The Cartel - Ashley Antoinette Snell [62]
Money ran his hand over Leena’s eyelids to close them, and then he gently kissed her forehead before he turned his attention on his brother. “Mecca, put the gun down.” Money put his hands in front of him. He knew his brother was unstable.
“You always thought you were better than me, nigga. You could’ve had any woman you wanted, but you had to take mines. Now look at you. Look what you made me do. Look! Poppa and Ma always favored you over me.” Mecca’s tears fell freely down his face, and his hand began to shake. He remembered what his parents used to say when he would get in trouble and began to mimic them. “You need to be more like Monroe. Monroe wouldn’t act like that,” he said, his voice shaky.
As all of his emotions boiled over, Mecca looked Money in the eyes and let off a single shot that entered the left side of his chest where his heart resided.
Monroe heard the gunshot, but didn’t believe his own flesh and blood had shot him. As the burning sensation in his chest settled in, he fell to the ground, and his life slowly slipped away.
High out of his mind, Mecca watched as his brother lay dying in a puddle of his own blood.
“Unc Po!” Mecca yelled into the phone as he held his twin brother’s corpse in his arms, “They killed Money. Oh my God! They killed my brother!” He instantly regretted what he had done, and remorse quickly brought his cocaine high down.
“Mecca, what are you talking about? Calm down! What’s going on?” Polo didn’t want to believe what he’d just heard.
“Them Haitian mu’fuckas, they killed Money!” Mecca responded as he cried like a baby.
“No, no, no.” Polo dropped to his knees. The news of his godson’s death was too much for him to bear.
“They killed Leena too. Come and get me, Unc. They killed Money. They killed my brother,” Mecca stated as he wept uncontrollably. He hung up the phone and put his own gun to his head. “I love you, bro. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Mecca whispered right before he pulled the trigger, but fortunately for him, the gun jammed.
A knock at the door awakened Carter and Miamor, and he sleepily arose to answer it.
“Mr. Jones, I have an urgent message from your uncle.” The concierge held out the piece of folded paper.
Carter opened it and read the words:
Money was killed last night. Come home immediately. It’s an emergency.
Polo
“Fuck!” Carter screamed as he punched the wall nearest him and balled the tiny note up in his palm. He rested his head against the doorframe and let out a roar of pain that caused a shiver to run down the concierge’s spine.
Miamor rushed to his side. “Oh my God! Carter, what’s wrong?”
“We’ve got to go. Pack your things. I have an emergency back home,” he said through tear-filled eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
“Bitch, you’s a Murder Mama! ... We don’t give a fuck where the coroner bag ’em.”
—Robyn
“Bitch, are you paying attention to me?” Robyn threw a pillow in Miamor’s face, snapping her out of her trance.
“Yeah, I’m listening. I hear you, damn,” Miamor replied with a slight attitude as she tossed the pillow back.
“Whatever. You didn’t hear nothing me just said,” Aries teased. “Bring your head out de clouds, Miamor. We got a chance to get back at The Cartel and get at that mu’fucka that killed your sister. This is important.”
The three girls sat comfortably on Miamor’s bed while they plotted their revenge. Miamor was trying her hardest to concentrate, but she couldn’t. Every time she closed her eyes, Carter crept into her thoughts. Her time in Costa Rica was like a fantasy. He had showed her a side of life that she had never experienced before and had opened up the heart that she thought had been forever closed by lock and key.
Miamor shook her head, sat up against her headboard, and looked at both of her friends. They were her sisters, her partners in crimes, and she knew that her distraction could put them in jeopardy. I have to get focused, she thought.
“What did that nigga do to you over on that island?” Robyn asked with an