No Room for Mercy (10 page)

“Auntie Martha, we know dad ‘nem down there wrapping
gifts. Tell us what you saw!” Koko snapped.

“I ain’t see no gifts down there!”

“What?” Koko asked in dismay as she headed towards the
stairs. “Christmas—Christmas is around the corner and
they ain’t—they ain’t got nothing going on down
there?”

“Get back here!” Twiggy yelled. “Me and Martha is
way more important than those gifts they wrappin’!”

“So they do have some stuff,” Koko said through a smile.

“For everybody,” Martha said. “Come on y’all.
Let’s help Naomi ‘nem put up the tree.”

A few hours later, the family had all dressed in formal wear; suits,
wing tips and ties for the males, and dresses and high heels for the
females. The family was seated at the two large formal dining room
tables inside the caramel marble-floored formal dining room that
featured a wood burning fireplace, two chandeliers and two white
marble columns.

A turkey and ham was on each table inside the elegant room, along
with all the trimmings, including dressing, collard greens, baked
macaroni and cheese, chitterlings, green bean casserole, fresh baked
bread, cakes and many more items. Naomi said prayer and the family
immediately got down to business.

“Somebody looks hungry,” DeeDee said as he cut the turkey
at his table with an electric knife, eyeing Spoonie and Tyke, who sat
on either side of him, the whole time.

“They sure do. That vegetarian couscous Francine made looks
spectacular.” Mendoza chuckled.

DeeDee stopped cutting the turkey upon hearing Mendoza
'
s
remark. “How you sound, old man? Couscous? Nobody won’t
even touch that mess.”

“Okay,” Mendoza laughed as he uncorked a bottle of red
wine. “You have to be made into a believer I see. Go on and get
to it.”

“They gone prove you wrong today is what they gone do,”
DeeDee said matter-of-factly as he resumed cutting the deep-fried
turkey.

Spoonie and Tyke hadn’t eaten meat since the day they’d
learned what actually happened to the animals, but their unbelieving
grandfather was certain they would cave in on this day. He picked up
a plate and pulled a wing off the turkey and placed dressing onto the
dish and handed it to Tyke, who kindly passed the plate to Bay.

“Dad, put a pile of macaroni and cheese on here, please? And
some cous—” Bay was about to be the first one to request
some of the couscous, but the disappointed look on her grandfather’s
face had deterred her. “Just the macaroni and cheese, please.”
she said lowly as she eyed her grandfather. “S
orry,”
she mouthed.

DeeDee loaded another plate and passed it to Spoonie, who kindly
handed her plate to Lucky.

“Eh, mom. Dump some green bean casserole on here would ya’
please,” Lucky asked as he handed his mother a plate.

“Sure thing, son. Would you like some couscous as well?”
Francine asked with a smirk on her face.

Lucky looked over to an obviously disheartened DeeDee. “Maybe
later, mom,” he said lowly. “Poor fella’s about to
lose some money pretty soon, eh, dad?”

“You don't know the half of it, son,” Mendoza chuckled.

DeeDee repeated his routine, handing a plate of sliced turkey to
Spoonie and Tyke, who only passed the plates along until they were
the last two without a plate of food at the table. When DeeDee placed
a slice of turkey on the plate with dressing and passed it to
Spoonie, she folded her arms and said, “Me and Tyke only want
the couscous, some macaroni and the collard greens that momma fixed
for us without the meat in it!”

“Cous-damn-cous?” DeeDee said as he backed away from the
table and placed his hands on his hips.

“Hey, watch it, dad!” Naomi laughed. “Now let me
see you deny those two.”

“I’m sorry, everybody. But this here? Are you two
serious? I had money on you two!” DeeDee snapped.

“I want my thousand dollars,” Mendoza said through
laughter. “I want all hundreds too. Five each for Spoonie and
Tyke.”

Mendoza and DeeDee had bet that Spoonie and Tyke would eat meat on
this day. They thanked Mendoza kindly, the two of them having earned
an unexpected five hundred dollars on Thanksgiving. The bigger issue,
however, was the fact that Spoonie and Tyke were really sticking to
their guns. To everyone inside the dining room, it seemed as if they
truly were becoming flown-blown vegetarians.

“Wow,” Junior said as he picked up a turkey drumstick,
“never bet against family, DeeDee.”

