Renee 3 Read online

  “Why wasn’t he with his kids? Is your kid one of those who makes them but won’t raise them?”

  The women stopped. Cars conquered the streets and forced them to wait until they passed.

  “Worse,” Prue said. “He’s a fuckin’ criminal,” she vomited.

  The cheerful, happy-go-lucky Prudence was kicked out the door and replaced with honesty. Her need for friendship not only revolved around having a girls’ night out, but having a friend she could speak with concerning her anything-but-perfect lifestyle and personality. The stress she had throughout the years caused her to turn to anti-depressants. The pills helped to temporarily resolve her inner issues, but what she needed the most was for her children to walk the straight and narrow and her thirst for money to be quenched.

  Hearing the word “criminal” brought a sense of comfort to Renee, and her ears raised like a rabbit’s. Her trying to fit in ceased, and Prue was now lured into her world.

  “What kind of criminal is he? You make him sound like the bottom-of-the-barrel type.”

  “Because he is. He’s a fuckin’ drug dealer,” she hissed. “Every day, he puts his life and freedom at stake for a few measly dollars. All Roy and I do is argue with him to leave it all alone, but he never does. All he says is he’ll leave when he reaches his goal.” She shook her head. “He talks the typical TV gangsta shit. ‘Just a few moves and I’m out!’” Her voice changed in her attempt at mimicking a man.

  Pain-filled tears rushed down her face. Prue fought to keep her composure, but there was just so much she could hold internally. Her eyes wandered around, and her feet constantly slammed against the ground while they waited for the green light to shine. Prue pushed the tears and her dreadlocks away after finally being granted access to walk across the street.

  “I’m sorry. I just have so much anger inside. I guess I exploded.” She cleared her throat and wiped at her nose.

  Prue’s apology meant nothing to Renee. The only value their conversation held was the insight into her drug-peddling son’s life and how Renee could use him to her advantage. Ain’t this some shit? Do I smell a new resource in my midst? Renee pulled back the smile threating to shine.

  “What’s his goal?”

  “Huh?” Prue dug her hand inside her purse now that her car was close in distance.

  “You said he wouldn’t get out until he reached his goal. What is his goal?”

  Prue’s hand ended its search for the keys. She looked at Renee, a frustrated, pissed-off glare landing her way. “What does it matter, Renee? What significance does his goal hold when your child’s out there every day risking his life? Dirty money means nothing!” Prue’s eyes twitched. She couldn’t sell that lie even though she wanted to.

  “Dirty money means everything when it’s taking care of you.” Renee paused, taking in Prue’s reaction. In only a few words, she let her know that the life she was drowning in was the very thing that kept her happy. Renee could see when a person struggled with inner demons. She had too many of her own she was forced to fight not to notice the signs. “I never saw you or Roy head out to work in the morning. At first, I thought maybe you guys inherited money, hit the lotto, or even ran a successful business, because if I can be honest, you guys are living very comfortably. But you told me the other night that you and Roy retired, and you complained about the small amount in checks you two receive monthly.” Renee laughed, her past assumptions obviously far from the truth. “So, your criminal of a son has to be the reason for your lavish lifestyle, isn’t he?”

  Renee nodded toward the new diamond bracelet she witnessed Roy grace Prue’s wrist with the other night.

  “Your son pays for everything while you two splurge on whatever money you guys once gained on your own. Why use your own green for bills and necessities when your criminal of a son can handle it, right?”

  It was brilliant, a moment of nothing but pure observation and strong concentration on Renee’s end. Prue was concerned with her son’s well-being and his choices in life, but the anger she was expressing was more along the lines of self-disappointment. Her greed was so strong she allowed her child to run the streets and remain in a danger zone. Yes, she argued with Zeke to get out, but that was just so she could say she tried and try to prove to the world, along with herself, that she was a good mother. But at the end of the day, she never rejected him taking care of her, and she never pushed as hard as she knew she should to get him out of that destructive lifestyle. Her greed was strong, and her heart was too lost in the land of money to give more effort than she already had to pull her son into the light.

  Prue’s eyes now sat on top of black goo created from mascara and eyeliner. The more she tried wiping her tears away, the messier it became. Zeke did promise that once he reached his goal, the drug world would be nothing but a memory lost in the past. He supplied his family with a good life and had to make sure they remained taken care of. A game of tug of war raged inside Prue, and she was allowing the bad, greedy side to win.

  Prue chirped her car, and seconds later got inside. Grabbing a tissue, she asked Renee, “Why do you care? What is it to you that he’s working toward a goal and I’m allowing him to for my own financial gain? What’s your angle, you lay the guilt trip on me? No need. I do it every day of my life.” For once, Prue spoke the truth pertaining to her and her son’s ill doings.

  Prue was a broken, horrible mother. However, Renee was a businesswoman, and when opportunity knocked, she opened the door and told it to take a seat.

  “Have him work for me. He’ll reach his goal sooner than he thinks, and this lifestyle you love so much will be guaranteed forever.” Not too long before Renee agreed to mingle with Prue, she had nothing, and now by pure luck, her nothing turned to something.

