The Cartel 2: Tale of the Murda Mamas (11 page)

“Zy,” Carter began. He inched closer to Zyir. “Let her go, fam. This ain’t on you. Just hand her to me,” Carter instructed, seeing that his protégé's grief was as great as his own.

“Don’t take her from me, man, not yet. Just don’t touch her!” Zyir spoke in a low tone. “She needed me. She was hopeless and she killed herself because I wasn’t there.” Zyir sat with Breeze for an hour before Carter could convince him that it was time for them to depart. Zyir even tried to give Breeze CPR. They all knew that it was useless, but Zyir wouldn’t stop until he tried everything to bring her back. She held the key to his heart, and now that she was gone, it would be locked forever. The beautiful Breeze Diamond was dead.

A
ll with tears in their eyes, Mecca, Carter and Zyir walked down the dirt path that led to their awaiting helicopter. They had just climbed down the mountain, none of them saying anything to each other on their way down. Breeze’s limp, lifeless body was in Zyir’s arms as he carried her with strength, determined to hold her upright and comfortable, even though it was in vain.

The town’s patrons followed as they saw Zyir carrying the dead body. It looked as if a parade was going on, with Carter, Zyir, and Mecca leading the pack.

Mecca held his gun out in the open as he walked in broad daylight, with onlookers looking at them in disbelief. With tears flowing, he promised himself that anyone he saw that resembled a Haitian would die in honor of his hatred for Ma’tee. Mecca was at a point where he didn’t give a fuck about human life anymore. He was already ruthless, but he had crossed the line, graduating to psychotic. He just wanted somebody to pay for all the grief that Ma’tee and his Haitian mob had caused his family. It seemed as if every Haitian resembled Ma’tee, and Mecca wanted vengeance.

He saw a spectator with a head full of dreads on the side of the road, along with the crowd. Mecca was going all out in tribute to Breeze.

He glanced at her body, and the sight of the red belt marks around her neck made him sick to his stomach. That sight was the most hurtful thing he had ever seen. He knew that Breeze loved herself too much to kill herself. For her to commit suicide, life had to be unbearable. This thought infuriated Mecca and pushed him to his boiling point. He looked back at the dread head and let him have it. Mecca pointed and fired, catching him in the chest. Although the man had no association with Ma’tee and posed no harm, Mecca didn’t care. He was borderline insane at that point. As the thunderous sound of the gunshot echoed through the air, people began to scream in horror and run for cover as Mecca looked for any other Haitian that even resembled Ma’tee.

The gunshots didn’t bother Carter or Zyir. Usually they would try to tame Mecca, but this time they let his rage flow uninhibited. Neither of them even flinched as Mecca let off round after round, while never stopping his slow pace as they walked. They knew that Mecca was creating therapy for himself in some sort of sick way. Who were they to tell him how to grieve? They were both heartbroken, and the only thing on their minds was getting Breeze back to the States for a proper burial.

Zyir cried silently and kissed Breeze on the forehead while she was in his arms. “I love you,” he repeatedly whispered to her as he continued down the trail.

Mecca continued to shoot calmly, with no expression on his face. People were yelling in terror and scattered like roaches as Mecca continued his therapy session.

They reached the helicopter, and the driver was waiting, just as Carter had told him to.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Carter whispered to himself, referring to burying loved ones. It was as if a healed wound was reopened when they saw Breeze’s body hanging from that belt. They had to suffer her death twice, and it was taking a toll on what was left of The Cartel.

They entered the helicopter and the pilot carried them back to the States. The chopper ride remained silent and painful, as tears fell down all of their cheeks.

*   *   *

Carter, Mecca and Zyir stood over the hole in the graveyard. Two of the graveyard’s workers began to dump dirt on the cherry oak casket that contained Breeze’s body. Breeze’s headstone was next to the rest of the Diamond family.

Mecca looked at all the tombstones, and noticed that he was the last one left alive with the Diamond bloodline, besides Carter.

Zyir stared, as the dirt getting dumped on top of the casket and the flowers that he laid on top of it, slowly disappeared with each scoop.

