The Cartel (21 page)

“I know you are going through a lot right now, but I have to ask you a question. Who killed my grandson?”

“Your grandson,” she repeated as she briefly stared him in his eyes.

Estes took the cigar out of his mouth and slightly frowned, “What did you say?’ he asked in a heavy Dominican accent.

“Mecca killed Monroe. Mecca did it.”

Estes was at a loss for words as he clenched his teeth and involuntarily balled up his fist. He was hurt by her words, and his anger got the better of him. He angrily grabbed Leena by her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me!” he yelled.

“I’m not lying, I swear to you. Mecca shot both of us. He went crazy. Monroe and I were fooling around and he walked in. But I wasn’t serious with Mecca. Monroe was the one I loved.”

Estes caught himself and released Leena’s hand. He shook his head from side to side and remembered the look in Mecca’s eyes at the funeral. He knew something wasn’t right with his only living grandson. Estes was a firm believer in family morals and loyalty.

What Mecca had done was the ultimate betrayal, and Estes quickly disowned him. Estes was from the old school and played by the rules. If you went against the family, you weren’t considered family anymore. The thought of vengeance was the only thing he could fathom. He motioned to the man that was in the corner of the room to come to him.

Leena was startled. She didn’t even realize that they weren’t alone.

A Dominican man emerged from the shadows of the darkened room, and Estes whispered something in his ear. The man quickly exited the room, and Estes sat next to Leena and instructed her that he would look after her, and everything would be okay. Unbeknownst to Leena, Estes had ordered the death of his only remaining grandson, Mecca.

Mecca sniffed the long line of cocaine, using his nostrils like a Hoover vacuum. His hair was unbraided and wild all over his head, giving him the look of a crazed man. He quickly jerked his head back so that his nose wouldn’t run. He stared at the items on the table—a bottle of Rémy Martin, two Desert Eagle handguns, and a bowl of pure coke. He had already sniffed two grams and was high out of his mind.

He reached over to his end table to grab the picture of himself, Money, and their father. It was a picture that was taken when they were little boys, both of them sitting shirtless on their father’s lap. He remembered that day and smiled. That smile quickly turned into a saddened expression, which was then followed by tears. He was deeply remorseful for his actions and continued to shed silent tears as he picked up the bottle and took a big gulp of liquor then another line of blow.

“I’m sorry, Money, I am so sorry, bro,” he said as he broke down crying hysterically. “I love you, man,” he whispered as he stood up, almost falling back down. He looked around his tri-level condominium that overlooked the sands of Miami’s coastline. He staggered over to his balcony with the bottle in one hand and the picture in the other. He forcefully pushed open the door and stumbled out. He looked into the sky as the moonlight shined down on him. He felt worthless, like he was the scum of the earth.

He took another swig of the drink and threw the bottle off the balcony and watched it land in the Olympic-size swimming pool below. His condo was three stories above ground, and as he glanced down, the mixture of liquor, height, and cocaine caused him to become disoriented. He looked at the picture again and kissed it. He remembered back when he was innocent and untainted by life’s ills. He wished he could start back over and have his life back with his father and brother. But now both of them were gone.

Mecca took off his Timberland boots and carefully climbed on top of the railing. He took off his shirt, exposing his definitive tattoo that covered chest and arms. He closed his eyes and spread his arms out like an eagle soaring in free air.

“God, please forgive me for I have sinned. Money, Poppa, I’m coming to join you,” he said as he prepared to jump to his death.

Before he took the leap, he heard a stampede of feet coming from beneath him. He opened his eyes and glanced down and couldn’t believe his eyes.
Am I drunk?
he asked himself as he saw at least fifteen men of Dominican descent creeping into his first floor patio door, all of them carrying assault rifles or handguns.

Mecca knew who’d sent them, his own grandfather. He had seen those same goons wipe out other crews while growing up. Mecca instantly grew enraged. His pride was still intact, and he figured, if he was going out, it would be with a bang.

Mecca hopped off the rails and stepped back into the house. He walked over to the table and grabbed both of his guns. He then dipped his entire face into the cocaine bowl and took a deep sniff. Cocaine was all over his face as he rose up with bloodshot-red eyes. He walked over to the radio, and the sounds of Tupac blared out of the speakers. He turned the volume up as high as he could, so the intruders didn’t have to guess what part of the house he was in.

