by Pete, Eric
“Others have expressed to me that they’re feeling pressure too.”
“From?” I pressed.
“Mexicans.”
“Shit,” Paris cursed a half second before Junior.
“And that they’re actively trying to cut out the middleman here,” Harris continued.
“Using our shipment,” Junior muttered as he shook his head.
“The people that expressed this to me want to speak with LC.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The Italians. Sal Dash and them.”
“And why did they pick you to speak with?” I was suddenly curious as to what else my brother-in-law hadn’t shared. Maybe I would have to keep a closer eye on him.
“Being a lawyer in this city, I guess they felt approaching me might result in a less violent reaction than from one of you,” he replied.
Part of me wanted to punch him in the face for his arrogance, but he did have a point. Even Junior shrugged his acknowledgment of the facts. “You believe them?” I asked Harris.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re a lawyer. You deal in lies twenty-four/seven. You can’t tell if they speak with forked tongue?”
“No. I haven’t spoken with Dash,” he said, ignoring my insult. “Mainly a go-between, one of his errand boys. Sal wants to speak with LC—family head to family head.”
I took a moment to assess the body language of the three of them—Harris, Paris, and Junior. If we still had anything left, I would have to learn to depend on these three. “Okay,” I decided. “I’ll tell LC. Make the meeting happen, counselor. Right away, but on our terms. We don’t need any more fake Feds showing up, trying to take us out. If this is a setup, it’s on your head, brother-in-law. And family or not, I mean that literally. It’s on your head.” I tried to give Harris my best LC glare.
“If what the Italians say is true, then Rio is as good as dead,” Paris pointed out, and a noticeable pall fell over the room.
I needed to keep everyone focused on the business at hand, before our worst fears paralyzed us.
“Junior, find our shit. Or at least find out who has it. Do whatever you need to do. We’ve played nice for too long. Duncans don’t do nice. It’s time to remind the streets of that.”
I turned to my sister and continued handing out orders. “Paris, get a small team together. Discreetly. We need most of our people here, but you’re going to L.A. If I’m wrong and things get royally screwed with Alejandro, I’ll deal with it. But this...,” I said, thumping my finger on the table for emphasis, “this ain’t happening to my brother. Our brother.”
“Did LC approve of this?” she asked.
“No. And maybe you can get some shopping in on Rodeo Drive when this is all over. Isn’t that why you’re going? Just another shopping trip and a chance to see your girls on the West Coast?” I asked coyly.
“What has gotten into you?” she asked, smiling wildly.
“Taking a stand. We have to do something,” I said. “Rio said everything is all right, but I know better.”
“Why? What exactly did he say?” Paris was practically bouncing around the room at this point. She was hyped for a fight. She lived for this kind of high drama.
“Alejandro wants to talk to Miguel. Rio says he’s getting antsy.”
“That’s not good,” Harris stated.
“Tell us something we don’t know,” Paris snapped back.
“We have to do something,” Junior added.
My pulse was racing from the tension and anger that were building up inside of me. I was about to give the order to go over Dad’s head. If only there was a way to get my brother back without risking the wrath of LC. But if I was going to step up and be the head of the family business, then I couldn’t waver in my decision.
Pushing any doubt to the back of my mind, I said, “You damn right we have to do something, and we are.”
“Yeah, right,” Harris said as he stood up. “It goes without saying that I’ll have no parts of going against LC.” On that note, he straightened out his suit jacket and exited the room.
As he passed by, Paris mumbled under her breath, “Bitch ass. To this day I have no idea how London got pregnant by a pussy.”
Junior let out a chuckle. Even London, who would normally set Paris straight, just shook her head.
“What do you think, Junior? We need to get Rio out of Cali alive.”
Junior’s answer surprised me a little. “Orlando, we all know what being a Duncan is about. Risk is just part of the package. I don’t mean to sound heartless, but Rio is no exception. Believe it or not, I’m with Harris on this one.”