Nothing was said. Each of them were entertaining their own thoughts and grieving within themselves. They all had stonecold stares with heavy hearts. They were all cried out, and at that moment, they knew that The Cartel was over. All of the heartache and anguish wasn’t worth it.

“I’m done,” Mecca said as he stared at the hole in the ground.

“Me too … me too,” Carter whispered as he threw his arm around his brother.

“This game is so cold. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We supposed to pop champagne and live the life; but not this. The game has no loyalty,” Zyir added as he fought back a single tear for Breeze.

Carter began to think about Miamor, and how he had left her there alone for the past couple of days when they had gone to Haiti, and then took care of Breeze’s burial. He was fed up and ready to move on and start a life with Miamor.

He looked over at Zyir, the only real nigga he had besides Mecca. He didn’t want Zyir to fall victim to the game, and promised himself at that moment that he would not let Zyir fall into the pitfalls of this game.

They stayed there for hours and mourned her death before they headed back to the Diamond residence. Carter knew he would have to start making plans for his exit out of the drug game.

*   *   *

Carter pulled into the Diamond Estate, and the gates were opened by one of his many henchmen that he had guarding the house. Carter gave him a nod and pulled up the long, curvy driveway. He had just dropped Zyir off at his condo, and Mecca decided to stay over at Zyir’s.

Mecca was acting strange in Carter’s eyes. Carter chalked Mecca’s awkwardness up to him mourning his sister’s suicide. But little did Carter know, Mecca wanted to stay away from Miamor, because he knew that he would eventually kill her if he stayed under the same roof as her. Mecca wanted to wait until she woke from her coma before he killed her. He wanted Miamor to see his eyes as he sent her to her Maker. He was determined to finish the job Fabian had failed to do.

Carter got out of his car and entered the house. When he walked in, his henchmen were all on the couch, playing a video game. They were so busy ranting and raving that they didn’t notice him come in. “What the fuck is going on here?” he asked loudly, startling all five of the henchmen. They quickly jumped up, sensing the hostility in Carter’s voice.

“We were just—” the henchmen said, just before Carter threw up his hand, dismissing whatever he had to say. He began to walk over to the crowd of men with both hands behind his back. His body gestures didn’t display anger, but the veins that were forming in his neck and forehead was a sure giveaway. “Who is watching Miamor?” he asked calmly, as he looked each one of them in their face.

“Carter, it wasn’t—” one of the men said, trying to explain why they were on the east wing, and no one was guarding the front door or Miamor’s room as Carter had ordered.

Carter grabbed the man and pulled out his own gun, putting it in the man’s mouth. “Open up, nigga!” Carter yelled as he harshly rubbed the barrel of the gun on the man’s lips.

The man opened his mouth and put both of his hands up, not believing what was happening. The other henchmen just looked on in fear. They had never seen Carter lose his composure whatsoever, so to see him so irate was terrifying.

“I pay you niggas good to watch and protect my fortress, and look what you do. You niggas don’t know how to make money. The only thing you have to do is stay on your post. I don’t pay you niggas to stand around and play games. What the fuck? Anybody could have come in here and hurt my lady!” Carter yelled as he thought about how he could’ve crept past them without anyone knowing. “Who was supposed to be at the door?” he asked as he continued to grip the man by his collar. He glanced around looking for an answer, but no one said anything. “Who!” he asked again as he dug the gun deeper in the man’s mouth.

The man he was holding raised his hand, unable to talk because the gun was in his mouth. Carter had found out all that he needed. He pulled the trigger, rocking him to sleep. Blood and noodles shot out the back of the man’s head, and Carter released his grip, letting his body fall to the floor. He didn’t even look at him fall. He just turned around and headed to check on Miamor. “Clean that shit up!” he yelled as he put his smoking gun on his hip. He had to send a message that he wasn’t playing, and that’s exactly what he did. Maybe if so much wasn’t going on, he would not have gone that far. He wasn’t the one for making regrets, so he whispered, “Don’t fucking play with me!” to himself, as he climbed the stairs to get to Miamor.

