by Carl Weber
“I knew this shit was going to happen. You shoulda let me talk to these motherfuckers,” Momma said and rolled her eyes at me.
“This deal doesn’t have shit to do with LC. It’s me that you’re doing business with. Me!” I jabbed a finger into my chest for emphasis.
“Yes, I understand that now, Larry. However, this isn’t the way we usually do business. Because of the war between Sal Dash and LC, we lost much business and don’t want any trouble. I just have to make sure that I am not involving myself in something that will be detrimental to my business. A simple call to your brother will resolve that, and we will be able to conduct business,” Lee explained.
Momma leaned over and whispered to me, “Fuck him. Let’s go. I can already see whose side he’s on.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s unacceptable, Lee,” I replied. Momma and I stood, and the boys followed suit. “It’s too bad, too, because we could have made a lot of money together.”
“I do not understand your objection to a simple phone call to your brother.”
“Well, maybe you’ll understand this.” I smirked, buttoning my suit jacket as I ordered, “Curtis, Kenny, kill these motherfuckers!”
Lee’s eyes grew large as Curtis pulled out his silenced Glock without hesitation and pulled the trigger. It was Kenny that I was concerned about, but he didn’t hesitate either, discharging his firearm until all three men were slumped over.
“Good shooting,” I told the boys.
Momma nodded her approval as she headed for the door. I followed behind her until she stopped, glancing back at the boys.
“Those two just gonna stand there?” Momma asked.
Neither one of my boys had moved. They just stared at the three dead bodies sprawled across the room, with blood seeping from their heads. At first I thought they were feeling some kinda way about taking a life for the first time, but then I realized they weren’t just staring; they were smirking. You might even call it gawking. Curtis stuck out his fist, and Kenny bumped it with his fist, and they both laughed. Damn, talk about a chip off the old block.
“Hey! They’re not gonna get any deader. Let’s go!” I ordered. “I’m getting hungry for some real food. Come on, I’ll buy you boys a steak.”
We all walked out of the restaurant the same way we’d walked in, ignoring the hostess, who ran past us toward the small kitchen entrance near the bar.
Sasha
10
“This color you like?” Jenny, my favorite technician, asked as she held up the bottle of nail polish.
“Yes, that’s perfect,” I told her then took a sip of my champagne, which happened to be the same color as the polish.
Jenny began prepping the water in the porcelain bowl in front of me. When it was ready, I eased my feet inside and began to relax. I don’t know what felt better: the butter soft leather chair I was sitting in, the feel of Jenny’s hands massaging my calves, or the satisfying anticipation of my upcoming trip to the islands.
Normally, I worked as a team with Paris, using our beauty and charm, along with our skills as assassins to our advantage. Over the years, I had proven my worth to Uncle LC and the Duncan family, and I understood Vegas’s reasoning behind sending me solo instead. Not trying to take anything away from her, because my cousin was good at what she did, but she had a lack of self-control that had put the family in jeopardy on more than one occasion. Being chosen to go to Jamaica without her was my opportunity to show the family that I wasn’t just Paris’s little sidekick, but I was just as much, if not more, of an asset to the family business.
“Is that Rhianna?” I heard someone whisper.
“I think it’s her.”
“No, I just looked at her Instagram. She just looks like her.”
The Nail Bar was the place for not only the elite and famous to come and be pampered, but anyone else who could secure a coveted appointment and afford the costs. I was a regular customer who indulged weekly. My Diamond Rose manicures and pedicures were essential to my well-being, and the price tag was small change to me.
I was just about to close my eyes and take a quick nap when my cell phone began ringing.
“Hello.”
“What’s up, heifer? Where the hell y’all at?” Rio asked.
“Rio, you so damn crazy. I’m getting my nails and feet done.”
“Let me speak to Paris right quick. I tried calling and she didn’t answer, and she didn’t respond to my text either.”
“She’s not here, and I haven’t talked to her either.” I sighed. I had tried calling Paris to see if she wanted to come with me to the salon, but she sent me straight to voicemail.
“Oh, that little bitch is really in her feelings about this Jamaica trip, huh?” Rio laughed. “Well, she’ll get over it. Wanna meet me at the mall when you finish? I got some last-minute stuff to pick up.”
“I don’t know. If Paris finds out we’re hanging out without her, she’s gonna really be pissed,” I told him.
“So what? She’s a big girl. Besides, how’s she gonna know?”
“Rio, you know damn well you can’t go nowhere these days without putting it on social media. You need to chill with that shit. You know it ain’t safe. Or have you forgotten the danger your ass was in a few weeks ago?” I warned him as I pulled up my IG account and went to Rio’s page. Sure enough, there was a picture of him posing in his car with the caption #retailtherapy.
“I’m hardly ever on there anymore.”
I laughed. “Rio, stop lying. I’m looking at the picture you posted ten minutes ago.”
“Shopping don’t count!”
“You stupid. I’ll call you when I leave here,” I said and ended the call. Again, I leaned back and closed my eyes.
“Is that the new Chanel Boy Bag Kim K was rocking?” I heard the inquisitor from earlier ask.
