Authors: Eric Pete,Carl Weber

The Family Business (16 page)

BOOK: The Family Business

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“What time is it, Harris?” I growled.

Harris glanced at his watch. The way he was frowning, I know he wanted to tell me, “About three minutes after the time I told you three minutes ago.” But he wasn’t stupid enough to say that shit to my face, especially considering the mood I was in, so he just said, “Ten forty-nine.”

“I thought you said they were on their way. They should have been here by now.”

“That’s what Orlando told me, LC,” he replied.

We were sitting in my SUV in a warehouse I owned in Long Island City, Queens, waiting for Orlando, Rio, and Junior to return with Miguel. This was part of the reason why Harris had an attitude. He didn’t like the fact that I’d sent my sons to get Miguel in the first place. To be frank, he damn near pleaded with me not to, spewing legal jargon, but I didn’t want to hear that mumbo-jumbo shit. That suave Latin punk Miguel had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. I mean, damn, it wasn’t like I didn’t warn him.

“LC, as your attorney, I must ask you to reconsider this. The boys may have already crossed the line, but there is no reason you should be involved. There is such a thing as plausible deniability. And if we—ah, I mean
you
—are here when they arrive, we may all be implicated in a crime.”

“Harris, do me a favor. For the next hour or so, can you be my son-in-law and not my goddamn lawyer? If you don’t have the balls for this, you can take your ass home, because you sound like a little punk. You’re either part of this family or you’re not. Which one is it?”

Harris sat back in his seat, a little thrown off by my question. He might have been formulating some lawyer-bullshit response, but before he could speak, one of my men covering the door yelled, “They’re here.”

I heard the sound of a car door being slammed, and then the side door of the warehouse opened. Orlando stormed in, with Rio on his heels.

“Yo, Uncle Lou. Open the garage doors,” Orlando barked.

Lou, my brother, did what he was told, and then a white cargo van entered the warehouse and parked beside my SUV. I rolled down my window so I could watch everything. Junior jumped out of the van, walked to the side, and opened the sliding door.

“Jesus Christ, LC! This is even worse than I thought. This is kidnapping, straight up,” Harris shouted when he saw Miguel lying on the floor of the van, bound, blindfolded, and gagged.

Without even looking in his direction, I raised a hand to get him to shut the hell up. I loved Harris’s legal mind, but sometimes that law rhetoric he spouted just got on my damn nerves. This was one of those times.

Junior and Lou removed Miguel from the van and dragged him to a chair at the center of the warehouse. Miguel kind of slumped over in the chair, and Junior used that as an excuse to strike him in the side of the head with his gun. “Sit the fuck up!” he shouted.

Blood trickled down the side of Miguel’s face as he did what he was told. I didn’t even have to look in Harris’s direction to know that he was ready to lose it. I told him, “Don’t say a damn word, Harris. If you can’t handle this, you know where the door is.”

“You move, I do it again! Comprende?” Junior yelled as he yanked the blindfold off Miguel’s face.

“Fuck you,” Miguel spat, looking directly at me as I sat in the SUV. This motherfucker had some balls; I’d give him that. His eyes almost looked like he was challenging me. “Wait until Alejandro finds out about this. He will kill you all for your insolence.”

Junior raised up to strike him again, but I shouted, “Hold on, Junior.” I got out of the SUV. What Miguel had just said didn’t sit right with me.

I walked close to the chair and stood over him. “Alejandro will kill
us
for
our
insolence? Do you even know why you’re here?”

He nodded. That son of a bitch had the nerve to hold his head up like he was proud of what he’d done. I had to admire him in some ways, though, because even in the predicament he found himself, he still tried to maintain his dignity. You don’t find many men who can do that. Most men would have been begging for their lives as they were dragged from the van.

“Tell me, Miguel. Why are you here?” I asked.

“Because I fucked your daughter.”

I felt his words like a punch in the gut, and I did the only thing a father could do upon hearing those words: I hauled off and swung as hard as I could, hitting him square in the jaw. His head snapped back, and as he righted himself, blood began pouring from his nose.

I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped the blood from my hand as I turned to Orlando. “What the hell did he just say to me?” I asked.

“We caught them right in the act, Pop.”

“Son of a bitch. Where is she?” I looked back at Miguel. His bloody face and swollen lip had gotten rid of any bravado he might have had left. I had a momentary urge to wrap my hands around his fucking neck and choke the life out of him, but I could already hear the lecture I would get from Harris, so I restrained myself.

“I sent her to the office,” Orlando told me. “Figured you’d want to speak to her away from this situation.”

“Damn right I wanna talk to her. Rio, call Paris and tell her I said to keep her ass at the office until I get there!” I turned my attention back to Miguel. “What did I tell you I would do if you touched my daughter?”

