Authors: Eric Pete,Carl Weber

The Family Business (22 page)

BOOK: The Family Business

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Paris

“Hey, watch it!” I yelled. I had just stepped over a puddle, careful not to mess up my shoes, but the two burly men shadowing me didn’t have such concerns. The heavy-footed one stomped down, splashing the back of my legs, as well as the Alexander McQueens I was trying to protect.

I glared at both of them, lifting my hand in a fist. One of them flinched, prepared to defend himself with the revolver he probably kept holstered inside his suit jacket, and I almost laughed out loud. If I wanted to take him out, he would have already been on the ground. I stopped to wipe the drops of muddy water off my calves, scowling at the stains on my shoes. Now my palm was wet and dirty, so I dried it on the front of the guy’s black jacket. Neither of them reacted—no complaining and no apology. Instead, they just motioned for me to continue walking straight ahead. Sucking my teeth, I turned and resumed trudging on the uneven ground.

As we entered the building, Orlando passed us on his way out, looking evil and not saying a word. He was not a happy camper when he busted in on me taking out Miguel, but now he looked straight up heated. What the fuck was up his ass? I was the one in trouble. Or was I? Perhaps Daddy saw things my way and Mr. High and Mighty was sent home with his tail between his legs.

At the end of my escorted walk, we entered a room where Junior’s men were huddled around him, talking, and my father was standing off to the side, talking on his cell phone. I walked over to Daddy, who immediately ended his phone call.

“Daddy, you wanted to see me?” I asked warily.

“She clean?” he shouted over my shoulder to the men who’d brought me there. It wasn’t like him not to look me in the eyes when he spoke. Under normal circumstances, it would’ve made me feel guilty and insignificant. Instead, it made me a little bit fearful this time. He looked almost too calm. Calm wasn’t good when it came to my father, because it usually meant he was about to explode.

“Yeah,” one of the men replied.

“No. They missed one,” I quickly corrected, kicking myself for being so honest. “I’ve got a thirty-two in my garter holster.”

“You fucked up!” He smacked me with a gloved backhand that knocked me off my feet. I went tumbling to the worn wooden planks and almost unholstered my stashed .32 on instinct. I bounced back up, shaking off any signs of weakness I’d just displayed. I was a soldier. I was his soldier.

“Daddy, I—”

“Shut up!” he yelled, punching me directly in the face as he would a man.

As I fought back the quivering of my bloody lips, his men remained still, not coming to my aid. It was better that way. I didn’t want their pity.

“Don’t you dare interrupt me!” he continued. “Do you understand? I sure as hell hope you do, because I am dead fucking serious.”

“Yes, sir, I understand,” I answered, holding back tears. He ignored the fact that I was still strapped, or else he just didn’t care. I could have blown him away right then and there—but he knew I wouldn’t. That was why he let me keep it. He knew I loved him as any girl should love her father. I wouldn’t raise a hand to him.

“Why did you kill that boy?”

To me, the answer was simple. “Because he was a liar and had double-crossed us, Daddy. He stole our shipment, and he had to pay the price. I didn’t do it for myself. I did it for you.” I still couldn’t understand what the hell everybody was so worked up about. It wasn’t like this was the first time I’d taken care of business for the family. Apparently, Daddy felt like I’d overstepped my position.

“I don’t remember naming you my successor,” he said. “And I sure as hell didn’t tell you to shoot Miguel. Since when did you start calling the shots around here?”

“I don’t.”

“You damn right you don’t. That’s my job. I give the orders.”

My body tensed in anticipation. I knew I was about to get hit again. It was the only way, short of killing me, that he could save face in front of his men. I understood his reason, but I wasn’t a glutton for punishment. I had to state my case.

“Daddy, I was just sending a message to Alejandro and anyone else who wants to mess with the Duncans. We are not to be fucked with!”

He looked like he wanted to smile, but instead he mocked me with his laughter. “Sent a message? Sent a fuckin’ message? You don’t send messages around here unless I say so. Do you even know who that boy was?”

“Yeah, he was Alejandro’s messenger boy and a thief,” I replied, although doubt was starting to creep in. Usually, I could talk my way out of any situation with Daddy, but this time he was mad as hell. Had I killed a Fed? Had I slept with a Fed?
Fuck.