When Carter walked in the room, he saw the nurse that he had hired sitting next to Miamor, half-asleep. She was an older black woman who seemed to be in her early fifties. He had hired her from a health care service just before he went to Haiti. Carter walked over to the nurse and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hello, Mrs. Smith. You can leave now,” he said as he greeted her with a smile and pulled out a wad of cash.

She smiled back and got up to retrieve her things.

Carter looked at Miamor, who was still in a comatose state. She never looked more beautiful in Carter’s eyes. He bent over and kissed her on the head. “Hey, baby,” he said as he smiled.

The nurse headed out of the door, and Carter remembered what he had just done downstairs, so he told her to exit out of the west wing’s door. He didn’t want her to see the gory scene that was downstairs by the main door.

She nodded her head in agreement, and exited the room, leaving him alone in the room with Miamor.

Carter sat at the edge of the bed and placed his hand on top of Miamor’s. He would give anything for her to just open her eyes. He would pay for her to tell him that she loved him. He still didn’t know who could do such a heinous act to such a beautiful girl. But when he found out who had done it, he would make them pay.

Never in his wildest dreams could he have guessed that her injuries were at the hands of his own flesh and blood, Mecca.

Carter was exhausted, and he was ready to go to sleep. He pulled up a chair so that he could fall asleep right next to Miamor, hoping that she would awaken. He grabbed a small blanket from the foot of the bed and positioned himself comfortably. He prepared to call it a night and closed his eyes. So much had been going on over the past week, and it had him drained. He said a quick prayer for his sister, Breeze, and whispered, “I love you.”

Out of nowhere, Miamor, with a cracked and low voice, whispered, “I love you too,” as she opened her eyes and let out a small grunt.

Carter quickly jumped up and looked into her eyes. He smiled. It felt so good to see her eyes after so long. “Oh my God, baby! You’re up! I’m here. I got you,” he said as he bent down and kissed her repeatedly on the forehead.

Miamor was so weak that she could barely keep her eyes open. They were so heavy that it felt like someone was pulling her eyelids down. She tried to move, but her body wasn’t responding. It took all of her energy to whisper those three little words, “I love you,” but those words were music to Carter’s ears. He was so grateful, so happy.

“I thought I lost you, Miamor. I would have waited forever for you to wake up,” Carter said as he felt his hands shaking. His nerves were getting the best of him because he was overwhelmed with joy. His queen was back.

“W
hat are we going to do?” Anisa asked as she paced back and forth and stared at Murder’s arrest on the TV.

“I don’t know,” I replied, clueless.

The police had Murder in handcuffs, and had confiscated the money he had on him; all the money he had to his name. His head hung low, and he tried to avoid the flash of the media cameras.

My stomach was doing somersaults as I watched in disbelief, and my foot tapped anxiously against the floor. I was pissed at Anisa, but I would never tell her. If she had not gone off on her ridiculous tangent, then none of this would have ever happened. No words needed to be spoken to establish guilt. We were both there, we knew how it had gone down, and she knew that it was her fault. In a zombie like state I walked past her. I was still covered in blood and needed to take a shower.

The eyes of the man that I had killed haunted me. I put the soiled clothing in a plastic bag and stepped under the hot stream of water. It was almost too hot to bear, but I needed it to cleanse myself. I was desperate for the shower to wash away the sins that I had committed that night. The blood ran down my body and turned pink as it swirled down the drain.

Why did this have to happen?
I asked myself as my tears kicked in. I cried silently for all that I had lost. After everything that I had been through when I came out of lockup, my life finally felt normal. I had felt like I found a family in Murder and Anisa, but my disillusioned view of safety had come crashing down around me the moment I pulled my second trigger. Two lives had gone extinct behind my actions, and although I would never regret killing Perry, my second murder was weighing heavily on my heart. It was then that I realized I was not normal. I never had been, and after tonight, I never would be.

Scrubbing my skin until it was raw, I washed my body until the water ran cold. I was grateful for the film of steam that covered the bathroom mirror. I wasn’t ready to face myself. I didn’t want to look into my eyes, because I was sure that I would not recognize the girl who stared back at me.

Knock! Knock!

“Miamor, are you okay?” Anisa called through the door.

My hands shook as I picked up the plastic bag filled with my blood-soaked clothes, and I opened the door to let her in. “I’m fine,” I answered. “I need to take these clothes to the incinerator.”

