Return of the Cartier Cartel (3 page)

Chapter 4

Hello Brooklyn

Cartier and Jason didn’t want too many people to know they were back. As far as they were concerned, the fewer, the better, so the run-down, navy blue Ford Mustang was the perfect low-profile vehicle to come sliding back through Brooklyn on the low. They had one mission: Rock Ryan to sleep and then move on with their lives. They both assessed that it should take less than a couple weeks for Jason to get the drop on Ryan, and hopefully, although they knew things would never go back to normal, they would be able to put their lives back on track and move forward.

The two had only stayed in Los Angeles a few months after hearing the news from Bam about Ryan allegedly being the one to murder Shanine and put Monya in a permanent coma. Cartier wished Monya would wake up and tell them what actually happened on that fateful night.

Just as Cartier had asked, Trina had Bam, Li’l Momma, and Janet all waiting for their arrival. The familiar apartment felt like home to Cartier, her mind quickly recalling better years; a time when all the crew members were breathing.

Jason took Jason Jr. and Christian into Cartier’s old bedroom to play with Prada and Fendi, while the adults all gathered in the living room to converse.

Cartier and Jason both looked worn and haggard from their journey, not to mention the stress and strain of recent events. Everyone was anxious to get to the bottom of what happened, and Bam, thus far, was the only one with the answers.

“So, Bam, tell us again. What’s the word on the curb?” Jason sat down on the sofa, the plastic slip cover crackling under his body weight.

Bam began to shake her head wildly, and her eyes darted around the room. When she felt she had everyone’s attention, she said, “It’s like I was telling Cartier. Big Mike called me and said shit wasn’t adding up, that the last time he spoke to Monya she said she was on her way to hit Ryan off, and then she’d keep going south to meet up with his boy, but as you know, she and Shanine never made it there.”

Everyone sat in silence, dissecting the limited information.

Jason spoke up. “Yo, how we know Big Mike ain’t tryna throw shit in the game and have Ryan take the fall on some Lee Harvey Oswald shit?”

“What?” Cartier looked at Jason sideways.

“Lee Harvey Oswald was the guy the CIA planted to take the fall for assassinating President Kennedy when we all know—”

Trina interjected, “Shut up, muthafucka, with your silly-ass conspiracy theory. This the fucking hood, and those muthafuckas ain’t bright enough to hatch these elaborate CIA strategies. This was a straight jux, robbery, stickup! They saw their mark, and they took it.”

“I agree with Trina,” Janet said. “I don’t think Big Mike would be clever enough to lure my baby down there, murder Shanine, and then pin it on Ryan. If he called and said the last person to see them alive was Ryan, then Ryan gotta get it.”

“Well, if you ask me, I think we should hear Jason out. Y’all not giving Big Mike enough credit. Don’t sleep on them ’cause they ain’t graduate from high school and don’t have any plans on going to college. These niggas all got their Ph.D’s in hustling. Street smarts can take you a long way, and for all we know, Big Mike could be setting up Ryan to get got. How do we know they didn’t leave Ryan and make it to Big Mike and his boys and they were set up?” Cartier’s mind was racing. “At this point I don’t know who to trust. I know Ryan, and he’s just not built to rob anyone. That’s just not the Harlem style. Harlem niggas are, and have always been, about making money, not taking money. Taking money is definitely a Brooklyn thing.”

“What the fuck you tryna say?” Jason roared so loud, Jason Jr. burst into tears in the other room. “You sound like you still sweet on that nigga.”

“I don’t give a fuck ’bout no Ryan! And who the fuck you screamin’ on?”

“You coulda fooled the shit outta me. Right now you sound like his cheerleader up in here cheering ’bout how he make money. Like he the only nigga that touch paper. That nigga ain’t have a dime for you when you got locked down.”

Cartier hated to admit it, but Ryan doing her dirty when she got locked up for Donnie’s murder still hurt, and she was in no mood for Jason to be exploiting her feelings in front of everyone.

“What that got to do with Monya and Shanine?”

“It got everything to do with them. You in here swinging from that nigga balls, and he could very well be the one who put their lights out.”

