Fistful of Benjamins (8 page)

I
hadn't slept in two days. That had become more the norm for me the past few months. My usually long, luscious locks of hair had become dry, brittle, and had started breaking off. I hadn't gotten my nails done in weeks. My usually smooth, clear, blemish-free skin was breaking out with acne and I had lost my curvy shape because my appetite was nonexistent.
Stressed
was an understatement. It showed all over me from head to toe. There was no end in sight to the stress, either. In fact, it just kept getting greater and greater.

By force, Luca and Lance had again upped the package deliveries from three a day to six a day. Their greed and disregard for the risk I was taking didn't even surprise me anymore. Nothing surprised me anymore.

I had a new sorter, which was a challenge in itself. The new bitch who had my packages was going to be crazy. I already had to practically curse at her to get her to put all six packages on my truck, along with the stuff that was legit. That bitch had given me several icy stares and evil looks, but I couldn't care less, until the morning it happened—shit blew up. I came into the post office station ready to go and found Ben standing over my bundles and packages.
What the fuck he want? This is all I fucking need right now. I am not in the mood for him!
I huffed to myself. I put on a fake smile, said good morning to Ben, and proceeded to pick up my stuff as if he wasn't standing there glaring at me.

“Gabriella, it is my understanding that you had Tanya put all of these packages from Florida on your truck?” Ben said, getting right to the point. No
good morning
or anything.

“Yeah . . . most of these are my regular customers, so what's the problem? I deliver to them all of the time,” I said, trying to keep calm. Ben never really questioned how we did things in the station, as long as the mail got delivered. He wasn't asking just to be asking.

“I don't see the big deal,” I followed up, stopping so I could look at him.

“I'm just concerned that you're getting bogged down with express-mail deliveries and not your regular stuff. We can share these out. There's no reason for you to take everything that comes in. Express mail doesn't really have to go by regular routes,” Ben replied, reaching down toward Lance's packages.

“No!” I snapped, stepping in front of the packages to block Ben with my body. I didn't even realize how fiercely I had protested. Ben kind of took a step back at my response. With all of my nervous reactions over the past few weeks, Ben must've thought I was straight-up crazy.

“I mean—I—I—can handle it. Please just let me do it. I'm okay, I promise and everything gets there on time,” I said nervously, trying to clean it up. I couldn't afford to have Lance's packages fucked with. Ben just didn't know that my life and my son's life depended on those damn pieces of express mail in that bin. I knew the next time anything went awry, Lance wasn't just going to hold Andrew hostage on his lap in front of me: It would definitely be a worse fate for my son. The thought of that was enough to make me crazy for real.

“Okay. I'm trusting you, Gabriella. I'm trusting that since you are one of my best workers that everything is on the up-and-up with you. I'm putting my job on the line based on this trust. Please don't make me regret this decision,” Ben said tentatively. I felt bad that he had so much faith in me, when I knew damn well if the shit hit the fan he might take a fall for my actions too. I couldn't even look Ben in the eyes after he said that he trusted me. I grabbed my mail bundles and all of Lance's packages and loaded up my stuff. As I slid behind the steering wheel of my mail truck, I looked over to the door real quick. I saw Ben standing there with his arms folded, watching me. A cold chill shot down my spine. Something about the look in Ben's eyes and on his face told me that I was already under suspicion. Even if he said he trusted me, Ben was watching me closely and he wasn't as nice and gullible as he made everyone believe. As I pulled out of the garage, Ben didn't budge. He was letting me know that he had his eye on me. There was no turning back now, I had to deliver those packages. I had people to protect.

 

Each day that I delivered the extra load of Lance's packages, Eduardo tried to speak to me. I didn't have shit to say to him. Now, with the increase in packages, I was getting $15,000 a week, but the money didn't mean shit. It didn't ease the fact that I was always worried about my son and my mother. All I could do with the money now was start stashing it for them, because I already had a feeling that things weren't going to end well for me.

 

Four days after my encounter with Ben and the fight over the extra packages being sorted into my route, I reported to work as usual. I was already exhausted from not sleeping, so I was really not in the mood for any bullshit. The first thing that was different was Tanya, the sorter who had taken Carlos's place, was not there. “What the fuck is going on now?” I mumbled when I found some white dude, who looked like he had just gotten out of the army, standing there sorting my stuff.

“Who are you?” I asked with an attitude. This was not good and I was certainly not up for the same fight I had been having with Tanya on an almost daily basis.

“I'm Mark . . . I'm filling in for Tanya today,” the man answered. A funny feeling went through my stomach. I squinted my eyes and surveyed him up and down. I immediately didn't trust him.

“All these packages are the same weight . . . humph—that's unusual,” Mark said to me as he lifted one of Lance's packages.
Fuck! This is all I need. A nosy motherfucker questioning shit.
My heart immediately started jackhammering against my chest bone. I had already told Lance not to have the fucking packages all the same weight on the same day coming from the same place. It was apparent that these bastards didn't give a fuck about anything except getting their drugs delivered.

“I don't know. Why you asking me like I sent the packages? I guess when people send things to their family or whomever they don't think about the packages being the same weight as someone else's package. Can't it just be a coincidence?” I snarled. He didn't answer.

“Are they ready for me to go?” I asked, tapping my foot impatiently. Mark smiled and nodded. The smug look on his face gave me pause. Something in the back of my mind was telling me to run; to go far away while I still could. This dude was not on the up-and-up. I didn't listen to my instincts. I grabbed up my stuff and began heading out. The next thing that was different were the four strange men in the garage when I began heading to my truck. I had never seen any of their faces before. They weren't mail carriers, mechanics, sorters, nothing. I noticed that Ben was there as well. I got so nervous I had to put my bundles down for a minute.