She took my hand, reminding me of how she used to take care of me when we were little, then led me out of the apartment. We entered the room where the incinerator was and I tossed the bag inside. Anisa rubbed my hair and put her arms around me as we both watched it burn.

“Everything is going to be okay, Miamor. We have to move on, and you have to forget that tonight ever happened,” Anisa said.

I looked at her with a blank expression. “What about

Murder?”

Anisa didn’t look at me. Instead, she stared into the fire. “Murder knew the risks of the game he was playing. I knew one day something would go down and he wouldn’t come home. Today is that day.”

I wanted to tell her that today would not have been “the day” if it hadn’t been for her, but I had to take responsibility in the situation too, because I could have stopped it. “We have to help him get out of this, Nis,” I protested.

“There is no getting out of this, Miamor. He got caught. I’m not going to risk you going away again. I can let him go, but I will never forgive myself if I have to see them take you away again. Murder is gone … it is what it is,” she said coldly.

*   *   *

Murder ended up taking a plea. He got five to seven years on a weapons and tax evasion charge. They couldn’t connect the body to him, because I had disposed of the gun, so that case went unsolved.

I wanted to visit Murder, but Anisa thought it was best if we cut our ties and start fresh. Living life without Murder was easier said than done, however. Gone were the days of shopping sprees and lounging. Without him bringing in the paper, things got real tight for us. Anisa and I used up the money we’d gotten for her car in a matter of a couple months. Rent, groceries and bills ate that cash up quick. Murder’s absence was felt almost immediately, because we realized all that he did for us, and now that he was gone. The ringing of the house phone was our only reminder that he was ever really there.

We resulted to petty hustles; boosting clothes and petty credit card schemes just to get by, but still at the end of the month, dollars was short and we were on the verge of being thrown out on our asses.

“I’m not for being broke,” Anisa stated seriously. “You might have to sell your car, Miamor.”

I raised my eyebrows and looked at her like she was crazy. “Bitch, I’m not selling my whip. I’ll sell some ass before I get rid of my car,” I said adamantly.

Anisa burst into laughter as the ringing of the phone interrupted our conversation. “Well, we are going to have to think of something, because rent is due in a few days,” she reminded me, the stress written all over her face.

The phone stopped ringing, and we sat in silence as we each searched for resolutions to our problems, but it wasn’t long before it started again blaring in our ears.

“Fuck! I can’t even think from that mu’fucka ringing all the damn time!” Anisa shouted.

“Why don’t they just stop calling? I know they saw Murder’s arrest in the papers and shit,” I replied.

Anisa shook her head. “Nobody knew who Murder really was. To the rest of the world, he’s just another nigga lost to the system. I’m the only person who knew about what he did. To everybody else, he was just a voice on the phone.”

“How’d he collect his money?” I asked curiously.

“They’d wire the money to a Cayman account. Half up front, half after the job is done. Murder didn’t trust anybody though. He always cleared the account after every job and stashed his dough in the safe.”

Ring! Ring!

“Do you have access to the account?” I asked curiously. “I had access to all of Murder’s money, whether he knew it or not,” Anisa smirked.

I shook my head and smirked. “Yo slick ass!” I commented.
Ring! Ring!

My mind was spinning. My pockets were on empty and I was in desperate need of a dollar. My sister and I were three days off of being put out in the street. “Why don’t we just answer it?” I asked.

“What?” Anisa said skeptically. She lowered her voice to a whisper as if we weren’t in the apartment alone. “Miamor, I told you what type of business Murder was into …” Anisa said, but she stopped mid-sentence when she saw the look on my face. “Miamor, what the fuck are you thinking?” she asked, reading my mind.

“I’m just saying; we need money, and there is cash money on the other end of that receiver. All we got to do is pick it up,” I said unsurely as I stood up and walked over to the phone.

Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!

Anisa and I stared intensely at one another. We both knew that once I answered that line, there would be no turning back. She looked back at the table full of bills and then up at me. She nodded her head, and I lifted the phone to my ear. It was the day we accepted our first job, and the day the Murder Mamas was born.