The Family Business 4

by Carl Weber

  “You are not her mother. You will never be her mother. Do you understand me? That’s my fucking daughter. She’s all I got. You already stole one of my children, but I’ll never let you have both, bitch,” she said, seething with a barely suppressed rage now.

  “Stole?” I took a step toward her, lowering my voice. “If I recall, you abandoned him, and his father and I saved his life—and yours.” I gave her a superior smirk. “Now, if you ever contact my husband and threaten him with your bullshit, I’ll—”

  She cut me off, matching my expression with a haughty one of her own. Neither one of us was willing to back down; it had always been that way between us. “You’ll what? Call my bluff? Keep it up and your little family secret won’t be a secret anymore.”

  Without thinking, I lunged and grabbed her by the collar, slapping her as hard as I could three times. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she gasped. The next thing I knew, her hand was in my hair, and she was yanking it, so I did the same. We both stumbled and fell against the window of the store we were in front of, and people began yelling.

  “Grandma! Grandma! Let her go!” Nevada grabbed me from behind and pulled me off her, while the rest of our security team grabbed Donna. “Grandma, calm down!”

  Once I was free, I stood up and readjusted my clothes.

  “You’ve lost your mind!” Donna yelled as she struggled to get away from the grip of my security team. “Let me go, you creep!”

  “Are you okay, Grandma?” Nevada asked, still holding my arm.

  I nodded, out of breath but happy I’d gotten in a few good shots. “I’m fine. Come on. Let’s go before we miss your appointment with the tailor.”

  We started to walk away, but then I stopped and turned back to Donna to get in the last word. “By the way, I will tell Junior myself before I let you destroy my family. How do you think he’ll react when he finds out the woman who birthed him abandoned him at birth? Then again, him and Sasha will have a lot to talk about, won’t they?”

  “It wasn’t abandonment and you know it! You are playing with a mother’s love, Chippy!” she screamed at me. “You of all people should know that’s a dangerous game, so stay away from Sasha and I’ll stay away from Junior.”

  “Call it what you want, Donna, but the bottom line is you were incapable of caring for a child, and you know that. If LC and I hadn’t stepped in, who knows what could have happened to that baby.”

  My men had let her go but were hovering nearby in case she tried something again, so Donna shot them the middle finger then picked up the bags she had dropped during our tussle and walked away.

  “Grandma, what was she talking about? About Uncle Junior?” Nevada asked when she was gone. My poor baby looked so confused.

  I put my hands on either side of his face and stared him in the eyes. “Nevada, remember I told you that being a Duncan means there are some things you may see and hear that are not to be talked about?”

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  “Well, what you saw happen, and more importantly, what you heard is something you will take to your grave. This is our little secret. Do you understand?” I felt the tears forming in the corners of my eyes, but not one fell.

  “I understand,” he said and hugged me tight.

  We started walking toward the men’s shop, Nevada keeping a protective arm around my shoulder. “You know, Grandma,” he said before we entered the store, “I don’t know if what just happened really fits in with that dignity and grace stuff you were just telling me about the Beautillion.”

  I looked at him and saw a sly smile on his face. He sort of had a point, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I playfully swatted his hand away. “Nice try, Nevada, but you are still going to Beautillion whether you like it or not.”

  He gave me a kiss on the cheek and opened the door for me. “After you, ma’am.”

  God, I loved that boy.

  LC

  38

  Chippy was in the den, drinking a glass of wine and listening to Al Green when we got home. She barely looked up when I walked in. I took off my jacket and loosened my tie then poured myself a drink. I could hear my children mumbling in the living room, and I was sure they would make their way into the den soon.

  “Hey.” I sat on the sofa beside my wife and took a long swallow of bourbon.

  “Hey.”

  I could hear the irritation in her voice, and I wondered if one of the kids had called and given her an update about what had happened at the airfield. I waited for a few moments, expecting her to start fussing, but she didn’t, which made me realize that something else was wrong.

  I moved a little closer and said, “Okay, Chippy. What’s wrong? You got the old school music playing, and you ain’t saying much.”

