South Beach Cartel Read online

  Scar noticed his hesitance. “Nigga, you deaf? I said get the fuck out!”

  He wasn’t asking.

  Wise and Pacho slowly climbed out of the vehicle and saw Scar grab a shovel from the back. Unarmed and in the middle of nowhere, they both knew that they had little chance of surviving this. It seemed like Scar wanted to take out two birds with one stone.

  It got real when Damon pulled out his Glock and pointed the weapon directly at Wise’s head. Wise’s eyes instantly grew wide in fear and panic, and he stammered, “C’mon . . . c’mon, what the fuck, Scar? Yo, yo, you don’t need to do this.”

  “Don’t tell me what I don’t need to do, muthafucka,” Scar scolded.

  “I ain’t do nothin’,” Wise shouted.

  “Yeah, well, I’ll be the judge of that. Walk, nigga. We got someplace to be,” Scar instructed.

  Damon stepped treacherously closer to Wise with the gun aimed directly at his face. Wise wasn’t in a position to object, so he started to march toward his looming grave while being held at gunpoint.

  Pacho followed in silence, wondering about his fate too.

  “Please, Scar—don’t do this, man. Yo, whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it,” Wise pleaded.

  They ignored him. It felt like every step they took was a dramatic one, shit moving in slow motion. It was dark, so Scar had the flashlight to get them through the woods. The strangest thing Pacho noticed was that Damon and Scar seemed too familiar with the area—like they’d done this before. Pacho couldn’t help but to wonder how many niggas they’d brought to their fate this way. He felt like he was in a nightmare with two serial killers.

  “Scar, I don’t wanna die, man. Please, let’s work this out, you and me. I fucked up and I’ll make it up to you. I promise, man. How far we go back? You know I’m a real nigga, Scar. I got a daughter, man. She needs me,” Wise continued to cry and plead for his life.

  But all that begging and crying fell on deaf ears. In fact, it irritated Scar to the point where he turned around and shouted, “Nigga, shut the fuck up! Man up! Shit, you already know how I do! This life we live, it’s fuckin’ gangster, muthafucka. So go out like a fuckin’ gangster and not no bitch-ass nigga beggin’ fo’ his fuckin’ life! Stop fuckin’ cryin’, nigga.”

  But Wise couldn’t stop crying. He didn’t want to die. Damon pushed him forcefully. Wise staggered and nearly fell down, but quickly caught his footing.

  “Keep walking,” Damon growled at him.

  They made it to an area creepy enough to scare Jason from Friday the 13th—completely dark and isolated. Wise shivered when he saw what would become his impromptu grave. No! No! He couldn’t go out like this—not here! Not where his family wouldn’t know what happened to him. He knew his body would never be found if they killed him out there.

  Wise dropped to his knees in front of Scar. His face was awash with tears and he continued to beg for mercy. Even if he ran away to try to escape his fate, his chances of making it out of the area alive without freezing or starving to death were slim to none. The forest was too massive.

  Scar shook his head in disgust at Wise. He nodded to Damon and Damon put the gun into Scar’s hand. He wanted to do the dirty work.

  Wise dropped to his knees in defeat. His cries turned into a soft whimper. It was already written. Wise drank in the scenery; the trees and the vegetation. He looked up at the dark blue sky and the bright crescent moon and exhaled. Thoughts of his daughter flooded his heart and he said a silent prayer that she would have a father figure to help navigate her through the tough times in life. He looked into the faces of the men he once thought of as his brothers. Brothers he loved and thought loved him. Brothers who now looked at him with disgust and hatred. Brothers who had decided he could no longer live.

  Wise had one last request. “Scar, I don’t want to die out here and no one know I’m dead. What’s the point in living then? You owe me a funeral and a fuckin’ headstone. A place where my daughter can come check on me! I need a DOB and DOD, nigga! I’m pleading, don’t do me like this!”

  Scar gazed at Wise with complete apathy, raised the gun to his head, and fired without an ounce of hesitation—Bac! Wise’s body fell over on its side. Scar fired three more shots into his head, guaranteeing the nigga was dead.

