by Carl Weber
Chippy
57
“Is it almost ready, Grandma?” Paris’s son, Jordan, asked as he hopped in the kitchen.
I stirred the pot of homemade sauce. “Almost, baby. Just a few more minutes. Aunt London is making the salad.”
“Ewwwww, salad.” London’s youngest daughter, Ria, as we called her, was right on Jordan’s heels. She turned her nose up. “Grandpa says salad is rabbit food.”
“Girl, don’t even try it. You love salad.” London laughed as she cut up vegetables. “Your grandpa loves it too.”
“Yes, he does.” I smiled.
“Can I have a carrot?” Jordan asked. “I like rabbits.”
“Here.” London handed both children a carrot. “Now, go wash up and get ready.”
“What do you say?” I asked.
“Thank you,” they said simultaneously.
As I turned to take the pot of noodles off the stove, I heard the front door opening, and a few seconds later, Rio’s voice.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Uncle Rio!” Jordan yelled.
“Jordan, what did I tell you about being so loud?” I warned, my attention still on the hot stove.
“Whoa! It’s two Uncle Rios,” Ria said.
“Cool,” Jordan said.
“Rio, who is—?” London stopped mid-sentence. “Oh my God. Talk about creepy.”
I finally looked up to see what she was talking about. Sure enough, standing near the doorway was Rio and another man who looked exactly like him with a mustache and goatee. The resemblance between the two was so strong that it was scary, and if I hadn’t given birth to Paris myself, I would’ve thought that it was his twin brother.
“Ma,” Rio said. “Uh, this is Roman. He’s my, uh, brother.”
“What do you mean, your brother?” I asked, the pot of noodles now in my hand.
I knew damn well LC didn’t have a baby with some other woman and now his indiscretion came home to roost. Surely, that couldn’t be what was happening. But there was no doubt this boy was related to the Duncan family somehow. Anyone with eyes could see that.
Rio swallowed so hard that I could see the movement of his Adam’s apple. “He . . . he’s your son.”
I frowned. “Rio, I don’t know what kind of mind game you’re trying to pull here, but I don’t have time for your foolishness. You two do look alike, though.”
“It’s not a game, Ma.” Rio stepped closer.
Something inside me understood that this moment was huge, but I was still resisting it. “Stop, Rio.”
“He really is your son. You didn’t give birth to twins when you had me and Paris. You had triplets.”
“Rio, that’s not funny, and this is a horrible joke,” I said, fighting against the awakening that was happening inside of me.
He shook his head. “It’s no joke, Ma. He was born the same day as me and Paris in the same hospital.”
My knees began to wobble, and the pot slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor with a loud clang. The hot water splashed all over, and I felt a few drops scalding my bare ankles, but I couldn’t move.
“Ma!” London grabbed me.
“Grandma!” Ria gasped.
“Ria, Jordan, go upstairs. I’ll call you when dinner is ready,” London ordered the children.
“But—”
“Now!” she growled, and they scurried out the door, both of them still staring at their uncle and his duplicate as they passed.
“Mom, come and sit.” London touched my arm.
“I don’t want to sit.” I snatched away. “I want to know what your brother is talking about.”
My eyes went from Rio to Roman, who was still silent. Other than the hair color, they looked identical. But there was no way I could’ve had three babies. Granted, it was a difficult birth, but that’s something I damn sure would’ve remembered. How could I have given birth to a son and not have known?
“His mother—well, the woman who raised him, was the nurse in the delivery room,” Rio explained. “Her name is Margaret Johnson.”
“Margaret Johnson,” I repeated. I remembered her very well, because she was so nice. She took excellent care of me the entire time. I vaguely remembered LC even offering her a tip after the delivery.
“After you had me and Paris, you were sedated and didn’t even realize you had another baby. She took Roman right after you pushed him out,” Rio said.