Then Daddy told me who he was, and it was much, much worse than a Fed.

“Paris, he was Alejandro’s son. Do have any idea how badly you screwed up?”

“Oh. No.” I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. “I ... I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know! It’s not your job to know! You’re trained to kill, Paris, but only when I say so. What do you think Alejandro is going to want now in exchange for his son’s death?”

I didn’t reply, but I knew the answer.

“You’ve started a fucking war ... and the only way out is to give them the life of someone in our family.”

I spoke in a terrified whisper. “What are you saying, Daddy?”

He reached in his jacket and pulled out a .38, pointing it directly at my head.

This couldn’t be happening. A few hours ago I was getting fucked by a hot Latin man, and now here I was, with my father holding a gun to my head. I refused to accept that this was real. Daddy wouldn’t kill me. I was his baby girl, the apple of his eye, the child that could do no wrong. Still, Daddy had taught me a rule a long time ago, and now his words were ringing in my head:
Never pull out your gun unless you plan on using it.

“Paris, you’re turning into more of a problem than a problem solver. And we can’t have that.” He looked like he was about to cry. “I sent you to the best schools in Europe. Paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to have the very best teachers mold you into a woman of substance. You were supposed to be better than all the rest, and look how you turned out.”

I gathered my nerve and tried to talk some sense into him. It was my only hope of survival. “Let’s be real, Daddy. I turned out just the way you wanted me to. You didn’t send me to boarding school over there in Europe. You sent me to mercenary school, and I’m just a product of my environment. You didn’t want me to be a linguist like London, or a chemist like Orlando, and you wanted something different than Junior. And that’s what you got—a killer nobody would see coming. Your own personal hit woman.”

In his eyes, I thought I saw his resolve wavering, so I went for his sentimental side. “I’m your baby girl. All I ever wanted to do was please you. So, if it’s going to make you happy by pulling that trigger, then do what you gotta do, because I love you, Daddy.” I closed my eyes and waited for the end to come.

Orlando

The cold gray walls and the sound of metal clanking only intensified my anxiety as I walked down the long corridor. I wondered what the old man would think of me if he found out I was here. Stupid. That was what I’d be labeled. I’d be dethroned as the new leader of the family before my reign even started, but I guess that was just a chance I’d have to take, considering the circumstances. Besides, he could blame this on me all he wanted, but this wasn’t my fault. If anyone should take the blame for me coming to this god-awful place, it was him.

I’d made arrangements to come here right after I left the warehouse in Orange County in a huff. I can’t begin to tell you how pissed off I was when I found out that the old man had sent Rio to Alejandro. I didn’t know why the hell he was using my brother in his little game of chess, but it sure as shit had blown up in his face. Now that Miguel was dead, he could pretend he had everything under control, but I knew better. We needed help, or at least I needed help figuring this whole thing out, and there was only one person I could really trust in this situation.

“You here to see Mr. Johnson?” the sandy-haired white man sitting behind the desk asked.

He’d caught me off guard with the “Mr. Johnson” crap. For a minute there, I almost said no.

“Yes, I’m here to see Michael Johnson,” I confirmed.

He glanced down at the notepad in front of him, then back up at me, smiling. “You got something for me?”

I reached in my pocket and slipped out five bills, discreetly handing them to the man. His smile became a smirk now that he was five hundred dollars richer. This was the third payoff I’d made since entering the prison, but it was the only way to bypass the BS and get an undisturbed one-on-one sit-down with the infamous Mr. Johnson.

“Have a seat. Mr. Johnson will be right with you.”

I walked into a small room and sat down at a table with two chairs on one side and one chair on the other. It wasn’t long before I heard the door open, and in walked Michael Johnson, wearing a pair of jeans and a wife beater. It had been more than three years, but he was bigger than I remembered, better looking too. He still had that same charismatic aura about him, that little something that made women love him, men admire him, and enemies fear him. My respect for him forced me to stand, as if royalty had entered the room.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just stood in the doorway, staring at me, as if he wasn’t quite sure who I was or why I was there.

Finally, he spoke in an agitated tone. “Orlando, what the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? What do you think?” I stepped closer, although my stature couldn’t hold a candle to his. “I’m here visiting my brother in prison. How you doing, Vegas?”

