The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(44)

“That could very well be the case,” Alexus said, turning to Blake.

“We have Jenny’s suite at the Cancun resort wired with listening devices. Enrique and Papi listened to the recordings this morning and overheard Jenny say something about Mercedes.”

“What did she say?” Blake blew out a stream of weed smoke.

Alexus said, “We can’t really tell. She was standing about ten feet away from the nearest bug, and she was whispering. But we’re absolutely sure that the last word she said was ‘Mercedes,’ and she said it venomously.”

“So what?” Santiago interjected. “My mother could have been talking about buying another f*cking Mercedes, for all we know. Stop assuming that she’s always planning on killing somebody. All she’s been doing is relaxing and enjoying her freedom.”

This sparked a fiery debate among the Spanish-tongued Costillas. Unable to understand the conversation, Blake picked up his duffle and strolled over to one of several white marble-topped tables. He took a seat and laid the AK-47 on the table. Mercedes joined him.

“I’m really starting to believe that the drug cartel Papi used to run is still around,” she said, casting a timorous glance at the cartel bosses. She was completely out of the loop as far as the cartel was concerned. No one had told her a thing about her paternal family’s international drug-smuggling operation.

Blake shrugged indifferently as he snubbed out his blunt in an ashtray. His mind was on his money. Upcoming concerts for him and his MBM team, Mocha’s new R&B album, Lil Meach and Young-D’s new mix-tape, the album his new R&B group was working on in Atlanta, and the kilos of heroin and cocaine and pounds of Kush he had stashed at a River Forest mansion.

Mercedes said, “Do you think I should be worried about my own auntie trying to kill me?” When Blake didn’t reply, she added, “I mean, it’s not like I’m scared. Kenny won’t let anything happen to me. You know him and his niggas stay strapped up.” She stepped in front of him and touched an index fingertip to his white diamond-flooded bracelet. “How much did you pay for this?” She asked.

“Eight hundred and sixty-one thousand,” Blake said, letting his eyes crawl slowly up Mercedes’ thick pair of caramel-hued legs. He pulled his smartphone from his hip and looked up at her. “Kenny’ll be wit’ me all day today. I want you to stay close, too. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

He sat back and dialed his music manager’s number, gazing from behind the dark shades at the nineteen-year-old’s perfectly sculpted face. The more he looked at her, the more he realized how closely she resembled urban modeling legend Mesha Seville.

“Just got off the line with Freddie Gibbs and Young Jeezy,” Douglass said as soon as he answered the phone. “They’re ready to make appearances at the Genesis Center. King Louie and Chief Keef will be there, too.”

“That’s what’s up,” Blake said. “You on the way over here?”

“We just finished gassing up the tour buses. I’ll be there with the rest of the MBM team in about forty-five minutes”

“A’ight. See you then.”

Blake ended the call and returned his attention to Mercedes. The other Costillas were still chattering in Spanish.

“I can’t believe this shit,” Mercedes said, still eyeing the bracelet.

“Can’t believe what?” Blake asked.

“All this money,” she replied. “Just last year, I was broke as hell, sellin’ * to some old-ass man to keep food on the table for me, Porsche, and the kids. Now I’m able to walk into the Gucci boutique and buy all the designer bags and shoes I can carry. Now I have a Maybach and an eight-million-dollar condo at the Trump. Now I have thirty-two million dollars in my bank account, and the government isn’t even making me pay taxes. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Crazy what a forty-million-dollar check can do, ain’t it?”

Mercedes smiled dimly. “Speaking of checks have you seen that diss video T-Walk put on WorldStarHipHop.com?”

“A diss?” Blake frowned. “What kinda diss?”

“Oh, you haven’t seen it?”

“Evidently not if I’m askin’ you about it… genius.” He had his phone in hand, typing his way toward the website.

“It really ain’t nothin’,” Mercedes said. “You know how niggas be hatin’. He said you ain’t really no hustler, and that you’d still be a broke-ass dope boy if Alexus hadn’t given you that five-hundred-million-dollar check. Oh, and he said thanks for takin’ care of his son.”

Blake was already livid by the time the video started.

It began with T-Walk leaning back against the driver’s door of a baby-blue Bentley convertible on big blue DUB rims. He had on an expensive blue suit and Mauri shoes, and he was drinking from a bottle of Ace of Spades like the other eight black men that were crowded around him, clad in similar blue suits. An equal number of black and Hispanic women in tight dresses and tall heels were mixed in with the men. One of them was Ashley “Thunder” Hunter, a dark-skinned big-bootied former video and urban magazine model who was now the main star of MTN’s Brick House of Jupiter Island reality show. She was standing beside T-Walk with a glass of champagne in hand. Sunlight was escaping the sky above.