I closed my eyes and tried to recall everything that happened that day—the birth, the exhaustion afterward, and then Margaret helping me while no one else was in the room. I’d had a bowel movement, and she cleaned me up. Or had I? It was such a long time ago, but could it have been possible that it was another baby I’d pushed out?
“Who told you all of this?” I asked.
“My mother.” Roman finally spoke. “A little while ago, before she died.”
“Margaret is dead?” I whispered. “And she said all of this?”
“She did, Ma,” Rio confirmed.
“Oh my God,” London said. “This is crazy.”
“So, you’re my son?” I stepped closer to Roman, and my eyes met his. I searched deep within them, hoping to see something that would somehow confirm this revelation. But I only saw hurt and confusion.
“I guess.” He shrugged.
My hand trembled as I reached out and touched his handsome face. It was a face that LC and I had created, a child I’d birthed without knowing and who had been stolen from me. I had another son. We had another son. Another Duncan. A missing link of our family that we didn’t even know existed. My heart leapt, and tears began to fall from my eyes.
“Ma, is this for real?” London’s hand was on my shoulder.
“It’s real,” Rio told her.
“Roman.” I said his name, then wrapped my arms around him. “My son.”
“What’s going on here?” Paris walked in the kitchem. “Why is Jordan upstairs talking about he has two Uncle Rios? And Ma, why are you crying? Whoa . . . who the fuck is that?”
“Paris, this is our twin brother, Roman,” Rio said.
“Get the fuck outta here.” She laughed.
I let go of Roman, and we turned to face her. As she stared at Roman, I could see the same look of shock and confusion on her face that had been on mine and London’s a few minutes earlier.
“It’s true, Paris. It appears this is your brother,” I told her.
“Looks like you’re gonna have to share that Wonder Twin title with someone else now, huh?” London smiled. “Wait until Daddy hears about this.”
I thought about LC, who’d gotten on a flight hours earlier. I needed to tell him, but this wasn’t a conversation that could be had over the phone. Our son was home, and he needed to see this for himself.
LC
58
I felt like I was part of a scene in an action film as I rode in Roscoe’s squad car. There had to be at least twenty other law enforcement vehicles from different jurisdictions around the South, in addition to the one Vegas and I were riding in, all traveling with lights flashing. We had no time to spare because there was a strong possibility that the suspects had been given a heads up, and if that happened, then they were sure to be long gone by the time we arrived. I glanced at the infamous PRIVATE PROPERTY sign that was pointed out the last time I visited. The procession of vehicles surrounded the front of the house and most of the outlying buildings. Within seconds, we were out of the car, waiting.
“What in the entire fuck is going on here?” KD yelled as he came rushing out of his front door and onto the porch.
I was relieved to see that he was home. No one had warned him in advance.
“KD, we’re here to bring you in.” Roscoe walked toward the house.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind, Roscoe? You take another step and I’ll put a bullet in your skinny ass.” He reached for his gun, aiming it at Roscoe, who continued toward him.
“You don’t wanna do that.” Roscoe jerked his thumb over his sho
ulder. “These boys are itching to take you out.”
“And just what do you call yourself arresting me for?” KD asked.
“For the murders of Sheriff Derrick Hughes and Sheriff Andy Wilkins,” Roscoe countered.
KD began laughing uncontrollably, as if Roscoe had told him the funniest joke he’d heard in decades. His fat belly jiggled, and his face turned fire engine red. After a few moments, he regained his composure and dabbed at the tears in his eyes.
“Is that right? Well, Roscoe, first of all, what makes you think I had anything to do with that? If they’re even dead. Because last I checked, them boys was missing. You find their bodies?”
I couldn’t listen to that smug bastard another moment. I stepped out of Roscoe’s car and held up a manila envelope. “We’ve got proof, motherfucker, and you’re going to jail.”
“I swear, LC, you must have some sort of crush on me or something. I have women I’ve fucked that don’t come around as much as you.”
I opened the envelope and took the pictures out, one by one, throwing them onto the porch. “You can’t talk your way outta this.”
