The Family Business (24 page)

Authors: Eric Pete,Carl Weber

BOOK: The Family Business

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“Been too long, LC. We should see each other more often.” The silver-haired man with the shark-like smile and trademark pocket square extended his arms as if expecting a hug. Behind him were four goombahs I didn’t know.

“I don’t know about that. Last time I saw you, I didn’t plan on seeing you again ... at least alive,” I said, denying him the disingenuous hug he sought for appearance’s sake.

At my side were Orlando, Harris, and Sihad, a trusted soldier. In all honesty, I didn’t want Harris there. His attitude about what we had to do lately had me on guard, but Orlando insisted, because Harris was the one who had brokered the meeting. Orlando had also taken it upon himself to send Paris out of town, due to her unpredictable nature. I’d kept Junior away as a precaution, but he wasn’t far. I had him waiting nearby with his boys, in case the man I was meeting had plans to suddenly increase his numbers beyond the five who accompanied him per the ground rules. It wouldn’t be the first time he had broken the rules, and I wasn’t going to get caught out there.

Our relationship was fragile, to say the least. We’d had some minor business dealings together over the years, and we shared some mutual enemies. There was an understanding that we would leave each other alone, allowing us to conduct our businesses without interference.

Our groups stood face-to-face inside the service bay of my flagship dealership, nothing but tension, disdain, and opportunity sharing the space between us.

“And yet here we are, old friend,” said the nattily clad Italian, whose very voice left a bad taste in my mouth. Sal Dash, the owner of Dash Realty, and his entourage, mostly armed goombahs, had dared to step foot in Jamaica, Queens, rather than scurrying around the other boroughs like cockroaches on the perimeter. I’d closed the dealership down early and sent my employees home with pay, using inventory as an excuse, so we’d be undisturbed and unobserved.

“Harris tells me you wanted to talk. So. Talk,” I urged. Both of us had lost good people in our last flare-up, so it took a lot of self-control not to order a hail of bullets to be pumped into him and his crew on the spot. Still, his daring to meet with me on my terms spoke louder than any gunshot. Sal was either scared, crazy, or desperate.

“We might have a mutual problem,” he said.

“No problems other than a need for more customers on these streets,” I joked. While almost all of us laughed, Harris seemed fidgety, never comfortable with discussing our major source of cash flow. Staying a step or so removed from the nitty-gritty had always worked in both our interests. Still, I made a mental note to keep an eye on my son-in-law in Dash’s presence, to see if anything else should give me reason to be concerned. Something about his demeanor this time didn’t seem quite right.

“I think our mutual problems might lie not with customers, but with product—and its delivery. Capisce?”

“Yeah. I think so. Know anything about an item I’m missing, Sal?” I asked, tired of avoiding the obvious with this Sicilian fuck.

“Only what my people report back to me. Hearsay.”

“And what have they heard?”

“Heard the men who killed your little Dominican Pablo were Spanish-speaking too, but not from around here. Maybe a similar accent is associated with whatever it is you’re missing. Hear that maybe this Pablo had some kind of deal with these folks, but suddenly he wasn’t useful.”

“That’s a big stretch with no proof,” I said, while admittedly intrigued. I needed to end this rumor immediately. If word got out that my men had started making deals behind my back, that would be a sign of weakness, and everyone would start gunning for my operation. This whole situation could turn into an even bigger problem if what Dash was saying was true.

“Unless you have a little more involvement than just hearing things from the sidelines,” Orlando said, entering the discussion to Dash’s annoyance. “Someone tried to kill my father the other day. They were white boys pretending to be Feds. No Spanish accents at all. Know anything about that? I mean... since you’re in such a helpful mood.”

One of Sal’s men, who commanded respect by virtue of his proximity to Sal, tried to stifle a laugh after Orlando spoke. I could not tolerate rudeness and disrespect aimed toward my son on my turf.

“What’s so fucking funny?” I asked him.

The arrogant one exchanged looks with Sal rather than acknowledge me. Another strike against him. One more and bullets would start to fly.

“Control your pup before I put him down,” I said to Sal.

“No. I agree with you, LC. This is serious business, and my son can be an idiot sometimes. Apologize to Mr. Duncan. Now,” he said with a snap of his fingers.

“Sorry, sir.” The young punk apologized directly to me in compliance with his boss’s orders. The words were there, but they didn’t match the feelings behind them. I fixed my eyes on him, imagining giving the order to end his life one day, perhaps one day soon, if I ever saw him again. While he was not a killer, by any means, Harris’s expression told me he shared similar feelings toward Sal’s arrogant son. I made a mental note to add that to the list of out-of-the-ordinary reactions from Harris.

