Authors: Eric Pete,Carl Weber

The Family Business (23 page)

BOOK: The Family Business

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“Dead serious,” Maria replied.

“Okay then, no, Maria, I don’t mind at all,” I said without hesitation. “But now I need your help.”

“Whatever you need,” she said.

“Can you set me up with Ruby? I tried going through Remy, but your brother is trippin’, talking about he can’t, all the while trying to pitch another girl at me. I don’t want another girl. I need... I want Ruby.”

A look of disappointment crossed her face. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Remy can’t either. Ruby wasn’t cut out for the business. She was simply paying off her brother’s debt. With your help, she paid it off a lot quicker than any of us thought possible.” Maria shook her head. “What some people will do for family. But I don’t blame her. I’d do anything to keep my brother alive too.”

Rio came to my mind. “Yeah, me too.”

“Just do it, Daddy,” Paris said as I held my .38 snub-nosed revolver to her head. “If I’m that much of a burden, just pull the damn trigger and get it over with.”

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. My usually steady hand began to tremble as I stared in my little girl’s face. Taking a life, although necessary sometimes, was never as easy as it seemed; and this was my baby girl, not some thug I was trying to keep in line, which made it so much more difficult. Nonetheless, just as I helped bring her into this world, I was prepared to take her out—or so I’d thought before now. Why couldn’t she have just done as she was told?

“Pop!” I heard Junior shout from the other side of the room. “Pop, no!”

“You’ve really fucked things up, Paris,” I said.

I heard the sound of Junior’s footsteps as he rushed toward us. They stopped, though, when I commanded, “Junior, you fucking stay out of this!”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t handle you the same way I would anyone who crossed me.” I pressed the barrel of the gun deeper into the flesh of my baby girl’s forehead. If she had just followed directions, I wouldn’t be standing here, struggling with the decision I had to make: kill my own flesh and blood, my favorite daughter, or let her live, which meant Rio would surely die. I was losing control not only of my business, but of my family as well.

“Because... you love me. And I’m still useful to you. Please.” Although she was pleading, it wasn’t out of fear. Not fear of death, at least. I remembered seeing this in her even as a small child. Paris had always been afraid of displeasing me. That child lived to win my approval, and it led her to be one of the best at what she did. “Give me another chance, Daddy. I won’t prove you wrong.”

Paris looked in my eyes, and I was transported back in time to the day she was born. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and as the years passed, she just became more beautiful. How in the world could I take such beauty away? I paused, with my finger resting on the trigger and my hand trembling even more.

“Daddy?” she called out. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I asked with a voice somewhat weaker in tone. I eased up on the barrel just a little bit. I let her take a breath.

“Why what?” she asked with sincere puzzlement.

“Why did you have to make this so hard, Paris? You think I want to do this? Huh?”

She shook her head, blinking her eyes to dissipate a tear before it slipped free. Its presence seemed to anger her. I knew my baby girl. She didn’t like to cry unless it was planned. Crying equaled weakness, and she detested weakness, especially in herself.

“Pop, dammit, someone’s coming!” Junior called out.

I finally looked in his direction just as a dark sedan rolled into the warehouse and two men jumped out.

An ambush. Shit.

“FBI! Drop your weapons and put your hands up! Now!”

FBI. Double shit.

“How can I help you fine gentlemen?” I called out, quickly placing my revolver back under my jacket and trying to will my hands to stop shaking. If I’d given in to my anger and shot Paris, this scene would have been very different.

“You can help yourself to a jail cell, LC Duncan,” the one I would peg as the lead agent replied. His gun was pointed directly at me, and his partner’s was pointed at Junior. Clearly, they knew who was in charge. Of course, our men had their guns drawn on each of the Feds. “Now, tell your fuckin’ thugs to drop their weapons and nobody has to get hurt. We’ve got a whole team on the way.”

“Fine, but let me see some badges first,” I yelled back. They were wearing FBI windbreakers, but that didn’t mean shit. They looked at one another, then moved their jackets aside to expose gold badges and IDs attached to clips. Thank God our weapons were legal and we’d already removed Alejandro’s men’s bodies. The blood on the walls, however, was going to take some explaining. For now, I preferred to think of it as a mere technicality for Harris to handle, nothing more.

“Good enough for you, old man?” the other one called out. “We really don’t want to do this the hard way, do we?”

Paris slowly rose to her feet, while I nodded for my men to obey the agents. They begrudgingly dropped their weapons. Squinting into the sunlight that was peeking through the warehouse skylights, Paris began ambling toward the agents in an unsteady manner.

