The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(40)

“Bye, boy,” Alexus said. She pressed END and turned to Britney, who was smiling as widely as she was. “What are you beaming about?”

“You two are so cute together. I love your love.” Britney’s eyes were on the screen of her BlackBerry smartphone, perusing the e-mail Alexus had forwarded to her this morning, the e-mail from T-Walk. She had on a gray pinstriped Chanel pantsuit, and her hair was whipped up into a bun that complemented her chocolate face. “This proposal of T-Walk’s doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I mean, you have to admit, he knows what he’s doing when it comes to these reality shows. Brick House of Jupiter Island is still the most-watched show on television, and Brick House of North Palm Beach is tied with American Idol. And don’t forget that ever since he took the lead as executive producer of Mariah’s Salon and ‘Hood Affairs, their ratings have literally skyrocketed. I’d really take this proposal into consideration if I were you. Especially the Miss Black America beauty pageant.”

Alexus was thoughtful for a moment, pondering T-Walk’s two-show proposal, which she had read three times before forwarding it to her attorney, her mother, and the Costilla Corporation's board of Executives.

The first of Walkson’s innovative ideas was the Miss Black America beauty pageant. He planned to select a hundred and fifty big-bootied models from magazines such as Straight Stuntin, Assets, Dime Piece, Sweets, Craze, BlackMen, Stunnaz, Cheddar, and Smooth Girl.

The girls would then compete for the crown in a nationally televised beauty pageant that would be aired live on MTN and hosted by T-Walk and—“Preferably,” he wrote—Alexus Costilla, with three black celebrity judges. He suggested the event be sponsored by McDonald’s, Ciroc, Trukfit, AT&T, MTN, and Walkson Promotions, his own promotion company.

The second show was essentially a black version of E!’s The Girls Next Door, only instead of Hugh Hefner, the star male would be rap legend Too Short, and taking the place of blonde-haired, big-breasted white women would be black women with weaves and big butts.

“Both of them seem like shows a lot of people would watch,” Alexus said as the elevator finally made it to her mother’s fifty-sixth floor office. “I’ll talk to my mom about it.”

Alexus and Britney sailed through the expensively furnished waiting area, past Rita’s assistant’s desk, and into Rita’s office, leaving the bodyguards outside.

Rita Mae Bishop was sitting behind her big mahogany desk, reading a paperback copy of Alex Haley’s Roots and sipping from a Styrofoam cup of Starbucks coffee. She looked up at Alexus, her expression indecipherable. She bookmarked the poignant tome and set it on her desk as her two visitors greeted her with warm hugs. While they muttered their good mornings and how are you todays, Alexus discerned a thinly veiled coldness in her mother’s voice; Rita let her know what it was about as soon as they were seated.

“Three days ago,” Rita Mae said, “a columnist for the Houston Chronicle wrote about a secret drug cartel operating out of Matamoros, Mexico. He claimed to have had proof that the Mexican military was protecting the cartel, and the CIA was assisting the cartel in successfully smuggling their drugs into the States.”

“Sounds a little far-fetched to me,” Alexus said timidly.

Rita Mae continued. “The columnist was found dead in his home the following day. He’d been shot twice through the mouth, his throat was slit, and his tongue was hanging out of his neck.” She paused for effect. “Now, that article has been deleted from the Houston Chronicle website. I called FBI Agent Josh Sneed and asked him about it. Want to know what he said?” She didn’t leave room for an answer. “He told me to leave it alone. He said that the article was a lie, that I was wasting my time investigating a fictional tale. But then, when I made it here to work this morning, this envelope was in my mailbox.”

A wave of apprehension washed over Alexus as she watched Rita pick up a plain white envelope from the desktop and hand it to her. She accepted it with a tremulous hand, fearing that her secret role as the leader of the Matamoros’ cartel-the Costilla cartel had somehow been revealed.

Alexus said, “Who cares about some secret drug cartel in Mexico?”

“I do,” Rita replied.

“Why?”

“Because your father was arrested two years ago for allegedly running a Matamoros-based drug cartel. And because, the day before Blake’s album was released, that CIA director showed up at your mansion and demanded to speak with you. You claimed it was just to warn you that your psychotic aunt Jenny was coming home, but I know there has to be more to it than that.” She sipped some more of her coffee. “Just read the papers.”

Reluctantly, Alexus opened the envelope and took out two folded pieces of paper The FBI agent had typed in a small yet very readable Roman font:

‘Ms. Bishop,

When your ex-husband and his brother Flako were released from the federal prison in Florence, Colorado, on the very same day that bin Laden was murdered in Pakistan, I immediately went searching for answers. This is what I have found.

#1 The names of Juan and Flako Costilla were deleted from all state and federal criminal databases on May 1st, 2011, roughly an hour after Jennifer Costilla was captured inside bin Laden’s compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan, Juan and Flako Costilla-and Tasia Olsen, your daughter’s friend-were released from federal custody a few hours later. Since then, the entire Costilla family has been granted diplomatic immunity, which exempts them from taxation, searches, arrests, etc. They, including Alexus and her son, are literally untouchable. Their files are Top Secret, accessible by only a handful of CIA agents.