  Chapter 7

  Watching the sunset was a beautiful thing. It was an indication that the day was coming to an end and people should slow down their pace. The vibe Miami gave off was nothing like New York’s. It offered tranquility and second chances that Carmen could only hope for in the concrete jungle. A gush of wind blew her way and pushed her hair into her face. The smell of coconut and pineapple shampoo whisked its scent into her nostrils. This was the life, the peace it provided and negativity she escaped. However, this was a temporary fix. A bandage placed on a wound that should have been stitched up. Her abandoning the big city pushed her five steps back from where she originally wanted to be, but there was no looking back now. There was no remote control that could rewind time or undo the damage. It was much too late for that.

  Now she sat back at square one and in need of a bulletproof plan that would land her out of harm’s way and place Renee in a casket. Carmen knew flying out to Miami was a knee-jerk reaction, a fight-or-flight type of reaction that should have been thought over, but there was no time to think. Her life was at stake, and dying was not an option. The waves bashing against the rocks were heard from her twelfth-floor apartment. Their intense force reminded her of the bounty she imagined was placed on her head. She was sure Renee had released each and every one of her workers to track her down. So, like a sitting duck, she sat defenseless in the very state Renee was bound to search first. It no longer mattered how Renee found out about her true intentions. What mattered was that she was coming for her, and Carmen was defenseless.

  The death of the men in Carmen’s life struck her hard. Instead of regrouping and going for the jugular, she used this time to mourn and accept defeat. Yet there was only so much mourning she could do before making a move.

  The chirping of multiple birds echoing from her phone grabbed Carmen’s attention and forced her to pick up the cell phone. She had a new text message.

  If the boss gives the green light, then I’ll roll.

  That was the fifth text that Carmen had received in the past three days, and each time, she had received the exact message. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the numerous names in her mother’s cell phone were convicts she had sold real estate to. Raquel was gr
eat at selling property to people who needed things done illegally, and those were the types of people Carmen needed now to help her. This was the very reason Carmen went cheap on her apartment. In the back of her mind, she knew building an army would cost money, so she had to have the funds. Her home was nice, but it wasn’t the high standard she was used to.

  These repetitive texts led Carmen to realize she should have reached out to her cousin first, but the fear of him waving her off was paralyzing and discouraging. She hoped his men were open for business without their boss’s consent, yet according to the responses, she knew they were loyal. It didn’t matter what she wrote. They wouldn’t budge.

  Annoyed that she was unable to talk her way into receiving a new crew without the hassle of getting permission, she dropped her head back into the chair, both hands squeezing her smartphone. It was her way of letting her frustration out in the absence of her stress ball. After losing her strength, she took a deep breath and scrolled down to Zeke’s name. Pushing aside her fears and one-track mind of doing everything the fast way, she texted, This is Carmen, Raquel’s daughter. I have a business proposition for you.

  She sent the message, dropped the cell phone on the table, and closed her eyes. She didn’t expect an instant response, so she used the time she had to take advantage of the peace she probably would miss out on after striking back at Renee.

  Ten minutes later, her phone went off. Her left eye opened. Fast response.

  She retrieved her phone from the miniature glass table nearby. You have a lot to learn, cuz. Meet me at this address tomorrow night at eleven.

  An address of a lounge on the west side followed the message. Closing out the text, Carmen tossed the phone back on the table. Preparing to sleep outside on the terrace, she pulled the blanket up to her shoulders and shifted in the chair until comfort was attained. Drifting off to a land where dreams dwelled and mankind reenergized, one last thought entered her mind.

  At least he didn’t say no.

  * * *

  Dressed to head out on the streets of Miami brought back many memories. Carmen was no longer in the same place she was when she first lived in Florida. Her mindset had changed, and her need for independence was now a priority. Some nights in bed, she wanted to cry and release all the aggression and agony she had decaying inside. She questioned whether it was all worth it, but like the night she turned over those three pictures in her destroyed kitchen, she refused to give Renee the satisfaction of knowing she had her distraught and, honestly, nervous.

  Although it was no longer of importance, Carmen did wonder from time to time how Renee had figured out her true intentions so quickly. Yet every time the question came to mind, Carmen reminded herself that what mattered was Renee trying to tear Carmen’s life apart in order to show her who was queen. Facts such as that kept Carmen focused and sharp.

  Popping the cap off her eyeliner, Carmen went for the bottom of her eye, then dropped the pencil in the sink when her fingers could no longer support the makeup. The constant hand shaking resulted in her releasing the black pencil and looking in the mirror at the woman staring back at her. She looked stressed, tired, and unsure, all in one gaze. The darkness under her eyes was a result of many sleepless nights, and now like many other times, she wondered if she was in over her head. Knowing the answer to her own question, Carmen snatched the pencil from the basin and effortlessly added makeup to her tired-looking eyes. This world she had entered was eating her alive, but instead of making an exit, she aimed to see it through and hoped for success.