  When she turned to me, I saw a red mark on her cheek and scratches on her neck.

  I sat up and leaned in to get a closer look at her injuries. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “I’m fine, LC. Calm down. I just ran into someone who never fails to bring out the old me.” She sighed loudly and took a sip of wine.

  “Let me guess. You ran into Donna.”

  “I did. And what the hell happened to you? You walked in and went straight for the top-shelf bottle,” she said, gesturing to my glass, filled almost to the brim with bourbon.

  “Well, while you were slugging it out with Donna, I was out looking for Larry and the boys,” I told her.

  “I take it you didn’t find them.”

  I swallowed the rest of my drink and was about to explain what happened when Vegas walked in, with the rest of his siblings behind him.

  “Hey, Mom,” Vegas said.

  “Hey, Vegas. Junior, Orlando . . .” Chippy frowned. “Rio, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Jamaica?”

  “I followed Uncle Larry back here.”

  “Followed him from where?”

  Rio looked over at me, and I nodded, letting him know it was okay to give her the details. Sometimes I liked to leave out a few things if I knew they would upset her too much. Anything that put her kids in extreme danger was usually on that list.

  “Uncle Larry was in Jamaica,” Rio told her.

  “What the hell was Larry in Jamaica for?” She put down her wine and stood up.

  “He was meeting with Vinnie Dash, and when—”

  “This isn’t making any sense. Where the hell is London?” Chippy demanded to know.

  “She’s in Kingston,” Vegas said in an attempt to calm his mother down and save Rio from her wrath at the same time. “But Daryl is with her.”

  “Chippy, London is fine. She and Daryl are keeping an eye out on Vinnie, while Rio was instructed not to let Larry out of his sight,” I explained.

  “Well, you said you couldn’t find Larry, LC. I’m so confused with all of this.” Chippy folded her arms.

  Vegas’s phone rang, and he stepped out to take the call.

  I pulled her down to sit beside me and explained what had taken place over the past few hours.

  “Well, what are we going to do, LC?” Chippy asked me when I was finished.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? We need a plan.” The worried look on her face mirrored exactly how I was feeling.

  “I mean I don’t know. There is no plan at this point,” I told her. The room became silent.

  “Pop, things just got a little dicey,” Vegas said when he came back.

  “Now what?” I sighed.

  “I just heard from our Dominican friends. They just re-upped with Uncle Larry. He sold them five kilos for thirty thousand a piece,” he said.

  “How? That’s damn near what we pay,” Junior said.

  “Damn it! He knows what he’s doing. He’s undercutting our price,” I said, starting to get a clearer picture of what Larry was up to.

  “Yeah, but at those prices, none of us will make any money,” Orlando said.

  “I think that’s the point, son,” I explained. “Larry
doesn’t care about making money. All he wants to do is hurt us.”

  “Well, is the product any good?” Orlando asked.

  Vegas delivered bad news. “According to my people, it’s just as pure as ours, maybe a little purer.”

  “Where the hell did Uncle Larry get that kinda dope from?” Junior shook his head in amazement.

  “He got it from Vinnie Dash,” I said matter-of-factly as I stood up. “Vegas.”

  “Yeah, Pop.”

  “I wanna know where the fuck Vinnie Dash got his product from and I wanna know how much of it he has.”

  Vegas nodded, a grimace on his face. “So do I, Pop. So do I.”

  Ruby

  39

  Once again, I had woken up from a dream about Orlando that was so real I could still feel his lips and hands on my body. It was bad enough that I saw him every time I looked in Vincent’s face, but now he was haunting my dreams on a daily basis. I decided that what I needed was some retail therapy. Shopping was the ultimate stress reliever, and I hadn’t been shopping in a while. So, I called Vinnie and told him that Vincent and I were going out for the afternoon.

  “Where’re you going?” he asked.

  “I’m just going to pick up a few tings from downtown, Vinnie. Maybe a dress and some underwear for you and Vincent. I won’t be gone long. I promise,” I told him.

