The Family Business

by Pete, Eric

  “Okay, what about Rio? Is he up? I need to speak to him.”

  “Believe it or not, he’s in the kitchen. What do you have to talk to him about?”

  “Nothing. Just business.” Now I was the one avoiding eye contact.

  “Do you want me to wait for you? I’d love to do lunch. And we really do need to talk.”

  Did she want me to say yes? Did she want me to say no? This was the first time she’d spoken more than five words to me since her threat. What did she mean by “we do need to talk”? I was not going to talk with her about that phone call again. I still couldn’t read her, but I thought she was happy—or at least pretending to be. In any case, I had more important things to take care of at the moment.

  “Uh, no. You go ahead and enjoy yourself. Buy yourself something nice.”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry. I will.”

  “Where’s your bodyguard, anyway? I don’t want you going anywhere without protection. These are bad times, London.”

  “I know. He’s in the car, waiting for me.” She kissed me on the lips and then galloped off.

  She was happy, all right, but I had no idea what she was so happy about. Then again, why shouldn’t she be happy? She had a nice house, a luxury car, the family she had always wanted, and she didn’t have to deal with half the shit I did. I’d be happy, too, if I had nothing better to do than do lunch and have Mommy-daughter time.

  I walked toward the kitchen, dreading my assignment. It wasn’t that I was nervous about the assignment LC had given me. I was nervous for Rio, because we were about to serve Rio up to Alejandro. I might as well have been sent to the house to cut his head off and then deliver it to Alejandro on a silver platter. Today’s lunch special: Rio Duncan. Man, I could have used a stiff drink at that moment.

  “Harris, what’s up, man?” Rio said upon my entering the kitchen. He sat at the island bar, nibbling on a sandwich and sipping a cup of tea.

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  He looked down at his plate. “Just having something to eat before I head down to the office. Figured with everything going on, I should try and get down there before the sun goes down. Show Pop and Orlando a little support.”

  “You wanna show the family some support, I’ve got just the thing.” Like an actor who hadn’t expected to win the Oscar, I didn’t have a speech ready. So, without further delay, I just got right to it. I reached into my breast pocket, pulled out an envelope, and threw it down on the bar. It landed right next to Rio’s glass of orange juice.

  “What’s this?” He dropped the sandwich, brushed the crumbs from his hand, and then picked up the envelope.

  “Tickets,” I said as he pulled the contents out of the envelope.

  “Tickets for what?” He began reading the details on the tickets.

  “To L.A. We have a job for you.”

  “L.A.? What kinda job?” He looked a little upset as he tossed the tickets onto the bar. “Don’t tell me you have some gay man out there you want me to sleep with for information, like you did in Detroit. You can tell my father I’m not a hooker and I won’t be pimped out.”

  “It’s not like that, Rio.”

  “Then how is it?”

  I lowered my head and cleared my throat, wishing I had spent my time in the car preparing a speech instead of worrying. Did I really think he was going to accept his assignment, no questions asked? Now, I had no idea how to sugarcoat this. I went for the straightforward approach. “Well, you know how we’re holding Miguel as a marker ... ? Well, I guess you could say you’ll be a marker for Alejandro.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” He pushed his plate away and stood up. I couldn’t blame him for losing his appetite. “Y’all want me to be Alejandro’s collateral?”

  “Trust me, Rio, if I was in charge, this wouldn’t be my call.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Orlando actually wants me to go to L.A. and play hostage? If anything goes wrong, I’m a dead man.”

  “Nothing’s going to go wrong. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “You can’t guarantee that! I can’t believe Orlando.”

  “Orlando has nothing to do with this,” I corrected him. “He doesn’t even know I’m here. This is what LC wants. He’s the one who sent me here.”

  I might not have been able to read my wife, but I could read Rio’s expression loud and clear. He was hurt. I would say this about Rio, though: he was loyal to a fault. Once he learned that the order came from his father, he gave up all protesting.