He wobbled in the chair but remained silent, until Lou popped him in the head with his open hand. “Answer the man.”

“You said you would kill me,” he slurred.

“But you did it anyway ... because you don’t fear me, do you? You think Alejandro will save your ass from my wrath. Maybe make you marry her or something like that?”

“Señor, I swear, she came to me. I did not mean for this to happen,” he pleaded. “But if you want me to marry her ... she is a very beautiful woman and would make a good wife.”

“You arrogant little bastard!” I landed another punch, which started a fresh wave of blood streaming down his face. I was ready to keep swinging until this son of a bitch was nothing but a bloody pulp, but Harris knew me well enough to step in before my temper reached the point of no return.

“LC!” he yelled to get my attention. “Remember the reason we’re here. Deal with Paris later.”

I turned to Harris and took a few deep breaths to bring my blood back down from the boiling point. “You’re right.”

“You are one lucky man,” Lou said to Miguel, who just nodded.

“You know, Miguel,” I said, “I’m not quite sure you understand how serious this situation is. Maybe you’re even more stupid than I thought. Now, why don’t we talk about the real reason you’re here.”

“I don’t know, señor.” His voice cracked, and even covered in blood, his face clearly reflected the fear he was feeling.

“Oh, you don’t know, huh? Well, let me explain it to you.” I started circling around the chair as I spoke. “Right after your people handed over the truck carrying the Roadster, someone hijacked my people, and now my Roadster is gone. Funny thing is, you were the only one other than my people to know the route.”

His eyes got huge. He actually looked like he might shit on himself.

“You know anything about this, Miguel?”

“Sir ... Señor Duncan,” Miguel started breathlessly. “I know you’re upset about your car. I know how much it means to you. I just want you to know—”

“I don’t give a fuck about that Corvette!” I tipped over the chair, and Miguel fell to the ground. “I want what was in it! Fuck the damn Corvette!”

With both hands around his throat, I lifted Miguel to a sitting position on the ground.

“Where ... is ... my ... shit?” With each word I squeezed his neck a little tighter. “Where the fuck is my heroin?”

Even if he wanted to answer me, Miguel couldn’t talk with the way I was cutting off his air. His face was starting to turn blue at this point.

“Pop! Pop! He’s no good to us dead.” I could feel Orlando trying to pry my fingers from around Miguel’s neck as he pleaded with me. I released Miguel, and he fell to the ground in a fetal position.

“There was supposed to be a shipment of two hundred ki’s of Alejandro’s best product stowed in that car. Ki’s that are bought and paid for and belong to me. I want my shit, Miguel.” I kicked him hard in the gut, and when he tried to crawl away from me, I kicked him again.

“Señor Duncan, I swear, I had nothing to do with this. Por favor,” Miguel pleaded. At this point, I didn’t give a shit what he had to say. I just needed a place to take out my aggression, so I kept kicking him repeatedly until I was too tired to kick him anymore.

I grabbed him by the hair and, with Lou’s help, lifted him back into the chair. I patted Miguel on his shoulder as a father would his son. “You say you have nothing to do with it? Well, I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we? And God help you if you did, ’cause I still haven’t forgotten that you slept with my daughter.”

Harris

I will never forget the day that I learned the truth about my wife’s family business. When I first met her, I saw the Duncans just like the rest of the gullible, admiring public did—as legitimate businessmen who’d made it big by selling cars. Their wealth was something to be admired among black families in Queens—but that was only because they did an exceptional job of hiding their dirty little secret.

Their family business was based on a union of three things: cars, drugs, and violence. LC had taken a legitimate car dealership and a lucrative exotic auto transportation business and turned them into a front to supply New York City and most of the Northeast with all the illicit drugs they could handle. The operation was backed up and enforced by a criminal enterprise of loyal men and women willing to do whatever it took to make the almighty dollar. There are still times when I look in the mirror and wonder how I let myself get so deeply involved in all of it.

It was a week before my wedding, and LC had asked London to have me stop by his office for a little chat. I didn’t think much of it, assuming he wanted to have one of those father-of-the-bride conversations. You know, “Take good care of my little girl” and all of that. I was a little nervous to meet with LC, because I hadn’t spent much time with him up to that point. Except for a couple of family gatherings during the holidays, London never seemed to want to bring me around her family. At the time I just figured they were a little more dysfunctional than she wanted me to know about, but I would soon find out the truth. She didn’t want me to know she was the offspring of one the biggest drug dealers on the East Coast. That kind of thing might have put a slight damper on our marriage plans, you know?

When I arrived at LC’s office, he asked me to take a ride with him to South Jamaica. During the drive, just as I expected, he went into this speech about how much family meant to him and his wife, then went on and on about how much he loved his daughter.