He eyeballed me for another few seconds before he reached out and hugged me tightly. I returned the embrace, holding back tears. He patted me on the back, then pulled away. Once again, his eyes locked in on me.

“You know you’re not supposed to be here,” he said with a tone of warning. “Pop’s not going to like it.”

“The last time I checked, I was a grown-ass man,” I spat.

“A grown-ass man still living under his daddy’s roof,” he threw back with a chuckle.

“Yeah, well, if I remember correctly, you used to live under that same roof when you were my age. Besides, I do that just to appease Momma.”

“Momma,” he repeated, a slight smile touching his lips. “How is she?”

“Momma’s good. She’s been under the weather a little as of late, but nothing serious. She talks about you every day. She misses you.”

“I miss her too. Man, I miss all of you. How’s Pop?”

I was surprised to hear him ask about the old man, especially since it was LC’s fault that he was locked up in this hellhole in the first place.

“He’s good,” I said, hoping he didn’t plan on going down the list of family members one by one. I didn’t have time for all that. That was not why I was there. “But how are you, Vegas? How you been holding up?”

“I’m fine, but don’t call me Vegas in here.” He pointed a finger at me. “Vegas is dead until the day I walk outta this place. In here I’m Michael Johnson, and Michael Johnson doesn’t know nothing about the Duncans.” He sat down in the single chair across from me. “Now, tell me about all this shit that’s going down with the Mexicans and our stolen shipment.”

My eyes bucked and he smirked. That damn Vegas was always two steps ahead of us. “How’d you—”

He cut me off with a chuckle. “What? You think just because I’m locked up, I don’t hear things? You wanna know what’s going on in the streets, pick a cell. We’ve got the best gossip network in the world right here behind these walls. And I run this place, so I hear it first, before them all. Now, tell me what’s going on. Is it as bad as I hear?”

“Bruh, shit is crazy,” I said.

“Yeah, from what I’m hearing, it sounds like we’re going to war. I’m trying to keep it from spilling over in here. Mexicans trying to recruit everyone who speaks Spanish. Only ones on our side are the Dominicans. I got a sit-down with the Jamaicans tonight. Other than that, I’ve got all the brothers lined up. We need every black face we can get on our side.”

Just hearing the word
Jamaicans
made my mind travel to Ruby. In between making arrangements to come up here to see Vegas, I’d called Remy and asked him to set things up so that Ruby and I could meet. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it, but five minutes later he called me back, telling me Ruby’s number had been disconnected and he had no other way of contacting her. I tried to call her myself and found out that Remy wasn’t lying. Ruby had turned off her phone that quick.

“O!” Vegas shouted, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What’s Pop talking about? We going to war or what?”

“Oh, we’re going to war, all right.” I shot him a serious look. “And your baby brother is right in the middle of it, about to get his ass killed.”

Vegas sat erect in his chair. “What are you talking about? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Not me, but Rio’s in a hell of a lot of trouble.”

He leaned in close and asked, “What kind of trouble? What, he get his boyfriend pregnant or something?” He began to laugh.

It didn’t take long for Vegas to realize that I wasn’t laughing with him.

“You’re serious. He really is in trouble, isn’t he?”

I nodded. “Guess there are some things you don’t hear in this place.”

“What’s going on with Rio? What’s he gotten himself into?”

“He hasn’t gotten himself into anything. It’s what LC has gotten him into.”

Vegas sat back in his chair, listening intently as I continued.

“Alejandro’s son, Miguel, is dead—under our family’s watch, if you know what I mean.”

Vegas nodded to confirm that he knew exactly what I meant.

“To make a long story short, LC sent Rio to California as a good faith trade for Miguel. Two hours later, Miguel was dead.”

“That stupid son of a bitch!” Vegas banged his fist on the table, then shot out of his chair and began pacing the room. “He promised me he’d never do that again.”

Vegas’s outburst had drawn the attention of the guard outside the room. He rapped on the window a few times and glared at us until Vegas took his seat again.

“Rio ain’t cut out for that shit, man. I mean, yeah, he’s a Duncan, but fuck!” He caught his fist in midair before it landed on the table once again.

“Calm down, man. That’s why I’m here. LC has told us not to do anything, that Rio’s on his own,” I said. “But that don’t sit well with me at all.”

