, Cartier, let me contact some of our peoples back home and see if they can rustle up some cash for this fuckin’ ransom. And then I can get on the phone with my man, Black Caesar, and tell him gather up some goons to bring down here, so we can shoot this fuckin’ place up. You know I love Christian; she’s like a daughter to me too. I’ll burn this fuckin’ place down to find her.”
Quinn spat, “And that would be stupid. Any unnecessary drama by outsiders would bring heat.”
“Bitch! I’m tired of you tryin’ to play like you’re the voice of reason and authority—like you runnin’ shit.”
“I do run shit, and if you haven’t heard, I got three dozen vatos that would tell you the same. Who you got? An irrelevant dude named Black Caesar? You’re a joke.”
“Enough!” Cartier screamed.
The two girls looked at their mutual friend.
Cartier lifted herself from off the couch. “You think this shit wit’ y’all is fuckin’ helping me?”
“Cartier, you know I’m here for you,” Li’l Mama said. “You can trust me.”
“I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
“Cartier, you done bumped ya fuckin’ head if you’re implying you can’t trust me. I know you’re fucked up, but you ain’t stupid.”
Li’l Mama was hurt. After all she’d done for Cartier throughout the years she still hadn’t earned her trust? But then she remembered how paranoid Cartier had always been, and rightfully so. Monya, who was Cartier’s closest friend, and one of the founding members of the Cartel, had slept with her husband, Jason and had his son, Jason Jr. And Bam, also a founding member, had tried to have Cartier murdered, which ultimately ended up in her daughter Christian being shot. Li’l Mama decided not to take it personally. Especially at a time when Cartier needed her most.
“It’s ya world, Cartier,” Quinn said. “How you wanna play this out?”
“I don’t know. I just want Christian back, at any cost. My daughter’s life is at stake, so we gotta be careful. I can’t risk anyone coming down here from New York, Li’l Mama.”
“What about Head? Do you think he could help out in any way? If only for counsel?�
��
Cartier hadn’t heard that name in months. She remembered her promise to him right after she recovered from her bullet wounds. She promised that she would never leave him while he did his bid, as his ex-girlfriend Tawana had. She also promised that she wouldn’t miss one visit. She made a lot of promises that she didn’t keep. Back then Cartier thought she would marry him, and that once he got out, they would live happily ever after. But that was that fairy tale fantasy life — that wasn’t real. Those visits heading up North in a cold van with other women. Getting up at the crack of dawn and sitting in cold visiting rooms eating stale potato chips and vending-machine hamburgers.
Writing letters and doing visits became a full-time job, and Cartier didn’t feel qualified. She was still young and didn’t want to throw her last youthful years away traveling in and out of prisons for a man she wasn’t really sure she loved. Each day that ticked by, she’d had more second thoughts. What if Head was just a rebound nigga? Loving arms to get her through the drama her husband — the real love of her life — had put her through? That doubt grew stronger and stronger, which caused her to drift farther and farther away.
At first she started not picking up all his calls. And when she would visit him he would be beefing. He’d told her that she wouldn’t be around much longer, and she’d looked directly into his eyes and told him she would. Next, she’d stopped going on visits all together. Last, she’d stopped writing, and also reading his letters. She couldn’t say she stopped sending him commissary money because she never had to. Head had his own paper. Cartier, at this moment, had to admit that she’d handled things like a grimy bitch. It was her fault her husband got murdered. And also her fault Head was locked down. And yet, up until twenty-four hours ago, she was living without a care in the world.
Cartier didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t told Li’l Mama that she was no longer in communication with Head. “I can’t contact Head for support. I feel they watchin’ us and know our every move.”
“So what? We supposed to just stay here and not do shit?” Li’l Mama asked.
Cartier didn’t respond. Her mind was racing with so many things.
Quinn left the room, leaving the two alone.
Cartier said to Li’l Mama, “I gotta call Janet.”
“I know.”
Cartier knew the news would crush Janet, who was like a second mother to her. Her mother’s best friend was always by her side. And with Trina in critical condition, it was going to be devastating news.
“You want me to make the phone call?” Li’l Mama asked.
“No, I’ll do it.” Cartier reached for her cell phone and then tossed it back down. The situation was too overwhelming. “How do I grieve for my two sisters while having faith that my mother will pull through, and also keep a clear enough mind to come up with a strategy to get my daughter back? Any one of those situations is enough to break the strongest person. I got less than six days to make a move, and this situation is so heavy my feet feel firmly planted in cement.”
“If you can’t move” — Li’l Mama got down on both knees and grabbed both of Cartier’s hands, “Then I will carry you! We have to get our little girl back. Trina is strong and can take care of herself. And I know it’s fucked up about Fendi and Prada, but God has them. They’re angels. And to keep it real, you can’t bring them back.”
The two friends shared a moment. It was just the push Cartier needed to focus on Christian.
Chapter 5
The next day, Cartier informed the girls that she had a little over two hundred thousand liquid to put toward the one-million-dollar ransom. It wouldn’t even put a dent in it. She tried not to panic, but time was going by fast. She needed some big money, and she needed it fast.
“I only got five thousand on me,” Li’l Mama said.
“And I have about nine thousand, but that ain’t shit.”
“What the fuck we gonna do?” Cartier asked in a panic. “They gonna kill my little girl.”
“They ain’t gonna fuckin’ touch her. Listen, I have a plan. I know where we can get the money.” Quinn had the undivided attention of both girls.
“Where?” Li’l Mama asked, eyeing Quinn suspiciously.