“Harris, is this all Mr. Dash had when his people reached out to you for this meeting? Gossip and rumors? If so, you just wasted my day with this bullshit.”

“No. They insinuated there was more, LC,” my son-in-law offered frantically.

“Sal?” I asked, turning back to my counterpart.

“The Mexicans,” he said. “I’m hearing they’re trying to gain a foothold here, beyond supplying the region. Maybe to cut out the middleman and supply directly. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to become irrelevant.”

“When you say Mexicans, who? Mexican Mafia? Los Zetas? Cali Cartel?” I asked, intentionally omitting someone.

“No. Somebody based stateside, out west. Alejandro Zuniga is his name, I believe. At least that’s what my men tell me. Ever heard of him?”

Sal waited for an answer, but I hesitated. This all seemed a little too coincidental. A little too contrived. I glanced over at Orlando. His eyes told me he was thinking the same thing.

“Tell me you didn’t hit my shipment,” I said.

“No, but this Alejandro’s people offered it to me. I was about to take it when my son Vinnie over here informed me that you’d put out a bounty on that truck,” he said, shark teeth in full view again.

“So you just turned down two hundred ki’s of dope at fire sale prices. Do I look like a fool, Sal?” My blood started to boil, but I needed to keep it under control if I was to get to the bottom of who was fucking with my product. My mind was flying in all different directions. I couldn’t narrow it down; there were too many people who would love to have control of my territory. Too many people who would be willing to do whatever it took. One of those people was standing directly in front of me.

“No, of course not,” Sal insisted. “Why would I want to go to war with you? Look, we may piss each other off from time to time, once in a while, but we’re both successful men with way too much to lose.”

“And a lot would be lost,” Orlando said not so nicely to Sal. He was definitely more assertive than I’d seen him of late. Maybe he’d finally caught on about just how serious running the family business was, and why I did the things I did.

Sal had a point. I didn’t trust him, but why would he risk everything to go to war with us? It would turn out badly for all involved. “Thank you for passing on this information to me. I’ll be in touch, Sal.” We shook hands. I still didn’t trust him 100 percent, but I was feeling a little more cordial than when Dash and his men first arrived.

“Grandpa!” I heard a tiny voice emanating from the dealership floor. Startled, Dash’s men went for their guns, which in turn made us do the same. It looked like we were about to get that standoff after all. As fingers rested on multiple triggers and everyone took aim, Harris, who was unarmed, looked to me to stop things.

“Stop. It’s my granddaughter,” I said, extending my hand toward the men aiming at us, as well as in the direction of Mariah’s voice. “That’s all.”

“Graaaaandpa!” she called out again. It sounded like she was coming closer to the service bay.

Sal’s arrogant son made an odd facial expression, then whispered something to Sal as he lowered his weapon. Sal nodded at whatever was said.

“I don’t want anyone knowing we’re here,” Sal said as he motioned for the rest of his men to put away their guns. “Whoever that is, stop them.”

“No worries,” I said, gesturing to Harris. “Go.” As my men stowed their weapons, he ran to intercept his daughter. He caught Mariah just as she was pulling on the door.

“Grandpa, you in here?” she asked into the dark as Harris embraced her.

“Yeah, Mariah,” I replied, my eyes fixed on Sal. “I’m busy right now. Go with your daddy, and I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Kids. They’ll be the death of us all,” Sal said with probably the first genuine smile of this meeting.

London

When Harris escorted Mariah from the back of the dealership, I was startled to see him. Our daughter had run ahead of me when we arrived, but we couldn’t find anybody at work other than the one employee who let us in as he closed up.

“What are you doing here?” Harris asked, almost whispering. I was wondering the same about him.

“Mariah likes to visit. You know that.”

“Not today,” he said firmly.

“Excuse you? You don’t tell me when to visit my father’s place.”

“Okay, okay. That’s not what I meant,” he said, waving to diffuse the tension. “We have guests. No one’s supposed to be here. No one.”

“We
? You mean LC has guests. When did you get so deep in the business?”

Harris cleared his throat, reminding me that Mariah was listening. I hated to admit that he was right. I knew better than to talk about any of this in front of my child. I was restless as of late, caught up in betrayal, both Harris’s and my own, and it was causing me to be careless.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked, a lawyer’s suspicion keenly alerted. “Damn, London. I’m trying to keep you out of trouble.”

