The Family Business 4

by Carl Weber

  “Kenny, go get the C4 and caps out the car. Spread them around. I don’t want one of these motherfucking trucks standing once we leave this place,” Dad ordered.

  Kenny nodded and headed for the car. Dad walked over to where the first guy had indicated the office was, and we entered, killing three more armed men in the process. Guns at the ready, we could hear someone yelling as we walked down the hallway.

  “Larry just shot this whole fucking building up! And he’s heading in here now. I can see him on the fucking monitor! Shit, he’s here!”

  “Hey, Frankie B. Long time, no see!” Dad shouted. Our guns were pointed directly at him through the glass partition. He was empty-handed, but there was a 9 mm on his desk that I was sure he was thinking about grabbing as we entered the office.

  “I wouldn’t touch that gun if I were you, Frankie. You see, this here is my oldest son, Curt, and he’s real sensitive about people pointing guns at his pops. Now, why don’t you put down the phone?”

  Frankie eyed me as I stood next to Dad with my gun raised.

  “Sure, sure.” He hung up the phone, placing it on the desk. “So, how’ve you been, Larry?” he asked, his voice shaking uncontrollably.

  Dad sat in one of the chairs in front of Frankie’s desk. “I’m good, Frankie. Glad to be outta that nuthouse my brother had me in.”

  The color drained out of Frankie’s face. I could tell that he was scared shitless as he stuttered, “I–I–I’m sorry about that, Larry.”

  “Sit down, Frankie. Let’s have a chat. I know you got some good-ass bourbon around here. You was always a bourbon man. Pour me a drink, why don’tcha?”

  “Just don’t get stupid while you’re doing it,” I said.

  Frankie opened the desk drawer and took out a silver flask and a glass. His hands were shaking so bad that some of the liquor spilled as he poured it. He slid it across the smooth mahogany surface and finally sat down.

  “Good stuff,” Dad said after drinking it all in one gulp.

  “L–l–look, Larry, you . . . you and I go way back. I–I’ve always respected you, and you know that,” Frankie said.

  “Damn, Frankie, you stuttering so bad that you’re sounding like my brother Levi.” Dad laughed. “Say what the fuck you gotta say.”

  Frankie took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and said, “La–Larry, whatever this shit you and LC got going on, it don’t have nothing to do with me.”

  “Bullshit, Frankie. That’s a lie and you know it. All this shit belongs to me. I started Duncan Transports. It was me that created this and built it up with my blood, sweat, and tears. You were there watching me put in all the work over the years. Then you and LC stole my fucking company!” Dad pounded his fist on the desk, and everyone jumped.

  Frankie frowned and said, “Larry, that’s not true. You sold your share of the company to me years ago. I didn’t steal anything. I got the paperwork to prove it.”

  He reached into the drawer again, pulled out a tattered folder, and slid it across the desk. My dad opened it, looked through it for a moment, then shut it.

  “Curtis,” Dad said.

  “Yeah?” I answered, fully expecting him to tell me to shoot this poor bastard.

  “Go check on your brother. Make sure he’s rigging that C4 properly. I’ll be down in a minute. Me and Frankie have to discuss this paperwork in private.” He drummed his fingers across the folder.

  “Okay, it was nice meeting you, Frankie,” I said, knowing it would be the first and last time I saw the dude. By the time I found Kenny, Frankie’s screams could be heard from every corner of the building. Ten minutes later, we were all in the car, driving away, when a huge explosion erupted. It was so strong we could actually feel its heat as it shook the car.

  I pulled over, and we all looked back at the building in amazement. The flames had to be a hundred feet in the air. The satisfied look on Dad’s face was priceless. It was the first time he had looked genuinely happy since he’d come home.

  “Okay, show’s over. Let’s go.” Dad tapped my shoulder, and I pulled back on the road. “Now, I want you boys to drop me at the Amtrak, then head back home and have a real good time, because you deserve it. I’m real proud of both of you.”

  Both Kenny and I beamed with pride.

  “What about you? Where you going to be?” Kenny asked.