“Paris, stay put, dammit,” I ordered under my breath. “I have this under control.”

That damn girl was ignoring me again. Now a part of me was wishing I’d shot her ass when I had the chance. She was going to make dealing with her that much easier when this was all said and done.

The agents yelled for her to stop but kept their guns trained on Junior and me.

“He... he was trying to kill me! You have to help!” she cried out, rushing toward the agents.

“Paris!” I yelled. Betraying me. My own flesh and blood. Shame on me for showing weakness and not doing what I should have. I couldn’t believe that of all my children, she was the one turning on me. As angry as I was, my heart was breaking.

“Miss! Move aside!” the two agents shouted in unison as Paris put herself between them and me, directly in the line of fire.

She was jumping around hysterically, screaming, “Please don’t let them kill me!”

“Ma’am, shut the hell up and move out of the way!” the lead agent growled, coming from behind the boxes that partially shielded him. His gun was no longer trained on me.

When he approached Paris to shove her aside, she tumbled forward, pulling a hidden Taurus .32 from under her skirt. She placed a single shot through the back of his skull, sending a fine red mist spraying out of the chasm that was once the front of his forehead. His partner hesitated, deciding now that Paris was more of an immediate threat than my men. By the time he’d trained his gun in Paris’s direction, his partner was falling over, deconstructed, face-first. When he squeezed off at her, she was no longer there.

Dropping to one knee, Paris leveled two quick shots, one missing, but the second catching the agent directly through the bottom of his jaw and exiting his skull at an odd angle. He collapsed, slumped over his car door, blood flowing down its dark painted surface before collecting in a dark puddle amid the dirt on the ground.

Paris walked over to both bodies, calmly examining them as we ran over.

“What the hell is wrong with you? It’s not bad enough that you’ve killed your last couple of boyfriends? Now you’ve resorted to killing Feds?” I yelled with more anger than I thought possible.

“Nope. I’d never be that stupid,” she responded with a wicked smirk so typical of her.

“What the hell are you talking about? First, you kill Miguel; then you kill not one, but two Feds, and now you stand here and say that you didn’t? Have you lost your motherfucking mind?”

“Daddy,” she said, still as calm as if we were discussing the weather. “Those aren’t Feds. Those are hit men. Look at their shoes and their guns.”

Junior and I both looked down at the bodies to see what she was talking about.

“Those are hard-bottom shoes, Daddy. What Fed do you know wears hard bottoms? And I don’t know any Feds issued TEC-nines as their service revolvers.”

I bent over and studied the guns. I’d be damned. That girl was right. They weren’t Feds. She had saved our lives and her own ... for now.

Orlando

“You okay, man?”

After about eight hours of calling, I finally reached Rio. I’d never been so happy to hear his voice, to know that he was alive and well. I’m not going to lie; I’d pretty much written him off when he didn’t answer the phone last night. I had a sick feeling in my gut every time his voice mail picked up—probably the same way Alejandro was feeling every time he asked to speak to Miguel and was denied. So, hearing my brother’s voice gave me some relief, though I wouldn’t truly be satisfied until he was back on the East Coast, safe and sound, eating my mom’s home cooking.

“I’m doin’ all right,” Rio replied in his typical laid-back, “everything’s good” tone. I wasn’t sure if everything was really okay or if it was for show, just so those sons of bitches couldn’t sense fear in him. He had to be scared. I knew I’d be scared if I was in his position, but at least I’d had some training. This type of shit was far from his usual job description.

“Have you seen Alejandro? Is he treating you all right?” I asked.

“Yeah, I seen the man, and his people ain’t treating me bad. At least not yet,” Rio answered. “I’ve had men treat me much better, though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I chuckled, only because he was trying to make light of the situation—and I damn sure needed a light at the end of the tunnel.

“I hear you, man. So, what’s the weather like out there in Cali?” It might seem strange that I was making small talk at a time like this, but I was still trying to get a sense of what his situation was without asking him outright. I had no idea who was surrounding him as he spoke.

“Sunny skies, palm trees. Just like a postcard, bruh,” he replied. “Only the postcard’s written in blood—my blood.”

Okay, so now I knew he was alone and we could talk openly.

“Look, man, don’t talk like that. We’re gonna have you home in a flash.”

“I hope so,” Rio said. “To tell you the truth, Alejandro is getting a little antsy. He keeps making slick-ass comments out the side of his neck about my well-being.”

