by Carl Weber
“Wh th hl . . . gth fck uh!” The man sounded like he was speaking gibberish.
I playfully hit his leg with my pistol, and surprisingly, the girl came running to his side. She stopped abruptly, though, when I pointed my gun at her.
“Leave him alone! They wired his jaw shut!”
“I ain’t gonna touch his ass,” I told her with a smirk. “Like I said, I came here to fuck him up, but now I almost feel sorry for him. Karma really is a bitch, huh? She always comes to collect what’s owed when you least expect it. And if she won’t, my momma sure as hell will.” I laughed for the first time since they’d put me in the hospital—maybe because I now had visual proof of how much my family really loved me. I didn’t have to be worried about anything because they always had my back. God, I loved being a Duncan.
“So, who exactly is this guy Roman, and where can I find him?” I asked.
I was really curious about the guy who supposedly looked so much like me that I got my ass beat over his drama. And let’s not forget the fact that I’d found out a few days ago that someone who looked like me ran up a $5,000 tab at my favorite South Beach hotel. I had some questions for this motherfucker, whoever he was.
Vaughn looked at his girl, then at the other guy, who was leaning against the doorway.
“Let’s not everyone speak up at the same time!” I pressed down on Vaughn’s chest bandage.
“Aahhhrrrgh!” He growled through clenched teeth.
“Damn, you see that nigga can’t talk!” hop-a-long yelled.
I raised my gun. “Then somebody better talk for his ass, or you’ll be sipping a juice box for six months right alongside him.”
“All I know is he used to live over there by Yankee Stadium with his momma. They stayed in this orange brick townhouse with a big-ass mural of all the New York rappers on the side of it, but he been moved out from there.”
“His mother still live there?” I asked.
“I guess. Me and him ain’t been cool since we played ball back in high school.”
“If you really wanna find him, find that bitch Kandace. She can tell you all about him,” the girl volunteered. Vaughn rolled his eyes at her, and I could see that she’d struck a nerve.
“And where does Kandace live?” I asked.
“Hell if I know,” she replied. “But her ass works at that strip club Dreams over in Hunts Point.”
“Okay, then. Lemme leave you folks to your misery and go pay her a visit.” I turned to leave, feeling redeemed and confident. “Believe it or not, I like strip clubs.”
KD
26
“KD, this is some of the best fried chicken I’ve ever had,” Patrick mumbled with a mouthful of food. “And the fried okra puts my momma’s to shame.”
“That ain’t shit, boy. Did you taste the catfish yet?” I shoved a forkful in my mouth, savoring the flavor of the well-seasoned fish. He shook his head, and I handed him a packet of hot sauce. “Put a little of this on it and give your taste buds a treat.”
He popped a piece of the fried fish in his mouth.
“Good, ain’t it?” I glanced over at him from my seat in the passenger side of the truck, but he didn’t say a word. The boy was too busy grinning like he was getting his dick sucked. I couldn’t help but laugh, reaching for another forkful of fish to stuff my face.
As good as that food was, I still kept one eye on the restaurant we were parked across the street from, in case Sheriff Derrick Hughes and his merry band of nigger-loving sheriffs decided to come out. We’d used Tyler’s friends in the highway patrol as our eyes and ears and finally caught up to Hughes right outside of Dallas. They’d stopped at Geraldine’s Café, one of the best soul food restaurants in Texas. The tiny place was a popular spot for highway travelers who came from all over for the soul food and homemade pies. After watching the four lawmen be seated, I had sent Patrick in to pick us up some supper.
By the time we finished our peach cobbler, it was dark, and I was stuffed. Hughes and his men were walking out of Geraldine’s around that same time. When they reached their vehicles, Hughes stuck his hand out and shook the hands of the two officers from the car with the Arkansas plates. Then they climbed into their vehicle and exited the parking lot.