  “You can’t go by yourself,” Vinnie stated, sounding more like my father than my husband. “Take Henry and Charles with you.”

  I was glad he couldn’t see the disgusted expression on my face. Henry and Charles were two of the men that spent more time smoking weed and harassing the women that walked by the house than protecting Vincent and me, and I couldn’t stand them, especially Charles, who was always ogling me. There was no way I was going anywhere with them.

  “I don’t know where dey are. Besides, I already asked Blake to take us,” I told him, hoping that Blake, one of the few men who was still around from when my brother was in charge, was nearby.

  “Okay, that’s fine. Blake knows what to do. Oh, and boxers not briefs, Ruby.”

  “I know, Vinnie. I’m not de one who buys briefs. You are.”

  “That’s right, isn’t it? Okay then, I’ll see you later. Be careful. I love you.”

  “Love you too,” I told him, relieved that he hadn’t put up much of a fight.

  Half an hour later, we were climbing into the back of Blake’s jeep.

  “Are we going to buy toys?” Vincent asked me.

  “Maybe,” I told him as I fastened his seat belt.

  “Vincent, my man. How ya been?” Blake greeted my son with a big grin.

  “Hey, Blake!” Vincent smiled back. “We’re going to buy toys.”

  “I know.” Blake nodded.

  “I said maybe,” I corrected them. “And only if you’re a good boy.”

  “He’s always a good boy,” Blake said as the jeep pulled forward.

  Blake had been around it seemed like forever. He was one of the last links between my brother’s regime and Vinnie’s so-called new Jamaican posse. He was a laid back, friendly guy who I always felt comfortable around. Where many of Vinnie’s employees gawked and stared at my body, some even going so far as to make lewd comments that they thought I didn’t hear, Blake was always respectful and pleasant, and on more than one occasion, I had overheard him putting people in their place. Vincent also liked him a lot. I was glad, when we moved from the States back to Jamaica, that Blake was one of the guys who made the move with us.

  “Blake, you can pull over dere,” I said. We were at a stop light almost at the edge of town. It was a rough area, and I knew it wasn’t the safest part of town, but there was a small boutique on the corner with a beautiful dress hanging in the window.

  “Dis is not a good place to shop,” he said, giving me a warning look in the rearview mirror.

  “I just wan’ see how much de dress is, Blake. It’s fine,” I assured him.

  He pulled the jeep over and parked right in front of the store.

  “I’ll be right back. You wait right here for Mommy,” I told Vincent.

  “But what about my toy?” Vincent asked. His voice quivered, and I could see he was about to throw a fit, which was exactly what I didn’t want to happen.

  “Dere ain’t no toys in dat store, son. Dere ain’t noting in dere but fancy lady tings. Ya don’t wanna go in dere, I promise,” Blake told him. Vincent didn’t look like he believed him.

  “If you stay here and be good, we’ll go and get you a toy when we leave,” I said, which was enough to make him sit back in his seat and calm down a little.

  “Okay,” he said quietly.

  I quickly walked into the store. There were several racks filled with gorgeous items, but I knew I only had so much time before Vincent would be asking for me. I looked around for a salesperson but didn’t see anyone.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  “I’ll be right out,” a woman yelled from the back, and a few moments later, she appeared. “How are you? How can I help you?” She sounded friendly.

  “Hello. I wanted to know about de dress in de window. De green one,” I said.

  “Oh, yes. Dat’s one of my favorite dresses. I can help you in one minute. I have someone in de dressing room, and I’ll be right back to get one fo’ ya,” she said.

  “Okay, maybe I should come back. My son is in de car—”

  “No, no, I’ll be right back,” she sang as she rushed off.

  I began admiring a few of the dresses on the racks and listened as she assisted another customer.

  “Are you sure dis looks okay?” I heard another woman ask.

  “It looks beautiful. It’s de perfect dress fo’ de occasion,” the saleswoman told her. “Ya brudda would be proud.”