  “Me and Grandma Bettie are going on a trip to visit an old friend’s son,” Dad answered. It wasn’t too hard to figure out he was going to see Vinnie Dash.

  London

  19

  I was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as I stood in front of the house we’d rented in Negril. When Rio and I had arrived, I called Vegas to let him know we were there, and was surprised to hear that Daryl would be picking me up in fifteen minutes. That felt like an hour ago. My stomach was a bundle of nerves, partly from the anticipation of seeing him, but mostly from the fact that I had been sent here along with my brothers to help take care of family business. That was something I hadn’t done in a long time. A very long time.

  Life for me was unusual because I grew up as a Duncan. My parents made sure we lived in the finest of homes, wore designer clothes, and traveled the world. We were not only educated in the classroom, but we learned other unique skills. At the age of six, my mother enrolled me in ballet class, and my father taught me how to use a knife and handle a gun. By the time I was ten, I was fluent in Spanish, French, and Russian. My mother instructed me on proper etiquette, and yet, she made sure I received formal martial arts training, and I was awarded a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and karate. Although I wasn’t shipped off to finishing school like Paris, I was still capable of killing a man if necessary. Unlike my younger sister, I never had until Vinnie Dash’s brother kidnapped my child. I think my family just assumed that I preferred being in the more traditional role of wife and mother. I was the “safe” one of the family. I was also the bored one, which was why, when Daddy and Vegas decided I would be sent to Jamaica to help find Orlando’s son, I was secretly ecstatic.

  “This makes absolutely no sense at all,” Harris had grumbled when we were alone after he found out I was leaving. “Why the hell would you be the one to go? What about Paris or Sasha?”

  “Look, I’m just as surprised as you are,” I told him.

  “Who’s going to take care of your kids while you’re off in Jamaica looking for Orlando’s?” he asked. “Or hasn’t anyone thought about them?”

  I stared at him. “My kids? Is that what you just said?”

  “You know what I meant, London.”

  “I know what you said. And in case you didn’t realize, my kids have a damn daddy who is more than capable of taking care of them while I’m gone—although sometimes he does forget. Also, my kids have a nanny who will be here, along with their grandmother,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “You know how I feel about having other people raise my children, London.”

  “I can’t tell sometimes.” I rolled my eyes at him, but then decided to take a different approach. “Listen, Harris, I get it. You don’t want me to go? Fine. You march yourself back downstairs and tell Daddy and Vegas I can’t go. And this time don’t back down.”

  Harris continued to grumble and complain, but he never said anything else to my brother or my father. I left a list of instructions with him about the kids that I knew he probably wouldn’t even look at, since my children would be the sole responsibility of the nanny and my mother anyway. By the time I entered the car to the airport, we were barely speaking.

  “You called for a taxi?”

  I turned to see Daryl yelling from a jeep he was driving. I smiled and walked over, then waited for him to get out and open the door for me.

  “Well, I definitely wasn’t expecting this,” I said, motioning toward the all-terrain vehicle.

  Daryl’s body brushed against mine as he opened the car door. He was close enough for me to smell the sweet scented oil he wore as I tried to maneuver around him. Somehow,
he managed to brush his hand across my chest as he helped me with my seat belt, sending a shockwave down my body. I hated that he still had the ability to do that to me. I did my best not to stare, but as usual, he was looking sexy dressed in a casual pair of jeans that made his ass look even more spectacular than normal.

  “What’s wrong with this?” Daryl asked, climbing back into the jeep and putting on a pair of aviator shades before taking off.

  “I just figured you would be in something a little more upscale, I guess,” I told him, making sure my eyes stayed forward.

  “Come on, you know I ain’t the flashy type. Besides, we should remain low key while we’re here. The last thing we need is to be seen in some kind of luxury ride that people will remember. My goal is to blend in as much as possible,” he said. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do, ya know?”

  “That makes sense.” I pulled down the bottom of the sundress I wore, which had risen slightly over the top of my knees. From the corner of my eye, I could see Daryl peeping at me and smiling.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “Pull your dress down. It ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before.” He laughed, and I peered over my glasses. Although he was smiling, it wasn’t laughter in his eyes; it was lust. I looked away before he could see the same thing in mine.

