by Carl Weber
“Yes, it would,” she said happily.
I sat up in the bed. “So, you think we can just talk this through and he’ll give me everything back?”
“Yes, Larry, I do.”
“You don’t think he’ll try and put me back in that hospital, do you?” I mean, that was a legitimate question.
“Not if you take your meds, he won’t.”
“Well, Nee,” I said, raising my voice, “all I can say is, if you believe that, then you’re a damn fool, because if LC and them don’t put a bullet in me, they’re going to cart me right back to that hospital, and our boys are going to be right there with me.” I said with finality, “I know my brother. He can’t be trusted.”
“God dammit, Larry, then bring my sons home to me,” she shouted. “Do you understand? I want you to bring my sons home to me.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. Not right now at least.” I hung up the phone, took out the battery, and snapped it in half. Suddenly, I could feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.
“What the hell’s going on in here?”
Startled, I reached under my pillow for the gun I had tucked away. Within seconds, I was turned around, aiming at Momma, who was standing in the doorway of my room.
“Dammit, Momma! You scared the shit outta me. You’re lucky I didn’t blow your dag-gone head off by accident.” I lowered the gun and placed it back under my pillow. “I thought you was watching TV.”
“I was until I heard you screaming at somebody. The boys acting up again?” she asked.
“No, the boys are fine. They’re at the strip club down the block.”
Momma chuckled. “Shit, I should have gone with them.”
“Me too,” I said, joining her laughter.
She sat down on the bed next to me. “What’s going on? What’s got your face all in a twist? You wanna talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about,” I mumbled.
“You’re lying. Who you been talking to?” She pointed at the broken phone in my hand.
I looked down at the dusty floor and paused a few seconds before admitting, “NeeNee.”
Momma didn’t chuckle this time; she let out a loud, raucous laugh. “You mean to tell me that you talked to NeeNee for five minutes and she got your head turned around that quick?”
“My head’s not turned around, Momma. I’m just wondering if what we ’bout to do is the right thing, that’s all.”
“What the fuck? Why wouldn’t it be? Larry, LC had you locked away in a damn nuthouse for fourteen years, away from your wife and children, and then he stuck me in some nursing home to wither away and die because I had the nerve to say something to him about what he was doing to you. I done missed out on great grand after great grand being born, so he gets no pass from me.”
“Me neither, but I was thinking, maybe if we talk to him—”
SLAP!
The palm coming across my face stunned me. My first instinct was to make a fist to retaliate, and then I quickly came to my senses when I remembered that the blow came from the woman who had given me life.
“Stop thinking. Ain’t nothing to think about,” she yelled. “LC’s not going to give you back those years he stole from you. He’s my son, Larry, so you know this is hard for me to say, but he’s violated everything this family stands for. Your brother has singlehandedly destroyed what your father built. So, right now, all you need to do is stick to the plan. Do you understand, son? Stick to the goddamn plan.”
I listened to everything Momma was saying. My being gone had taken its toll on my family, and the last thing I wanted was to have the legacy of my father destroyed. My father had always emphasized the importance of family sticking together. He was one of the main reasons my brothers and I had worked so hard to build a family business, a legacy for all of us. And then LC had turned on me, like the Duncan name didn’t mean shit to him.
I looked at my mother and nodded. “Yeah, Momma.”
“Good. Now, put LC and his nonsense out your mind. We got a lot to do tomorrow, and dealing with them Jamaicans is not going to be an easy task, so we’re going to need our leader at his best.” She kissed my forehead and eased her way toward my bedroom door. “I love you, son.
“Love you too, Ma.”
She shut the door, and I closed my eyes. I loved my wife, but I can’t lie; there is nothing like a mother’s love and comfort. My momma could talk me into damn near anything.
