Cartier Cartel--Part 4 Read online

  Waiting on Head had her mind skipping over dumb shit like what Edward was doing now and if he got to marry his white trophy wife. The thought of him instantly put her in a sour mood, so she pushed those irritating thoughts out of her mind and clicked on the radio. Ella Mai was singing “Boo’d Up,” and she made a mental note to download her full album.

  Time was moving at a snail’s pace, but dusk finally came. The next bus came to a screeching stop, people got off, and still, no Head. It was the last busload coming from Rikers Island.

  Cartier had sat for hours in the jail parking lot knowing that Head was supposed to be on one of the buses, but there was no sign of him. Had she missed him somehow? She felt that something was wrong. She sighed heavily, pulled out her cell phone, and made a call to the jail to find out about his release. Previously Cartier called from South Beach and was told that today was his release date, so where was he?

  “He’s been what?” she shouted at the jail clerk.

  “He’s been released already—days ago.”

  “How is that possible? He was supposed to be released today,” she said.

  “Well, he’s not in our custody anymore, ma’am, and there’s nothing else I can tell you,” she said. “Call him.”

  Cartier ended the call abruptly, and she became livid.

  “Muthafucka!” she yelled.

  She started her car and peeled out of the parking lot so fast that it took several minutes for the smoke to clear. She did a beeline for the nearest highway and raced back to Brooklyn.

  The spring weather brought everyone out into the streets. There were pockets of hustlers in their expensive toys, the block huggers, and the cute girls strolling through the neighborhood in trendy outfits. Cartier cruised through the area in her flashy Bugatti, and all eyes were on her. As the block was watching her, Cartier’s attention was on searching for Head. She knew he would be somewhere on some block in Brooklyn, either in East New York, Brownsville, or Bed-Stuy. She pulled up to a group of hustlers on the corner. Immediately, the young boys recognized her.

  “Cartier, what’s poppin’?” one of the young hustlers asked.

  “Y’all saw Head around here?” she asked them.

  “Nah. I ain’t know the nigga was home. That’s what up,” he replied.

  Cartier knew they were of no use to her.

  “Hey, tell Head I said what’s—”

  Cartier drove away from him mid-sentence. She wasn’t anyone’s messenger.

  In East New York and Bed-Stuy, she went to barbershops, community centers, gambling spots, and liquor stores, but to no avail. Head wasn’t there. The more she looked for him, the angrier she grew.

  Why am I out looking for him? The nigga got shit twisted, she thought. For Cartier, his release day had gone from joy to anger and nearly hatred. What upset her was that she didn’t think he was serious in those letters. Foolishly, she felt she could win him back.

  On a mission, Cartier raced to Brownsville seething. Brownsville was full of life from corner to corner on the warm spring night. Block to block, music was blaring and young boys were working their territory with the local fiends scattered through the hood like roaches—all over the place and hard to get rid of. The cops were patrolling the area with their judgmental gazes trained on the young black men and their activities. Cartier leisurely cruised through the streets and the projects, rolling up on certain goons and asking them if they had seen Head around. Many people didn’t know that he was home, and those who did know had no idea where he was.

  Growing impatient and restless, Cartier was ready to put her fist through the windshield. This nigga is really feelin’ himself! she thought.

  Just as she was about to give up her quest, she spotted a girl she knew named Drea coming out of a hair salon on Rockaway Avenue. Cartier immediately did a beeline her way. Drea was strutting in her heels toward her white-on-white Benz parked on the side street. She hit the alarm and unlock button to the vehicle, and before she could take another step, Cartier came to a sudden stop nearby.

  Cartier hollered from the driver’s seat, “Drea, what’s good?”

  Drea was caught off guard by the harsh approach. “Damn, Cartier, what’s up? You got beef with me or something?”

  “Nah. I wanted to ask if you’ve seen Head around.”

  Drea smiled. “Yeah. I have.”

  “Where is he?” Cartier barked. It was news she had been waiting for.