“You know, Harris, I like you, and I’m really happy London found you. You seem like a nice kid with a good head on your shoulders,” he said as we parked in front of a Crown Fried Chicken.

“Thank you, sir.” I worked to rid my voice of any evidence of nervousness. I wanted to make sure I spoke clearly and articulately. After all, I was speaking to the head of my fiancée’s family—not just any old family, but one of the most prominent and wealthy black families in the city. LC Duncan and Duncan Motors stood for strength, power, and respect. They were so well known that my boss at the law firm was begging me to set up a meeting. He wanted Duncan Motors as a client. So, I had multiple reasons to want to impress LC, although I had a sense already that he was not an easy man to impress. If I was ever going to fit in—to be like one of the family—I knew I’d have to work overtime in order to do it. Now was the time to start proving that no matter what my last name was, I could be a Duncan.

“But when you get to be my age, you understand that women are funny about certain things—especially money. My daughter is no exception to this rule, probably because I spoil her and give her anything she wants. So, I have to ask you.” He took his hands off the steering wheel and turned to me. “Harris, are you going to be able to keep my child in the lifestyle she’s accustomed to?”

Now, I hadn’t been expecting the conversation to go in this direction, but I’d done enough job interviews in my life to know how to give an answer on the fly. “Well, sir, as you know, I’m an associate at Brask and Williams. The managing partner says I’m on track to be a partner one day, but to be honest, that’s some years down the road. With that being said, I still make a nice salary for my age, and, well, London seems to be okay with that.” I thought my answer was fine, one that would satisfy any future father-in-law, but like I said, LC Duncan wasn’t easy to impress.

He laughed as he reached for his car door and opened it. “So, as her husband, you’re not going to mind if she comes to me for money?”

I got out, and we stared at each other across the roof of the car. “Sir, with all due respect, that’s not going to happen. London and I—”

He cut me off. “Harris, how much do you make over at Brask and Williams? Sixty, maybe seventy grand?”

I nodded. “Something in that neighborhood.”

“You’re right. That’s not bad for a man your age. But did you know that Mercedes coupe London drives cost almost double what you make in a year?”

LC Duncan was no joke. I could feel my ego shrinking by the moment, and he managed to do it all with a smile on his face. “No, sir, I didn’t know the price of her car.”

“Did you know that London’s credit card bill was a little over five grand last month?”

All I could do was shake my head.

“I didn’t think so.” Apparently tired of humiliating me, he turned his attention to the Crown Fried Chicken in front of us.

I wasn’t done with the conversation, though. Whatever kind of a test this was, I couldn’t let him insult me like that without defending myself. Shit, I was pretty damn successful for a guy my age. Any father should be glad to have me marry his daughter. LC needed to understand that while he might have spoiled London, he had to accept the fact that I was going to be the man in her life soon.

“Mr. Duncan, you don’t have to worry. We’ll make do. London may have to cut back on some things, but we’re happy, and that’s all that matters for us. We’re gonna make it.”

“I see. Well, I guess you’ve got everything all figured out, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’re happy, we’re in love, and we’re going to have everything our hearts desire in just a few years, when I make partner.” I was trying to stand my ground, but I was starting to realize how hollow my words must have sounded to this powerful man. I was losing all self-esteem, and LC’s continued smirk told me he thought the whole thing was pretty funny.

“You hungry?” he asked, still staring at the chicken joint. “You look hungry.”

“I guess I am a little hungry.” I shrugged, feeling defeated.

He leaned in and said seriously, “Be a lot hungry, and stay hungry. That’s the only way you’re going to be able to provide for my daughter. That’s how you’re going to be able to get the house, the cars, the clothes, and all the things that are going to keep her happy. Being happy right now doesn’t mean shit. It’s staying happy that’s a muthafuck.” On that note, he started walking toward the chicken spot. He shouted over his shoulder at me, “Let’s go.”

What the fuck was that?
was all I could ask myself as I headed toward the entrance.

“No, this way,” LC ordered, opening the door next to the one I was standing at.

I stepped back, a little puzzled, but followed my future father-in-law’s orders. He led me up a flight of steps, stopping in front of one of several apartments above the restaurant. He knocked on the door, then turned to me.

“You’re gonna need more money than you make to support my daughter. And I need a good lawyer, someone who’s smart, hungry, and most of all, loyal. So, Harris, my man, I’m offering you a job. Do you want to be my exclusive lawyer?”

Even if I had known what to think or what to say, he didn’t give me time. He pounded on the door again, until it finally opened a crack. I saw half a man’s face eyeballing us. Before I knew it, LC raised his foot and kicked open the door, busting the man upside the head.

“LC, please, man, I just need a little more time!” The man held out his hand as if it might keep LC at bay. With his other hand, he covered the side of his face, now bloody from the door strike.

I hadn’t a clue what the hell was going on. It was all going down so fast.