  He examined the tickets again and said, “At least it’s a round-trip ticket,” with a nervous laugh.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my orders were to get him a one-way ticket. I’d opted for a round-trip. It made it feel a little less like I was handing Rio a death warrant—though there was still a good possibility that was exactly what it was.

  “Guess I better go get packed, huh?” In an attempt to ease the tension in the room, he added, “Wonder how the weather is. I have this killer purple outfit that has L.A. written all over it.”

  I hated to rain on his gay pride parade, but I had to. “Actually, you don’t have time to pack. You have to leave now. A car is waiting outside to take you to the airport. You can shop for the things you need in L.A.”

  “Oh, it’s like that, huh? Well, do I at least have time to grab my new pair of sunglasses? Although for some reason I have a feeling the sun is not going to be shining bright.”

  I nodded. “The car is waiting.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Rio said. He took one last bite of his sandwich and then looked at me as if to say, “Hey, you never know. This could be my last meal.”

  “Fuck!” I cursed under my breath after he left the kitchen. It was tasks like this that made me hate my job sometimes. When my mother-in-law found out it was me who sent Rio to L.A., she was going to hit the roof.

  My cell phone rang, and I looked down at the caller ID. “Shit! Not now,” I said and ignored the call. It rang again almost immediately. I knew he would just keep calling until I answered. I hit the TALK button.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, Harris. It’s Vinnie Dash, baby.” Had he been in front of me and not on the phone, he probably would have tried to give me some corny hand-slap secret handshake type of shit.

  “Look, Vinnie, now is not a good time. I’m in the middle of taking care of some serious business.”

  “I’m sure you are, but that’s because of me, isn’t it? I’m just calling to find out when I’m going to get my money.”

  Okay, so now he’d piqued my interest. “And exactly what money are we talking about?”

  “The hundred grand you owe me.”

  “Hundred grand? Vinnie, I owe a lot of people a lot of things, but I think I’d remember if I owed you a hundred grand.”

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he said.

  “I’m not acting at all. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” If he didn’t stop bullshitting soon, he was going to be the recipient of all my pent-up tension.

  “You and your people put it out on the street that you were paying a hundred grand for any information about that truck.”

  Shit. Now I knew exactly what he was talking about. Earlier today Vinnie had called me with a tip on the truck. This information was just what I needed to prove my value to LC, to prove once and for all that I was more than just the convenience of a son-in-law with a law degree. No, I wasn’t a blood Duncan, but surely this would help me move up in rank. His tip had turned out to be right on the money, except for the car being missing from the truck.

  “Vinnie, you never mentioned that you were looking for the finder’s fee when you told me about the truck.”

  “Didn’t know I had to, but I did give you a tip that helped you find the truck, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, I guess you did, but the car’s not in it.”

  “Don’t know anything about a
car. I was looking for the truck.” He laughed, probably reveling in the fact that he knew something we didn’t know. Smug bastard.

  “How’d you know where the truck was, anyway, Vinnie?”

  “Someone offered us the truck. We declined, of course, but still, we acted just interested enough to get a location.”

  “Who offered it to you?”

  “Now, that’s something you’re going to have to ask my old man about. I can set up a meeting.”

  “Let me get back to you on that.”

  “That’s up to you, counselor. I just wanna know when I’m gonna get my money.”

  “I’ll make arrangements. Don’t worry, Vinnie. You’re gonna get exactly what’s coming to you.”

  After I hung up, I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. Rio was just getting into the car. He looked over his shoulder and spotted me staring out the window. Slipping on his diamond-studded sunglasses, he waved and then slid into his seat. I watched until the car headed down the driveway and was out of sight.

  I called LC and let him know. “He’s on his way. He should be at the airport in fifteen minutes. My men will let me know the minute his flight takes off, and I’ll call you.”

  “Good. Junior and I are on our way to the truck. I just texted Paris to meet us up here. Why don’t you check on Orlando and make sure Miguel’s okay.”