“Come on, mu’fuckas!” Mecca yelled. He pounded his chest just before breaking the bulbs in the big lamp that lit the room up. He wanted to kill every single man who came for him. He was about to set that mu’fucka off.

Mecca ran to the corner of the spacious room and kneeled behind the couch and cocked both of his guns. “Y’all trying to come in my home and get me? Do y’all know who the fuck I am? Huh!” he yelled over the couch, as four men ran into the room and positioned themselves.

Mecca’s body was sweating profusely because of the drugs and his anxiousness. He was ready to get it popping. He rose up blasting, shooting anything that was moving.

The sound of Estes’ henchmen’s assault rifles filled the air as they tried their best to take Mecca’s head off.

Mecca, even though he was high as a kite, aimed with a marksman’s precision, picking them off one by one. He ducked behind the couch briefly for cover and then emerged blasting. Busting his gun was like second nature to him, and he began to kill the men in the room. Before he knew it, he was the only one left standing.

When he heard the sounds of feet coming up the stairs, he realized that he had no chance against the army. A man ran through the door, and Mecca rolled across the floor and fired his gun at him, but nothing came out. He was out of bullets.

Mecca rushed for him, but the man popped him in the shoulder. But that didn’t stop Mecca. He ran and struck the man across the face, causing him to drop his gun. Mecca then began to beat the man to a pulp. Swollen to twice its normal size, the man’s face became like a bloody stew as Mecca pounded the man with his gun. That’s when the others came up the stairs, and Mecca caught another bullet to the mid-section.

“Ahhh!” he screamed as the burning-hot bullet ripped through his torso. Mecca fell on his back in pain and saw another man coming for him.

The room was dim, so the man couldn’t see Mecca clearly and began firing aimlessly.

Mecca grabbed the dead man’s gun and fired a bullet through the man’s head, dropping him on contact, and the rest of the goons came in blasting.

Mecca then struggled to his feet and ran full speed toward the balcony. With bullets whizzing by his head and body he thought he had no choice, so he leaped.

“Everything is going to be okay,” Young Carter said as he consoled Taryn. “I’m going to find him.”

Taryn had been worried all night about her only remaining son. She had gotten the news from her father that he would be killed. She knew the rules to the game, but as a mother, there was no way she could accept the contract on her son. She tried her best to convince her father to call it off, but he wasn’t budging.

She had been calling Mecca all night to tell him to flee. She just couldn’t believe what Estes was telling her. She didn’t want to believe that Mecca had killed Monroe.

Estes had decided not to tell Taryn about the baby, and he moved Leena in with him, so he could protect her. Potentially she could have been carrying a boy, and that would be another opportunity for a male heir to bear his last name. By Taryn being past her biological time frame to have babies, he wanted to shield Leena until the baby was born.

“I know Mecca didn’t do what they saying he did. I went over there this morning, and his place was empty and riddled with bullet holes. I have to find my baby.” Taryn cried hysterically on her stepson’s shoulder.

“I will find him for you. Mecca is a soldier. I know he is still alive, okay. You know Mecca. He’s probably laid up somewhere with a female right now. Them goons just came over and trashed the place, trying to intimidate him.” Carter was selling Taryn a dream. He knew in his heart that if Estes put a contract on Mecca then most likely he wouldn’t half-step. “Look, I’m going to check around and see what I come up with, okay.”

“Okay, Carter. Thank you so much. Please bring my baby home. I can’t lose another son.” Taryn grabbed his face gently. She looked into his eyes and was amazed at the resemblance he held with his father. At that moment, she had faith that he would make things right.

She then looked over at Breeze, who was on the couch crying, and went to soothe her.

“I will. I’m going to find him. Just don’t worry,” Carter said just before he exited the house. He hopped into his car and grabbed his phone from his waist so he could call Ace and Zyir to roll with him. He picked up his phone, but dropped it when he felt someone grab him from his backseat.

“Yo, Carter, it’s me!” Mecca said as he released Carter.