Sasha
14
I finished putting the final items in my Louis Vuitton suitcase, zipped it shut, then did one last look around my room to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. It looked like I had everything, so I tucked my Ray Bans into my purse and headed downstairs. I decided to have one of Junior’s guys grab my bag, because Vegas had sent me a text saying he and Uncle LC needed to speak with me. Most likely they wanted to give me some last-minute instructions about our trip, and undoubtedly lecture me about mine and Rio’s behavior while we were working. My excitement about the trip was slightly minimized, because Paris was upset she wasn’t going with us. I’d tried calling her, but she was still in her feelings.
“You wanted to see me?” I said when I walked into Uncle LC’s office. He was sitting behind his desk, while Vegas stood in the middle of the room on his phone.
“Have a seat, Sasha.” Uncle LC pointed to one of the empty chairs in front of him. He was being formal, which let me know that this was going to be one of his longer lectures. I sat down and waited for his instructions.
He leaned forward and announced, “There’s been a slight change of plans.”
“What kind of change? We’re not flying out today?” Uncle LC was a very hard man to read, so I glanced over at Vegas, who had ended his call and took the seat next to me.
“Actually, you’re not flying out at all,” he replied.
“Excuse me?” I sat up in the chair. “What do you mean, not at all? I can’t very well drive to Jamaica.”
“We’re gonna need you to stay here. There’s some other business you can help us with,” Uncle LC said.
“I don’t understand. Why can’t I go?” This time, I turned and addressed the question to Vegas. “Surveillance and intel are my specialties.”
He shrugged and said, “I know that, but this is not my call.”
I turned back to my uncle. “What did I do? You know I can handle this, Uncle LC. This is a piece of cake.”
“I’m not questioning your ability, Sasha. I just think this job is better suited for someone else.”
Fuck, this can not be happening. He is not replacing me with . . .
“Paris! You’re taking Paris?” I huffed, glancing back and forth between them. “You mean to tell me she bitched and whined enough to get her way again? I should’ve known this was gonna happen. Paris always gets what she—”
Uncle LC interrupted me. “Paris isn’t going either.”
Now I was even more confused. I knew Vegas needed a female operative to help, if only to act as a companion to Daryl so he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb, and sending Rio in that role would be pushing it. If I wasn’t going and neither was Paris, that didn’t make sense.
“Then who? Who’s going?” I asked.
Vegas hesitated before he said, “London.”
Clearly, I had misunderstood him, so I asked again, “Who?”
“We’re sending London.” Uncle LC answered this time.
“London? What’s she supposed to do if things get sticky? She hasn’t picked up a gun since I’ve been here.”
“I wouldn’t say that. She and Ma are down in the range two or three times a week before you and Paris even get up,” Vegas said.
Okay, that was surprising, but that didn’t change the fact that she was far less qualified than me or Paris. “She wouldn’t know what to do—”
“She’s trained. Who do you think killed Tony Dash?” Uncle LC said, interrupting me again.
Again, I looked at Vegas, who nodded and said, �
��I trained her myself. She can handle it, but this is Pop’s call.”
“Uncle LC,” I said, pleading, “why can’t we both go?”
“Because I said so. Now, we have business for you to handle here, Sasha. It’s already been decided. All right?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, but as the words escaped my mouth and I tried to wrap my head around my uncle’s sudden decision to keep me from leaving, it dawned on me where this was stemming from.
“One last question.”
“Sure,” Vegas replied.
“This is about my mother, isn’t it? She’s the one who’s pulling the strings to keep me in New York, isn’t she?”
Vegas seemed completely miffed by my comment, but one look at Uncle LC’s face and I knew that I was right.
“Sasha, your mother’s just a little worried about you,” Uncle LC said.
“My mother is full of shit! And if she’s going to dictate our relationship, then maybe it’s time I go back to work for the Syndicate!” I stood up and told them, “Donna Washington-Duncan-Wilson-Ferguson may pull your strings, but she damn sure doesn’t pull mine. I ain’t one of her puppets.” I stormed out of Uncle LC’s office and headed out to call the woman who found it necessary to keep interrupting my life.