  “Look, I don’t wanna get involved.”

  Cartier quickly scowled. “Involved in what?”

  “I mean,” Drea swung open her driver’s side door in case she had to make a quick getaway, “I’m not 5-0 or a snitch to be dropping dime on a nigga’s whereabouts—”

  “Where the fuck is he!” Cartier hollered. She put her car in park and began to take her seatbelt off. This dumb bitch thought she was funny. Drea and Cartier went way back, and Drea was a jealous-hearted, insecure chick. Cartier had never laid hands on Drea before, but she was ready to beat the brakes off her now, despite her sexy outfit and five-inch red bottoms. “You play too much!”

  Drea wasn’t a fighter but she was always kicking the hornet’s nest, which had earned her numerous beatdowns. She couldn’t help herself. There was something about getting under people’s skin that excited her.

  “Last I heard he was at Basil Bar in Williamsburg,” Drea finally revealed.

  “Basil Bar? What the fuck is he doing over there?” Cartier replied.

  “He chilling, I guess.”

  Cartier knew the spot. It was family owned and operated by six brothers who loved to allude that they had mob ties. The brothers were buff with overly tanned skin from frequenting pricey tanning salons. They used hair gel to slick back their extra dark hair, sported pinky rings and Rolexes, and had thick, New York Italian accents that were indicative of something. One could only speculate what that something actually was.

  Before Cartier left, she gave Drea some parting words. “Tonight I’ma let ya slick mouth slide, but I promise you one day I’ma lay these paws on you.”

  Drea feigned innocence. “What did I do?”

  Cartier ignored her and raced to Williamsburg with a sick feeling. She hoped that if Head was there with a bitch that they had already left. Cartier was looking too cute and didn’t want to show out.

  Cartier could see the Williamsburg Bridge just ahead. It was expansive and illuminated in the spring night. The area was newly trendy with lots of eateries and people strolling about, thanks to gentrification. Parking was tight, and no one seemed like they would be moving anytime soon. Cartier circled the block looking for Head, and she spotted him at an outside table at Basil Bar with some bitch—some bitch Cartier had seen around before. Her eyes zeroed in on them both, and she fumed. It was disrespectful.

  She continued to circle the block, hoping that someone would move their vehicle. Each time she came around, she would see the two of them laughing and flirting with each other. Not only did she see Head with some dumb cunt, but Barkim and Chemo were sitting there too. Cartier felt betrayed. Barkim and Chemo knew how she felt about Head. They were supposed to be down with her.

  Completely frustrated with not finding parking anywhere nearby, Cartier decided to double park her Bugatti. She thrust the door open and hopped out all gangsta-like. Cartier’s walk was unmistakable. Her legs were slightly bowed, and she had a mean switch to her hips. She marched their way, ready to make a scene in her sexy dress, red bottoms, and a fresh haircut.

  “What the fuck did I tell you, nigga!” she yelled. “Didn’t I warn you?”

  The unexpected outburst drew attention, and it was embarrassing to everyone at the table except Head, who didn’t seem fazed by it at all. He calmly looked at Cartier, swatted her away, and said, “Yo, get the fuck away from us wit’ that drama.”

  “Drama!” Cartier shouted. “You out free for d
ays and you don’t fuckin’ tell me!”

  “I’m just doin’ me, Cartier.”

  “Doing you! Fuck you, nigga!” she screamed.

  “Never again,” he retorted.

  “Wow, really?” His remark nearly leveled her. “After everything I did for you, you do me like this? I waited all fuckin’ day for you to get out, and you’re dining and wining wit’ this bitch!”

  It didn’t take long for Cartier to turn her anger toward Pebbles. Seeing the pretty chick nearly glued to his side ate her up.

  In his deep baritone voice, he chuckled. “You waited one day, she waited three years. Get lost, Cartier. I’m only going to tell you once.”

  “Or what?” She took a couple steps closer to the table, invading their space.