I looked to Paris. “What do you think?”
“Well, isn’t anyone going to ask me what I think?”
I turned to see my mother entering the living room.
“Momma? I thought you were lying down,” I said, regretting the fact that we’d held the meeting in the house.
“Well, do you or do you not want to know what I think?” she repeated.
“Of course we do,” Paris said, jumping in. As usual, she was trying to kiss up, but my mother wasted no time putting the freeze on her antics.
“Quiet, Paris,” she shot. “In all honesty, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it weren’t for you and your whorish actions.”
“I know, I know,” Paris said, clearly tired of being reminded. “And I feel like shit.”
“As you should,” Momma snapped. “Your brother may not live through the night because of you. This is all your fault.” Her tone was acid, but she looked like she might cry.
Junior walked over and rested a hand on each of her shoulders. “Relax, Momma,” he said, comforting her. “And of course we want to hear what you think.”
She walked out of Junior’s caress and over to me. “What I think, Orlando, is that you need to see to it that I get my baby home safe.” Her bottom lip was trembling.
“I will,” I assured her. “I’ll go get him and bring him back personally.”
“No. You need to be here to run things,” she said sternly, then turned to face Paris. “You go.”
I didn’t know if she thought it was some type of punishment for Paris, but that was like a Scooby Snack for her. Her eyes lit up, and her bags were as good as packed. “I’m on it,” she said, then immediately turned to go start taking care of her business.
“Hey, wait a minute here. What about Pop?” Junior was trying to be the voice of reason.
“Don’t you worry about your father,” my mother was quick to say. “I’ll take care of him.”
LC
38
“Been too long, LC. We should see each other more often.” The silver-haired man with the shark-like smile and trademark pocket square extended his arms as if expecting a hug. Behind him were four goombahs I didn’t know.
“I don’t know about that. Last time I saw you, I didn’t plan on seeing you again ... at least alive,” I said, denying him the disingenuous hug he sought for appearance’s sake.
At my side were Orlando, Harris, and Sihad, a trusted soldier. In all honesty, I didn’t want Harris there. His attitude about what we had to do lately had me on guard, but Orlando insisted, because Harris was the one who had brokered the meeting. Orlando had also taken it upon himself to send Paris out of town, due to her unpredictable nature. I’d kept Junior away as a precaution, but he wasn’t far. I had him waiting nearby with his boys, in case the man I was meeting had plans to suddenly increase his numbers beyond the five who accompanied him per the ground rules. It wouldn’t be the first time he had broken the rules, and I wasn’t going to get caught out there.
Our relationship was fragile, to say the least. We’d had some minor business dealings together over the years, and we shared some mutual enemies. There was an understanding that we would leave each other alone, allowing us to conduct our businesses without interference.
Our groups stood face-to-face inside the service bay of my flagship dealership, no
thing but tension, disdain, and opportunity sharing the space between us.
“And yet here we are, old friend,” said the nattily clad Italian, whose very voice left a bad taste in my mouth. Sal Dash, the owner of Dash Realty, and his entourage, mostly armed goombahs, had dared to step foot in Jamaica, Queens, rather than scurrying around the other boroughs like cockroaches on the perimeter. I’d closed the dealership down early and sent my employees home with pay, using inventory as an excuse, so we’d be undisturbed and unobserved.
“Harris tells me you wanted to talk. So. Talk,” I urged. Both of us had lost good people in our last flare-up, so it took a lot of self-control not to order a hail of bullets to be pumped into him and his crew on the spot. Still, his daring to meet with me on my terms spoke louder than any gunshot. Sal was either scared, crazy, or desperate.
“We might have a mutual problem,” he said.
“No problems other than a need for more customers on these streets,” I joked. While almost all of us laughed, Harris seemed fidgety, never comfortable with discussing our major source of cash flow. Staying a step or so removed from the nitty-gritty had always worked in both our interests. Still, I made a mental note to keep an eye on my son-in-law in Dash’s presence, to see if anything else should give me reason to be concerned. Something about his demeanor this time didn’t seem quite right.