“Now, y’all, calm down,” Trina scolded. “Jason, all we’re doing here is trying to get to the bottom of what happened. Let’s not lose focus. This isn’t about Cartier and Ryan. Nor is it about you and Cartier. This is about two young women both being shot in the head and left for dead, and until I take my last breath, I will keep trying to find out who took those girls’ lives. They were both like my kids.” Trina took a long drag from her Newport cigarette. “I practically raised all of them. They were over here so much with Cartier.”

The whole room got silent, all of them reminiscing on the past.

Li’l Momma spoke up first. “OK, so what do we know? We know Shanine and Monya left New York heading south with weight, to make some paper. We know they were supposed to hit off Ryan, and then continue south to hit off Big Mike’s little man. We know—but it’s not confirmed—that they never made it to Big Mike. So as far as I’m concerned, we have our usual suspects, Ryan and Big Mike. Now all we gotta do is hit the streets and find out as much as we can about the last moments of Shanine’s and Monya’s life. And once we do that, we’ll be led to their killer or killers. One thing is for sure,” she added, “everything done in the dark will come to light. All we gotta do is wait.”

“Wait? I don’t have time to wait. My life is on hold until I find out who tried to put my son’s mother’s lights out.” Jason was beginning to feel the weight of the situation. He realized that although his son was being raised by him and Cartier, not having his biological mother in his life would surely affect him.

“I’m with you, Jason,” Janet said, her voice cracking. “As long as my baby lies in a coma fighting for her life, I can’t function properly. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. All I can think about is getting revenge. Whatever it takes, I want the person who did this to Monya dead.”

“I feel you,” Jason said. “And whoever it was, whether it was Big Mike or Ryan, once I get close enough to them, then it’s a wrap. I will lullaby either one of them.”

“Get close enough to them? So whatchu sayin’?” Janet asked, her tone taking a menacing turn.

“What do you mean, what I’m saying?”

Jason, like everyone else, was lost in confusion, not really knowing what Janet was trying to get at.

“Well, now you’re talking about if you—”

“I never said if.”

“OK, but you talking as if it’s that difficult to murder someone. You a street nigga. What do you mean, once you get close enough to them? If you see either one of them in broad daylight, then guess what? Then you’re close enough to them.”

“Now hold on, Janet.” Cartier realized that everyone, including her, had put avenging Shanine’s murder and Monya’s attempted murder on Jason’s shoulders. She remembered the same pressure being put on her shoulders after Donnie had beat Bam just inches from being retarded. “Jason will handle the situation as he sees fit. He doesn’t owe anybody anything, including Monya. You’re asking him to go blazing niggas in broad daylight, trading in his life for Monya’s. He has two children and a wife to think about.”

Janet couldn’t believe her ears. Especially from Cartier. Cartier’s words to Janet were just as piercing as when the police had called to tell her that her daughter had been shot at point-blank range in the head and had little chance of surviving. Images of the rifts between Monya and Cartier throughout the years began to play in Janet’s head and spill out of her mouth.

Janet’s voice had elevated to a high-pitched shrill. She was beyond angry. Cartier represented everything her daughter no longer had—love, life, children, and a husband. Monya couldn’t be any of those things because she lay half-dead in a non-descript hospital bed. Janet knew she and Monya would never lock eyes again. That she would never be able to see her smile, give her a hug, or cook a simple meal for her. Death was so final, and no one—other than Jesus Christ, her Savior—could come back from the dead.

“How dare you stand up in my face and talk about being a wife and a mother when my child no longer has those luxuries? And you called yourself her best friend. The head of the Cartel.” Janet made a lemon-sucking face; she was that disgusted. “And her lover!”

Trina began sensing that things were going to get combative. “Janet, let’s not go there. All Cartier is saying—”

“Ma, you don’t have to speak for me. I’m a grown woman.” Cartier stood and began to approach Janet, whose body had stiffened from stress.

Everyone immediately jumped to their feet to intervene the inevitable. As they began to hold back Cartier, Janet began flipping.

“Nah, don’t hold her back,” she taunted. “Let her go, so I can whip her ass, like I should have done years ago.”

“You must got me mixed up with some lame-ass bitch because I will wear you out in here, Janet. I’m begging you not to push me.”

“Don’t let my age fool you, Cartier, because a bitch still got her hand game, and I will take out all my frustration on your ugly ass.”