  Paris

  31

  I walked up to the large steel doors and gave the secret knock. I knew I shouldn’t be there, especially since my father and my brothers had chewed half my ass off for sleeping with Miguel in the first place, but I needed some answers. Sure, Orlando had promised to get to the bottom of things with all that chemistry mumbo jumbo, but I didn’t want to wait for that. Besides, I had my own agenda, my own set of questions. I needed to know that I wasn’t wrong about Miguel, that his swagger wasn’t anything more than confidence, not conspiracy, and our lovemaking was filled with affection, not betrayal.

  I had always said that talking got me in trouble, but handsome men who showed me affection were my true Achilles’ heel. My therapist had tried to tell me I had Daddy issues, but I stopped going to that bitch right after I whipped her ass for bringing up that crazy shit. I hated it when people talked bad about my father.

  The steel doors opened, and a large, bald-headed black man holding a sawed-off shotgun gestured for me to come in. The man’s name was Kennedy, and he, along with two other knuckleheads, worked directly for my brother Junior. They were assigned the duty of keeping secure the fifty-plus classic cars my father had collected over the years. Kennedy and his men also doubled as muscle for our family during times of trouble. They were all highly trained and would give up their lives to protect Junior and our family without a second thought.

  “Hey, Miss Paris,” one of the men said, lifting his head from the desk where he’d been sleeping.

  “What are you doing, Freddy? Sleeping on the job again? Wait till I see Junior,” I scolded halfheartedly. I wasn’t about to snitch on him, because I liked Freddy. He wasn’t much to look at, but he was a nice guy and knew how to handle a gun under pressure—something I admired in any man.

  “No, no, I was just resting my eyes. Whatchu here for, anyway?” He walked over and gave me a hug.

  “Business,” I replied, turning toward the bolted door to the room where they were holding Miguel. “Our guest doin’ all right in there?”

  “Yeah, he’s a’ight. I gave him something to eat about an hour ago. Junior just said to keep him tied up until someone from the family called or came by,” Kennedy replied.

  “Well, here I am.”

  I took a step toward the door but was cut off by the third man’s rolling office chair. His name was Kareem, and he was a good-looking brown-skinned man about my age. I’d given him some ass a couple of years ago, but that nigger didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. He was lucky that shit didn’t get back to my brother, or I would have killed his ass.

  “Where you think you’re going?” Kareem asked, blocking my way.

  “To see the prisoner. You gonna let me by, or are you gonna stand here and jack off for shits and giggles? Lord knows your dick’s small enough to make a bitch laugh.”

  Both Kennedy and Freddy started cracking up.

  “What you trying to say? That shit ain’t funny,” Kareem barked.

  “If that shit wasn’t funny, then you better talk to your boys, ’cause they sure as hell laughing. Now, open the damn door and get your ass out my way before I move it for you. I told you I have business with that man.”

  He stood his ground, until Freddy said, “Yo, man, you better let her pass before she fucks you up. You know she’s not someone to play with.” Freddy shook his head at Kareem’s stupidity.

  Kareem moved aside, mumbling under his breath, and Kennedy walked over and unlocked the door. I entered with both Kennedy and his shotgun on my heels.

  “I need to speak with him. Alone.”

  “You sure?” He looked surprised by my request. “Junior said that man is dangerous.”

  Yeah, maybe with his tongue and dick, I thought. I glanced at Miguel, who was lying motionless in his underwear across the bed. He was blindfolded, and his hands were tied behind his back.

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Well ... yeah,” he said with a shrug. “Dude’s down with them Mexicans. Can’t take no chances with that.”

  “He’s tied up, for crying out loud. What’s he going to do? Shoot me with his big toe? Don’t worry. I can handle him. Just wait outside,” I ordered.

  Kennedy hesitated for a moment, probably wondering whether he should challenge me, but deciding against it. “A‘ight, if you say so. But if he gets outta hand, just holler and we’ll come runnin’,” he offered.