“These me and Doss’s kids,” Naomi chuckled while
fixing Spoonie and Tyke’s plate. “And ain’t nothing
fake about a Holland or a Dawkins.”

“I know that’s real,” Martha chimed in. “Naomi
pass me that bowl of turkey gravy, please? And the couscous when
you’re done fixing Spoonie and Tyke’s plate,” she
added, bringing light laughter.

The bowls were passed around and when the food got to Twiggy, she
handed Mary a brochure she was reading to free up her hands. Regina
tried to grab the brochure, but it was too late.

“The Lost Orphan Committee,” Mary said as she shifted her
eyes over towards Regina.

“Twiggy, you weren’t supposed to show her that.”
Regina stated, a little embarrassed having her mother learn of her
intentions.

“Well, I ain’t mean to. I think it’s fine if you
wanna find your daddy. These two here the ones with the problem,”
Twiggy said as she pointed to Mary and Martha. “And don’t
be you two be eyeing me like that! I been family since nineteen
seventy-six, so I know I can speak what’s on my mind.”

“Mary told Dimples to leave her out of it. Ain't nobody
interest in seeing that man.” Martha said as she cut into a
ham.

“Wasn’t he your first love, Mary?” Takoda, Regina’s
husband asked.

“What makes you say that, Tak? I only had children for
Reynard,” Mary responded coyly as she ran her hands through
hair.

Takoda smiled to himself at that moment and apologized. He and Regina
got along real well most times in their marriage save for a few
disagreements here and there, and he was like a son to Mary by all
accounts. Takoda and Dimples were excellent parents, hard workers and
could share just about anything. When Dimples started searching for
her father a few months back, she’d told Tak, as was Takoda’s
nickname, and he’d offered to help and the two had been working
on it ever since, but they hadn’t made any progress.

Dimples was now considering using the same organization that had
helped her aunt Naomi find Martha and Mary in order to attempt to
find her father. She and Tak often talked about what that day would
be like should it ever come to pass and they often questioned whether
Mary would want to see the father of her kids again.

Dimples believed so, but Takoda didn’t. Dimples came to her
conclusion by watching her mother’s reaction whenever she asked
about her father. Mary would look away with this long gaze before
telling her daughter that she had no interest in seeing the man.
Other times she would respond like a shy little girl, just like she’d
done seconds ago when Takoda posed his question. His wife was right
it seems.

Mary never answered Takoda's question. “Can we not talk about
that man on this day,” she asked as she raised her hands in
protest. “I don't want to talk about Reynard Jacobs. Here's
your brochure, Dimples. Let's just talk about something else here at
the table, please. Now is not the time.”

“Okay, momma,” Dimples replied softly as she got up and
kissed her mother's temple. “I'm sorry.”

“Come on,” Mary said, getting back into family
atmosphere, “my grandson say he wanna try some of that
couscous,” she joked, bringing a smile to her daughter's face.

Conversations soon began to unfold between all and the family went on
sharing dinner before adjoining into the theater room to watch the
Dallas Cowboys game while eating dessert. Thanksgiving of 2001 was
turning out just fine for the family and friends down in Ponca City,
Oklahoma.

*******

“I never ate so much in my life,” Asa Spade remarked as
he pushed himself away from JunJie’s table inside his spacious
mansion and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin.

JunJie had invited his closest friends from Denver and Chicago to his
$10,000,000 dollar, nine thousand square foot two story mansion on
Mercer Island, just west of Seattle, for a Thanksgiving feast.
JunJie’s was a classy affair, but more of an adult nature.
Classical music was playing low in the background, liquor abounded
and a small bowl of rolled up blunts sat in the center of the table
amongst the food. Asian strippers from JunJie's night club served
him, Grover, Phil, and Finland in tight-fitting, skimpy french maid
outfits.

Asa Spade and Xiang had their own thing going, and Francesca and
Ponita were kicking it with the cousins, the six of them unfazed by
JunJie’s explicit form of entertainment because they all knew
how the man loved to be entertained when not conducting business.

JunJie beckoned a waitress and leaned over to his side and placed a
thick, expensive cigar to his lips. He leaned back in his chair and
took a few puffs once it was lit and closed his eyes and savored the
piano style of Chopin's
Waltz in D-Flat
.