Larry
15
“Stay alert, boys,” I told Kenny and Curt as we moved across the Co-op City parking lot toward the stores. From the second we’d stepped out of the car, I could feel hostile eyes on us. I glanced up at the twenty-story buildings, which were a sniper’s wet dream. If someone wanted to take us out, we’d be dead, and there was nothing we could do about it. “We are definitely in unfriendly territory.”
“Copy that,” Curt replied. “I count five potential unfriendlies between eleven and one.”
“And another five at my three o’clock,” Kenny added. We were now about five feet from the sidewalk. “How you want to handle it, Pop?”
“Don’t do a damn thing unless I do. Far as they’re concerned, we’re here to purchase some vaping equipment,” I said, pointing at the storefront with a huge Jamaican flag painted on its window.
By the time we reached the door, the two groups of unfriendlies had gathered in front. None of them said or did anything other than stare, so we continued past the crowd and entered the shop.
A pungent herbal smell greeted us as we stepped into the hazy atmosphere. The gathering of thugs on the inside was not as big as the one on the outside. A few glanced up when we walked in, but most of them were too focused on the stuff they were smoking to even be concerned. Various photos and paintings of famous Jamaicans from Marcus Garvey to Bob Marley covered the red, black, and green walls.
“This ain’t like no vape shop I’ve ever been in. It smells like weed in here,” Kenny whispered to me. “Think we can get some samples?”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” Curt hissed.
“Can I help you, mon?” the slim, dread-headed man behind the counter yelled over the reggae music blaring from the speakers. “We got all types of smoke. Whatcha need today?”
We walked over, and I said, “What I need is to speak to a man by the name of Jamaica John. You wouldn’t know where I might find him, would you?” I slipped a hundred-dollar bill across the counter.
He looked at me for a moment and then said, “Sure ting. Be right back.” He disappeared through a doorway covered with long, dangling beads.
A few moments later, the beads were parted by a jovial, brown-skinned man who had to be every bit of four hundred pounds. He squeezed his way through the doorway wearing a colorful T-shirt. He smiled and spoke to a few of the customers, who laughed at the fun-loving man. I watched and waited.
“You looking for Jamaica John?” he finally asked warmly, with no hint of threat in his tone.
“Yes, I am,” I told him.
“Why you lookin’ fo’ me?” He gave me a half-smile then sucked hard on a large rectangular vaping device.
“I need to talk to you.”
The slim guy had returned and was now standing beside him, staring at us.
“You wanna talk, brotha, then talk,” John said, taking another long hit from his device.
I looked around at the shop full of vaping fiends. “Nah, I prefer to conduct my business in private if you don’t mind.”
“What kind of business you talkin’? You lookin’ for smoke?”
“No, I don’t want no smoke,” I said, beginning to feel agitated.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Then what?”
“I’m looking for a different kind of product, so to speak, but I ain’t gonna discuss it out here around your customers. I only discuss business in private.”
“Fine, let’s go to de back where we can talk.” That fat motherfucker was still smiling. “But only you. Dese two have to stay here.” He glanced at the skinny guy, who lifted a makeshift countertop for me to pass through, then closed it in front of Kenny and Curt.
“You sure about this?” Curt asked, sounding concerned.
“Doesn’t seem like I have a choice,” I replied.
“He’ll be a’ight, mon,” John said, gesturing for me to follow him as he squeezed through the beaded doorway.
I followed him down a dark hallway into a large makeshift office, where two men sat at a card table, smoking weed and playing dominoes. There was a large desk, a full-size refrigerator, a microwave, and in the corner was a large safe.
One of the men jumped up and asked, “Who da fuck is dis?”
“Calm down, mon. This man is here to talk business. Have a seat,” John said, maneuvering behind a large desk. I sat down in one of the card table chairs.
“Now, what is dis business dat is so important we must discuss in private?” Jamaica John asked, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out one of the biggest blunts I had ever seen. He laughed as he lit it.
