To Paris with Love: A Family Business Novel (The Family Business)

by Weber, Carl

  My heart beat like a nightclub soundtrack while the veins throbbed in my head. I was almost afraid to breathe, worried that even the sweat about to drip off my face would be heard by one of the men milling around us. When? When? I frantically thought as minutes felt like hours. When Niles brushed his hand against mine, I had my answer.

  Now.

  In the darkness, I smiled as all my fear and nervousness dissolved. I gave a hearty yank on the emergency release inside the stuffy trunk where’d we been hiding. We had been using the bullet holes provided by these very same men with whom we were about to get up close and personal to peer out. Niles thrust upward against the trunk with his back, having been pressed against it since we scurried inside. As we popped up like a couple of badass jacks-in-the-box, ready to engage, I was so happy to be free of the tiny, hot space while fortunate that they hadn’t unloaded on our hiding place as a precaution. In unison, Niles and I quickly found targets before they could react. I used my Ruger on the closest one, a Versace-wearing thug who had his foot resting on the bumper while he lit a cigarette. I gave him a light of my own right in the middle of his forehead, his smoke hovering in the air for a moment as his limp body fell away. Niles chose his target well, dropping the boss with a shot into his open, startled mouth less than a second behind me. Simultaneously, we jumped down, fully exposed as we rolled clear of our only shelter. Niles went to the left while I went to the right to cover ground more quickly as there were three remaining.

  Both of us had the idea to go after the biggest threat and we found him: the man with the assault rifle. From both our spots, we had him in our sights, standing three feet in front of the car. Unfortunately, he saw us too and shot first. Niles and I both reacted in time, diving for cover behind the car as rounds flew everywhere. Ducking low, we regrouped as the remaining windows to our car were shot out, pieces of glass raining down around us as he moved in closer for the kill. All this noise was going to bring the other two running as well, so we knew this had to end quick. But either one of us would be nothing but a target if we revealed ourselves.

  So we did something unexpected and improvised. When the shots stopped coming, on the count of three, we came out simultaneously, making him decide with Niles to his left and me to his right. Sexist pig thought more of Niles and his Sig Sauer, aiming at him first. Conserving my ammo, I had my open blade in my hand by then and hurled it overhand as hard as I could. The stiletto was true as it tumbled end over end through the air, finding its mark in his neck just as he fired at Niles, his H&K making a distinct “Brrrraaap!” sound that carried through the quiet grove. My attack only wounded him, yet threw his aim off just enough for Niles to scamper for cover behind the car once again. When the enraged man turned to shoot me instead, Niles returned the favor, running across the top of the car and leaping off its roof while leveling two rounds dead in his chest before landing atop him with a body tackle. What was up with Niles’s “flying through the air” shit? Must’ve thought he was a daredevil or something.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed as Niles gracefully rolled onto his feet near his fresh kill as if a cat.

  “I just wanted to get my hands on his Heckler & Koch before you did,” he softly joked (I think) as he removed my blade from the man’s neck, closed it, and tossed it back to me. “Now . . . stay here,” he tersely instructed.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” I whispered.

  “Hunting,” he answered as he held up two fingers for the stragglers out there amid the trees.

  “But . . .”

  “Paris, listen for once. Stay here and wait for me. Won’t be long,” Niles stressed, now brandishing enough firepower in the form of the automatic rifle he got to before me.

  “Argh! Fucking asshole!” I cursed, clenching my fists. Would serve him right to take one of these cars and leave, but I waited like he knew I would. Random gunfire caught my attention though, leading me to take cover against the undamaged Audi and get my guard back up. Another few shots told me the action wasn’t in our immediate vicinity, but Niles could’ve been flushing the last two back my way.

  When I heard footsteps running toward my position, I trained my gun sight and waited for the little birdie to fly across my path. But a fucking farmer, coveralls and sweaty bandanna around his neck, came scampering from out of the grove instead. Poor thing was so terrified by the suited bodies strewn all around him that he didn’t see me until it was too late. When I saw he wasn’t a threat, I stowed my Ruger.