“I think our mutual problems might lie not with customers, but with product—and its delivery. Capisce?”
“Yeah. I think so. Know anything about an item I’m missing, Sal?” I asked, tired of avoiding the obvious with this Sicilian fuck.
“Only what my people report back to me. Hearsay.”
“And what have they heard?”
“Heard the men who killed your little Dominican Pablo were Spanish-speaking too, but not from around here. Maybe a similar accent is associated with whatever it is you’re missing. Hear that maybe this Pablo had some kind of deal with these folks, but suddenly he wasn’t useful.”
“That’s a big stretch with no proof,” I said, while admittedly intrigued. I needed to end this rumor immediately. If word got out that my men had started making deals behind my back, that would be a sign of weakness, and everyone would start gunning for my operation. This whole situation could turn into an even bigger problem if what Dash was saying was true.
“Unless you have a little more involvement than just hearing things from the sidelines,” Orlando said, entering the discussion to Dash’s annoyance. “Someone tried to kill my father the other day. They were white boys pretending to be Feds. No Spanish accents at all. Know anything about that? I mean... since you’re in such a helpful mood.”
One of Sal’s men, who commanded respect by virtue of his proximity to Sal, tried to stifle a laugh after Orlando spoke. I could not tolerate rudeness and disrespect aimed toward my son on my turf.
“What’s so fucking funny?” I asked him.
The arrogant one exchanged looks with Sal rather than acknowledge me. Another strike against him. One more and bullets would start to fly.
“Control your pup before I put him down,” I said to Sal.
“No. I agree with you, LC. This is serious business, and my son can be an idiot sometimes. Apologize to Mr. Duncan. Now,” he said with a snap of his fingers.
“Sorry, sir.” The young punk apologized directly to me in compliance with his boss’s orders. The words were there, but they didn’t match the feelings behind them. I fixed my eyes on him, imagining giving the order to end his life one day, perhaps one day soon, if I ever saw him again. While he was not a killer, by any means, Harris’s expression told me he shared similar feelings toward Sal’s arrogant son. I made a mental note to add that to the list of out-of-the-ordinary reactions from Harris.
“Harris, is this all Mr. Dash had when his people reached out to you for this meeting? Gossip and rumors? If so, you just wasted my day with this bullshit.”
“No. They insinuated there was more, LC,” my son-in-law offered frantically.
“Sal?” I asked, turning back to my counterpart.
“The Mexicans,” he said. “I’m hearing they’re trying to gain a foothold here, beyond supplying the region. Maybe to cut out the middleman and supply directly. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to become irrelevant.”
“When you say Mexicans, who? Mexican Mafia? Los Zetas? Cali Cartel?” I asked, intentionally omitting someone.
“No. Somebody based stateside, out west. Alejandro Zuniga is his name, I believe. At least that’s what my men tell me. Ever heard of him?”
Sal waited for an answer, but I hesitated. This all seemed a little too coincidental. A little too contrived. I glanced over at Orlando. His eyes told me he was thinking the same thing.
“Tell me you didn’t hit my shipment,” I said.
“No, but this Alejandro’s people offered it to me. I was about to take it when my son Vinnie over here informed me that you’d put out a bounty on that truck,” he said, shark teeth in full view again.
“So you just turned down two hundred ki’s of dope at fire sale prices. Do I look like a fool, Sal?” My blood started to boil, but I needed to keep it under control if I was to get to the bottom of who was fucking with my product. My mind was flying in all different directions. I couldn’t narrow it down; there were too many people who would love to have control of my territory. Too many people who would be willing to do whatever it took. One of those people was standing directly in front of me.
“No, of course not,” Sal insisted. “Why would I want to go to war with you? Look, we may piss each other off from time to time, once in a while, but we’re both successful men with way too much to lose.”