  “I don’t owe you shit but those hot slugs. Bitch-ass nigga!”

  Pacho stood there in absolute silence. He wasn’t shocked. He’d seen niggas killed before, even killed niggas himself. What he was concerned about was, would there be one grave tonight or two?

  Scar tossed him the shovel and said, “Start digging, nigga.”

  Pacho did just that. It took him a while to dig a deep enough grave to place Wise’s body in. He assumed that he was digging his own grave too, but they tossed Wise’s body into the unmarked grave, covered him up, and left Wise’s body to rot in the ground. Pacho sighed with relief. Tonight wouldn’t be his night to die.

  During the ride back to New York, Scar started to crack jokes on Pacho, saying to him, “Nigga, you shoulda seen your fuckin’ face back there. You looked like a scared bitch. What, nigga? You thought you were gonna get bodied too?”

  “It’s the life we live, right?” Pacho muttered. “You never know in this game.”

  Scar laughed. “Nigga, I saw the bitch come out of you when I shot that nigga.”

  Pacho tried to laugh it off, but he knew it was true. He thought there were going to be two bodies left behind instead of one. With Scar, you never knew what to expect.

  8

  A light of the Newport and then a few drags kept him stabilized for the moment. It was a comforting habit for Nick as he sat inside the nondescript vehicle on the Brooklyn corner and observed the comings and goings from a certain stash house. Next to him was Apple, his partner in crime. They were like two hawks perched on a towering tree, ready to swoop down on their prey.

  It was a cool evening with a full moon above. Although Nick was used to working alone, he and Apple decided to stake out Citi, Cane, and her entire organization together. He figured two heads were better than one, for now. Apple had brought him the intel, and she wasn’t the type of bitch to sit back and let everyone else do her dirty work for her. Nick knew Apple was more thorough and vicious than most niggas he knew. Her eyes could get just as cold as his—sometimes colder. When they first met, he did his homework on her. Her name did ring out, and he was impressed by her.

  For a month, they watched everything in the shadows. It was just the two of them, sitting back and plotting. It was something like the perfect date for two twisted and heartless individuals. Watching Citi’s organization from a distance, they saw that everyone was either heavily guarded, lived in high security buildings, or they were so low on the totem pole that they didn’t have access to any real money.

  “She runs a tight ship,” Nick said.

  “That cunt is fuckin’ stupid,” Apple cursed. She didn’t want to hear her man praise that bitch.

  “I’m saying, we’ve been watching this bitch and her crew for a month and they leave little to no openings.”

  “That bitch got a crack somewhere, and I’m gonna find it and shove my fuckin’ gun down it, torture that fuckin’ bitch, and blow her fuckin’ brains out,” Apple said with a snarl.

  Nick stared at her. She was obsessed with revenge, and he saw that as a problem. He knew firsthand that being thirsty to execute revenge could cause fuck-ups and fatal mistakes because you weren’t thinking straight.

  “I need for you to have a clear head on this, Apple. We’re in this together, and the last thing I need is for you to make a mistake.”

  “I don’t make mistakes,” she replied.

  “If you think like that, then you will make a mistake.”

  Apple cut her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood to hear a lecture from him.

  “I’ve been doing this shit for a long time, Apple.
Trust me, relax, and think this plan all the way through. You don’t need to do this shit while running off your emotions. You make this shit personal, get emotional, and you won’t see that shit coming. That detail you missed—that fuck-up will get us killed,” he said.

  Apple frowned. “Nigga, I’ve been doin’ this a long time too, and I know how to survive. I don’t need you holding my fuckin’ hand, Nick. You’re fuckin’ me, but you don’t need to babysit me.”

  Nick simply looked at her. She could be stubborn, but he had to trust his judgment. She had the intel, and this was her baby, not his. She’d convinced him that this was going to be a huge payday for him, and once again, he reminded himself that this was going to be his last job.

