by Brick
I knew that already. He really didn’t have to explain, but I guessed my problem was, they couldn’t have told me? I knew the rules and would have followed them if that meant protecting my mother and sister. Everyone knew I was some kin to Luciano Acardi, anyway. He didn’t make that a secret, but I guessed having me as a nephew was safer than having me as a son.
I needed to take my mind off the feeling of not being good enough. I didn’t want to go there in my mind. Didn’t need to rehash all the shit my sister and I had had to endure as kids at family functions because we were half black. Didn’t need to think about all the times Uncle Luci had had to smack a family member to make them mind their manners when it came to the things they would say to us.
“What happened in the summer of nineteen eighty-five” I asked him.
Uncle Luci looked shell-shocked for a second. “What do you mean, son?” he asked.
“Who killed Kingston McPhearson?”
Ma gasped. I looked at her. She avoided my eyes. Started straightening things that didn’t need fixing. She knew something.
“We . . . No one ever found out,” Uncle Luci answered.
“Someone killed one of the biggest kingpins in the South, and no one knew nothing? That’s kind of hard to believe.”
“Leave it alone, Lucky,” Ma said from across the room.
“Leave what alone?” I asked.
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” she shot back at me.
“Claudette damn near killed me about that man,” Uncle Luci said. “His death turned her into a madwoman. Crazy woman tried to slice my fucking throat,” he continued but then stopped when a coughing fit took over.
My mother and sister rushed to the other side of his bed. I remained silent as they made a fuss over him.
“She thought I’d called a meeting with him,” he said once Ma and Giana had calmed him down. “I did no such fucking thing. I told her this. She didn’t believe me. Never had to fight a woman the way I had to fight her for my life that day. Crazy bitch—and I say that with love—locked us in a room and came at me like she was possessed. That was the day I knew she loved King in a way she could and would never love me.”
“So you’re saying with one hundred percent certainty you did not call a meeting with King on the day he died?” I asked.
“Yes, son. We’d already held a summit weeks before. Wouldn’t have been a need for me to call another so soon.”
“Then who made the call, Uncle Luci? Because Javon just found out about that so-called meeting, and he’s got the scent of blood in his nose. So, I need to know if you did this, Uncle Luci. That way I know what side of the friendship line—”
“I did not kill King, Lucky. You know me. Ain’t I always been a man of my word? Even when my bullshit stinks, I’ll own it. I did not call a meeting with Kingston. Same as I told Claudette. On my word and my honor. I respected the man, his skin color be damned. He was an astute businessman and brought millions of dollars in for the Commission. Besides, I’d have never wanted to hurt her that way.”
“By her, you mean Claudette?”
“Yes. I would have never wanted to be the one to bring her such pain.”
His response made me look at my mother. “You know something,” I said to her.
“Lucky,” she said with a frown.
“Ma, if you don’t tell me what you know, I’m going to let Javon and Raphael in here and tell them you know more than what you’re telling, and then we can watch all hell break loose. Because you know how they will react, and then you know how I’m going to respond. This room will be lit up like the Fourth of July. And then you can live with knowing you got your only son gunned down because he was trying to save you, even though you didn’t deserve saving.”
By now, she was full-blown crying, chest heaving up and down like it was hard for her to breathe.
“I—I—I . . . saw Cavriel and Absolan that day,” she said.
“What?” Uncle Luci said.
“I saw them. They were in Georgia that day,” she said. “When Claudette got the call to come because King was in trouble, we all rode back with her and Snap—me, Toya, and her mama. Well, Claudette dropped us off and then took off to find King. Cavriel actually came to Claudette’s house maybe thirty or so minutes later, looking for her. He said that he needed to see her and that it was important, a matter of life and death. He looked spooked. I told him where she had gone, and he left like hell was on his ass. Then, that same evening, I saw Absolan. I was in West End. He was in full priest’s garb, rushing into a black sedan.”
“And you never thought to tell Claudette this? She could have killed me, woman.” Uncle Luci had all but tried to sit up and reach for my mother.
She jumped back and bumped into Giana, who grabbed her to hold her. I helped Uncle Luci lie back on the bed. His machines started beeping erratically. Nurses ran into the room.
“She wouldn’t have listened to me. She was out of her damn mind, crying over King. She lost her mind that day, and everybody knew it. She cried over his burned body in the middle of the street. Wouldn’t let nobody touch her or his body. I—I—I . . . didn’t . . . wasn’t even thinking. I’d done some messed-up things to my baby sister, but even I didn’t want to see her like that. That was a heartbreaking sight.”
“So why not tell her when you saw she was looking for his killer? That could have helped,” I all but yelled. “Why are you this way?”
Ma lifted her head and clamped her lips together. Her pride would let her take only so much prodding and castigating.
“I was scared,” she said. “Absolan and Cavriel saw me that day. Two days later, in the apartment Claudette had put me in, I woke up to a severed horse’s head on my pillow. At first, I thought it was a joke. Thought some kid had seen The Godfather too many times, and then I opened my door to find fish with their eyes gouged out. I knew what that meant. Scared me to death. I was pregnant with you, Lucky. No way was I going to do anything to get killed, get my baby killed. Shit, it could have gotten Claudette killed. I kept my mouth shut, and when Claudette put me on a plane to New York, I never looked back.”