  “Help me! They are shooting,” he pled in Spanish, pointing back in the direction of where Niles had gone to tend to loose ends. He untied his bandanna and used it to wipe his brow while his eyes darted from body to body.

  “Calm down. Tranquilo,” I said to the wide-eyed, gritty-faced man as I cautiously approached him, still worried we weren’t out of the woods yet until Niles came back alive and in one piece. “These were bad men . . . hombres muy malos. You will be okay.”

  As I reassured the farmer in my terrible Spanglish, Niles emerged from among the trees, moving the leaves aside with the extended H&K, smoke still visible from its barrel. His eyes were cold and his shirt stained with fresh blood as he made a zero with his thumb and index finger, signaling all five were accounted for. Game over, bitches.

  “No . . . no,” the farmer begged as he saw Niles, and began looking for somewhere to run.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” Niles said as he dropped the assault rifle to his side, sliding back into his disarming British accent. “See?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief as Niles’s posture softened. “We have money. Mucho Euros. No speak to anyone, okay?” I said as I motioned with my hands to further calm the farmer.

  “Sí, mi amigo. No problema,” Niles agreed as he placed a hand on the wary man’s shoulder. But it was only to steady the poor soul as he shot him in the head, point blank with the Sig Sauer he’d retrieved from his waistband with his other hand.

  “What the fuck!” I shrieked at Niles, drawing my Ruger on him again as I took a step back in disgust and shock. “He’s a civilian!”

  “Who saw both our faces,” Niles matter-of-factly commented, turning and ignoring my gun, which was aimed at him. To get his attention, I shot once at an olive tree to his right. He didn’t even flinch. “I hated doing it, but had no choice. You think he would really keep quiet?” he asked me, looking back.

  “No,” I replied, relenting. Just because he was right didn’t mean I liked it.

  “Good. ’Cause I ain’t spending the rest of my life in prison. Too pretty for that. Paris, there are hard choices you have to make if you’re serious about doing this kind of work. Now help me.”

  Under Niles’s instruction, I got a crash course in crime scene subterfuge, moving the bodies around and repositioning guns. Did enough to confuse even the best CSI while implicating a poor simple farmer in the mini massacre.

  The final touch was to stuff rags made from his bloody shirt and my ruined jacket in the gas tanks of both cars then set them afire. The fire was bound to spread to some of the fruit trees and maybe the poor man’s home as well. A shame that he’d never again enjoy the literal fruits of his labor.

  As the two of us beat a hasty path across the farmland, amid lemons and grapefruit, one of the cars’ gas tanks exploded, making us look back to acknowledge the cloud of black smoke. Our plan was to cut across the property and intersect back with the main road to town. Niles, sweating in his undershirt, slacks, and dress shoes beneath the hovering sun, recited our story as we briskly jogged over a hill a mile from where we started. “When we get back, just act normal. I’ll say I was with you after the conference seminar. We were in your room having sex, okay?” he stated, rather than asking.

  I stopped running. Niles, so focused on getting his story straight, continued a few steps before noticing I’d even stopped. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he turned around with that “what the fuck” look etched on his face.

  “If we’re going to claim we had sex, might as
well keep it real,” I said with a smile and much more than that blossoming between my legs.

  Hot.

  Sticky.

  Wet.

  Niles went to argue against it . . . before his smile came to match mine.

  “Paris, this place is gonna be crawling with policia. Soon,” he weakly offered.

  “Then you better work your magic quickly,” I responded, lazily cocking my head.

  I tossed my gun and knife aside, after which Niles followed suit.

  As much trouble as he’s gotten me in, the dick better be good.

  Niles

  28

  I put my hand up to block the sun and checked my watch again, calculating how much this unforeseen shit had jacked up my timetable. The job was supposed to be simple. Just a clean hit and get out. Should’ve been long back at the hotel playing my role again, but Kahn must’ve tipped De Banderas’s people off. Turned this into a warzone, which made me not regret offing Kahn’s greedy ass one bit.

  And now this.

  Paris Wimberly.