Hughes, who had another twelve-hour drive, stretched his long body then opened the door of his sedan and got behind the wheel. The other sheriff slipped into the passenger’s seat. We watched them pull out and head in the opposite direction of their colleagues, prompting me to send a text.
I waited a good ten minutes before we followed, taking the same road as Hughes. There was only one road that made any sense to travel if you were headed to Georgia, so we took our time. Twenty-five minutes later, on an isolated strip of highway, we saw the flashing red-and-blue lights of the highway patrol. We pulled up behind the patrol cars, staying in the truck until Steven and Peter Wildman approached us on the passenger’s side. I rolled down my window.
“They give you boys any problems?” I asked.
“They weren’t happy about us pulling them over, but once Steve explained to them that they were in Texas and had no jurisdiction, they surrendered their weapons and let us take them into custody.” Peter chucked, and so did his brother.
“I bet that Barry White–sounding motherfucker was about bust a damn gasket when you told him he was under arrest for impersonating an officer,” I said, joining in on their laughter. “I’m surprised he didn’t resist.”
“Oh, he thought it about. Until I pulled out my weapon and made it clear I was about to make him a statistic,” Steve snickered. “That’s when his partner started talking about lawsuits and how they were gonna own Texas.”
“All the while handing over his weapon,” Peter said. “I almost felt sorry for them. You know, them being law enforcement and all.”
“Where are they?”
“Handcuffed in the back of their car. You wanna see them?”
“Oh, I sure as hell do,” I told them in no uncertain terms. I had to make sure that the Wildman boys had done the job because this was the first time I’d ever had them do anything on my behalf without Tyler being involved. He didn’t like it, but I’d made my son stay behind in the El Paso area to write tickets so he had a rock-solid alibi. “I wanna make sure that damn nigger knows who’s behind this shit.”
Steven opened the door for me to get out. I left Patrick in the truck, and we walked around to the passenger’s side of the Fulton County Sherriff’s car. I opened the door, and Hughes let me have it with that deep-ass voice of his.
“Shrugs, you son of a bitch, I hope you liked prison, ’cause when I’m finished with—”
“Boy, you ain’t gonna do shit!” He couldn’t finish his sentence because I pulled out my pistol and shot his ass in the chest two times.
Seeing what I did, Steve opened the rear driver’s side door and pumped two into his associate. I closed the car door with a satisfied smirk.
“Collect their cell phones and make sure they’re dead,” I told Pete as I walked to the back of the car.
I waved at the flatbed truck that was approaching with its flashing yellow lights. It pulled up next to me. Johnny Brooks was behind the wheel.
“I need that car on this flatbed in the next five minutes, Johnny. Can you do that without fucking it up?” I asked.
He turned and looked at the car, then back to me. “Yes, sir. No problem.”
“Well, hurry the hell up then. Let’s go.”
He lowered the ramp, and Pete slowly drove the car onto the bed of the truck.
Once it was loaded on and chained down, Johnny looked at me and smiled wide enough that I could count his gold teeth. “Was that fast enough, KD? I told you it wasn’t gonna be a problem.”
“Well, good for you. I’ll buy you a damn ice cream cone when we get back to El Paso. Now, cover that damn thing up with a tarp and secure it good. We don’t want the world to see what you’re carrying.”
Johnny quickly did as he was told, just a
s I knew he would. That’s why I had brought him along. He wasn’t the brightest man I’d ever met, but after the last time he fucked up a run, he knew damn well he’d better follow directions this time.
“Now, you listen to me and listen good,” I said when he came back over to me. “I want you to take this car over to the scrap yard at Magnolia Recycling. You know where that is?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve already called Herman, so he’ll be expecting you. When you get there, I want you to put this fucking car through the compactor twice—no, make it three times. Ya hear me?” I grabbed Johnny by the collar so he understood how serious I was.
He started nodding quickly.
“Good. Now, git.” I pushed him toward the truck.