  Another hour went by, and both of them were patient inside the car, smoking cigarettes and talking. Their heads were on a constant swivel, watching and observing everything in the area—and not just the stash house, but neighbors coming and going, cars passing by, pedestrians, and bike riders. In Nick’s mind, you couldn’t trust anyone. Even the unassuming individual could be a hidden threat. He kept his Glock poised on his lap, and the doors were locked with the windows cracked open just a little. His line of sight was perfect—not too many blind spots for someone to sneak up on them.

  “So, tell me about your twin sister,” said Nick.

  “Why?”

  “Is she as crazy and dangerous as you?” he asked.

  Apple looked at him. He had no idea. “Where do you think I get it from? Now she’s living this different life, though, tryin’ to be some fool’s housewife and have babies. I remember a time when Kola was something fierce in Harlem. I even looked up to her at one point,” she said.

  Nick was listening. Apple rarely talked about her past with her family, especially her sister. She intrigued him, and though he’d never met Kola, he could tell that Apple and Kola together was a force to be reckoned with.

  “We had our ups and downs,” Apple continued. “But real talk, she did teach me a lot. I was a different person a long time ago—naive, foolish, and reckless. I was a square-ass bitch that got down wit’ someone dangerous and it cost me someone very close to me.”

  It was hard to imagine Apple as a square bitch. Nick laughed to himself. He’d assumed she was born with a gun in her hand.

  They continued to talk and observed the block. Apple felt she couldn’t stomach another month of nothing happening. Watching the bitch’s crew was tedious work, but they had to do it. There were times when she wanted to suck Nick’s dick in the front seat of the car just to pass some time. But the pleasurable distraction would only hinder their stakeout, not help it.

  Another cigarette was lit, and the night was growing late. From their position, things were quiet—maybe too quiet for Apple’s comfort. They hadn’t seen any activity in over two hours. But that soon changed.

  A BMW i8 loomed onto the block and parked directly in front of the house they were watching. The car was black and sleek—eye-candy in such a poverty-stricken area. The driver’s door opened vertically, and a long-legged, dark-skinned beauty gracefully climbed out of the expensive vehicle. Nick and Apple fixed their eyes on the stunning woman, who was from Ethiopia and was model-tall, slim, and very pretty. She was fashionably dressed in a black tailored business suit that accentuated her curves, a black trench coat, and red bottoms.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Nick asked, almost in awe at the dark beauty.

  The two thought she was someone famous. The way she dressed and moved, she had this air about her that exuded sophistication. She looked like a young Iman. Apple perked up in her seat and didn’t blink once.

  Right away, Cane exited the house and greeted the woman with a tight hug and an affectionate kiss. Cane shared a brief conversation with the woman, handed her a black vegan leather duffel bag, and then the woman turned around and walked in the opposite direction of where she’d parked and climbed into a white Mercedes Benz C300. They were switching cars for some reason.

  “We need to follow that bitch,” said Apple.

  “Why her?” Nick asked.

  “I just got this feeling we onto something wit’ that bitch.”

  They watched Cane go back into the stash house, and the Benz pulled out of the parking space. Once the Benz drove past them, Nick quickly maneuvered out of the parking spot they were in, swung the car into an abrupt U-turn, and followed the driver. Where they were headed, Apple could only imagine. But she knew if the lady was important enough to meet with Cane at their stash house, then she was important enough to follow. Apple assumed that Cane handed her some money in that duffel bag, but it was strange for her not to have any security following her if it was money that she was transporting.

  Nick carefully followed the car from Brooklyn onto the BQE and into Long Island. Forty-five minutes later, they found themselves in the exclusive neighborhood of Glen Cove—an affluent city with homes costing half-a-million or more, and where the streets became more deserted.

  “Fall back a little. We don’t want to spook her,” she told Nick.

  He did so. Apple noticed that the woman had begun riding her brakes and making one right turn after another, like she felt like she was being followed. So, when the C300 made a right at the intersection, Apple told Nick to make a left. He did, against his wishes.