  Or at least that’s the name she was using. She seemed proud enough of it that it probably was indeed her real name. Amateur move even if she was just on vacation.

  As much trouble as she’s causing me, pussy better be good, I thought as I smiled and disarmed myself, tossing my gun and my karambit blades aside. But not too far away in case I needed to get to them in time. People had different ways of softening up their victims and she might be that fuckin’ crafty.

  But in addition to being beautiful and too sexy for words, Paris had saved my life at least once today. Something I couldn’t just forget . . . or that she would let me forget.

  Girl was still raw, but had skills. Showed promise and had a ton of arrogance to go along with it, which was why I’d never admit how grateful I was for her help. Looked like we had the makings of a good team, and maybe something more if we didn’t kill one another first.

  But here in the Spanish countryside? With too many bodies to count and two burning cars only a mile away?

  Shit. We weren’t even outta the woods yet and she wanted to stop for a quickie?

  “Yo, are we gonna do this?” she asked as she stopped in the middle of slipping off her pants, probably sensing my hesitation. Mmm. Those legs and that exposed ass as she bent over like so could’ve made the spread of many a magazine. But it was those eyes of hers, the desire in them that overwhelmed me. That desire in them I’d dreamt of seeing since first laying my eyes on her. Yeah, she was a New York girl to the fullest; from Queens, not Brooklyn.

  But it would do.

  “Yeah. Why the fuck not?” I replied, already hard as fuck as I unfastened my belt.

  Paris pranced over seductively in her tennis shoes, absent her pants as if unfazed by our surroundings. I’d gotten my slacks and briefs down to my knees when she jumped into my arms, daring me to drop her. I caught her, holding her firmly in one arm while I slid her shirt up for a taste. I dragged my tongue lazily up her taut stomach, her sweet sweat assaulting my senses as she dug her nails into my back as if they were mini versions of that knife she liked to throw. As I took one of her perky breasts in my mouth, Paris kissed around the edges of my ear before purring all raspy, “Brooklyn, go hard.”

  If I wasn’t hornier than a mofo before, there was no question now. I had no snappy comebacks for this sexy bitch because I had a mouthful of titties just then, my teeth masterfully nipping at her lovely, attentive nipples. Paris’s gasps and the forceful thrusts of her pelvis told me I had her gushing as I pulled her close to me, kissing her neck before wantonly giving her my tongue. The two of us stumbled around on the uneven ground, maddening lust overruling caution, until we bumped up against a tree.

  Rather than complain about her back striking the trunk, Paris instead reached up with those toned arms of hers and grasped the branches overhead, wrapping her legs around me as she coaxed me inside her.

  “Hurry,” she panted, her eyes cast in the direction of the billowing clouds of dark smoke for which we were responsible.

  “You’re crazy,” I commented at the sight of her suspended before me as I slid inside, warmth enveloping my dick as I attempted to navigate the strong currents of her lovin’. I moaned with pleasure, ignoring my survival instincts, my training, as I gave in to something more primal deep within me; something longing to escape.

  “Yeah. Crazy for this dick,” Paris grunted as she began bouncing on me, the branches she held relenting then returning in rhythm with the slap, slap, slapping of our bodies.

  I took a hold of Paris’s ass, going more forceful with my strokes as she panted, “Beat. This. Pussy. Up.” Began a tug of war for dominance as she came then came some more all over me, her essence delivered on the winds to my nostrils by my heavy breathing.

  “D . . . damn,” I stuttered, overcome by how good she felt as I tried to push through the moment. Tried to tell myself it was just another shag as I’d gotten used to saying in my adopted English tongue around here. But she had me feeling more punk kid than porn star, more student than stud.

  “Go hard, Brooklyn. Go hard.” Paris giggled with a tease, followed by a grunt of agreement. She relented as I took over our dance, her fingers slipping from their sure grip above as I now controlled her bounding body, matching then surpassing her intensity as she worked her ass cheeks, making them clap to each stroke.