  Pebbles watched the ghetto chick in action. She knew of Cartier well—all her antics, the past and present crews, the jail time. Cartier’s whole resume was etched in her brain. Cartier was her competition, and right now she was studying. She was prettier than Pebbles remembered, and the matte lipstick was something she now wanted. What shade was it? Teal? Turquoise? Pebbles made a note to self to update her makeup collection.

  Pebbles finally spoke. “Look, baby, you know I don’t do these ghetto shenanigans. Let’s just go. People are staring.”

  “Are you dumb, bitch? I will bash ya fuckin’ teeth in!”

  “Like I said, ghetto,” Pebbles reiterated.

  Cartier stood strong, hands on her hips. “Head, you better check that fuckin’ bitch!”

  “It’s Henry now. Not Head, Henry.”

  Cartier sucked her teeth, befuddled. “Negro, please!”

  A few patrons got up to complain about the ruckus, which brought over the waitress. “Is everything all right here?”

  Head smiled. “Yes, we’re good. Could you bring us the check? We were just leaving.”

  She nodded and hurried off.

  Head said, “Cartier, you need to bounce. You and I are on two different frequencies.”

  There was something so dismissive and final in his tone. Coupled with the fact that he was leaving to go fuck someone else, it tore Cartier up inside. Was it really over? Did he not love her anymore? She felt like he was undermining what they had once shared by speaking to her this way in front of Barkim, Chemo—who, by the way, was quiet—and Pebbles. The only thing she could do was what she knew best. Set it off.

  Pebbles didn’t know what hit her. First, she was standing on two legs, and then she was on her back against the concrete trying to defend herself from the series of solid punches to her face and body. Each hit landed someplace more damaging than the last. Pebbles could feel knots on her head starting to form. Where the fuck is Head?

  “What now, bitch, huh?” yelled Cartier.

  At first, the men stood by, not wanting to get involved in that girlie shit. They figured it was a fair fight, but Cartier quickly mopped the floor with Pebbles.

  When the manager lunged for Cartier and attempted to try and pull her off of Pebbles, Head reacted impulsively and knocked him out with one punch.

  An all-out brawl ensued outside the bar. The brothers rushed out, and they, too, tried to break things up, along with several patrons who got the violent end of fists and feet. It was so chaotic that it seemed like everyone was fighting someone with chairs and objects being flung everywhere. Some patrons gawked in disbelief while others began recording. Some found it to be the perfect opportunity to dine and dash. During the melee, the gun that was subtly attached to Cartier’s thigh fell to the ground, and sirens were heard blaring in the distance. A patron picked up the gun and let off a few shots in the air before tossing the pistol in the gutter.

  Barkim and Chemo knew that it was time to go. They went for Head, trying to pull him off one of the brothers.

  “Hen–Head, we need to fuckin’ go!” Barkim shouted.

  But Head was adamant that he wasn’t leaving unless Cartier stopped beating on Pebbles. Head rushed toward their fight and angrily snatched Cartier into his clutches. He wanted to toss her into the street. He wanted to break her neck. He wanted her to chill out. But Cartier was stubborn. She was able to wiggle herself out of Head’s grip and charge at Pebbles again. The poor girl looked like she’d had enough of Cartier.

  Head tried to race behind her, but Barkim and Chemo hurriedly grabbed him from behind, and Chemo yelled, “Head, we need to go! You just got home, and five-oh coming.”

  They were close.

  “Fuck!” Head cursed.

  He knew Chemo was right. He couldn’t be caught in the melee outside the bar. So he relented and retreated with Barkim and Chemo to the car while Cartier continued to pound on Pebbles.

  The moment Head took off with Barkim and Chemo, the first cop car arrived onto the scene, and two officers went charging into the heated riot to try and break it up. More marked cars came, and soon there were nearly a dozen cops on the scene. It didn’t take the officers long to break things up and bring order back to the establishment. Cartier’s gun was found in the gutter, and right away, everyone was detained and ultimately arrested. The cops radioed in for a police van. As much as they wanted to, they couldn’t pin the gun on any one person, so everyone had to go down to the precinct for questioning. From the looks of the Mafioso-looking men who owned the bar, the cops believed that it was one of theirs.

