The Cartel - Ashley Antoinette Snell [38]
Carter’s soldiers didn’t know, but he was going to refuse the consignment money and give it to them as a farewell gift. He was ready to leave the murder capital that he called home.
Carter pulled onto the block of North Saginaw and Harriet and saw his goons standing on the corner trying to make pay. He crept up the street behind his limo tint and parked on the curb in front of the candy shop.
As soon as Carter stepped out, he shut down the block. It was scorching hot at 96 degrees, and the sun seemed to bounce off his iced-out Jesus piece. Shirtless, his chain hung down to his belt buckle, and all of the tattoos on his ripped body were on display. He wore a Detroit fitted cap pulled low over his eyes, crisp jeans, and butter Timberland, to top it off.
Everyone had their eyes on him, and the hood threw him an onslaught of greetings. Even the small kids playing in the streets stopped and admired him.
Carter proceeded to walk into the candy shop.
“Carter! What’s good?”
“Yo, Carter, glad you home.”
“What up, boy.”
Carter released a small smile and a peace sign as he headed into the apartment projects where the coke was manufactured. He walked up to the fifth floor of the projects. He knocked on the door in a pattern only he and his workers knew and gained entry. When he walked in, the smell of cooked dope filled his nostrils. It was business as usual with topless women cutting up the cooked coke on the round wood table, and naked women with a doctor’s mask scattered over the room, doing their assigned job in the drug operation.
Carter smiled, knowing that his small operation was still running smoothly during his absence. He’d left Ace in charge while he was away, and just as he expected, everything was butter, making the offer that Polo had made him even more tempting.
Carter walked through the house and greeted his workers and henchmen as he made his way to the back where the money was held. He walked into the room and saw one of his head lieutenants, Zyir, a blunt hanging out of his mouth, running money through the money machine.
Zyir was a little nigga. Only 18, he was a smooth-faced, fast-talking hustler at the top of his game. He had been working for Carter since he was 14 and was the one who ran that particular spot. Zyir reminded Carter of himself, and Carter knew that he was the future. He had a certain swagger about himself that typified gangster.
Zyir was so busy staring at the money, he didn’t even see Carter enter the room.
“Family, family, what’s good?” Carter asked as he walked toward the table.
“Oh shit! My nigga. What’s good?” Zyir got up and embraced Carter. “When you get back?”
“I came in last night. How’s business?”
“Up and down. Yo, I got that for you, plus interest,” Zyir said, referring to the weight that Carter had hit him with before he left.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m came to talk to you about.” Carter took a seat. “That’s on you, fam. You don’t owe me anything.”
“You serious?”
“Yeah, you good. I’m outta here for good this weekend. Take it as a gift, nah mean? From now on, you can get the coke from Ace. He got the same connect, and the prices are going to remain the same.” Carter held out his hand.
Zyir shook Carter’s hand. He was happy to hear that he didn’t owe Carter any money, but sad to hear that his man was leaving the city for good. He knew that Flint was losing a thorough dude. Honestly, he didn’t like the idea of buying coke from Ace because he knew how hotheaded he could be at times.
Zyir couldn’t believe that Carter would give up his successful cocaine operation. “Yo, are you really leaving for good?”
“Yeah, fam, I’m done.” Carter knew that the paper he was making in Flint was remedial, compared to the opportunity that awaited him in Miami with The Cartel. He was about to follow in