“I was doing just fine before I met you, and I’m doing just fine now,” I snapped as images of Harris’s lipstick-stained shirt came to mind. If I ever came across the bitch who left her lipstick mark, I would beat her ass good. For all I knew there was more than one.

“Something you want to talk about?” he asked in an irritated tone.

“No. I just wanted Mariah to see Daddy.”

“He’s in the bay with Orlando and the rest, but you can’t go in there. Look... why don’t you take our daughter home? This isn’t the place or the time. I’m sure your father will be there soon.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I replied, feeling a little stupid for being so ornery when Harris was only considering our daughter’s safety. “Who’s in there?” I asked as I placed a hand on Mariah’s head to guide her out of this place. I used to know something about how this stuff ran. Now it seemed like I was always the last to know. I wasn’t exactly sure when it happened, but I was becoming an outsider in my own family.

“Italians,” he replied.

It took me a second to react. I heard Italians and thought about Tony. I hadn’t let a man make me feel like a silly schoolgirl since, well, school. He was making me feel alive again. I hated that he’d had to cancel our rendezvous earlier today.

“Dash?” I asked, stunned at the possibility.

Harris nodded.

“I’ll see you at home. C’mon, baby. We’ll see Grandpa later.” Knowing the implications, I hurried Mariah away from the potential war zone.

I drove back to our home in Far Rockaway more uneasy than I’d ever felt. Paris had been sent off somewhere after a whispered meeting with Harris and my brothers. Rio was missing, as far as I knew, and no one wanted to give me a straight answer. Now, after a major drug shipment had turned up missing, my father was meeting with a man he’d rather see dead than breathe the same air with him. Strange times calling for strange alliances—and me being left on the sidelines. I didn’t know what to do. Not only was my husband pushing me away, but now my family might be doing the same. Again, I thought of Tony. He made me feel wanted.

I smiled at Mariah, turning up the volume on her
Dora the Explorer
DVD. The sounds of childhood innocence came from the backseat, while in my mind I worried, with the knowledge that life seemed to be changing for all of us.

Rio

“It has been three days since you arrived here, and we have treated you well. So, I must ask, when you last saw him, how was my son?” Alejandro asked from behind his desk at the auto dealership. Same M.O. as LC, except this place sold Chevys. He was a volume dealer in more ways than one, with lollipop-colored Camaros and big trucks stretching as far as the eye could see on his lot. Alejandro snagged a few cashews from the glass bowl in front of him and plopped them in his mouth as he waited for my response.

“He was good. Said for you to hurry up and get this straightened out. He wants to come home. Misses his mom’s home cooking,” I replied, making up shit off the top of my dome. What kid didn’t like his mom’s cooking?

“Hmm. That’s interesting—especially since she is a terrible cook. Sometimes I question that boy’s sense.”

“Maybe it’s some kind of code he was trying to relay to you. All I know is that’s what he said before I left,” I offered, not missing a beat after fumbling on my ad-lib.

“Perhaps,” he said as he tried to read my bullshit.

“You wanna share what it means, then?” I raised my eyebrows, continuing to perpetuate my game.

“Maybe later,” he said as he attempted to be coy. The pudgy, balding motherfucker was acting like I’d given him some valuable intel, when I’d just pulled it out of the air. Dumb ass. Then that dumb ass got right to the real point of our meeting. “Your father thinks I stole his dope. That I double-crossed him.”

“I’m not an expert on these things, but look at it from his side and you might agree. Why don’t you just give him his stuff back and call it a day? I mean, here I am on the West Coast, and I’m stuck down here in L.A., when I could be in San Fran, partying like it’s 1999.”

“You are young. You’re strange,” he said, making a whistling sound and motioning with his hand in a way I didn’t like. Another homophobe. Just like LC. I was getting sick and tired of being surrounded by people threatened by my sexuality. I was probably more of a man than half these motherfuckers. “I gave your father my word. A true man would understand that should be enough.”

“I know men lie. Gay or straight... if that’s what you’re getting at,” I said, giving back the same wagging hand gesture. “LC doesn’t like this any more than you, and the sooner the two of you can reach a resolution, the sooner I can head back to my fabulous life in New York. And your son can be back chowing down on his mom’s awful cooking.”

Alejandro let out a hearty laugh, not really appropriate for what I’d just said, and suddenly my two escorts appeared in his office. I figured it was a sign of some sort. They’d already frisked me for weapons and removed my phone, so I assumed this might be when my torture or beat down commenced. Give them a chance to get back in the wife beaters they preferred, instead of the suits they were wearing at the moment.