I tensed up. “Comments like what?”

“Never mind all that,” Rio replied. “Just tell Pop to let him speak to Miguel, for crying out loud. I’m sure that will calm his happy ass down some. I know he’s stubborn, but what’s a five-minute phone call just to make the playing field even?”

Fuck! I lowered my head. A phone call wasn’t asking too much—if only Miguel was alive to do any talking.

I didn’t have the heart to tell my baby bro that Miguel was dead, so I said, “I’ll see what I can do.” And I wasn’t lying, either. Not only was I going to see what I could do, but damn it, I was going to do it.

“Thanks, Orlando, man. I know you’ll come through for me. Pop didn’t choose you to be in charge for nothing.”

That one last vote of confidence nearly crushed me as the phone went dead. Now, if I was any kind of brother or leader of the family business, then I had to see to it that the phone line was the only thing that went dead.

“So, how is Rio?”

I turned to look up at Paris, who was standing next to me impatiently, waiting on word about her twin. Harris was sitting on the sofa across from us, and Junior stood behind him. I’d asked them to come in right after the old man left for the office. I thought it might be a good time to hear everyone’s honest opinions of our situation without Pop’s presence looming over them.

“Rio made it and he’s alive is all I can really say,” I replied.

“What do you mean, he made it? Where is Rio?” London asked as she strolled into the room. We all turned to Harris, because from her reaction, it was obvious he hadn’t told her a thing.

“Rio’s in California with Alejandro,” Harris said calmly, as if this were no big deal. “He was supposed to be a gesture of good faith while we held Miguel.”

London stopped in her tracks, and I watched the expression on her face quickly go from shock to anger. “How’s that working out for you now that Miguel’s dead?” She turned toward me. “Y’all gonna get that boy killed. Does Momma know about this?”

“No, and no one is going to tell her anything until we get him home,” I warned.

The tension in the room was terrible. Everybody was on edge, and Paris was the first to let it get the best of her. She got up in Harris’s face and screamed, “You coulda talked Daddy out of this!”

Thankfully, Harris kept his emotions in check. “We’re not all as persuasive with him as you are, Paris.”

“This is not his fault, Paris. This could all have been avoided if
someone we know
hadn’t killed Miguel,” I said.

“What! You shot Miguel?” London glared at Paris, who looked like she was about to break down in tears. Then London turned to Harris and let him have it. “Another secret, huh, Harris? I’m getting sick of all this mystery lately. What the fuck is up with you not telling me things?”

Harris started to get up off the sofa, until London said, “Oh, really? You gonna show out in front of my family? I dare you.” He sat right back down.

“I wasn’t trying to worry you,” Harris offered weakly as an explanation. There was definitely some unspoken shit going on between these two, but now was not the time to address it.

“And what would you recommend?” I yelled, turning my attention back to Paris. “Just go bat-shit crazy and start blazing on them?”

“Maybe. I dunno,” she said, still smoldering. “But I’m not going to let him die.”

Junior pounded his fist on the table, silent until now. “Shit! Y‘all some fuckin’ kids! I got my boys out there on these streets, feelin’ heat, and we got no answers! Is this how it starts? The end? Everything we worked so hard for? Damn.”

“We might not be alone in this situation,” Harris noted, using his most lawyerly tone. As usual, he’d calculated things and waited for the right time to offer his input.

“We’re listening,” I said, moving around Paris to better address my brother-in-law. “Spit it out.”

“Others have expressed to me that they’re feeling pressure too.”

“From?” I pressed.

“Mexicans.”

“Shit,” Paris cursed a half second before Junior.

“And that they’re actively trying to cut out the middleman here,” Harris continued.

“Using our shipment,” Junior muttered as he shook his head.

“The people that expressed this to me want to speak with LC.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The Italians. Sal Dash and them.”

“And why did they pick you to speak with?” I was suddenly curious as to what else my brother-in-law hadn’t shared. Maybe I would have to keep a closer eye on him.

“Being a lawyer in this city, I guess they felt approaching me might result in a less violent reaction than from one of you,” he replied.

Part of me wanted to punch him in the face for his arrogance, but he did have a point. Even Junior shrugged his acknowledgment of the facts. “You believe them?” I asked Harris.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a lawyer. You deal in lies twenty-four/seven. You can’t tell if they speak with
forked tongue?
”

“No. I haven’t spoken with Dash,” he said, ignoring my insult. “Mainly a go-between, one of his errand boys. Sal wants to speak with LC—family head to family head.”