He didn’t waste any time hopping back into the flatbed and pulling off just as fast as he’d pulled up. I got back into the truck with Patrick and we headed back toward El Paso, while the Wildman boys headed to Louisiana to dump the cell phones in the swamp. I checked my watch, satisfied by all that we’d accomplished in less than fifteen minutes. I had to laugh, wondering what LC Duncan would think if he knew I’d just made his nigger sheriff and his police car disappear without a trace.
Chippy
27
I squared my shoulders and said a quick prayer as I approached the door, reminding myself to remain calm, even though I knew it would be difficult. I knocked softly. After a few moments when no one came to the door, I knocked again, this time slightly louder. I was just about to leave when the door finally opened.
“Grandma!” Nevada tossed his arms around me in a hug so tight that we both nearly fell over.
“God, I have missed you,” I said, hugging him just as hard. I had missed our daily routine ever since Consuela had taken him out of my house. When he was with us, I was in charge of getting him to and from school and all his various activities, so we spent a lot of time together. Now his absence left a hole in my heart. I loved that boy so much. LC had said it many times, but he really was our future—which made it even more important that I completed my mission successfully.
I stepped back to get a good look at him, and my eyes filled with tears. Rio may have been my baby, but Nevada was my heart.
“I missed you too, Grandma,” he said sadly.
“My goodness. I do believe you’ve gotten taller.”
Nevada laughed. “Funny. I’ve only been gone two weeks.”
“I know, but it feels like forever.” I peered at him a little closer. “There is something different about you, though.”
Nevada smoothed his finger across his top lip, where there was a faint, thin line of hair. “Well, I have been growing a mustache.”
“Yes, I can see that,” I told him, squinting to see his imaginary mustache. “Well, can I come in?”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” He stepped out of the way, and I entered the hotel suite.
He whispered, “Grandma, can you talk some sense into my mom? She’s taking me to California tomorrow.”
“Your father told me. That’s why I’m here,” I whispered back.
I looked around, a little surprised by how unkempt the place was. Either the hotel housekeeping staff wasn’t very good, or Consuela was a hot mess. I knew it wasn’t Nevada, because he kept his room at my house orderly and clean.
“Where’s your mother?” I asked.
“She’s in her room getting dressed.”
“Nevada, did you order room service again?” Consuela walked out of her bedroom and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me. “Chippy . . .” There was no doubt from the tone of her voice that she was surprised by my presence, and not pleasantly.
“Hello, Consuela,” I said politely.
“I didn’t know you were coming.” She glanced at Nevada, picking up a few things from the sofa.
“Oh, I was in Manhattan and thought I’d stop by to see Nevada. I’m sorry. Should I have called first?” I purposely put her on the spot. I wasn’t Vegas or Nevada—she couldn’t bully me.
“No, of course not. You’re his grandmother. You’re always welcome,” she said with fake cheerfulness. “Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the sofa.
I sat down, and Nevada sat next to me. She cleaned off an armchair and sat across from us.
“So, what’s this I’m hearing that you’re going to be attending school in California?” I addressed my question to Nevada, but I was looking directly at Consuela.
“He’s going to attend Simi Valley Prep,” Consuela answered for him. “It’s one of the best boarding schools in the country.”
I took a moment to let her words sink in, then I unleashed my attitude. “Boarding school? He’s not living with you?”
Consuela’s eyes darted to Nevada. Obviously she knew at that point we were about to have words. “Nevada, leave your grandmother and me alone so we can talk. Go finish packing.”
“But, Mom—” Nevada started to object, but I shook my head at him. His protests subsided just as quickly as they started. “Yes, Mom,” he said, then gave me a hug and exited the room. He trusted me to handle this.
“You know, Consuela, when Vegas told me you were taking Nevada west, there wasn’t really much I could say. You’re his mother. A child should always be with his mother.”
She nodded as if she thought I was done, but that was far from the last thing I had to say.
“But what the fuck is this shit about boarding school?”
