The Demise (23 page)

“See, the thing is, Carter, I believe you,” Josiah said. “The way you handled the Haitians years ago … the way Baraka was killed not by you, but by your flunky, the way your wife and her Murder Mamas almost destroyed your precious Cartel. I believe that a war between us would be hard-fought. But you won't take it there. I have in my possession photos that can do more damage than any bullet.” He picked up a manila envelope and pulled out enlarged photos. He held them out to Carter.

Carter didn't take them. Josiah flicked them one by one out of his palm and onto the floor. Carter glanced down and saw Miamor standing with a gun pointed at Fly Boogie. It was pictures of her from just the night before, committing murder.

“We keep a close eye on people we do business with,” Josiah said. “You do this for me … get me the thousand kilos, and I make those pictures disappear. If not, the LAPD will have a warrant for her arrest by morning.”

There it was. Miamor. She was his Achilles' heel. Carter smirked and then turned around and strolled out the way he had come in. “I'll be in touch,” he said just before making his exit.

“Damn,” he uttered as soon as he stepped foot outside. He immediately pulled out his phone and sent Monroe a text.

I'm coming to Miami. Be ready for me.

Carter looked around, unaware of where the hell they had taken him. He gritted his teeth in frustration as he began to walk. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and his enemy as he could. He had walked away from all of this three years ago. Now here he was, deeper in the streets than ever before. It was such a tangled web and he suddenly realized why they called the dope game “the trap” … because once you stepped in, there was only one true exit: the grave. Carter only hoped he wasn't dancing on his.

 

C
HAPTER
16

The sound of the waves whispered loudly as Zyir sat on the fifty-foot yacht in the middle of the Atlantic. He was anchored twenty-five miles off the coast of Miami. It was the only place where he could find solace. Zyir hadn't slept in months. The closer the feds got to closing their case, the more he was plagued by insomnia. When his body absolutely couldn't take any more, his eyes would close against his will only to pop back open from the nightmares of his betrayal. He had never thought he would be the man he had become. He had put a bullet in Ace's head years before for the very same act of deceit. He was ashamed of himself. Zyir Rich … a federal informant. It didn't even make sense in his own mind. His love for Breeze had changed him. He was most loyal to her, but by being so, he was giving the middle finger to the very man who had saved him. He knew that Breeze wasn't to blame. Her love was the purest thing he had ever felt, but he still faulted her. They had become distant. He couldn't even look at her without feeling a bit of disdain. He hated that he loved her so much. The conflictions that tortured his psyche made him wish he had never met her, but at the same time he couldn't see himself without her. It was the mystery of falling in love with a girl like Breeze. The depth of his commitment to her knew no limits. He was sacrificing his character by protecting her.

The sun blazed down over him as he sat, hunched over, elbows on his knees in deep contemplation. He gripped his phone in his hands.
I should just tell him,
Zyir thought.
Give him a heads-up that the feds are on him. Tell him about Sam.

Zyir knew that once he admitted to Carter what he had done, their friendship would never recover. There was no gray with a man like Carter. Only black and white. You were either a stand-up guy or you weren't. Friend or foe. Ally or enemy. Zyir had crossed the line that led to the other side. He would have to remain there. His heart felt empty … raw … and as he sat there he knew that what he had done was unforgivable. He had single-handedly destroyed a bond that had taken a lifetime to build. As long as Zyir could remember, Carter had been his friend, his brother, his mentor. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the emotions from welling in his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had shed tears, but the gut-wrenching battle being waged on his conscience was enough to cause a lone tear to escape.

Fuck this shit,
Zyir thought to himself as he located Carter's contact information in his phone.
I've got to warn him.
Before he could press call, Breeze's face illuminated on his screen.

He gritted his teeth at her timing. It was like she'd sensed him. They were so connected; despite the fact that they weren't even together, she knew that he needed to hear her voice.

Zyir knew the lovely melody of her tone would talk him out of warning Carter, so he declined the call, sending her to voice mail.