As I contemplated what was to come, all I could think was,
Lawd, not the face. Don’t mess with the moneymaker, gurrl.
Okay, maybe not the most appropriate thought for a time like this, but what can I say? I’m vain.

Alejandro said, “To show you that I don’t run things the same as LC, I want you to enjoy your stay in L.A. Go. Have fun. Wherever you like Except, my men will accompany you, never leaving your side. This is still, after all, a sticky business situation we find ourselves in.”

“Oh. Okay,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. My pretty face—and my life—were safe for now. So then why were these two goons staring me down? If their expressions were any indication, this trip was not going to be all fun and games.

“Despite that, I have to go with my gut,” Alejandro added, downing another cashew, right before his jovial eyes went cold with a menacing glare. “And my gut’s telling me all’s not well with dear Miguel. So, I’m giving LC forty-eight hours to let me speak with my son. I no hear from
mi hijo,
then these two gentlemen will start cutting body parts, and we will send them to LC until I have my son back. Comprende?”

“Si,” I replied casually, hoping to mask my nervousness. In truth, I was scared shitless. LC had better work this situation out in a hurry.

“Good, good,” he said heartily. “Until then, enjoy yourself as my guest. Eat. Drink. Be merry.”

In other words, enjoy yourself as best you can, because tomorrow there’s a good damn chance you shall die.

As scared as I was, I still couldn’t resist playing with my two new best friends a little. “Okay,” I said, “but I hope your boys don’t mind gay bars, because I plan on visiting The Pink Lion, picking up a pretty young thing, and getting laid.”

Both men glanced at each other, then turned to their boss. It was quite obvious they wanted no part of a club like The Pink Lion.

“Take him where he wants to go, but don’t let him out of your sight.”

As Alejandro had promised, they treated me as well as could be expected; but the clock was ticking, and I could feel the pressure mounting as Alejandro demanded answers from LC back in New York. The dirty looks and less than hospitable attitudes of my escorts were evident, and it made me nervous as hell. I didn’t want to die. I tried to console myself with the thought that at least the weather was nicer out here. And the shopping was off the hook! Oh, and all the fine wannabe actors swarming around meant I had plenty to look at to keep my mind off my current predicament.

“Got anything to say?” my de facto chauffeur asked as he pulled the black Suburban with darkly tinted windows to a stop. His eyes were like daggers in the rearview mirror.

I felt as though he was asking me for any last words before I was sentenced to death. “I don’t know what else to say,” I said with a shrug. “I just want to enjoy my stay out here while our bosses have their Doctor Phil moment.”

“Just have your boss turn over Miguel,
puta,
or I’ll be the one to kill you myself,” the more angry one, seated next to me, snarled. It was obvious he’d hacked a body or two in his time.

“If I had that kind of power, I wouldn’t be here with you two handsome gentlemen. Oh, and I’m being sarcastic when I call you handsome. Just so you know. Now... can we go inside, please?”

Before exiting the vehicle, both men were sure to remind me that they were packing.

“Roger that,” I said as I sarcastically saluted. We had parked a block away and made the trek up Santa Monica Boulevard so as not to run the risk of a nosy valet discovering the rest of their arsenal.

“How do you know about this place?” one of them asked as they trailed behind me, hands on triggers, no doubt.

“I heard about it online and always wanted to see it. Somewhere I can have some fun,” I replied, leaving off the unspoken
before I die
. I continued to step lively down the sidewalk. I would play my role and go along with LC’s plan as long as possible, but I had to start thinking about a last-minute escape. The problem was that I was more MacGruber than MacGyver. I guess that was the real reason Pop chose me. If I didn’t make it out alive, the organization wouldn’t lose a beat. That old softy. In my case, it was business before family.

“Fuckin’
maricón,”
one of them muttered when he realized just how out there and flamboyant The Pink Lion was.

“Yo’ mama,” I commented back. “Ain’t been out to West Hollywood much, huh?”

If they weren’t so dangerous, I would’ve laughed at the impotent expressions on their otherwise hardened faces. Rather than enter The Pink Lion, one of the hottest gay clubs in Cali from what my friends had told me, one of my chaperones went for his cell. He probably wanted to call for further instructions.

“They got me,” I said to the doorman, quickly entering. I figured they wouldn’t dare create too much of a scene in front of everybody.