I took a moment to assess the body language of the three of them—Harris, Paris, and Junior. If we still had anything left, I would have to learn to depend on these three. “Okay,” I decided. “I’ll tell LC. Make the meeting happen, counselor. Right away, but on our terms. We don’t need any more fake Feds showing up, trying to take us out. If this is a setup, it’s on your head, brother-in-law. And family or not, I mean that literally. It’s on your head.” I tried to give Harris my best LC glare.

“If what the Italians say is true, then Rio is as good as dead,” Paris pointed out, and a noticeable pall fell over the room.

I needed to keep everyone focused on the business at hand, before our worst fears paralyzed us.

“Junior, find our shit. Or at least find out who has it. Do whatever you need to do. We’ve played nice for too long. Duncans don’t do nice. It’s time to remind the streets of that.”

I turned to my sister and continued handing out orders. “Paris, get a small team together. Discreetly. We need most of our people here, but you’re going to L.A. If I’m wrong and things get royally screwed with Alejandro, I’ll deal with it. But this...,” I said, thumping my finger on the table for emphasis, “this ain’t happening to my brother. Our brother.”

“Did LC approve of this?” she asked.

“No. And maybe you can get some shopping in on Rodeo Drive when this is all over. Isn’t that why you’re going? Just another shopping trip and a chance to see your girls on the West Coast?” I asked coyly.

“What has gotten into you?” she asked, smiling wildly.

“Taking a stand. We have to do something,” I said. “Rio said everything is all right, but I know better.”

“Why? What exactly did he say?” Paris was practically bouncing around the room at this point. She was hyped for a fight. She lived for this kind of high drama.

“Alejandro wants to talk to Miguel. Rio says he’s getting antsy.”

“That’s not good,” Harris stated.

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Paris snapped back.

“We have to do something,” Junior added.

My pulse was racing from the tension and anger that were building up inside of me. I was about to give the order to go over Dad’s head. If only there was a way to get my brother back without risking the wrath of LC. But if I was going to step up and be the head of the family business, then I couldn’t waver in my decision.

Pushing any doubt to the back of my mind, I said, “You damn right we have to do something, and we are.”

“Yeah, right,” Harris said as he stood up. “It goes without saying that I’ll have no parts of going against LC.” On that note, he straightened out his suit jacket and exited the room.

As he passed by, Paris mumbled under her breath, “Bitch ass. To this day I have no idea how London got pregnant by a pussy.”

Junior let out a chuckle. Even London, who would normally set Paris straight, just shook her head.

“What do you think, Junior? We need to get Rio out of Cali alive.”

Junior’s answer surprised me a little. “Orlando, we all know what being a Duncan is about. Risk is just part of the package. I don’t mean to sound heartless, but Rio is no exception. Believe it or not, I’m with Harris on this one.”

I looked to Paris. “What do you think?”

“Well, isn’t anyone going to ask me what I think?”

I turned to see my mother entering the living room.

“Momma? I thought you were lying down,” I said, regretting the fact that we’d held the meeting in the house.

“Well, do you or do you not want to know what I think?” she repeated.

“Of course we do,” Paris said, jumping in. As usual, she was trying to kiss up, but my mother wasted no time putting the freeze on her antics.

“Quiet, Paris,” she shot. “In all honesty, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it weren’t for you and your whorish actions.”

“I know, I know,” Paris said, clearly tired of being reminded. “And I feel like shit.”

“As you should,” Momma snapped. “Your brother may not live through the night because of you. This is all your fault.” Her tone was acid, but she looked like she might cry.

Junior walked over and rested a hand on each of her shoulders. “Relax, Momma,” he said, comforting her. “And of course we want to hear what you think.”

She walked out of Junior’s caress and over to me. “What I think, Orlando, is that you need to see to it that I get my baby home safe.” Her bottom lip was trembling.

“I will,” I assured her. “I’ll go get him and bring him back personally.”

“No. You need to be here to run things,” she said sternly, then turned to face Paris. “You go.”

I didn’t know if she thought it was some type of punishment for Paris, but that was like a Scooby Snack for her. Her eyes lit up, and her bags were as good as packed. “I’m on it,” she said, then immediately turned to go start taking care of her business.

“Hey, wait a minute here. What about Pop?” Junior was trying to be the voice of reason.

“Don’t you worry about your father,” my mother was quick to say. “I’ll take care of him.”

BOOK: The Family Business

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