  Stay focused, London. You’re not here to break your vows. This is business. The last thing you need is to get distracted by Daryl. Just keep it cordial.

  “Not since I’ve been married, you haven’t.” I pulled my dress down a little farther to make sure he got my point.

  “Touché,” he replied.

  What most people didn’t know was that Daryl and I had secretly dated off and on for years before my engagement to Harris. In fact, Daryl was the first man I’d ever slept with, and you know what they say about your first.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. I apologize if I was outta line,” he said.

  My eyes looked up and met his. I didn’t want to be so cold, but he was starting to get a little too comfortable, and I’d just arrived.

  “No problem. I just want to make sure we have clear boundaries.” I turned my legs slightly away from him.

  “So, what’s going on back at home? What’s the deal with this uncle that everyone is worried about?”

  “Uncle Larry,” I said.

  “Yeah, your uncle Larry. I remember him. He was a pretty bad-ass dude, but from what Vegas is telling me, he turned psychotic.”

  “He did.” I nodded. “My uncle served in the Vietnam war, and they say when he came home, he was still Larry, but he just wasn’t the same. Being in the middle of all that combat and seeing all of that death messed with his mind, I guess,” I explained.

  “That shit messed with a lot of guys’ minds. They don’t say war is hell for nothing. A lot of men came back from Vietnam with PTSD.”

  “Naw, this wasn’t just PTSD. Uncle Larry is way beyond that. He was always a little out of control, but Aunt NeeNee and my dad and Uncle Lou could kind of reel him back in when he needed it. But then he got worse. Even his meds didn’t help. He became a lunatic.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah, Uncle Larry got to the point where he would shoot somebody for getting his order wrong at the drive-through.”

  “Damn, now that’s what you call anger issues.” Daryl, who had no doubt seen plenty of crazy shit in his lifetime, seemed genuinely surprised by this.

  “Tell me about it. It broke his heart to have to do it, but Daddy had to put him away. It had to be done. Uncle Larry was instutionalized for years, until he showed up and shot my dad.”

  Daryl took his eyes off the road and stared at me. “You mean LC was shot by his own brother?”

  “Watch out!” I warned, seeing the car in front of us stop in the middle of the road.

  Daryl slammed on the brakes just in time.

  “You trying to kill us?” I asked, my heart pounding.

  He looked at me calmly and said, “I couldn’t think of a better person to die with.”

  I shook my head. Despite my previous protest, he was still flirting. “Well, I’m not trying to die anytime soon, so keep your eyes on the road.”

  “I’m trying, but it’s hard not to look at other things,” he said and glanced down at my cleavage. I reached out and turned his head forward.

  We drove a little while longer, until we came to a small food store. He parked the car on the side and told me, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  “What? Hell, no. I’m coming with you.” I reached for the door handle, but he reached over and grabbed my hand.

  “Look, I’m not gonna be in there that long. I just gotta go see this cat I know that’s a butcher here and see what I can find out. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “What if something happens to you while you’re in there?” I asked.

  “Nothing’s gonna happen. I know this dude. Just relax. These folks don’t like outsiders.”

  “Fine,” I said, sitting back and folding my arms.

  “London, I mean it. Stay your ass in the car.”

  “I said fine.”

  Daryl gave me a final warning look then went inside. While I waited, I took my phone out and tried calling Harris. He didn’t answer, so I just sent a quick text telling him I was checking on him and the kids. Then I called Momma, who assured me everything was fine. By the time I finished talking with her, Daryl was opening the car door.

  “That was fast,” I said. “Did you find out anything?”

  “Yeah, I think I know where they’re staying. It’s not so hard to find a rich white guy, married to a black woman with a son, who is hanging with a bunch of thugs.”

  “Great. This is gonna be easier than we thought,” I said.

  Daryl shook his head. “I wouldn’t go counting your chickens before they’re hatched. The place they’re staying at is built like a fortress.”

