by Carl Weber
Again Randy said, “What the fuck?”
“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” I said. “Something’s wrong. We need to get the fuck outta here.” I was no longer worried that Randy had set me up. In fact, I was suddenly glad that he’d taken the shotgun, because I had a feeling we’d both been set up and would need all the weapons we could get.
“Let’s go,” he agreed.
“Hey, Randy. You and your girlfriend leaving so soon?” We were startled by a voice that sounded far away. Turning in the direction it came from, we saw Vinnie Dash’s face on the computer screen.
“Vinnie, where the fuck are you?” Randy shouted. He pumped a shell into the chamber of the shotgun as he rushed toward the computer.
“Far enough away that you can’t shoot me. I was afraid that you might try something like this.”
“You can’t run from me,” Randy raged. “You stole my fucking money, and I will find you.” Vinnie laughed, which only infuriated Randy more. “I want my money.”
“You always were a hothead, weren’t you?” Vinnie said. “I don’t know what’s got you all worked up now, but I’m sure we can work it out. After all, I’m going to be your brother-in-law soon. Just sit down and we can talk like civilized men.”
None of this made sense to me. Vinnie was talking calmly, like he really wanted to sit down and chat with Randy, yet he was in a hidden location, and we were in an empty fucking room. My mind was screaming “get out!” but amazingly, Randy did what Vinnie told him to do and sat down in the chair in front of the computer.
I saw an evil grin spread across Vinnie’s face and I knew Randy had just made a very big mistake. I didn’t know yet what it was, but Vinnie had something planned and Randy had just stepped into his trap.
Vinnie said, “Your money is in the Cayman Islands, under one of my aliases.”
“I want my money back,” Randy demanded.
“That’s going to be difficult. You see, that money doesn’t belong to you anymore.”
“Bullshit! That’s my money!”
“No, that money belongs to me and my men,” Vinnie said nonchalantly.
“Your men?” Randy shouted, the veins in his neck bulging.
“Yes, my men. While you were away I had a talk with them. I hate to be the deliverer of bad news, but you weren’t a very good boss. You never thought about anyone but yourself, and the men noticed that.” He shook his head. “You know, it’s really not a good sign when the white guy is more popular than the Jamaican brother. But I told you over and over that you should share the wealth a little better. You were too greedy, Randy.”
Randy was so furious at this point he was shaking. He pounded his fist on the desk and bellowed, “Fuck you, Vinnie! I will fucking destroy you!”
“Uh-uh-uh,” Vinnie mocked. “I would calm down if I were you.” Then he shifted his eyes in my direction. “And as for you, sweetheart, you might want to get your pretty little ass out of there before the real fireworks start.”
“I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kill you slowly and painfully,” Randy said through gritted teeth.
“Somehow I doubt that. I, on the other hand, am going to sit here and watch you die.” Again he looked at me. “You still there? I told you to leave for your own safety, but if you don’t want to take my advice, look under the chair and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”
I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I bent down on one knee to look under the chair, already half knowing what I would see.
“Holy shit,” I whispered when I saw it. “Randy, don’t move.”
“That’s right. Don’t move,” Vinnie said wickedly.
“What the fuck is it?” Randy demanded.
“It’s a bomb. He’s got a bomb strapped to the chair.”
“And it’s not just any bomb. It’s five pounds of C-4 with a pressurized detonator on the seat, which means if you lift your fat ass outta that chair the bomb goes boom!”
A chill ran through my body. I’d learned enough about bombs in school to know that what I’d seen under the chair would blow us both to pieces. Unfortunately, no one had ever taught me how to defuse one. “Randy, sit tight. I’m gonna call for help. I’m sure Junior can disarm this thing.”
“Ah, don’t be so sure,” Vinnie teased, wagging his finger at me. “I don’t think Junior can get here in two minutes, can he?” He pushed a button, and all of a sudden a countdown clock appeared on the screen below his face. “You now have two minutes to live, Randy. Enjoy them.”
I hung up the phone. There was no way they could get here fast enough to help us. For the first time in a long time I panicked.
“Shit! What the fuck are we gonna do?”
Randy looked over at me and said, “Get the fuck outta here!”
“Huh? I’m not gonna leave you here!”
“I said get the fuck outta here, girl! There’s no reason for both of us to die.” His voice was unrelenting as he pointed at the counter, which was almost down to sixty seconds. “Just make sure your people get this son of a bitch.”
I bent down and kissed Randy like something out of a movie; then I turned to the screen and told Vinnie, “Remember my face, motherfucker, because the next time you see it will be your last,” before I bolted out the door.
Orlando
39
I sat on the screened-in porch in the back of the house, holding a bottle of Pop’s good cognac in one hand and a half full goblet in the other. Normally when I came out back to relax and unwind, the serenity of the place put me at ease. Not today, though. Today there wasn’t much of anything that could lessen my tension short of planting a bullet in Vinnie Dash’s skull. Had things gone the way I’d originally planned, I’d be inside the house playing with my son. Now that Randy had been killed, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see my child. So, while everyone else was in the house celebrating the fact that Sasha was safe, I was planning to get drunk, real drunk, and hopefully pass out in a lounge chair so I could forget the past few days.