  “You fuckin’ cunt. Fuck you!” Cartier shouted at Pebbles.

  “I’m going to sue you,” Pebbles returned. “I’m going to take everything your ghetto ass has!”

  Cartier snorted. “My food stamps!”

  “You think I’m joking? Do you know how much my face fetches!”

  Cartier wanted to reply, but she couldn’t help but to burst out laughing. Fetches? Head done found a live one.

  Pebbles continued, “That car—what is it? A Bugatti, huh? You drug dealer. Well, that’s going to be mine soon. My lawyers will drain you! With all my connections, you’re going down.”

  “Bitch, who you frontin’ for? Who you trying to impress wit’ that bougie facade like you didn’t grow up where I did? Like you ain’t run with hoodlums and fuck hustlers like I did. You have two talents—thief and whore!”

  Even locked down at Central Booking, Cartier and Pebbles couldn’t stop arguing. They had to be placed in two separate jail cells, yet they continued to sling insults from across the room.

  Pebbles had done the last three years of Head’s bid with him—driving long hours round trip to visit him, putting money on his books, and accepting his phone calls. They made plans for the future, and Head promised he was done with his ex, so it was quite a shock that Cartier had shown up so quickly. Oh, Pebbles expected her once he was released, but the turnaround was swift. Pebbles had just turned twenty-seven when she had committed herself to Head, and now at thirty, she was ready to break a leg to become Mrs. Jackson.

  During their earlier visits in the upstate correctional facility, Head would go on and on about how Cartier did him wrong and chose another dude over him. He explained that she broke his heart and that he had never felt that kind of pain before. Pebbles was his anchor, his shoulder to cry on, the one he could confide in. She listened to him intently. He spoke distastefully about Cartier’s stink attitude but omitted that it was one of the things he truly loved about her. Now they both were sitting in a jail cell bickering back and forth.

  The cops had gotten wind that the girls were fighting over a man, and they decided to have a little fun at the girls’ expense.

  “Whoever he is, he ain’t worth going to jail over, and that man is probably with his real girlfriend right now,” one cop joked.

  There was laughter, but the girls didn’t find it funny.

  “I bet you he an ugly fellow too,” another cop joked. “It’s always the ugly men that make the women go crazy.”

  More laughter erupted around them.

/>   “I guess if I do girls dirty, then babes will fight over me too.”

  More laughter.

  Their sarcastic remarks had stifled Cartier, and Pebbles too. Cartier sat there in silence, sulking to herself. They were right. She wondered when this life would stop. I shouldn’t be fighting over no nigga, she thought. Despite warning Head that she would beat up any females he was messing with, she knew she should have just walked away. Yet, she found herself in a ghetto-ass brawl like she was some ghetto-ass chick. She went from anger to embarrassment, sharing the holding area with someone she felt was beneath her.

  The cops stopped their teasing and the night was getting late. There was no denying it—Cartier was going to spend the night in jail.

  A few women slept on the hard benches or the floors while others tried to pass the time by gossiping about this and that. There was one girl who tried to flirt with the guard to get bumped up on the call list, and then there were the ones who just sat there looking aloof—like it was their first time in lockup.

  Cartier’s scowl kept everyone at bay, but one particular girl caught Cartier’s attention. She looked exactly like Cartier’s deceased best friend, Monya—only shades darker. The young beauty sat across from her on one of the benches with her head lowered and her eyes glued to the floor. She hadn’t moved the entire night, and Cartier swore she hadn’t blinked either. The girl looked genuinely innocent. What on earth could she be in for? Cartier examined her features from where she sat, and the young girl had the smoothest and darkest skin. Although she was seated, Cartier could tell she was tall and she was model-pretty.