“And a lot would be lost,” Orlando said not so nicely to Sal. He was definitely more assertive than I’d seen him of late. Maybe he’d finally caught on about just how serious running the family business was, and why I did the things I did.
Sal had a point. I didn’t trust him, but why would he risk everything to go to war with us? It would turn out badly for all involved. “Thank you for passing on this information to me. I’ll be in touch, Sal.” We shook hands. I still didn’t trust him 100 percent, but I was feeling a little more cordial than when Dash and his men first arrived.
“Grandpa!” I heard a tiny voice emanating from the dealership floor. Startled, Dash’s men went for their guns, which in turn made us do the same. It looked like we were about to get that standoff after all. As fingers rested on multiple triggers and everyone took aim, Harris, who was unarmed, looked to me to stop things.
“Stop. It’s my granddaughter,” I said, extending my hand toward the men aiming at us, as well as in the direction of Mariah’s voice. “That’s all.”
“Graaaaandpa!” she called out again. It sounded like she was coming closer to the service bay.
Sal’s arrogant son made an odd facial expression, then whispered something to Sal as he lowered his weapon. Sal nodded at whatever was said.
“I don’t want anyone knowing we’re here,” Sal said as he motioned for the rest of his men to put away their guns. “Whoever that is, stop them.”
“No worries,” I said, gesturing to Harris. “Go.” As my men stowed their weapons, he ran to intercept his daughter. He caught Mariah just as she was pulling on the door.
“Grandpa, you in here?” she asked into the dark as Harris embraced her.
“Yeah, Mariah,” I replied, my eyes fixed on Sal. “I’m busy right now. Go with your daddy, and I’ll see you in a minute.”
“Kids. They’ll be the death of us all,” Sal said with probably the first genuine smile of this meeting.
London
39
When Harris escorted Mariah from the back of the dealership, I was startled to see him. Our daughter had run ahead of me when we arrived, but we couldn’t find anybody at work other than the one employee who let us in as he closed up.
“What are you doing here?” Harris asked, almost whispering. I was wondering the same abo
ut him.
“Mariah likes to visit. You know that.”
“Not today,” he said firmly.
“Excuse you? You don’t tell me when to visit my father’s place.”
“Okay, okay. That’s not what I meant,” he said, waving to diffuse the tension. “We have guests. No one’s supposed to be here. No one.”
“We? You mean LC has guests. When did you get so deep in the business?”
Harris cleared his throat, reminding me that Mariah was listening. I hated to admit that he was right. I knew better than to talk about any of this in front of my child. I was restless as of late, caught up in betrayal, both Harris’s and my own, and it was causing me to be careless.
“What’s gotten into you?” he asked, a lawyer’s suspicion keenly alerted. “Damn, London. I’m trying to keep you out of trouble.”
“I was doing just fine before I met you, and I’m doing just fine now,” I snapped as images of Harris’s lipstick-stained shirt came to mind. If I ever came across the bitch who left her lipstick mark, I would beat her ass good. For all I knew there was more than one.
“Something you want to talk about?” he asked in an irritated tone.
“No. I just wanted Mariah to see Daddy.”
“He’s in the bay with Orlando and the rest, but you can’t go in there. Look... why don’t you take our daughter home? This isn’t the place or the time. I’m sure your father will be there soon.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I replied, feeling a little stupid for being so ornery when Harris was only considering our daughter’s safety. “Who’s in there?” I asked as I placed a hand on Mariah’s head to guide her out of this place. I used to know something about how this stuff ran. Now it seemed like I was always the last to know. I wasn’t exactly sure when it happened, but I was becoming an outsider in my own family.
“Italians,” he replied.
It took me a second to react. I heard Italians and thought about Tony. I hadn’t let a man make me feel like a silly schoolgirl since, well, school. He was making me feel alive again. I hated that he’d had to cancel our rendezvous earlier today.