“Looks like it, but it can’t be real, though. I heard they only made a hundred.”
“I think that one is real. Look at her. She’s designer from head to toe. That’s one bad bitch.”
I looked over to see who they were speaking of, and my eyes fell on a well-dressed woman entering the spa. She was the epitome of class and elegance in her YSL suit, Louboutin heels, and Chanel purse, which was undoubtedly real.
“Hello.” She walked over and sat in the chair right next to mine, and all I could do was shake my head and frown. “Is this seat taken?”
“No, but there are plenty other empty seats in here. You might be more comfortable in one of them,” I replied, gulping down the rest of my drink. Jenny motioned for one of the attendants to bring me a refill.
“No, this will do just fine.” She removed her Louis Vuitton sunglasses and placed them in her lap. “How are you? It’s been a while since you stopped by the house.”
“Let’s not do this, okay, Mom?”
Deidra, another technician, walked over and handed her a glass of champagne then proceeded to remove the designer heels from her feet.
“So nice to see you again, Ms. Donna,” she said with a smile. “The usual today?”
“I’ll have whatever my beautiful daughter is having.”
At the sound of the word daughter, my head snapped in her direction.
“What do you want?” I hissed. She was totally ruining my mood.
“How about a meaningful relationship with my only daughter?”
I almost threw up in my mouth because she said that shit with conviction.
“How about we don’t and say we did?” I refused to look at her.
“Why are you being like this, Sasha?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jenny and Deidra eyeing each other with concern.
“I’m not being like anything.” I shook my head at her.
“I made sure that you’ve had the best of everything your entire life. Your father—”
“Don’t.” I interrupted her.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t talk about my father. You have no right. That man r
aised me, and he and his family gave me everything a girl could ever want.” I could feel the anger building in my chest, and I tried calming down. I was grateful when the attendant finally showed up with my glass of champagne. Again, I gulped it down, praying that the alcohol would calm my nerves. “So, don’t talk about my father. You’re beneath him.”
“Sasha, despite what you may think, I loved your father, and I always will.” She tried to reach over and touch my hand, but I snatched it away.
“If you loved him so much, why did you leave him with a five-year-old to be with another man?”
She stared at me like I had two heads, just like she always did when I asked that question.
“I don’t think this is the time or place for this conversation. Why don’t you come over to the house? We can have dinner. I’ll make your favorites, and we can talk,” she suggested.
“Sorry. I’ve got an early flight tomorrow for work.”
“Flight to where? Anywhere good?”
I didn’t answer her question. I was not about to make bullshit small talk with her when our issues were so deep.
“Oh, you’re ignoring me now?” she said.
“I got nothing to say to you until you answer my question. You said you wanna talk, then talk—here and now,” I challenged her.
I knew my mother was all about appearances, especially public ones. Airing out dirty laundry in front of others was making her uncomfortable. She looked at the two women working on our feet, who were diligently trying to act as if they were not eavesdropping. I could see the strain on her face, and it was somewhat gratifying to me. She didn’t want to address our real problems, and I didn’t want to pretend we were cool with each other, so we both stayed silent for a minute.
Finally, she let out a huge sigh and said, “Fine. The relationship between your father and me had always been a complicated one. Our breakup had nothing to do with me not loving him.”
“Obviously, because every time you were broke, I’d wake up to you in his bed. But that never lasted long, did it? You’d milk him for forty, fifty grand then disappear again.” I looked over at her. She was still beautiful to me, despite how much I despised her and what she had done to our family. We stared at one another. “I needed you, but you were never there for me. So, if it wasn’t Daddy, I guess it was me.”
She scrunched up her face like she was in pain. Good. I hoped I’d hurt her feelings, given how badly her abandonment had hurt me.
“Sweetheart, no, it definitely had nothing to do with you,” she finally said. “It had everything to do with him being a Duncan.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” I asked. “You knew he was a Duncan when you married him.”
“I did. Things just became more complicated over the years.”
“Yeah, I bet they did when he cut you off and stopped letting you spend all his money.” I shook my head. “Jenny, I think it’s time we do my nails.”
“That’s not what happened. Those Duncans are brainwashing you against me.”
I chuckled. “Uncle LC talks bad about a lot of people, but you’re not one of them. So, brainwashing is out.” I lifted my feet, and Jenny began to dry them.
I glanced around the salon and noticed that the women who’d commented on my mother’s bag when she came in were over there now, trying to look nonchalant as they ear hustled our whole conversation. My mother must have noticed them, too, because she tried to end it real quick.
“Sasha, this isn’t the time or the place for this,” she said again. “We’ll finish this conversation another time. Why don’t you come over to my house on Friday?”
“Sorry, I can’t,” I told her. “I told you I have a flight to Jamaica tomorrow.”
“Really, Sasha, can’t you just postpone your vacation?”
“This isn’t a pleasure trip. It’s work,” I said.
“What kind of work?”
“Duncan business. And you said it yourself, you can’t handle being a Duncan, so stay out of it,” I said with finality.