Chapter 14
Uncle Snap
I frowned as I looked at Javon, then Cory. We had been standing outside of Luci’s room and had heard everything.
“She knew something. That bitch knew something this whole time and said nothing,” I said to Javon.
I think I was fit to be tied at that point. Lucky had asked his mother a question that Claudette had been trying to figure out the answer to for years. Why was Deedee the way she was?
“You know that means that all the shit that is happening now could be connected to what happened in the summer of nineteen eighty-five, right?” Cory asked.
Javon nodded. “Cavriel and Absolan were in Georgia the day King was killed, and now Cavriel is dead, Absolan is missing, and someone botched a hit on Luci. It’s connected, but I feel we’re still missing something.”
“Why in hell would Absolan be in full priest’s garb in West End, Atlanta, the same day King was killed?” I asked.
Cory added, “And what in hell had Cavriel so spooked that day?”
“Yet Luciano swears he didn’t call a meeting that day. Some shit just ain’t adding up,” I said.
Javon looked at his phone when it beeped. “Shanelle just said Ms. Lily told her Agent Monroe was on the case back in the day.”
“King’s death brought in the FBI?” Cory asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. He was found in one of his stash houses. Drugs, money, weapons, all of that was found in there.”
Javon said, “Shanelle just told me she sent him a nine-one-one page, so she’s going to—”
Before he could finish, Deedee walked out of the room. She looked at me, then balled her lips before saying, “Please don’t say shit to me, Raphael. I’ve beat myself up enough.”
I stared at her for a long time. “I will never understand you and the way you treated my woman.”
“I’ll ne
ver understand how you claim to have respected King and sniffed around his woman like a lovesick puppy,” she snapped back at me.
“At least I loved and respected her.”
“And I didn’t?”
“You had a funny way of showing it. You saw how much pain she was in behind his death, and you didn’t open your mouth.”
“So it could get her killed?” she asked.
“Don’t pretend you gave a damn. You kept silent for you.”
“Yes. Yes, I did. I kept silent for my son, myself, and for my sister, and I don’t give a flying monkey’s ass if you believe me or not. She had already gone mad. I was not about to tell her what I saw, so she could go on a suicide mission. Any fool could see she wanted to die along with Kingston just to get back to him. Don’t you get it? She wasn’t head of the Syndicate yet. She didn’t have the backing or the firepower she needed to tackle the Commission. And I was not going to be the reason she leapt to her death.”
“So you came up to New York and became a kept woman to the man who could have very well had a hand in killing King,” I said.
“Luciano did not kill King, and Claudette believed him.”
I grunted. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore at this point, and I didn’t say anything else to the woman. I let her go on about her business.
I looked at Javon. “This is going to get messier before the endgame.”
He nodded. “I’m aware and well prepared.”
“You and Lucky may end up on opposite sides of this here thing. What if his father is lying and had something to do with King’s death?”
“Lucky and I already discussed that,” he said.
“And you cool with either outcome?”
Javon smirked a bit. In that moment, he reminded me of King. King never talked about what he was going to do. He just did it, and if someone made the mistake of crossing him, he or she lived to regret it. Too bad my mentor fell the way he did. He was an evil genius when the need called for it.
“Just be prepared for anything, Unc. You never know the way the dice will roll with this one.”
Chapter 15
King
I turned my nose up at the woman in front of me. This would make the second time she had tried to offer me and my men her daughter in exchange for drugs. My men knew not even to breathe in the direction of a young girl or any child in a sexual manner, or I’d gut them myself. Cheryl was one of the only white women who lived in the hood. She had a sixteen-year-old daughter, whom she used as a pawn when she didn’t have money to get drugs. She mostly went to my rivals, as she knew the only thing that talked this way was money.
“I told you the last time you tried to sell me your daughter that there would be problems, didn’t I, Cheryl?” I asked.
We were in my office. The sun was still high in the sky. Anxiety had me antsy.
She shrugged. She had the jerky movements of a dopehead, and she kept licking and twisting her lips. Her daughter stood next to her, dressed in hooker attire similar to her mother’s. They both had on clear six-inch hooker heels, short skirts that showed neither one wore any undergarments, and bras that showed that the summer sun had done nothing to tan their pale skin.
Judging by the way the young girl was twitching and was barely able to stand, I could tell she was high out of her mind.
“Go fetch Lily for me,” I told Cleophus.
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell her I need my trash taken out.”
Cleophus nodded. “Of course, sir.”
I walked to the basement door, then yelled down, “Ella.”
She came rushing to the bottom of the stairs; sweat drenched her face. “Yes, sir, Mr. McPhearson?”
“Come here. I need you to do something for me.”
She wiped her hands on her skirt, which was now covered in dust. She came up the steps two at a time. “Yes, sir?” she said when she reached the top of the stairs.
“I need you to take Amber to see Ms. Dutchess. Tell Ms. Dutchess that Amber will be needing room and board until I say otherwise.”
Ella nodded, then took Amber by the hand.