  One Hour Later

  A handful of people sat scattered around the stuffy, dimly lit lounge, drained of any energy. The boards that covered the windows eliminated outside light while trapping inside foul smells of mildew and sweat. The stench assaulted newcomers, violating them as they stepped farther inside without protest. A small number of individuals smoked, swallowing nicotine residue as they stained their lips with beer or brandy.

  Slowly, the heavy metal door slammed shut behind Carmen, her prism heels stabbing into cigarette butts and condom wrappers. This was not the Miami she remembered, not the lounges she remembered littering its sidewalks and supplying entertainment. No, this was a downgrade, a depression many tried to avoid. This was Miami’s underworld. The cheap cancer sticks burned off smoke that led Carmen directly where she needed to go. It was a ghost town in that place. No one bothered to look her way, and instead, they focused on their imaginations playing tricks on them. They visualized snow and places of happiness they had yet to see. They pictured life outside of these four walls.

  In the back of the first floor, Carmen opened a door leading downstairs. Flashbacks of entering Benz’s basement made her slam her eyes shut. Stuck at the top of the stairs, she found it in her to shake off her emotions and push forward. Downstairs offered a room where sectional sofas outlined its walls. The carpeted floor had small burned holes in it, and the walls held up wood-framed photographs outlined with dust. However, the room was clean and comfortable enough for customers to leave their world and enter a drug-induced realm.

  A large number of people occupied the hideout, and its tables sat infested with white powder. The looks on the customers’ faces were dead and impassive. One by one, Carmen examined every face in the room until she landed on the last. His eyes told stories that seemed to never end, and although his left eye was without color and had lost sight a year ago, it still reeked of anger. Brown-skinned with a medium build, his upper body fell forward, and his baggy plaid shirt hung off his short arms.

  Carmen walked to the far end of the sofa and pulled up a wooden chair. She waited for her cousin to speak, then decided to talk when he held on to silence.

  “Thank you for meeting with me. There’s an issue that I need taken care of, and of course, I’m willing to pay dearly for the muscle, but I need a team permanently afterward. Once the problem is handled, new territory will open in New York for me to claim, and I will need the manpower.” Carmen paused, catching her breath. “Become my partner by supplying the muscle, and you’ll get thirty percent.”

  Zeke didn’t speak. In fact, when Carmen finished talking, she noticed he hadn’t moved an inch. His expressionless glare and zero response sent uncomfortable vibes throughout her nervous system.

  “You’re disrespectful, and I don’t like disrespectful people,” he finally told her almost a full minute after she finished her speech.

  Replaying her statement to him in her head, Carmen tried to pinpoint where she went wrong.

  “You didn’t ask me for permission to recruit my men. Instead, you went behind my back and contacted them directly. I must speak to your mother about giving out clients’ information.”

  “My mother gave me nothing. I have my own way of getting information.”

  “Is that so?” Zeke antagonized her. “Then use those very same skills to get your own lackeys.”

  Zeke stood and placed his attention on a burly-looking man. He signaled for him to escort Carmen out.

  “No!” Carmen’s head violently shook from left to right between both men, her eyes jumping from the huge man to her cousin. “I’m sorry about that, but I’m desperate and need this shit taken care of like yesterday. Even though we’re cousins, you don’t know me from a hole in a wall. I took a chance going to your men first, because I thought if the money was right, they would move faster, opposed to the time it would take me to convince you to work with me.”

  Honesty leaked from Carmen’s lips, but she never took her eyes off his lackey. She needed the reassurance that he wouldn’t budge from his corner. She was at the end of her rope, and if Zeke didn’t agree to work with her, she didn’t know what she would do. Her life was on the clock, and it was only a matter of time until it struck midnight.

  Zeke’s one good eye burned holes through her face. From the first text she had sent his men, Zeke was alerted. He told them all what to say and the order they should respond in. Loyalty was the name of the game he played, and when you’re
selling drugs ranging from prescription pills to heroin, the mouths of people on the team needed to be shut. Zeke knew who Carmen was, and he sent her jumping through hoops until he took all of her options away and made himself her only escape route. “You’re naive and messy. I would have thought, since you have the same blood running through your veins and have been on the arm of Benz, you would have learned something.”

  The moment Zeke’s jeans reconnected with the couch cushions, his lackey stepped back into the darkness. Now assured she had Zeke’s full attention, Carmen respired and continued with the meeting.

  “How do you know about Benz?”

  Zeke chuckled. “There goes that airheadedness again. When you’re in this business, you need to know when a motherfucker eat, shit, and sleep. Benz was a heavyweight here in Miami, so when he went on hiatus, he left a door open for me to walk through with no interruptions. It’s a shame what happened to him when he returned.” He thought about the day he learned that Benz had been murdered. Seconds later, he shrugged it off.

  “So, will you help me?”

  “You’re a liability, a rookie, and I shouldn’t be associating with you, but on the strength of your mom’s bougie ass doing business with me when I know she hates my mom, I’ll help you.” Zeke lit a cigarette, lifted his head up, and blew out smoke. “Who’s giving you trouble?” he asked.

  Carmen sat forward and scooted the chair closer to her cousin. She couldn’t risk someone else hearing her next words. “Jordan. The head of New York.”