I lifted the goblet to my lips and sucked down half of its contents. I was so deep into my own thoughts I didn’t even hear Mom come outside until she spoke.
“Orlando, you okay, son?”
“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Just getting a little air.”
She gave me a skeptical look. My mother had always been good at knowing when I was lying. When I was little I used to think she was a mind reader. “You missed dinner. That’s not like you.”
“I know. I’m not hungry. I got a lot on my mind. Don’t worry. You go inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”
But she didn’t leave. Instead, she walked over toward me and reached for the goblet in my hands. I gave it up reluctantly. “Well, this sure as hell isn’t going to solve any problems,” she said.
“No, but it might help dull the pain,” I replied.
“Maybe, but you shouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach,” she said in that motherly tone of hers. I watched as she swirled the cognac in the glass; then, in one long swig she finished off what was left of the liquor like an old pro. “Ahhh. Now I understand why your father likes this stuff so much. It’s smooth.”
She succeeded in making me smile, even if only for a second.
“You’re out here wallowing in your sorrows, thinking about Vincent, aren’t you?” She was the only one of my family members who referred to my son by his name. When I’d asked her why, she said, “His name doesn’t change who he is. He is a Duncan, and that’s all that matters.”
“Yeah. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
She placed her hand on my shoulder and pulled me in close. She had always been the kind of parent that sensed what I needed, and just that simple act of affection was comforting to me.
“I’m starting to wonder if I’m ever going to see him,” I said, getting choked up.
“You can’t think like that, son. You can’t ever give up hope—not when it comes to your child. Have a little faith in your brother and
in your father. They’ll find Vinnie and Ruby, and where those two are, we’ll find Vincent.”
“I hope so.”
She sat down next to me and looked into my eyes. “Orlando, I want you to know I love you more than anything in the world.”
“I know, Mom.” I smiled sadly.
“And I always want the best for you.”
“I know that.”
We sat quietly together for a few minutes, and I finally felt myself starting to relax. The sounds of laughter came from inside the house.
“Everyone sure is happy about Sasha being safe,” I said. “I haven’t heard them laughing like that since I don’t know when.”
“I know when,” Mom replied with a hint of anger in her voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Things have not been the same ever since you brought H.E.A.T. to the table.”
She had avoided talking about H.E.A.T. with me ever since I came back from Alejandro’s. I knew this conversation would have to happen sooner or later, but why did it have to be now, when I was already feeling like shit?
“So you’re saying everything is my fault?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, I’m saying I still think H.E.A.T. is a bad idea. It’s bringing too much trouble to our family, and you haven’t even started full scale distribution yet.”
“What is it you want from me, Mom?” I asked, exasperated by her stubbornness. “I don’t want to fight with you, but I can’t let Trent’s death be meaningless. He died for H.E.A.T.”
“No, he didn’t die for H.E.A.T. He died because of H.E.A.T. And we almost lost you. If it weren’t for that drug, the two of you would have never been in California and Trent would be alive today.”
There was some truth to her words, but she was simplifying things to make her point. “Maybe we wouldn’t have been there, but Alejandro would still be around to come after one of your sons. The reason California was a problem was because Alejandro had it out for us. H.E.A.T. or no H.E.A.T., we were still going to have to deal with him.”
That seemed to get through to her a little, because she conceded, “That’s one way of putting it. . . . Look, son, all I want is for everyone to put their cards on the table. I just want a vote so we can see how close or how far apart we are.”
“And if you lose the vote, it’s over with?” I responded, throwing it out there.
“Yes, but I don’t think I’m going to lose.”
I looked at her to try to read her expression, but all I noticed was that she looked exhausted. It was like she had aged recently but I’d been too caught up in my own stuff to notice. My mother had always been one of those women who appeared ageless, so the stress on her face caused me to worry. I wanted to get this vote over with too, for the sake of everyone.
“Okay, then I’ll call an emergency meeting of the board,” I assured her. It would be the first time I exercised my rights in my new position as head of the family.
She looked at me seriously and said, “Whoever wins, I want everyone to promise they will go along with the majority. I don’t want us at each other’s throats. This drug has the potential to tear our family apart.”
With that, she went back into the house, leaving me feeling worse than before.
Ruby
40
Ever since Vinnie told me he was going to get my brother, I had barely been able to sit down. I couldn’t wait to see Randy and throw my arms around him, and I was pacing around the house incessantly as I waited for word from Vinnie. He’d promised to call me as soon as he had my brother, but it had been a few days now, and I was starting to get worried.
“Ruby!” I heard the front door slam and Vinnie calling my name. I raced to the foyer.
I stopped short when I saw that Vinnie was by himself—and he did not look good. His suit was wrinkled, his hair was out of place, and his eyes were rimmed with red. Vinnie never looked anything less than impeccable, so I immediately knew something was wrong. I felt tears forming in my eyes before I even asked, “Where’s my brother?”