“Ella,” I called out.
She turned to look at me. I handed her, her switchblades. “You’ll be needing these for the journey.”
Ella smiled, then took her weapons. She quickly hid them on her person, then took Amber’s arm. The girl could barely walk.
“Nighthawk,” I yelled.
A few seconds later, the boy came from the basement. He was just as dusty and dirty as Ella had been.
“Yes, sir?” he answered.
“Shadow them. They’d better make it to Ms. Dutchess’s place unharmed, and then you and Ella get back here.”
Nighthawk nodded, then headed out behind them.
“Mama,” Amber’s soft voice called as she went. “I don’t . . . I don’t wanna go. I’ll do whatever you need, Mama.”
“Take her on, Ella,” I ordered then watched them leave.
I shook my head, then looked at Cheryl. “You’re the worst kind of mother that I’ve ever come across. And I try not to be a violent man, I do, but you just keep pushing my buttons. What I should have done was sent Amber to Ms. Dutchess the first time you brought your trifling ass to my men, trying to sell your daughter’s ass. But you told me you were going to send her away to her father.”
“And I did, King. I did send her away, but she ran away and came back to me. My girl loves me,” Cheryl said.
“Eh. Too bad you don’t love her.”
“I do love her. Why you think I show her the ropes? Better me than some pimp, yeah?”
“She’s a child, Cheryl. She’s your child, your daughter.”
“She gotta learn some time, King. The streets don’t love us womenfolk, and you know it. Ain’t no man coming to rescue my white ass. I’m trailer trash. I grew up—”
“I know your story, Cheryl, and we all got one. Hell, my wife has one, but you see what she does? She helps children. She doesn’t continue to perpetuate that fucked-up cycle.”
Cheryl sniffed. “I know, and . . . and I’m sorry.”
I went into my top drawer and pulled out the fix she wanted. “The fuck you apologizing to me for? You see that young girl who just walked out of here? You should apologize to her.”
Cheryl’s eyes glossed over as she eyed the pure uncut heroin on my desk. Her nose started leaking, and she wiped the back of it with her hand. That was right before she started junkie scratching.
She nodded her head my way. “Wha-what I gotta do to get that?” she asked.
Just as she asked that, another white woman walked in. Lily was short. Her blond hair was pulled back into a bun, and she had glasses on that made her look like a schoolmarm. She was dressed like she had come to collect the trash—blue coveralls and some black steel-toe boots—which was in stark contrast to her Playboy Bunny looks.
“I came to collect the trash,” Lily said.
I nodded. In Lily’s hand was a roll of plastic, and she had on a tool belt that housed tools. Tools that did things to the body that were ungodly.
“Come sit over here, Cheryl,” I said.
Cheryl’s eyes were still on the heroin as she moved to sit in the chair next to my desk. Lily unrolled the plastic and covered the floor. I tossed Cheryl the heroin. She looked up at me, aghast. She was so astounded by the notion of getting high that the fact that Lily was lining the floor with plastic didn’t register.
“I . . . I ain’t got but a little cash on me, King, and it ain’t nowhere near enough for this. What chu want me to do for this?” she asked. “I been out whoring this whole time, so I know you don’t want—”
“Ugh.” I turned my nose up, disgusted she would even think I’d want to lay with her for any reason. “Don’t flatter your fucking self,” I spat. “Take the hit, but only under one condition.”
“Yeah?” she said, licking her dry lips. “What’s that, King?”
“Leave your daughter alone. As a matter of fact,” I
said, going into my drawer, pulling out paper and a pen, “give Ms. Dutchess custody of her. Let the old lady help get her clean and give her a shot at a decent transition into adulthood.”
I glanced at Lily, who had taken her tool belt off as she walked on the plastic.
“You can’t take my baby, King,” Cheryl said.
“I ain’t taking her. I’m asking you to do the right thing. Let Ms. Dutchess clean her up, get her on the right track.”
“Then I can come back and get her?”
“No, Cheryl. You can’t come back and get her.”
Cheryl bit down on her bottom lip and started rocking back and forth. “That’s . . . that’s my baby, King.”
“That’s your moneymaker, you mean.”
“I mean, yeah, she makes me money, but that’s my baby, ya know,” she said, then smiled, showing stained teeth. “Ain’t nobody gon’ love her like I do. I know, I know you think I ain’t shit as a mother. That’s all the women in my family done ever been is crack whores. So you can take her and do whatever you think ya can, but she gone end up a whore, anyway, because it’s in our blood, ya know?”
I studied the woman and could see she really believed what she was saying. Even if what she was saying was her truth, her daughter deserved to know some sense of normality. She should have been doing what other girls her age was doing. Going to school, planning outfits and hairstyles, talking about boys, make-up, and shoes.
“Sign her over, or I take my stuff back,” I said.
She looked at the heroin in her hand and started shaking her hand back and forth. Lily stood with her back turned to us. I could see she was putting something together. Cheryl snatched the pen from my desk, and I watched as she signed Amber over to Ms. Dutchess. It would take nothing for me to get the paper notarized and to make sure Amber was in a safe place at least until she turned eighteen.