“Man, what the fuck are you doing?” Carter asked as he turned around to look at Mecca. He saw that he was shirtless and bloody. The atrocious smell of liquor and blood invaded Carter’s nostrils.

“Don’t look! Stay turned around! They watching,” he said as he lowered his voice and stayed crouched down out of sight. “Yo, fam, pull off so we can talk.”

Carter pulled off, and once they were clear of the house, Mecca sat up and looked around nervously. “Man, they trying to kill me.”

“I know. Taryn told me what was going on. Man, tell me you didn’t do what they say you did.”

“Hell nah, I didn’t kill Money. I told you I saw them mu'-fuckin’ dreads running out when I came. I didn’t have my banger on me, so I couldn’t get at them.” Mecca kept his eyes moving.

Carter immediately had skepticism, because as long as he knew Mecca, he was always strapped. It didn’t sound right, but he was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I knew it couldn’t be true, man. You know we have to get at them niggas, right? We have to go to war.”

“Most definitely, but I can’t, with my grandfather on my ass. I have to lay low for a minute.” Mecca’s voice began to break as he explained to Carter how he jumped off his balcony to get away from Estes’ goons and landed in his pool. He needed medical attention for his wounds and was losing blood rapidly.

Carter looked at Mecca’s bloody shoulder. “We have to get you to the hospital, man.”

“Nah, I can’t go to the hospital. Estes will find out. He has the whole city in his pocket. I need to holler at Doc,” Mecca said, referring to one of his father’s old friends that happened to be a surgeon. “Then after that I am going to have to lay low, feel me?”

“I got you. I’m gon’ hold you down. I have an idea,” Carter said as he jumped on the highway. He had to make Mecca disappear for a while and only knew one place where Estes would never look for him.

“This ain’t Flint town, baby. Money flows like water in Miami, and I got a crazy connect. I’m getting the birds straight off the boat …”

—Carter Jones

T
aryn looked directly into Mecca’s eyes. A part of her was relieved that he was safe and sound, but another part of her ached at the fact that he could possibly be responsible for Money’s demise. She could never imagine him committing such an act of sin. Certainly the hands that had shed her son’s blood were not those of his brother. It couldn’t be.

“Mecca, I need to ask you a question. I will only ask you once, and I need to you to be honest,” she stated. Her voice cracked from emotion. She was losing everything that she and Carter had worked so hard to maintain. She composed herself, and once Mecca’s eyes met hers, she asked, “Is it true? Did you harm Monroe?”

Mecca fixed his lips to answer honestly. He wanted to be truthful with his mother, but the look in her eyes revealed her inability to forgive. Killing Monroe wasn’t a trespass that she could dismiss, and he loved his mother too much to give her a reason to hate him. He couldn’t change the fact Money was gone, but he was still breathing and needed his mother’s love like a newborn that hadn’t yet been removed from the womb, so he lied.

“No.”

The lie ripped through his heart like a hollow-point, and he couldn’t contain his emotions. He held onto his mother, trying to feel her heartbeat through their embrace while he wept on her shoulder, mourning the death of his brother and the loss of his sanity. Ever since he had killed Monroe, his head wasn’t the same.

“Everything is going to be all right, son. I love you. No matter what your grandfather says, I know in my heart that you would never do what you’ve been accused of. Monroe was your other half, and you are too selfish to hurt a part of yourself.” Taryn held Mecca’s face in both hands. The sight of him so weak and exposed reminded her of his childhood years, and she wished that she could turn back the hands of time. She wanted to go back to the days when her husband was their protector, but those days were lost, and now it was up to her to salvage what was left of her family.

Mecca had tears in his eyes as he sniffed loudly. He knew that his mother was unaware that he was responsible for Monroe’s murder, and the secret was eating out his insides.

“Now you are the only son I have left. Walk through these doors and you man the fuck up, do you hear me?”

Mecca knew that she was serious because swearing was something that his mother rarely did. He nodded his head in understanding.

“Your father isn’t here, Mecca. My baby Money is gone. I’m not losing you too.”

He hugged his mother tightly, and Breeze stepped up and wrapped her arms around him as well.