  All talk ceased as Paris wrapped her arms around my neck and held on for dear life, latching those deceptively powerful legs as if to prevent my escape. With that door shut, I forged ahead with my strokes that had her eyes rolling back in her head as she spouted gibberish. I stood strong, holding Paris right there in the moment as I briefly took in her beauty. Admired the curve of her lips, the tip of her nose, the sound of her breath, before letting that which I’d been keeping at bay claim me.

  For the queen from Queens, her Brooklyn came hard, my very being spewing forth as my leg muscles tensed and tightened. As I erupted, Paris held firm, taking control back as she came with me, her dam giving way.

  I was weary and drenched in sweat as I slowly let Paris down, our heat more than that of the afternoon Spanish sun. I watched her, unsure of what to say in this instance.

  Paris replied by quickly picking up her Ruger before even retrieving her pants from off the ground. She had me cut off from my weapons with my slacks around my ankles—literally caught with my pants down. I tensed, ready to accept the double cross that happens in the world in which I live . . . the betrayal that’s just the cost of doing business.

  But Paris didn’t shoot. Keeping her eye on me, she reached down for her pants and her blade.

  “Get your shit. We gotta go. Remember?” she reminded me, that sass and brass having returned despite the smile of satisfaction she couldn’t hide.

  Rio

  29

  Eduardo lent me his Bentley and driver to pick up my boy from the airport. He was working hard to seduce me into staying up in his crib. Shit was fly as fuck! It wasn’t like I wasn’t used to high-end shit but the Euros didn’t play with their flossing. I got out the car when I spotted my favorite DJ coming out the door.

  “What’s up?” DJ PLUS 1NE grabbed me in a bear hug. We went way back. “Fuck, you the mayor of this bitch already?” He motioned to the car and driver who had already collected his bags and put them in the trunk.

  “Working on it.” I laughed. Damn it felt good to get a taste of the States.

  “I’m just doing this thing. Thanks for taking the cut.”

  “Shit, I owe you big time.”

  “Congrats on your nomination. A Grammy, right?” I said.

  “Yeah. Actually two nominations. Who’da thunk it,” PLUS 1NE joked.

  “I always believed in you.”

  “Shit you put me on the map. I’d be back in Nebraska shucking corn if it weren’t for your hooking me up with your connections.”

  Teddy, as I first knew him when he landed in the city post high school, was now one of the hottest DJs
out. I helped put this lanky, introverted white boy from Lincoln in the game by featuring him at some venues and private parties around New York and Jersey. One of the bonuses of having older siblings is that folks let you do shit way before you’re legally permitted. Paris and I got into clubs from the time we were fourteen. They knew not to serve us drinks or let us get high so it was mainly about the beats. We love to get fly and dance. When we turned seventeen we were able to have a drink, maybe some weed. Not legal but that’s what kids our age were doing. Using hardcore anything was off-limits, which I learned the first time I tried cocaine and my brothers busted me. I thought I was acting normal but they saw right through that shit. They explained that weed was no problem but anything that had a high addiction factor was straight-up no. They didn’t have to tell me twice. Helping people throw great parties by introducing them to the next best thing was like my addiction. Folks knew that if I suggested someone that meant they should give them a chance.

  Five years ago when we met, DJ PLUS 1NE had been my running buddy. DJ, for those that don’t know, is really shorthand for dick jockey. Once he started spinning at clubs he had lines of females ready to throw him as much sex as he could handle. When you’re hanging out with celebrities and getting hired for their private events you become a celebrity and by extension so does the chick on your arm. In fact he’d dated more than a few household names but nobody ever locked him down for long. I had a crazy crush on him but his pussy parade ran so deep there was no way I’d step to him and ruin a good friendship.

  But now that he was here in Spain and looking fly as hell a guy could dream. Eduardo was fun and I had plans to go back for more but nobody could get this for long. I wasn’t close to being gettable but I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to go for a ride with my passenger. He’d earned the nickname PLUS 1NE because when he blew up, people would say one man wasn’t capable of doing what he did. Some hotshot had him change the spelling to PLUS 1NE just to be unique.

  He pulled out a pouch he’d snuck into the country. Waved it under my nose. “They call it ‘Dragon,’” he offered.