Hearing the word ugly was enough for Cartier. She charged at Janet, relentlessly, but Jason, Bam, Li’l Momma, and Trina created a barrier that neither Janet nor Cartier could break through. After a minute of struggling, Cartier and Janet both gave up.

Janet then collapsed onto the sofa and just cried her heart out. “They took my baby away from me.” She sobbed. “My only child is nothing more than an empty shell.”

Everyone stood around, panting heavily from the commotion, their hearts hurting from the loss, especially Cartier, who sat down and embraced Janet, and they clung onto each other and cried for Monya.

As the evening began to wind down, after apologies were exchanged, everyone vowed to keep their ears to the streets to elicit any information that could lead to the person or persons who killed Shanine and tried to kill Monya. Everyone agreed that Ryan was the prime suspect, and that they needed to investigate Big Mike as well.

Chapter 5

Whodunit

What happened to Monya and Shanine was no longer the hottest news on the block. The hood had other crimes and murders to spark interest. But for Cartier and her family, Monya and Shanine were their number one priority.

For the moment, Cartier and Jason didn’t have a choice but to temporarily move in with Trina. They moved into her old room, Trina moved to the pull-out sofa, and all the kids—Prada, Fendi, Christian, and Jason Jr. all moved into Trina’s room with the understanding that all of this would be temporary. Everyone was on edge in the small, cramped apartment.

Jason was hardly around because he was back to hustling to support his family, leaving Cartier and Trina in the confines of the run-down apartment. When Jason came strolling in at three o’clock in the morning, Cartier was up, waiting.

She told him, “I’m not comfortable with you out in the streets all day and all night, leaving me and Christian in here all day. I told you back in Cali those days were done. And you better not be out there with no bitch ’cause I will fuck you up first and then beat a bitch down. You hear me? I’m tired of playing the dumb-ass wife role.”

“Come on, ma. I’m not in the mood for this shit right now,” Jason said, dismissing her with a wave of the hand.

The gesture annoyed Cartier. “Oh, you think I’m joking?” Cartier yelled and woke up Trina, who was asleep in the living room.

“All right now, y’all. I ain’t in the mood for no drama. Those kids gotta get up for school tomorrow.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” Jason then turned to Cartier. “Shhhhhh. Ain’t nobody in the mood for your late-night bullshit.”

In a hushed voice, she replied, “I’m not happy, and shit has got to change.”

Jason certainly didn’t want to fight, and he also knew the quickest way to end an argument was to fold. It was late, and they both were exhausted.

“A’ight, let’s discuss this in the morning. Tonight, I just wanna fuck my wife . . . eat your coochie until you come in my mouth,” he said in a low-tone, slapping Cartier on her ass. “That is, if you want that too.”

A large grin spread across Cartier’s face. She wanted to remain angry, but the love for her husband superseded, as she followed him into their room.

****

Christian was always an early riser, so either Cartier or Trina tried to be up before her because, within seconds, she could get into a heap of trouble, from messing with the stove and allowing gas to seep out if the pilot light wasn’t lit to actually searching for matches to set something on fire.

This morning Cartier beat her daughter up, and as she went into the kitchen to fix breakfast, the unmistakable squeal instantly turned her stomach. She’d been hearing the familiar squeal all her life.

“Christian, come in here and look at the mouse,” Cartier called to her precocious child.

Christian came flying into the kitchen and stood silent. The fat mouse was squirming around, trying to get its body off the sticky glue mouse trap perched on the kitchen counter near the Sara Lee bread. You could see the bread crumbs mixed with mouse droppings where he’d eaten through the plastic.

“Don’t touch it, OK.”

“I don’t wanna touch it. I wanna rub it.”

Cartier laughed. “You can’t rub it. That’s nasty.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not a pet. It’s a rodent.”

“But why?”

“But your butt into the bathroom and go and wash your face and brush your teeth.”

Christian didn’t move. To say she was hardheaded would be an understatement. She looked around the kitchen as she calculated her next move.

Meanwhile, Cartier was already tossing the bread into the trash can along with the squealing mouse, knowing this wasn’t the first or last mouse they’d catch. “Why are you still standing here?”