  I might holler, but you better not come running in until I’m finished.

  He exited the room, and I closed the door behind him. I stepped out of my heels and headed to the bed, treading softly across the cement floor. I stopped alongside the bed, taking a moment to quietly observe him as he slept. I took in all his sexy-ass tattoos that covered his back. He was bruised and beaten, there was no question about that, but not broken. I was actually surprised they had let him sleep. My daddy was getting soft, though I’d never say it to his face. Five years ago Miguel would have told him everything he wanted to know by now, or they would have dumped his lifeless body somewhere in a landfill on Long Island.

  Placing my purse on the table next to the bed, I reached out and shook Miguel gently. “Hey, wake up. It’s me, Paris.”

  Miguel flinched at first, spinning around quickly to confront me. I wasn’t really sure what he planned on doing with his hands tied. I eased off his blindfold and saw that his eyes were blackened and his lip was busted, but his face was still pretty.

  “Señorita Paris.” His shoulders relaxed, and he gave me a weak smile. That was a good sign. It meant he trusted me. We could get a lot accomplished as long as he trusted me.

  “Daddy’s not happy with you,” I said, arms folded.

  “Yes, I noticed. He thinks I stole his dope.” His mouth twisted into something I couldn’t quite interpret. Was he smirking, or did it just look that way because his face was so damn busted up? I sure hoped it wasn’t a smirk. As far as I was concerned, that would be almost like an admission of guilt. The uncertainty made me angry.

  “Did you? Did you take our fucking shipment, Miguel?”

  His entire demeanor changed, all trust replaced by fear. He pleaded, “No, I did not. I tried to tell your people that ... the night they beat me.” He sat up in the bed with a grimace. He probably had a few broken ribs, and in spite of myself, I felt sympathy.

  I placed my hand on his chest, touching him softly. “I hate seeing you like this. But you need to try harder. Give us what we want. Just tell me where it is, and I can get you out of here.”

  “I can’t, Paris, because I do not know. I swear on my mother. You know I would tell you.”

&n
bsp; I backed away from him with a sigh. “You takin’ me for a fool, Miguel? Because I’m not a fool. I know you know something.”

  “No, no, I do not. You know how I feel about you. I swear I would tell you.”

  His statement stopped me in my tracks. What did he mean, how he felt about me? And why did I care so much? I mean, the sex was hot, but what did I really know about this guy? I definitely wasn’t used to feelings getting involved when it came to the family business, but there was something about Miguel that was tugging at my heart.

  “You told my father you would marry me. Is that true?”

  “Yes, Paris. I would marry you.”

  “You don’t have to lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying. I told you I could fall in love with you when we made love, did I not?”

  He did say that, but did he mean it? Was it just a moment of passion, or was he falling for me? Maybe this was just the attempt of a trapped man who would say anything to get released, but I wanted to believe him. I sat on the bed next to him and leaned down to kiss him, as if the truth might be found on his lips. The heat between us was instantaneous.

  I stood up and unzipped my dress, letting it fall to the floor. “Enough talk,” I said. “I’ve got something that will ease your pain.” I took off my bra and slid my panties off my hips. “They’re outside the door, so we’re gonna have to be quiet,” I told him, though I didn’t think I had to worry about him making any noise. He was staring at me, dumbfounded, looking like he couldn’t form a thought in his head. Who could blame him? I’d had sex in plenty of strange places, but never with a man in captivity. As crazy as it was, I was totally turned on, and from the way his dick was straining against his boxers, I could tell he was too.

  I removed a switchblade from my purse and cut the cord that was binding his hands together. Instead of trying to escape, he fell back onto the bed and reached his arms out to me. I climbed on top of him and then moved up until my pussy was right over his face. He wasted no time going to work. I could feel his warm tongue on my thigh, and then across my clit, again and again. I wanted to cry because it felt so good. I rode his face like a jockey, and it wasn’t long before I came.