“Uh... they’re at the right place?” the doorman asked as the two Mexicans in suits broke out into a shoving match and started cursing in Spanish.

“Yeah, they’re just having a lovers’ spat,” I lied as he watched the two of them argue. I didn’t speak more than a few words of Spanish, but I assumed they were fretting about catching cooties or something if they followed me inside.

I took in the European-themed interior, bathed in red lights, and observed the couples on the dance floor and the onlookers on the second-floor balcony. If I weren’t so stressed, a pretty brotha like me could do some damage in here. It took all my might not to try to blend into the crowd and escape out another exit; but I was unarmed and alone, so I knew my chances of a successful escape were slim to none. When his men came rushing in, I was standing there waiting on them, acting nonchalant and playing my part in this fucked-up shit.

“This shit ain’t cool, homeboy,” our driver said, looking like he wanted to swing on me just for making him come inside.

“Relax. This ain’t prison, like you’re used to, muchacho. Nobody’s going up in your ass without your permission. And looking like you, you’d have a hard time anyway,” I taunted, so glad I could make them uncomfortable for a change.

“Alejandro said to let you do your thing, but I say we ain’t staying for long.”

“Soon as I find a little playmate for the night, we out. Meanwhile, you guys need to relax while I go get me a drink.”

They motioned for me to go ahead, taking strategic positions, with their backs to the walls, so as to keep me in their direct lines of sight at all times.

“Ciroc and cran. Two of ‘em,” I requested of the bartender over Usher’s “DJ Got Us Fallin’in Love” mixed in with some Swedish House Mafia dance track.

As my drinks were brought to me, I saw a face that didn’t belong. Not because he wasn’t attractive, but because I knew him from New York. Italian boys always caught my eye. It took me a moment to recognize him, but when I did, I took my two drinks, which were originally both for me, and made my way to where he sat.

“Here,” I said as I bumped his arm. “I bought this one for you.”

When he noticed it was me, his eyes lit up. We’d chatted from time to time but never hooked up. Now that I was a dead man walking, I thoroughly regretted it.

“Oh my God! Rio!” he yelled over the music. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting. You know how I do. If there’s a party...,” I joked, maintaining pretense. “And you?”

“Business,” he said with a sigh as he gladly took my drink, giving up on his attempts to get the bartender’s attention. “But I had to slip away. Mix in a little pleasure.” I knew what he meant by “slip away.” From our talks back in New York, I recalled that he was leading a double life, even though we never got too deep into what he did or from whom he hid his true sexual orientation.

“Well, cheers,” I said, clinking glasses with him. For the life of me, I still couldn’t remember my friend’s name, but I continued to smile. It was welcome company, no doubt.

My two shadows grimaced at my flirting, choosing to look away in disdain as long as they knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

“How long you in L.A.?” he asked just as I remembered his name—Martino. At least that was what he’d told me.

“Till tomorrow. And you?”

“Not sure. Waiting on instructions from my boss,” he said, his Long Island accent broadcasting loud and clear from his vocal cords despite the pounding bass in the club.

“Your boss. You sound like a gangster,” I teased, deepening my voice.

“I don’t like those terms,” he responded, looking down momentarily into his glass. “I prefer ‘businessman.’ I ain’t into breakin’ kneecaps ’n stuff. Unless absolutely necessary.”

“Okay, okay. I didn’t know you were dangerous like that, Martino.”

“Does that bother you? That I might be a little dangerous?” he asked sincerely.

“Ooooh, no. I like danger. Like it a lot,” I said with a big grin. “Makes things more interesting. Why didn’t you tell me before?” I reached out and caressed his shoulder and bicep in a reassuring way. Also, I just wanted to touch him and feel his sculpted arms. So sue me.

“Back home I gotta be more discreet. Y’know, my people wouldn’t appreciate my ...”

“Lifestyle?” I said, completing his thought for him. I’d heard the term enough times from my pops.

“Yeah. Not so understanding. And I like livin’, y’know?” he admitted, with a little bit of nervous laughter escaping. It felt like I was his priest or something.

“Well, relax, ‘cause I ain’t tellin’no one. Lips sealed’n all,” I commented, being a bit suggestive at the end.

“Good,” he said with a grin of his own. “Where are you staying?”

“Wherever I choose to lay my head,” I answered, knowing it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Oh, because I was—” Martino stopped mid-sentence.

“What’s wrong?”

“Those two men over there...”

“Where?” I followed his gaze and nearly panicked when I realized that he was referring to Alejandro’s men.