I heard three loud pops. One, two, and then a third hole appeared in the man’s chest and stomach. As blood began to seep out of the wounds, I looked over at LC, who was tucking a silenced pistol into his coat pocket.

“He wasn’t hungry like you, Harris. He was a slacker—didn’t take care of his business—and he talked too much. Namely, about me and my business. But you ...”

I felt LC’s hand on my shoulder, only I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the man who was taking his last breath on the floor.

“You are still hungry, aren’t you? And as my lawyer, you’re honor bound to keep your mouth shut, right, Harris?”

I nodded, feeling numb.

“Good. Then here’s the first order of business, counselor.” LC reached into his jacket, and my heart started pounding. Was he reaching for that gun again? I had no idea if I would be joining the man down on the floor. “Here, take this.”

I looked down to see LC handing me a piece of paper. Once it was in my shaking hand, I realized it was a check. I read the figure, and my knees were so weak, I almost fell to the floor next to the dead man. “This is a check for a million dollars.”

“That’s your retainer. You’re now my lawyer, and you work exclusively for me and Duncan Motors. I want you to give Brask and Williams your walking papers in the morning.... Unless you have a problem working for me?”

“Mr. Duncan ... I ... I can’t-”

“Sure you can,” he stated without a hint of doubt. “Let me help you out here, son.” He put his arm around my shoulder and led me away from the pool of blood that was forming near our feet. “You have three choices. You can work for me, you can pretend this never happened and go about your business, or you can go to the cops and talk to them. Your first choice is going to make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. The second choice will probably mean you’ll be alive, but would also make you an accessory to murder—something to think about just in case you ever consider changing your mind. And the third, well, if you decide to go to the cops, you might as well lie down with the guy down there, because you’re as dead as he is. If I don’t kill you, then I promise you that my sons will.”

I stood there silently, taking in LC’s words and trying to breathe. A sudden wave of nausea hit me, and I didn’t know if I was going to throw up or pass out. One thing I did know was that of the three choices LC had given me, only one guaranteed that I would live.

“So, Harris, future son-in-law, are you my lawyer or not?”

I couldn’t speak. My words were somewhere frozen between my throat and the tip of my tongue, so I relayed my answer the best way I could. I folded the check and tucked it into my pocket.

LC patted me on the back. “Welcome to the family. Now, let’s go get something to eat, because I’m famished. Killing a man really helps you build up an appetite, you know?”

So, for the past ten years, I’d been learning and mastering both the public and private side of the family business. Unlike him or his children, though, I was not willing to get my hands dirty, especially when it came to the violent side of the business. Don’t get me wrong. I was far from innocent, and I understood the need for the heavy-handed approach, but I preferred to stay in the shadows, walking that thin line between attorney and crook.

Still, what I’d just witnessed LC doing to Miguel was just plain stupid and a little scary. Aside from that first murder I saw him commit, LC usually had other people handle that type of thing. He claimed to be proud that he stayed above the fray, but as we drove back to the dealership and I looked in his face, I was starting to think that he enjoyed it—which was probably why I was scared to death by my wife’s threat to tell him about our physical confrontation that morning.

“Orlando, I wanna know who’s got that damn truck and my dope, and I wanna know now. We don’t have much time before Alejandro realizes that Miguel wasn’t on his plane and starts asking questions about him,” LC barked at his son, who was sitting in the front passenger seat while Lou drove. “I want you to put it out on the street that I got a hundred grand cash to anyone who tells me where to find that truck. No questions asked. We only have a short window before that shit hits the streets—if it was even in the car.”

“Already on it, Pop,” Orlando replied, pulling the phone from his ear. “With that kinda money, we should have every crackhead in the five boroughs turning over every rock to find it.”

“What about Alejandro? When he finds out we have Miguel, he’s gonna go through the roof. You want me to—”

LC cut me off. “Don’t worry about Alejandro. I’ll take care of him when the time comes. What I want you to do is call our friend at One Police Plaza and see if he can offer any assistance. Have him check the stoplight cameras and all the toll cameras. If that truck left the five boroughs, I wanna know it.”

I reached for my phone to make the call, but my finger froze over the SEND button when Orlando turned around and said, “Pop, Pablo’s dead.”

“What did you say?” LC asked, even though he sat only a foot or two away.

Pablo was one of LC’s best friends and a trusted lieutenant. He ran most of the drug trade in Spanish Harlem and the Bronx. By taking him out, someone was sending us a message. From the expression on LC’s face, it was a message delivered loud and clear.

Orlando elaborated. “His brother Carlos said some people busted into his brownstone and shot him in the head in front of his wife and kids.”

“Shit! Does Carlos know who they were? Did anyone recognize them?” LC asked, surprisingly calm in the face of this gruesome news about his friend.

BOOK: The Family Business

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