  Paris

  20

  “Welcome to Waycross, Georgia,” Orlando announced as I stretched myself awake.

  I glanced at the scattered houses with makeshift storefronts in between as we drove into what appeared to be the black portion of town. I hadn’t been here in like fifteen years, and I couldn’t believe this was where my parents grew up, especially my mother. Who would’ve thought the self-proclaimed queen of all things couture had survived this rural area? I had only seen one grocery store, let alone anything remotely resembling a mall. It looked pretty scary, like an abandoned ghost town, but I knew that had a lot to do with the fact that it was almost nine o’clock at night and the streets were dark.

  “Talk about small beginnings,” I murmured. Both Orlando and I had been quiet most of the trip. We’d slept on the plane and barely talked on the two-hour drive from Jacksonville into Waycross. Although I was still pissed about not being sent to Jamaica, I knew he was even more upset. Daddy had tasked us with heading to his hometown in search of information regarding the whereabouts of Uncle Larry, Kenny, and Curtis. Neither Orlando nor I was enthused about the assignment, but we did what we knew we had to do.

  “Yeah, this is where it all started.” He sighed as we passed a Piggly Wiggly.

  “I can see why they got the hell away from here. This place is a dump.”

  “Yeah, but believe it or not, they were doing pretty good for themselves while they lived here. Dad had the gas station, and Uncle Lou and Uncle Larry had their side hustles, of course.”

  “Of course!” I laughed, knowing he was referring to the gambling, numbers running, loan sharking, and in Uncle Lou’s case, pimping.

  “Gotta love the Duncans,” he said with a chuckle.

  “So, how do we even know where to start looking?” I asked, feeling irritated. It had been a long day, and I was tired. The last place I wanted to be was on a wild goose chase in the middle of nowhere. “How far is the nearest hotel? It’s too late to do anything else tonight. I mean, we are in Waycross.”
r />   “Nah, it’s early for where we’re headed.”

  “What? Where is that?”

  “We’re going to another Duncan family establishment here in Waycross.” He was smiling, but I groaned.

  “Ugh. Are we going to the gas station?”

  “Nope, something way better than a gas station.”

  I was not in the mood to play Twenty Questions with him, so I just shut up, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes. We continued traveling in silence until finally, we arrived at the infamous Oak Street, where Orlando parked in front of a large house with a wraparound porch. There was a neon sign above the porch that read: BIG SHIRLEY’S.

  “Oh, shit! Big Shirley’s still exists?” I laughed, remembering the stories about the brothel named after my aunt. It was the place where my parents had met. “Is it still a whorehouse?”

  “It’s more like a strip club now,” Orlando said.

  “Get the fuck outta here. You know I love strip clubs.”

  “So do I, little sister. So do I.”

  Suddenly I was feeling more energetic. We walked up to the front door, where we were searched by a burly guy who looked more like an oversized door holder than a security guard. He was so overweight that he was winded just from waving the security wand over our bodies.

  “You got any ID?” he asked breathily as he stared at my breasts instead of my face.

  “You ain’t ask him for ID,” I said, pointing at Orlando, who had just gone through the door with no problem.

  “I wasn’t interested in his name, sexy.” He grinned at me, and I was immediately repulsed. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out one of the many fake IDs I kept for work purposes.

  He looked at the ID I handed him. “Sky. That name suits you.”

  “Can I go in now?” I asked.

  “By all means.” He held the door open, and I walked inside.

  I didn’t know how it compared to other strip clubs in the deep South, but it definitely wasn’t like any of the clubs I’d ever been to. First, there wasn’t a stage, just some strobe lights and a random pole with a chick swinging on it in the corner of the room. There were a few tables with ladies dancing on top, and of course, a couple of other naked women walking around. Trap music blared from some speakers, but I didn’t even see a DJ at first, because he was blocked by the crowd of folks near the pole. Although I wasn’t impressed by the place, clearly the crowd of male patrons was, including my brother, who was staring at some redbone with the biggest nipples I had ever seen.