“I am looking to buy a large quantity of your product,” I told him.
“What product is dat?” he asked, taking a drag of the brown cigar and then offering it to me. “You said you don’t wan’ weed.”
“I don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “What I’m looking for is a large quantity of heroin.”
Jamaica John’s jovial smile disappeared, and I could hear the dominoes game behind me stop as if E. F. Hutton had just spoken.
“John, ya know ya can’t trust a man who won’t smoke witcha. He’s probably po-lice,” the same dominoes-playing man said.
“He’s got a point. You a cop?”
“Nah. I hate cops.” I pointed at his blunt. “Almost as much as I hate smoking that shit.”
“Den who are you?”
“My name’s Larry. Larry Duncan.”
Jamaica John’s eyes widened. “Duncan?”
“Yes, Larry Duncan,” I said, maintaining my calm demeanor so they wouldn’t feel like they had the upper hand, in spite of the fact that I heard the distinctive sound of bullets being chambered behind me. I was actually glad that we’d left my momma behind, because her smart-ass mouth would not be helpful in this situation.
“We no do business wit’ LC Duncan and his bunch of bloodclots! John—” It was the same man yelling behind me. His job with the crew seemed to be to protest every fucking thing.
I looked directly at him and said calmly, “I ain’t come here asking you for shit. I ain’t even talking to you, so you need to sit your ass down and shut the fuck up.” I turned back to John and said, “I ain’t LC Duncan. I’m Larry, and I don’t fuck with my brother and his bloodclots either. That is why I’m here.”
“Liar!” the guy behind me shouted. Finally, John had heard of enough of him too.
“Dexter, let dis man talk.” Jamaica John put the blunt back into his mouth and pulled on it again. “I apologize for my friend’s behavior. You would tink de ganja would make him a bit calmer.” He shot a look at the man, who understood it as an order and sat his ass back down.
“Now, Mr. Duncan,” John said, “what did you—”
“John, de Duncans are not to be trusted!” It was Dexter again, and this time he had raised his gun to my head.
“My man, if you gonna use that gun, then use it. Otherwise, sit yo’ ass down. Can’t you see we are trying to conduct business?” My hand eased under my jacket. I wasn’t sure if I could take all three of them, but it would be fun trying.
“Dexter!” John barked, and that was enough to defuse the situation. Dexter lowered the gun but remained standing.
“How much product are you looking to buy?” John asked.
“All that you have.”
He looked surprised by my answer. “Dat is a lot of product.”
“Okay, then how about we start with twenty kilos?”
John shook his head. “I don’t have dat kind of weight.”
“But you know someone who does,” I said.
“And who might dat be?” John peered at me suspiciously.
“Vinnie Dash.”
“John, dis man is lying. Why are you even tinking—” Dexter argued.
“Didn’t you and I both tell this motherfucker to shut the fuck up?” I looked at John before I pulled the pistol out and aimed it right at Dexter. The look of terror on his face was priceless. I pulled the trigger, and a bullet hit him right in the neck. His body hit the floor with a loud thump, and I put the gun back in my pocket then turned around to face John as if nothing had happened.
“Oh shit, mon!” John stared at me for a second, and then to my surprise, he laughed loudly. “I guess he will shut de fuck up now, won’t he?”
“My apologies,” I told him. “But at least we have one thing out the way. I’m definitely not a cop.”
“No worries, mon. I didn’t like dat motherfucker anyway.” The other men at the table were smart enough to keep their eyes on the dominoes and remain silent.
“So, back to what we were talking about,” I said. “Set the meeting up.”
“How do I know dat you are not in fact working wit’ your brother?” John challenged me. “Vinnie Dash is a powerful man, and I am not trying to become an ally wit’ his enemies. He would kill me just as fast as you ended de life of my friend lying on de ground.” He pointed to Dexter’s lifeless body.