His eyes went to the photos at his feet, and I saw his amusement fade fast as he realized what he was looking at. The pictures had come from the jump drive Johnny gave Vegas before he was killed. Somehow, he’d captured images of KD, Tyler, and two other state troopers standing outside Derrick’s vehicle. There were additional pictures of Derrick and Sheriff Andy Wilkins’ dead bodies in the back seat, and a full photo account of the car, from being loaded onto the back of a flatbed to it being dropped off at a recycling yard.
“What’s going on out here?” Tyler stepped out onto the porch.
“These pictures don’t prove shit. Anybody can use Photoshop these days and make it look incriminating.” KD kicked the pictures.
“We also have an eyewitness,” I told him.
One of the officers opened the back door of his cruiser, and out stepped Herman Cooke, who owned Morningstar Recycling and Scrap.
“It’s over, KD,” Herman told him. “They know everything.”
“You stupid—” KD went to step off the porch and nearly fell, but Tyler caught him.
“Tyler Shrugs, KD Shrugs, you’re both under arrest for the murder of Sheriff Derrick Hughes and Sheriff Andy Wilkins.” Roscoe instructed a couple of his deputies, “Cuff them and read them their rights.”
“You’d better not touch me, boy!” KD screamed as the deputies hopped onto the porch and handcuffed him and his son.
As they were led past me, KD turned beet red. “You uppity nigger. This is all your doing, but you’re gonna pay for this.”
“No, you are. Derrick was a nice young man who didn’t deserve to die.” I stared at him. “You didn’t even have the decency to allow his family to bury him, you bastard. I hope this time, you rot in jail.”
“Don’t worry, Daddy. We’ll be home before dinner. And trust me, there’s gonna be hell to pay for every last one of these pricks,” Tyler yelled as they were putting him into the back of the car.
Once they were taken into custody, we got back into Roscoe’s car and continued farther onto the property until we arrived at a set of buildings. Roscoe had already secured a warrant, and he and his men hurried inside.
“What do you think they’re gonna find in there, Pop?” Vegas asked me.
“I’m afraid to even think about it.” I sighed. “I’m hoping it’s not like a damn morgue in there with body parts all over the place.”
Roscoe and his guys came out, looking a little perplexed.
“What did you find?” I asked when he walked over to us.
“Nothing really. Just a whole bunch of storage spaces and enough canned food to feed an army. We’re gonna check out the other building. I’m wondering if what that guy told you was true, because right now, it looks like nothing major.”
“There’s no way Johnny was lying. He was scared shitless, and he couldn’t have made this up,” Vegas said.
“Sheriff, you need to get over here!” a deputy yelled at the top of his lungs.
Roscoe took off toward the second building. A few minutes later, a nurse was brought out. Then came a guy in a chef’s uniform, and another one in a white lab coat. All of them were in handcuffs.
“Guess they found the morgue,” Vegas whispered.
Then, the door opened again, and a line of women were escorted out.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
“Pop, how many are there?” Vegas asked.
“Looks like at least a hundred.”
A short while later, a few ambulances pulled up, and Roscoe finally emerged and directed the EMTs inside. “There’s a few in the back. They’re hooked up to some kind of IVs.”
“So, Johnny was right?” I asked Roscoe.
“He was. Looks like KD has been providing care for these women and then harvesting whatever folks need. It’s like a hospital and a spa in there at the same time. If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have believed it,” Roscoe said. “I’ve made a call to the FBI. We’ve gotta get them involved, because this shit is way above my damn pay grade.”
“I feel you,” I told him.
My cell phone began ringing, and I took it out of my pocket. “Excuse me. I have to take this.”
“LC, I need you to come home.” It was Chippy.
“Okay, love. We’ll be heading to the plane in the morning.”
“No, LC. Leave now and come straight home.” There was urgency in her voice.
“What’s wrong, Chippy?”