“Rico.”
“Who the fuck is Rico?” Li’l Mama asked. “And why would he lend us that kind of cash?”
Quinn smirked. “Who said anything about him lending it to us?”
Cartier and Li’l Mama caught on quickly.
Unbeknownst to Cartier and Li’l Mama, Quinn would set up and rob drug dealers all around Miami. And she did it without her brother’s knowledge or the gang’s approval. She knew it was a dangerous trade, but it was also profitable.
Quinn excused herself, then walked back into the room carrying a small black duffel bag. She dropped it on the table. Cartier and Li’l Mama stared at it, puzzled. Quinn’s face frowned as she unzipped the bag and revealed its contents. One by one, she began moving pistols and placing them on the table. When she was done, displayed in front of the girls was a small arsenal of weapons — several 9mms, a few Smith & Wessons, a .357, two .45s, and her favorite — a chrome Desert Eagle with a black grip.
The girls were silent, until Li’l Mama uttered, “Damn!”
“What I do is take what I need.”
“You a stickup bitch,” Li’l Mama said.
“You see that table, ay?” Quinn pointed to the pistols scattered across the glass dining room table. “We go in knockin’ wit’ those ’n’ come back out wit’ what we need.”
“You serious?” Li’l Mama asked. “You would do this for Cartier?”
“What choice do we have? I been scopin’ out Rico for a moment. I planned on movin’ in on him in a few weeks, but now is a better time than ever. It’s gonna be risky, ’cuz I don’t know all his movements yet, but that puto can definitely get got.”
Cartier was in deep thought.
Li’l Mama asked, “What you think, Cartier?”
Cartier frowned. She stared at Li’l Mama and then looked at Quinn. “I’m down fo’ anything.”
Quinn smiled.
“She down, I’m down,” Li’l Mama said.
Knowing what they were about to get into made Cartier break down in tears. She thought she’d left this type of lifestyle behind in Brooklyn, but she couldn’t seem to escape it.
Li’l Mama walked over to her friend to console her. She hugged Cartier closely. “We gonna be good, Cartier. You and me, we been through worse. And Christian is comin’ back home, you hear me? We gonna find her.” She added, “Cartier, I vow, just like how I murdered Bam for her fuckin’ betrayal against us — and she was peoples for almost twenty years — I’ll slowly fuckin’ murder whoever is involved wit’ this shit. They gonna pay — wit’ their lives. I don’t give a fuck who it is.”
Quinn and Li’l Mama locked eyes with each other. Their hard stares spoke volumes to each other. There was definitely some tension between the two.
Quinn picked up a 9mm and slammed a loaded clip into the pistol. “The same goes wit’ me too.” She cocked the hammer back, smirking at Li’l Mama while doing so. “Just tell me what I need to do, and I will play my position.”
Cartier looked at her friends and knew she had to take charge. They were both bosses in their own right, but not like Cartier. She knew that Indians need a chief, and if they were going to successfully go after this mark, then it was going to take planning, because Cartier wouldn’t be any good to Christian if she were dead. They would need to plan this jux all the way to the end, expect the unexpected, and be prepared to leave all cards on the table.
“So, Quinn, how much paper we talking ’bout?” Cartier rose to her feet, and suddenly the other two women recognized a formidable ally. The grief-stricken nervous wreck transformed into someone with purpose, motivation, and drive.
“He rollin’ wit’ at least half a millie or more.”
“Is that liquid or weight?”
“That’s all greenbacks, for sure.” Quinn
stepped closer to Cartier, appreciating the attention she was receiving.
Li’l Mama chimed in, “Are we running up in a stash house or his crib?”
Quinn walked over to her minibar and began pouring three glasses of Hennessey on the rocks. She figured they all needed to take the edge off.
“Stash house. There will be tons of cocaine and heroin, but we need to be in and out, right?” She handed Cartier the first glass, and then Li’l Mama.
“If it’s sweet, then we take. In that moment, we’re takers. Period.” Cartier took a sip of the Henny. “But if for any reason shit is getting thick, then we grab the money and make a clean exit.”
“Could any of this be traced back to you?” Li’l Mama asked Quinn.
Cartier answered, “If we’re not careful it could be traced back to all of us. Not one of us is exempt from not only the heat coming around the corner to lock all our asses up but also retaliation. Down here there’s a lot of gang affiliation. In order for us to successfully get away with these capers — two taps to the back of the head, close range. Clean. You feel me?”
Both women nodded their heads. Both understood there wasn’t going to be just a robbery, nobody gets hurt type of situation. They were going in to take lives, along with anything of value, and if caught, they would surely not walk the street as free women ever again.
Chapter 6
Hector sat on the throne of the gang’s clubhouse like the king he was, as Rick Ross’s “Bag of Money” blared throughout the place. He took a few puffs from the large cigar clenched between his lips as he admired the scantily clad women dancing provocatively in front of him. The two tanned whores with long dark hair, wearing tight, coochie-cutting shorts and flimsy bikini tops, were grinding against each other and locking lips at the same time. The salacious scene made him release a devilish grin.
Surrounded by his goons, the Ghost Ridas, he felt untouchable. His two pit bull terriers were chained in the corner of the club, looking vicious and salivating. Their boisterous barks matched their ferocious bites. Mexican-born Hector loved his dogs. He wanted to be the Scarface of Miami. His notorious reputation ran throughout the city like a hurricane. Miami knew not to fuck with him.
Cartier Cartel, Part 3 Page 3