This was an impossible choice to make. His best friend or his wife. His wife or the nigga who had taught him everything. Breeze or Carter. Carter or Breeze. He loved them both dearly. They were probably the only two people he had ever loved, and now he had to destroy one to save the other. The pressure was eating him alive.

Breeze called right back, probably shocked at the fact that he hadn't answered. No matter what he was doing or where he was, he always made time for her. She was his priority. Still, he silenced the call. He knew the texts would come next.

Breeze

Zy. What's up babe? Why aren't you answering for me?

Zyir couldn't take this type of guilt. He made his way to the aft of the yacht and stood out on the extended deck that hung into the water.

I can't take this shit. This shit is too much. No matter what I do, somebody gets hurt. This ain't for me. None of this is for me anymore,
he thought. He wanted to say that his thoughts weren't his own … that he wasn't thinking clearly … but he was as sharp as they came. Not a thought crossed his mind that he hadn't pondered for some time. He prided himself on remaining focused, free of inebriation, of narcotic … to always be on point. It was a lesson Carter had taught him … one of many, in fact. The deep blue, rolling waves enticed him.
All you got to do is step off,
he told himself.

His phone chimed again.

Breeze

I hate that you're out on the yacht by yourself. Be careful. You can't swim. You know I worry.

Zyir closed the text. It was like she could feel he was on the brink. The cold water on his feet caused goose bumps to pop up onto his forearms. It was a beautiful day to die. His death wouldn't erase all that he had done, but at least he wouldn't feel it. He couldn't live with this. He had tried for three years, but the secret was too much to bear. How he wished he had been the one the police pulled over in his car that day. He would have taken his punishment like a G without a second thought. He knew that should-haves, could-haves, would-haves didn't matter at this point. Life hadn't served up the circumstance that way.

Zyir

I love you so much, B. Even when I'm not with you.

It was the last message he would send. He wanted her to know that, because once he stepped into this ocean, she would question it. She would question everything. She would blame herself for his death, and that was the last thing he wanted her to do. He just needed the madness inside his head to stop. He would rather be dead than continue to be a pawn that the feds manipulated.

Breeze

I was going to wait until you came back from Miami to tell you this, but it seems like you need a pick-me-up.

She sent a photo to him, and Zyir's breath caught in his throat. It was an ultrasound image. Zyir couldn't contain the sobs that erupted from him. He couldn't help it. The liquid rolled effortlessly down his face onto the screen of his phone. This time when she called, he answered.

“Hey, Daddy,” she greeted him playfully, but when she heard him crying, her tone changed. “Zyir. What's wrong?”

She had no idea what that one picture had just stopped him from doing.

“You're pregnant?” he asked as he sniffed loudly and regained his composure. “You're pregnant, B.”

“I am,” she said with joy. “We are!” She laughed.

“But I thought…? After the damage from Ma'tee's rape, I never thought we could…” Zyir paused as he wiped his face in disbelief. “Wow, ma. I'm so happy. You just saved me, ma. You saved me,” he whispered.

She didn't know what he meant, but she could hear the happiness in his tone.

She was over the moon. She had waited, just like last time, to tell him because she wanted to be sure. Breeze had agonized over the secret for months because she was fearful that it would end in tragedy like the first time. Every time she sat down to pee she checked her panties for blood, but when she had felt the first flutter inside of her, she knew: Everything would be all right. The sound of the baby's heartbeat had been music to her skeptical ears, but she still didn't tell Zyir. Not until she was past the twelve-week mark. Not until it was safe. “We're having a baby,” she said.

“Aww man,” Zyir said. He was on an emotional roller coaster. It was instinctive for his next words to be “I've got to tell Carter.”

The mention of Carter's name made Zyir solemn, but he shook it off. He had to cooperate now. Breeze was carrying his child. She had just upped the ante.

“Okay. I love you, Zyir Rich,” she said. “Be safe out there.”