Vinnie came to me and threw his arms around me, blubbering incoherently as he squeezed me tight.
“Vin, tell me what’s wrong,” I said, struggling to catch my breath.
“It’s . . . it’s all my fault,” he cried. Say what you want to about Vinnie Dash; he might have been a jerk at times, an asshole even, but he wasn’t a soft man who just went crying for no reason. Even when he found out his brother and father were killed, he hadn’t cried. I braced myself for what I knew would be terrible news.
“I don’t wanna lose you, Ruby,” he continued. “You and Vincent, you’re all I got.”
“Vinnie, stop! You’re scaring me,” I shouted.
He tried to compose himself, drying his wet face with the back of his sleeve then taking a step back. He wouldn’t look me in the face, but after a few moments he finally spoke.
“Ruby, you do know that I love you, right?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I know you love me.”
“I love you more than anything in this world,” he reiterated. His tone was stronger, but he still seemed on the edge of another meltdown. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“Vinnie, tell me what’s going on,” I pleaded.
He took a deep breath, wiped the last of the tears away, and stared into my eyes. “He’s dead, Ruby. We just got confirmation. Randy is dead.”
He pulled me back in close, and it was a good thing, because otherwise I would have fallen to the floor.
“I’m so sorry, baby.”
“How?” I asked when I was finally able to speak again. “You said you were going to get him.”
Vinnie hung his head low, like he was ashamed that he hadn’t been able to do what he’d promised. “I was too late,” he said. “I was setting things up to go to New York and get him, but the Duncans killed him.”
“Why?” I sobbed. “Why did they have to kill him, Vin?”
Vinnie hesitated for a while before he gave me an answer. He looked so sad as he admitted, “It was the baby, Ruby. He wouldn’t tell them where you and the baby were hiding, and they shot him.”
I fought to keep myself from throwing up. How could my child be the cause of all of this? “I don’t understand,” I said.
“They want the baby, Ruby, and your brother wouldn’t give you up. He died protecting you and little Vincent.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand. The Duncans hate me. Orlando’s sisters didn’t even believe he was the baby’s father. Why would they want the baby now that Orlando is dead?”
Again Vinnie paused for a second, like he really didn’t want to have to tell me this next part: “Orlando isn’t dead.”
When he’d told me my brother was still alive, I felt pure joy. This news about Orlando only filled me with confusion. I looked to Vinnie, hoping he could explain, but it seemed he was done talking about Orlando.
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault,” he said. “I should have found some way to prevent this.”
“No, it’s not your fault,” I said, rage growing inside of me. “It’s Orlando’s fault. It’s all his fault. If he’d just left us alone, none of this would have happened.”
“So you don’t blame me?” Vinnie asked, his mood suddenly brightening.
“Of course not. Why would I blame you? You didn’t kill Randy; the Duncans did.” I looked up and declared, “God, I wish I had never met Orlando Duncan.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vinnie smile. When I turned to face him, he quickly put on a serious expression again. “This never should have happened, Ruby, but I swear I’m not gonna let anything happen to you or the baby. I’ll protect you both.”
He pulled me into an embrace and I allowed myself to be comforted as I mourned the loss of my brother. I would never see Randy again, and although I now knew that Orlando was alive, he was dead to me too. As far as I was concerned, little Vincent would never hear me utter a word about his biological father. I would become Vinn
ie’s wife, and he would raise Vincent as his own. Vinnie was all I had left now.
Junior
41
I walked in the kitchen to the smell of freshly cooked bacon and my mother’s smiling face at the breakfast table. I sat down in a chair across from her and started to fill a plate with food. On Sundays Mom usually had a pretty nice spread for both breakfast and dinner, and today was no exception. From the looks of the full platters, I was the first one, other than my mother and our housekeeper, to cross the threshold in the kitchen that morning.
“Good morning, Junior.”
“Morning, Mom.”
“You’re up mighty early for a Sunday. You coming or going?” she asked.
“I’m just coming in.”
Mom let out a laugh. “I figured as much. You’re wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday and your shirt’s on backwards. Where have you been, boy?”
I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks, the thought and feel of me and Sonya making love half the night at the forefront of my mind. “I had a date. You remember the maternity nurse they assigned to London and Paris at the hospital?”
“The brown-skinned woman with the rather large—”
“Yeah, that’s her.” I cut her off before she could finish. Somehow my mother describing my girlfriend’s breasts wasn’t something I wanted to hear.
“Oh, that’s nice. You two getting serious?”
“Right now we’re just getting to know each other, Mom.”
“I see,” she said with a nod. “You should invite her for dinner sometime.”
“Really.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “You serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. Why do you boys make me out to be such a hard-ass?”
“Because you are a hard-ass when it comes to the women we bring home,” I joked. Mom had always spoken what was on her mind and taught us to do the same, so I wasn’t worried she’d be offended.
“No,” she corrected, “I was a hard-ass about those whores Vegas used to bring home. Those girls didn’t care about him. They only wanted him for one thing.”