“Me either, O. Me either.” Vegas shook his head. “So, what’s Junior got to say about all this?”

“I haven’t talked to him in private, but you know Junior. He’s never gonna go against Pop, even if he’s wrong.”

“Yeah, kinda figured that. Junior’s not exactly a free thinker when it comes to Pop.”

“So, what should I do, Vegas?”

“What the hell do you mean, what should you do? You get our little brother back here ... alive. That’s what the fuck you do. You put our people on the next thing smoking and go get Rio.”

“But what about Pop?”

“Fuck Pop. He’s the one who got us into this. Now, you came here to get my advice. Well, I just gave it to you. And here’s a little more. You want the old man to respect you, then sometimes you gotta stand your ground. Now, go do what you gotta do to get my little brother.”

All it took was that assurance from the one person I knew would see things the way I did. Some people ask themselves what Jesus would do, but I ask myself what would Vegas do-then I do it.

I stood to leave. The clock was ticking; time was wasting. Although I hadn’t seen my big brother in a long time, I had another brother who, despite LC’s orders, I had to save.

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson.” I extended my hand.

Vegas stood and shook it, then pulled me in for a quick chest bump and a pound on the back.

There was a knock on the door.

“What the hell do they want?” Vegas asked. “We ain’t even been in here half an hour. They told me I had an hour visit. When I get out there, heads are gonna roll.”

“That might be my fault,” I said, pulling away. “I got a little present for you.”

“A cell phone?” He could hardly contain his excitement. He went from being this big bear to acting like a little kid over the possibility of a cell phone.

I laughed. “No, bruh, it ain’t a cell phone. But I can make that happen. What I got is better than a cell phone.”

I walked over to the door and knocked a couple of times. The guard looked in at me. I nodded, he nodded back, and a few moments later the door opened.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I guess that is better than a cell phone,” Vegas said as he gave Maria, who stood in the doorway, the once-over.

“Mr. Johnson,” I said with a wink, “I leave you with Mrs. Johnson.”

“You did good, O. You did real good,” Vegas told me as I left.

As I sat in the back of the Town Car, waiting for Maria to finish her business inside the jail, I tried to get in touch with Rio. His phone went straight to voice mail, so I left a message for him to call me ASAP. That was not a good feeling, being unable to reach my brother, knowing he was alone and vulnerable. I prayed he was going to be okay until I could get someone out there to bring him home.

I heard a tap on the tinted window, and I looked up to see Maria standing outside. I unlocked the doors, and she climbed in.

“Mrs. Johnson, how was your conjugal visit?” I joked.

Always discreet about her business arrangements, Maria didn’t kiss and tell. She sat there quietly, looking down with an expectant look on her face. And I knew exactly what she was expecting.

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, which I handed to her. “That had to be the fastest twenty Gs you’ll ever make. I hope you left him with a smile on his face.”

Maria didn’t respond with words, but the look on her face said it all. She’d had a pretty good time, probably better than she’d expected—or at least faster. Sure, she did have to ride four hours upstate with me, but at least she didn’t have to do it on her back.

She was still looking down at the envelope, but her expression had changed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “It’s all there. You can count it if you like.”

She opened the envelope and flipped through the money halfheartedly. “This is wrong.”

“No, it’s not. I counted it myself.”

“No, I don’t mean that.” She handed the envelope back to me. “I mean I can’t take this, Orlando.” She turned her body toward the door—as if turning away from the money—and stared out the window. “Remy’s gonna kill me.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“I don’t either.” She turned back to me. “Have you ever just felt this strong connection with somebody? You don’t know what it is or why. You just feel it.”

Instantly, Ruby entered my mind. “This might surprise you, Maria, but yeah, I have.”

“Well, that’s what I felt with your brother. So, you understand why I can’t take the money.” She gazed out the window as she spoke. “There’s just something about him. He’s not like any other man I’ve ever been with... anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Yeah, that’s my brother,” I said with a proud smile on my face. “Mr. Charming.”

She looked at me. “Then can I ask you something? A favor.”

I nodded.

“Would you mind if I saw your brother again? No charge. I’ll come see him every week. Bring him money, whatever it takes.”

“Are you serious?” For a minute I couldn’t imagine anybody being sprung like that, but once again, Ruby entered my mind.

BOOK: The Family Business

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