“So, Asa Spade,” JunJie said after exhaling the thick
cigar smoke, “business is good back in Colorado I take it?”

“We're doing real good. Looking in to a few things here and
there,” Asa replied as he stirred a glass of whiskey and coke.

“I’ve been tellin’ you long before the death of
Wayne Miller that we should do business. I'm glad everything is
working out. Things are going along just as I had foreseen,”
JunJie remarked proudly.

“You always have been tellin’ us,” Asa said before
he sipped his whiskey. “But had we done so back then I don’t
think it would’ve worked out. The timing was right when it
happened.”

Dougie was leaning back in his chair smoking a blunt listening to Asa
and JunJie. The entire set up was on point. Dougie had never made
this much money in his life. He was glad Asa had linked up JunJie
because the man was the real deal. There was something about his
method of operation that impressed Dougie tremendously: the way he
handled conflict. The people he’d hired to deliver up Alvin
weren’t a bunch of amateurs. They were a team of professionals
that did their job thoroughly.

“JunJie? Who were those people you had deliver Alvin?”
Dougie finally asked.

“Just some friends from the Midwest.” Finland replied on
behalf of JunJie.

Asa Spade could respect Finland's secrecy, but he resented the man in
spite of that fact. He just seemed like the type who would fold under
pressure in his eyes and Asa couldn’t shake that feeling no
matter how hard he tried. “Whoever they are, make sure you
thank them for me personally,” Asa told Finland. “I been
meaning to have you relay that message.”

“Will do, brother. So what’s your next move as far as
legit revenue?” Finland asked while pouring a glass of red
wine.

“By late spring of next year we’ll have a night club up
and running. It'll be a good front to wash dollars.”

Finland nodded in appreciation. “That’s a good move. It’s
all about washing dirty dollars clean at this point. We’ll talk
about more ventures later on because this is a holiday—and
nobody that is worth their keep works on Thanksgiving,” Finland
said as he massaged a giggling waitress’s ass. “You like
how that feel, baby,” he asked. The waitress only smiled and
leaned forward more to allow Finland greater access to her most
private area. “I think I’ll turn in early, guys,”
Finland concluded as he picked up two stem glasses and a bottle of
wine. He then grabbed three rolled blunts from the bowl and took the
waitress by the hand and led her towards the stairs.

JunJie and company were preparing to go and relax in a specially
designed sports bar deep inside the home’s interior. They’d
just left the dining room when JunJie received a phone call. He
answered and listened for a few seconds as he stood in the wide
hallway before ending the call.

“I must not be worth my keep on a day like today because I
suddenly have to go to work,” JunJie quipped as he rejoined the
group and turned on the lights inside the sports bar. “I seem
to have some guests I wasn’t expecting.”

“Is everything okay?” Asa asked.

“Everything’s fine. Getting ready to close another deal
here. Son, you and Grover come with me. Everyone? Please, excuse us
and make yourselves at home. The servers will be in shortly to fix
drinks,” JunJie said. The three men walked out of the room
where JunJie led the way to his office. This day wasn’t
expected for at least another four months at the earliest, but it was
welcomed nonetheless.

Hayate and Isao Onishi, brothers from JunJie’s native homeland
of Japan, were two shipping tycoons that owned a fleet of cargo ships
and several warehouses on Seattle’s shipping front. They were
well-known and respected in the maritime business community and were
looking for an investor to help renovate their port real estate and
to expand their fleet of cargo ships, thereby earning the investor a
share in the profits, and access to the eight state-of-the-art
international cargo freighters the brothers owned.

JunJie was purportedly at the forefront of this fifteen million
dollar proposal and was slated to make several million dollars
annually off this deal. He was also planning to use the cargo ships
to increase his cocaine shipments from Venezuela to accommodate the
growing demand coming in from Asa’s crew and the Chicago Gang.
Things were lining up from JunJie's perspective, but the Onishi
brothers had different plans.

The men greeted one another and JunJie walked around to the safe
behind his desk. He was going for the contracts to close the deal, a
smile on his face as he twisted the knob. “I never thought I’d
hear from you guys so soon,” he said happily as he pulled the
safe open. “You must’ve really liked my proposal. We can
go to work on renovating the warehouses here in America once I have a
contractor in place. A new dock and a deeper channel will—”