Gangsta:A Colombian Cartel Love Story

By: Vivian Blue


I hope Daddy has dinner ready. I’m starving. As I stick my key into the door, I have that same funny feeling I always get when there’s no movement in the house. I turn the knob, opening the door slowly. Everything appears to be normal, but there’s a certain sterile feeling to it as I look around the room. I shut the door, then head towards the den. I notice a big manila envelope sitting on the table. Damn! We must have been found out.

Instantly, I kick into survival mode. I grab the envelope, opening it as I move towards my room. As I open the door, my suitcases greet me on top of my bed. Inside the envelope are my new identification card, passport, insurance card, ten thousand dollars in cash, and a note from my father. It read:

Hey Sweetie. You need to catch a flight to Bakersfield, California to stay with your aunt Rosalina. She’s expecting you. Your ticket is in the name Rosalyn Jefferies. Once you get to California, it’s the normal drill. I will contact you when I can. I’m about to be off the grid for a while. You have about thirty minutes to get out of there.

I love you, Papa.

Damn! I told him not to mess with those people. He never listens to me. I throw the envelope into my purse as I run around the room grabbing certain must haves; my photo of me, Papa and my mother, my jewelry box, my gun case, and my stash. These are the things that I’ve been lugging around since I was a kid. When you’re constantly on the move, you can’t have too many tangible items with you. Papa already packed my computer equipment, and my clothes. Well, the clothes were already packed in a suitcase in the closet. I never know when I’ll have to jump up and leave, so I always have to be ready to go. The life I live as a forger is never dull, especially when your father is one of the most wanted men in America, which I find funny, really. For most of my life the FBI has wanted him, and I’m 24 years old. I’ve always lived a complicated life, because of my father, Elijah Shabazz. My mother died when I was three years old. We were on the run at the time from my mother’s ex-lover, when she fell ill and died. Her name was Carmelita Rojas Shabazz, and my father met her in a small town in Mexico named Colima. He was there doing work for Javier Munoz, a major player in the Colombian drug cartel.

See, my father has several professions. However, his background is in computer programing. He’s a professional hacker, who often did work for drug lords all over the world. If the price was right, he was down for the cause. It wasn’t the money that drove him, because he was quite wealthy with accounts in the Cayman Islands, and the Bahamas. But, the thrills of cracking open the encrypted codes to make those deserving of his wrath pay for their bad deeds, was everything to him. He’s destroyed hundreds of people for well-known influential people. And, he’s passed his craft down to me, his beloved daughter, Caroline Angelica Shabazz.

We moved to St. Louis, Missouri when I was 14 years old. That was the longest we’d ever stayed somewhere. My father, up until eighth grade, home-schooled me. We were moving around, in and out of the country, so I couldn’t possibly be enrolled in school. I had to take tests periodically, that my father sent in to show that I was being adequately educated. Then, I enrolled in a private school in St. Louis, where I graduated valedictorian of my class. My father, Dr. Elijah Shabazz, was the head of the Computer Science Department at Washington University, where I just earned my Master’s Degree in Computer Science and Engineering, with a minor in Business Management. I had plans to start my own company in St. Louis, and continue to plant roots. My father is always messing things up with my life. Why can’t I be ordinary? Why can’t my life be like everyone else? I want to be married and have babies; beautiful fat babies. I can’t even get intimate with anyone, because my father tells me to trust no one. Throughout my college career, I was screwing my advisor, who happened to be one of my father’s colleagues. He gave me this whole weird “fuck your father’s friend to get back at him” vibe. But, he was sexy as hell, with his dark skin that looked like soot. And, his broad African features turned me on in a tribal way. He was originally from Kenya, but came to America as a young man to get an education. He was very supportive and giving, if you know what I mean. So, I willingly took everything he had to offer.

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