  “I can’t believe I’m picking out a dress fo’ his funeral.” The other woman sniffed, and I could hear that she was crying. My heart sank, because I knew exactly how she felt. I recalled having to do the same thing.

  “Ya will be fine, child. We are all sad dat Leviticus is gone. He was a good man.”

  At the sound of the name Leviticus, I felt my stomach tighten. It was the same name as one of Randy’s childhood friends. I waited anxiously so that I could confirm if it was the same man. The saleswoman returned, this time with her arm around the customer she had been helping, and it confirmed what I had feared. They were talking about Randy’s friend.

  “Mary,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. She was Leviticus’s sister, and like our brothers, we’d gone to school together. “Oh my God. Did I hear right? Leviticus is dead? I’m so sorry.”

  Mary looked over at me, holding the black dress. Her face went from one filled with sadness to one full of anger. “Yes, he’s dead, but me no need no pity from you or your crocodile tears.”

  “What? What do you mean?” I was confused by her reaction.

  “Don’t play games. It was ya man dat killed him,” she spat at me.

  “Oh, Jesus.” The saleswoman grabbed the crucifix hanging around her neck, kissed it, and made the sign of the cross.

  “Dat’s not true. My husband would do no such ting. You are mistaken.”

  “I know you, and I know your husband de white man. He killed Leviticus de same way he killed ya brudda Randy. Everyone knows dis. Randy was a good man de same as Leviticus. Dey were friends from grade school. Ya marry a white man who kills our people, and now ya wan’ say you sorry? You go to hell wit’ ya sorry, because we no want it,” she yelled, tears streaming down her face. I recognized her pain.

  “My brudda was killed by someone else, not my husband. And he didn’t kill your brudda either. You don’t know what ya talkin’ ’bout.” I shook my head at her, telling myself that it was grief over her brother’s death that was causing her to say these horrible things about Vinnie.

  “No, you don’t know! Everyone knows. Everyone except you!” She turned to the saleswoman. “You know who killed Big Randy over in the U.S., don’t you?”
>
  The saleswoman looked at her, then me, and said, “Dey say it was his partner, a white man, who killed him.”

  Not wanting to hear anything else, I ran out of the store and snatched the door of the jeep open so hard that it surprised both Vincent and Blake.

  “What’s wrong, Momma?” Vincent asked.

  “Drive,” I said. Blake put the jeep in gear, and we drove for about five minutes before I said in a whisper, “Did Vinnie kill Leviticus?”

  Blake’s eyes widened, and he looked away.

  “Answer me, Blake. You’re one of de only people in de world dat I truly trust. I need you to tell me, please,” I begged him.

  Blake nodded his head slowly. “Yes, Vinnie killed him.”

  My eyes welled up with tears. “And Randy? Did he kill my brother Randy?”

  “De truth is I don’t know, ma’am,” he finally said.

  “Well, den I need you to find out, and Blake, dis is between you and me. I don’t want anyone knowing ’bout it.” I glared over at him until he relented and gave me a slight nod.

  Vegas

  40

  I sat in Pelham Park and watched for almost an hour as one man after another sat at the rusty card table and lost their money playing heads up dominos with the overweight champion. He was lively and loud as he conquered them one by one. As the sun began to set, I stood and made my way over and sat in the empty chair across from him, placing five crisp hundred-dollar bills in the center of the table.

  “Shuffle ’em up,” I said.

  “Five hundred dollars? You sure you wanna lose dis, mon?” He laughed, spreading the black pieces across the table.

  “I ain’t worried,” I told him and began selecting my bones.

  “Is your loss. Not mine.” He shrugged, placing a stack of bills next to mine.

  Once the game began, he barely looked up from the table. Each move I made was strategic and calculated. Studying him in that short amount of time had given me a preview of his skills. I’d had one of the best domino educations in the world—jail. Just as he had during the previous games I’d watched him play, he was talking shit in the beginning; but as the game moved on, he became quiet, and his boastful rants disappeared. A crowd gathered around us to get a closer look. I could sense his frustration, and it made my victory even sweeter when I simply said the word, “Domino.”