“Oh, Gabriella. I was waiting for you,” Ben said. He didn't smile. He wasn't upset. He had no emotion at all. Not like Ben at all.

“We have a new truck for you. I remember you complaining about the old one.” I looked at him suspiciously. I didn't remember complaining about my mail truck at all.

“Um . . . my truck is fine. I'll just take it. I have my seat adjusted and everything already,” I insisted. Then I looked at the guys who were with Ben. They were all dressed like Postal Service mechanics, but something told me otherwise.

“Ma'am, I'm sorry. You'll have to take the new truck. Headquarters is making us retire the old one once we issue a new one,” one of the men told me. Ben shook his head yes. I reluctantly took the keys from the guy's hands. I looked around the inside of the new truck. It was much more modern than my old one. It was clean and had that new-car smell. Still, I didn't have a good feeling about it as I slowly loaded my stuff, including Lance's drugs inside.

“You like it?” Ben asked because he was standing there watching me.

“Honestly, not really, Ben, but I didn't have much of a choice,” I shot back.

“Well, Gabriella, sometimes we have to do things we don't like in the name of our job. I guess it's all in the name of the game,” he said. I looked at him for a long, hard minute trying to read him, but one of the strange mechanics came over to us.

“Everything all right with the new truck, miss?” the guy asked. I climbed up into the truck and turned toward the guy and Ben.

“I guess I'll know after today if everything is all right with it, now won't I?” I replied. I don't know to this day why I didn't listen to my gut, which was telling me to drive a few blocks, ditch that fucking truck and run far, far away, but I didn't.

 

It was the end of my routes that day and, as usual, I started delivering Lance's packages to his trap houses. I had the routine so down pat I could've done them in my sleep. My brain was definitely on autopilot. I had way too much on my mind. First, I went to Ant, then to a new dude named Brick, then to Pablo, then to Lance's club, and lastly to Eduardo. Before I got out of the truck at my last stop to give Eduardo his package, I had the urge to call my mother and speak to my son.

“Mommy loves you no matter what, okay?” I had said to him. I could feel my heart breaking into a million little pieces as my baby told me that he loved me back. I did the same with my mother. Of course, she kept me on the phone longer because she was asking me over and over again if I was okay. She also had a lot of questions. It broke my heart to lie to her, but had I tried to get near the truth with her it would've just caused me strife and heartbreak. I assured her that I was fine, that I loved her even when I didn't say it, and reluctantly I ended the call.

As I walked up to the steps of the trap house to meet with Eduardo, I felt it. It was like someone was standing so close to me I could feel them breathing. Although there was no one right behind me, the presence was felt. It was an instinct, I guess, because I knew they were there. The heat from what felt like a million sets of eyes on me. I was walking slowly because at that point I was sure. I had told myself that it was the end of the line. I silently asked God to forgive me for what I had done to my son and my mother. I could've turned and ran back to my truck. I could've ran—period, but I didn't. I thought about it and I knew that if they were watching me, I would be severely outnumbered. I kept walking slowly up to the door with what I believed was the last of the drug deliveries gripped tightly in my hands. I knew that there was a difference in the box. I had been delivering them for an entire year; I knew how they should feel, look, and even sound. I felt the weight of all of the packages Ben had set aside for me earlier that morning and I knew none of the packages were the same as I'd always had. Yet, I didn't warn Eduardo or Lance; instead, I went about delivering every single one of them. They wanted more deliveries and that was just what I had given them that day.

An unusual calm had settled over me as I reached the door. I guess it was something like acceptance that I had come to the end of the line. I lifted my right hand and banged on the door with the same force I always used. I did my usual three bangs, paused, and three more. That invisible presence I'd felt when I first got out of my mail truck seemed like it was hovering closer now. The hairs on the back of my neck and on my arms stood up. I let out a long, soul-cleansing breath.
It's finally over, Gabby. You did it and now there is no turning back,
I spoke to myself.

I didn't turn around. I didn't look left or right. I didn't cry. I didn't try to warn Eduardo or anything. Like always, he opened the door in anticipation of his drugs. In his hand was my envelope filled with my weekly pay. Eduardo smiled like usual too. He was still trying to win me back. Even though I hadn't been fucking with him lately, he would always smile and tell me he missed me. He would always try to get me to come back to the apartment to live with him again. But, today, after a few seconds his smile faded off of his face as fast as it had come over his face.

“Gabby . . . what the fuck did you do?” he asked, his face folding into an evil scowl. Eduardo was set to run, but there was nowhere to go.

“It wasn't me,” I said calmly as the presence I had been feeling finally revealed themselves. I heard the shouts behind me so loud I felt like they were screaming directly into my ear.

“Federal agents! Let me see your hands! Now! Put your fucking hands up! Now!”

I think I stopped breathing for a few minutes. My ears were ringing and everything around me seemed to stop. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I raised my hands slowly over my head and turned around just as slow. The envelope Eduardo had given me fell to the ground and the money lay littered around my feet. Some of it blew in the wind, just like my life at that moment. That's all it had amounted to after all I had been through. The money was dirty and it was now just useless as I was.

“Gabriella Vasquez, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney . . .” one of the agents rattled off at me as he roughly grabbed my arms and forced them behind my back. There was no fighting, no fussing, no resisting, and no words right then. I was numb all over.

“What the fuck did you do, Gabriella? What the fuck did you do?” Eduardo shouted from the prone position they had him lying in on the floor. “You set me up! Why? Why did you do it?”

I didn't say another word to him. I whipped my head around and read the backs of the jackets of all the agents there. I saw DEA, FBI, ATF, and standing there smirking were also the Virginia Beach police detectives who had interviewed me after Carlos was killed.