“I will, B. I love you, too.”

Zyir climbed back up onto the main deck of the boat and lifted the anchor before turning the boat around. As he headed back toward the Miami shore, he couldn't help but think of his betrayal. Carter didn't deserve it. Not after all he had done for him. But it was happening. As he sailed back toward the marina, he couldn't help but think of the way Carter had entered his life.

*   *   *

1995

FLINT, MI

Zyir hid under his bed as tears flowed down his face. Timidly, he was balled up in a fetal position, with both hands over his ears in pure terror. He had soiled pajamas and his body was sweaty because of the hot summer night. Pure fear had pushed him to urinate on himself involuntarily. He heard the screams coming from his mother's bedroom and was anticipating the moment that it would stop. His mother's alcoholic boyfriend had yet again gone on a drinking binge and was in the process of beating his mother. Zyir, only seven years old, couldn't understand why the man his mother loved so much would become such a monster. He didn't understand the effects of alcohol and the inner demons that it usually exposed. Zyir tried to press his hands against his ears to muffle the horrific sounds, but the screams were too loud to drown out.

After a few minutes of the arguing and beating, Zyir couldn't take it anymore. He crawled from underneath his bed and tiptoed out of the apartment. After slowly unlocking the door, he then stuck his head out and scoped the apartment's hallway. After seeing that the coast was clear, he ran across the hallway to the door of his older friend, Carter Jones. Zyir, with a blanket in hand, knocked on the door with tears in his eyes. He waited patiently with his head down, hoping that Carter would answer the door. He knocked again and waited. After a minute had passed and he got no response, he turned on his heel and headed back to the hell that he called his home. Just as he reached his door, he heard a chain being slid off the lock and Carter's door cracked open. Carter stepped out, wiping the sleep out of his eyes and wearing nothing but boxers.

Carter squinted to see Zyir and noticed that his friend had been crying.

“Come on, lil' homie,” Carter said as he waved Zyir into his mother's apartment. Zyir wiped his tears from his eyes, headed across the hall and through the door. Carter was a few years older than Zyir, and Zyir looked up to Carter. He felt a sense of relief when he was around Carter. Carter was home alone since his mother worked the third shift.

Zyir looked around the apartment and wished that his mother kept their apartment this nice. Carter had everything. The latest television, leather furniture, and custom carpet that melted in between Zyir's toes every time he walked. Although they were in the projects, while inside Carter's place, it didn't feel like it. Zyir slowly walked in with tears in his eyes. Carter threw his arm around him and guided him to the couch. Zyir always felt safer around Carter, and the horror he'd felt just moments before slowly began to fade.

“That nigga over there again?” Carter asked.

Zyir only nodded.

“A'ight,” Carter said as he nodded. “It's all good. You can stay the night over here.” He tossed Zyir a pillow and a spare cover. He then turned on the television, knowing that Zyir was afraid of the dark but would never admit it. “Good night, Zy.”

“Good night,” Zyir replied.

Carter was halfway to his room when he doubled back. “Yo, do that nigga ever hit you, Zy?” Carter asked.

“No, just my mama,” Zyir said. He didn't want to admit that he, too, was a victim of the abuse. He didn't want to look weak in front of his friend. Carter left it alone, but he had a feeling Zyir was lying.

“Come here,” Carter said. “Let me show you something.”

Zyir climbed out from beneath the cover and followed Carter to his room. He watched curiously as Carter pulled a shoe box from under his bed.

“You ever held a gun before, lil' homie?” Carter asked.

Zyir shook his head and looked with wide eyes as Carter pulled out an old .38. It was raggedy, but it worked.

“You got to protect your mama, Zyir. A man protects his family,” Carter said as he handed the gun to Zyir. “It's yours.”

“For real?” Zyir exclaimed as he wrapped his hand around it. It barely fit in his palm and it was heavier than it looked. He had never shot a gun a day in his life, but just having it made him feel like he was sitting on top of the world.