She flinched a little but recovered quickly, firing back with plenty of attitude of her own. “I’d rather have him in boarding school than around Vegas’s whores.”
One, two, three . . . I counted to myself to keep from screaming at her.
“So, this isn’t about Nevada. This is about Vegas.”
“Sins of the father,” Consuela said with a shrug. “I’ve asked Vegas not to have my son around his whores time and time again, but he refuses to listen.”
“Are you talking about Maria?” I asked.
“Sí, la mayor puta, Maria.”
I knew exactly what the word puta meant. It was any ugly slur in any language, and one I didn’t like to hear any woman use against another.
“Consuela, you’re being unfair. You know how much Vegas loves his son.”
“Vegas isn’t fit to be a father to my son,” she said matter-of-factly.
It took everything in me not to haul off and smack her for that comment about my son.
“Unfit? You know that’s not true. You brought Nevada to our home so he could be with us. You knew he needed to be with his father,” I said. “Before you brought him to us, that poor boy was living from boarding school to boarding school and anywhere else you decided to drop him off. You never spent one Christmas, Easter, or Thanksgiving with him. For the past three years, we’ve done nothing but provide stability and love because we are his family. There is nothing unfit about my son or my home.”
She softened her tone just a little. “I’m sorry, Chippy. I was not talking about your home. I thank you for opening your home and all that you’ve done. But I must do what’s best as a mother.”
“Oh, please. You’re doing what’s best for yourself,” I snapped angrily.
Consuela slid to the edge of the sofa. “Don’t blame this on me. It’s your son’s fault.”
“He has more than his share of blame, I’ll admit that, but you’re not innocent in this either,” I told her.
“Me? What did I do?” Consuela stood up, indignant, but I knew it was an act. We were cut from the same cloth, Consuela and I. “He’s the one giving him condoms and trying to make my baby into a man too fast.”
I stood and walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Our eyes met.
“I understand, Consuela. I’m a mother too, remember? It’s hard watching your child grow up sometimes. You want to protect them. It’s your instinct. But Nevada’s not a baby anymore. He’s a young man. He needs his father, whether you like it or not. And we both know Vegas wouldn’t do a
nything to hurt him.”
“What do you want me to do, Chippy? Allow him and the puta free will with my son?” Consuela frowned. “That whore will never raise my child.”
“First, I want you to stop calling her that. Every time you refer to Maria as a whore, you’re teaching Nevada to disrespect women. You expect Vegas to be a good example for Nevada, but what about you?”
Her face softened. “Oh.”
“Second, you’re his mother—nobody else. And I’ll fight Vegas, Marie, and anyone else if they try to say different,” I stated forcefully. “I’m not playing that shit.”
She blinked a few times, looking surprised. “Thank you,” she said.
“You don’t need to thank me. But you and my son need to figure this shit out and get it together. That boy is the future of both of our families, and you are his parents. From now on, you stay at our house, not in a hotel, and I don’t care if Vegas likes it or not. He’s going to have to deal with it because you are family.” I could see that she was finally listening and accepting what I was saying. “Oh, and another thing. There will be no more of this talk about California and boarding schools. That won’t be happening. Forget about Vegas. I am the one who won’t allow it. Do you know how selfish that would be of you to haul him off to California and dump him in a boarding school while you’re off jet-setting to work? Let’s face it, Consuela. We all know that as much as you love Nevada, you are one hell of a businesswoman—a successful one—and you won’t allow anything, including being a mother, to stop you from handling your business.” I stared at her and allowed my words to settle into her mind for a moment.
“Now, it’s Labor Day weekend. Enjoy your time with your son. Talk to him and explain why you’re concerned about him having a condom. But I expect him to be back home in time for school Tuesday morning.”
Consuela took a deep breath, straightened her back, then nodded her head once. “Fine. But I don’t want that wh—” she hesitated. “I don’t want that woman near my son.”