“I can’t answer that question right now, but we’ve been married well over thirty years, and you know me well enough to know that if I tell you to come home immediately, then it must be important,” she said. “Lavernius Duncan, I need you to come home now.”
I didn’t have to give it a second thought. “I’m on my way.”
“Pop, what’s wrong?” Vegas asked.
I turned to Roscoe and said, “I need someone to get me to my jet right now. I’ve gotta get home to my wife.”
Roscoe looked at me for a second, then tossed me his keys. “Leave the door unlocked, and don’t forget to let me know where you park it.”
It was full speed ahead as I drove to the hangar. I had no idea what had my wife so vexed, but I knew I had to find out in a hurry.
Epilogue
“We good?” Vegas asked his son, Nevada.
It was a crisp, sunny fall day, and they were both looking dapper in their Italian leather shoes, expensive slacks, and cashmere overcoats. Standing on a hill in Central Park, they took in the spectacular foliage after lunch, and then a leisurely walk in the park with their better halves. It was amazing to Vegas how much his son had matured in a few short months.
“I think so,” Nevada replied. “What other choice do we have?”
“None, but that doesn’t mean you have to accept it.”
“I love you, Dad, just as much as I love being here,” Nevada replied. “I want you both to be happy, and this is the only way.”
“For now,” Vegas replied.
“Happy birthday to you . . .”
They turned to see Marie and Kia walking up the hill, singing. Kia was holding a single cupcake with a candle. She’d been waiting to surprise Nevada for the entire day. And surprise him, she did. He could not help but blush.
“Blow out the candle,” Kia urged.
His happiness was evident from the wide smile that covered his face after he extinguished the candle.
Vegas and Marie walked down the hill to give the couple a few minutes of privacy.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Kia said, removing the candle from the cupcake. “Here. It’s strawberry shortcake, your favorite.”
“I’m glad you came.” Nevada placed a hand on her hip. She began feeding him pieces of cake. “Having you here has made this the best birthday ever. I’m sorry it’s coming to an end.”
“Me too. I’ve missed you.”
“I miss
ed you too. I wish this date would never end.” He closed the gap between them, but then tensed up when he heard her phone chime an alert.
She frowned at the text message. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a client in an hour.”
“How is old Bob?” Nevada teased.
“He’s good. He put my sister on his company insurance. Otherwise, I’d blow him off.”
“It’s okay. We’ve gotta go soon too.”
“You know, he’s very jealous of you.” She laughed, leaning against Nevada.
“He should be, because I’m getting something he’s not.” He chuckled happily, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.
Kia put her arms around his neck, and her mouth opened slightly to welcome his tongue. They enjoyed the warmth and passion until he finally released her.
“I could kiss you all day,” she sighed with a dreamy look in her eye.
“Tell me about it.”
She kissed him again, sweetly this time, just her lips against his.
“Kia,” Marie called. She had gotten the same text message.
She gave him another quick kiss. “I’ll FaceTime you tonight.”
“You better.”
She walked toward Marie, who kissed Vegas goodbye before the two women exited the park.
Vegas returned to Nevada’s side. “Everything good?”
“Everything’s great. They’re probably waiting on us. You ready to go?”
Vegas gave him a thumbs up, and they walked in the opposite direction toward the Thompson Television building.
“Where have you been? What took you so long?” Consuela asked when they walked into the lobby. Nevada silently kissed his mother’s cheek, allowing his father to speak.
“It is my son’s birthday. We were spending a little father and son time together.” Vegas kissed her on the other cheek. “Come on. They can’t start without us.”
Consuela linked an arm into each of theirs, and they entered the main studio of the television station. They spotted Sasha and Junior, who were already seated. Nevada sat beside his uncle and looked onstage at his grandparents, Aunt Paris, Uncle Rio, and his new uncle, Roman. They all looked nervous. Video cameras were strategically placed throughout the room, and the production staff made last-minute adjustments.