  ***

  Takenya repeatedly looked through her rearview mirror to see if that same car was still following her. But the moment she made a right turn at the intersection, she saw that the gray Accord had made a left. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

  She’d started to suspect she was being followed once she got off the Long Island Expressway and was nearing her home. She had already reached for her pistol in her handbag and kept it close, but sighed with relief that she didn’t have to use it when she saw the Accord turn the opposite direction. As an extra precaution, she rode around in circles for a few moments before heading to her picturesque home nearby.

  She turned into her driveway and parked inside the one-car garage, with the garage door closing behind her. Finally feeling safe, she climbed out of the Benz with the bag in hand, and then popped the trunk. Inside were two duffel bags containing $250,000 each. The small duffel was a diversion containing $20,000 just in case anyone was watching her. The real prize was what was inside the trunk of the Benz. Takenya was skillful at laundering money, and in a few days the half-million would be transferred to various bank accounts overseas for her man, Cane. They had a good thing going.

  The duffel bags were heavy, and she had some difficulty removing them from the trunk, but eventually she did. She went and shut off the alarm to her home and then placed both bags inside a hidden space in the wall in the garage.

  It had been a long day for her. She just wanted to draw herself a nice bubble bath and unwind with some white wine and soothing R&B music. Tomorrow, she planned on taking care of business.

  ***

  Apple and Nick circled around the block just in time to see Takenya’s white Benz circling the area and make a left on the next block. Apple smiled. It was fate. They crept slowly down the block and saw the Benz turn into a short driveway and disappear inside the one-car garage.

  “Bingo!” Apple uttered with glee.

  They were on it. Their plan was coming together like a puzzle. The home was nice with a sprawling front lawn, small porch, bay windows, and a beautiful flower garden in the front yard. The bitch was living comfortably in the suburbs, probably feeling safe and protected away from the harsh and cruel Brooklyn streets. Apple knew she was of some importance to Cane, and she couldn’t wait to find out the details.

  Nick, being the old school professional he was at breaking into homes and robbing muthafuckas, had a knack for moving in the shadows and entering places that wanted to keep him out. The first thing he noticed was the motion lights placed around the home. But he didn’t see any surveillance cameras. The rooms
were dark, but there was a light on in the back—maybe it was the bedroom. He deduced that this wasn’t another stash house. Still, every movement they made toward the place had to be careful and calculated. There was no telling what they would be facing once inside. Maybe she was alone, maybe she wasn’t.

  Parked nearby and trying to remain unassuming, the two geared up with black latex gloves and pistols. Nick fixed his eyes on the neighboring homes nearby. He saw no lights on, no shades drawn to the side, and no people moving about. He figured that everyone was sleeping with the time being so late.

  Nick started the car, kept the lights off, moved closer to the home, and boldly parked right in front. He and Apple exited the vehicle with a sense of urgency and maneuvered toward the backyard, keeping an eye out for anyone or anything. To their benefit, the homeowner desired their privacy, meaning there was a high wooden fence shielding them from neighbors’ eyes in case someone was peeking out their windows. They remained crouched and moved in the shadows to the backdoor. It was a single door, no screen door, and no distractions around, meaning no barking dogs and no blinding flood lights.

  Nick looked at Apple and said with his eyes, You ready to do this?

  Apple nodded. Of course.

  It had to be quick, as subtle as possible, and violent. Their guns were drawn, and Nick did the honors. He lifted his knee vertically in the air to give himself some momentum and propelled his foot forward against the door with brute force, kicking it nearly off the hinges. It created a disturbance, and their adrenaline started to pump like whitewater rapids. Immediately, they charged into the home and Nick knew where to go—to that light he saw glimmering in the backroom.

  Takenya heard the disturbance inside her home and she jumped out of her bubble bath. Something was wrong, and she wasn’t about to get caught slipping. With no time to reach for a towel, she scurried naked from the bathroom into the hallway and saw that her worst nightmare had come true. There were two strangers inside her home, and they weren’t there to play nice. Panic rapidly consumed Takenya, and she ran for the bedroom to get her gun.