Ruby
11
Kingston was the last place in the world I wanted to be. Not only did it hold too many painful childhood memories, but being there also was a constant reminder that my older brother Randy was dead. The neighborhood that we were staying in was only a few blocks away from where Randy and I grew up, and although it was a little nicer and the house we were staying in was better, it was still in the middle of Tivoli Gardens, a dilapidated area filled with crime and violence. According to Vinnie, being in the middle of the shanty town was the safest place for us, because we were protected by the gangs and thugs he did business with. I didn’t feel safe, though. Most of the time I felt like a prisoner, despite being told I could come and go as I pleased. What good is leaving the house if you don’t have anywhere to go but a slum? So, I never left the house, which was manned by several so-called security members that Vinnie made sure were present at all times. Having them in our home only added to my frustration. They were loud, annoying, and made themselves a little more than comfortable. Sometimes I didn’t know if they were there to protect us or just to smoke all the weed Vinnie kept around. Luckily, my son made a few friends with some children from next door, and I could watch and listen to them playing in the front yard from our bedroom window.
“Throw me the ball,” I heard Vincent say.
“Come closer. You can’t make it from way over dere,” one of the boys yelled as he stood in front of a plastic goal, holding a soccer ball.
“I bet I can!” Vincent yelled back and ran a little farther across the yard.
“Can not!” another boy said.
“Throw it,” Vincent said.
The boy threw the ball at Vincent, and he caught it then placed it on the ground. He eyed the goal, and then took a step back and kicked the ball. They all watched as the ball went up in the air and soared across the yard, stopping short of where it was supposed to go. A look of disappointment came across Vincent’s face, and the other boys began laughing at him.
“Shut up,” Vincent told them.
“I told you. I knew you couldn’t make it,” they teased.
“I don’t care. My daddy is gonna help me when he gets home anyway,” Vincent said. “I’m going to kick it even farther.”
“Where is your daddy now? Where does he live?” the boy asked him.
“He lives here with us. He’s da boss,” Vincent bragged.
“That’s not your daddy,” one of the boys told him, and I felt my stomach drop.
“He is too my daddy,” Vincent insisted.
“He’s a white man. You’re not white. You’re black,” another boy said.
Unable to listen to the conversation any longer, I yelled out the window, “Vincent! Come inside. It’s time to eat.”
I took off running down the stairs and out the back door. When I made it to the yard, the boys had all scattered, and my son was standing alone, soccer ball in hand.
“Come on. It’s time to eat,” I said, putting my arm around his shoulder and pulling him toward me.
He looked up at me and asked, “Mommy, where is my daddy?”
“He’s out working. He will be home in a little while,” I told him, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him. Of course, it wasn’t. Those boys had planted the seed in his mind, and now he would want answers.
“Marko said that he’s not my daddy because he’s a white man and I’m not white.” Vincent had a confused look.
I inhaled deeply. I knew that this conversation would happen eventually; however, I had hoped it would take place much later.
“Vincent, he is your daddy. You are his son, and he loves you very much. You know dat, right?”
Vincent nodded at me, and then he said, “But he is not black like me. So, how?”
I tried to answer in terms his young mind would understand. “There is a difference between a father and a daddy. A father is a man who helps create a baby in a mother’s stomach. A daddy is a man who loves yo
u and protects you and takes care of you. He is your daddy, Vincent.”
He asked the next logical question. “So, who is my father?”
If I didn’t answer, he would keep pestering me until I did, so again, I answered him, trying to keep it short and simple. “Your father lives in New York. He’s a powerful man who is also very dangerous.”
His eyes widened. “Like the Duncans?” I had tried to shield him over the years, but he had overheard many conversations and arguments between me and Vinnie about Orlando’s family. As far as my son was concerned, the Duncans were the definition of “bad guys.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to be afraid, because your daddy is gon’ to make sure dat you are safe.” I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Now, go inside and wash up fo’ dinner.”
Vincent opened the back door and went inside. I could hear his small feet running up the steps as I walked into the kitchen. I stopped, suddenly overwhelmed by the smell, which was so strong it almost made me nauseous. I followed it into the garage, where three men were smoking and tossing dice.
“What de hell is dat smell? What de hell are y’all doing in my house? Have ya lost ya damn minds?” I screamed so loud that one of the men dropped the brown cigarillo he had just placed to his lips. “My son is right upstairs. What de hell is de matter wit’ you?”
“We not in ya house! We out here away from you and de boy. Why you out here clownin’?”
“Clownin’? If you don’t get de hell away from here, I swear I will—”
“What’s wrong? What’s going on out here?” Vinnie’s voice came from behind me. “I could hear you yelling as soon as I walked in the door.”
“Vinnie, dey out here smoking ganja in my house with our son inside. Dey got to go.” I brushed past him and walked back inside.
“Ruby, wait. Come here,” he called after me. A few seconds later, I felt his hand on my arm. “Ruby, you can’t be yelling at the men like that.”
“Help? Who de hell are dey helping, Vinnie? Dey don’t do nothin’ but sit around, eating all de food, watching TV, running dey mouths all day long and smokin’. I don’t need help. Dey got to go. Now!” I snatched away from him.
