by Carl Weber
My breasts began to tingle, reminding me once again that I needed to find my son in a hurry and get rid of some of this milk. I slipped into my sandals and stepped out into the hallway. I could hear the family gathered in the family room, having our customary before dinner drink.
I broke into a self-satisfied smile when I entered the living room and saw Daddy sitting in his chair, cradling my son. London was sitting across the room with her daughters, and I couldn’t help but feel good. Nothing made me happier than to know I had done the one thing she hadn’t. My big sister might have given birth to the first grandchild, but I had trumped both her daughters with a son. It felt even better knowing that my son had been a surprise. Based on my sonogram, everyone thought I was bringing another girl into the family. Instead, I had given birth to the first and only grandson—unless you counted Ruby’s son, which I sure as hell wasn’t counting until we had a blood test.
Almost everybody was there. Harris, London, and Mariah were all cooing over Maria. Momma sat next to Daddy, who happily had his hands full, and Junior was there, but he was distracted cleaning his gun. Both Rio and Orlando were out of town on business.
“Look who finally remembered she had a baby,” London said, trying to spur me into a fight. I simply shot up my middle finger. There was no need for any other response. Although she would never admit it, I knew it was eating her up the way Daddy had taken to my baby.
“Paris, you got mail,” my mother said, pointing to the table next to the door.
I walked over and picked up three envelopes. Two of them were credit card bills, which I’d be giving to Orlando to pay when he got back, and a rather large envelope with a foreign postmark.
I ripped open the envelope, smiling as I read the contents. Milan, my roommate from finishing school, was getting married, and the wedding was being held at my favorite chateau on the French Riviera. Milan had enclosed a personal note with the invitation, promising a week of yachting, partying, and dancing with hot guys before the wedding. I couldn’t help myself—I jumped up in the air and screamed, making every head in the room turn in my direction. Both babies started crying.
“Paris, what is wrong with you?” Junior scolded as he placed his freshly cleaned gun in his shoulder holster.
I shot a glance in London’s direction before I bragged, “I’m going to Cannes, that’s what. Milan Russo asked me to be in her wedding. I’m going there next month, and I’m gonna party my ass off!” I finished with a little dance, smirking when I saw my sister’s jealous-ass frown.
“Is that so?” My father chuckled, handing Jordan to my mother to calm him down. “Well, who’s going to watch your baby while you’re partying like it’s 1999?”
“Well . . .” I turned to my mother, who was getting ready to give the baby a bottle of breast milk I’d pumped earlier. “You will, won’t you, Momma? Just for a week.” She looked at me disapprovingly, with her lips all twisted up. “Please!” I whined.
All eyes turned to my mother, but my father was the one who answered. “This is your baby, not your mother’s. You know she hasn’t been feeling well. Besides, he’s your responsibility, not ours. We’ve raised our kids.”
I couldn’t bear to look at London now. No doubt she had a huge grin on her face as Daddy shot down my party plans.
My parents hadn’t been seeing eye to eye lately, so I thought there might be a glimmer of hope that she felt differently on this subject. I continued my appeal, “Momma, you know I take good care of Jordan. All I’m asking for is one week. You used to take care of Mariah for London all the time.”
“Girl, please. That’s just for the day. Harris and I don’t go anywhere. And if we did, we’d take our kids with us.” London just had to add her two cents.
“Why don’t you mind your own damn business?” I spat angrily. I wanted to choke her ass. Turning back to my mother, I begged, “Pleeeeease, Momma,” in the little-girl voice that usually got me out of trouble or got me what I wanted. But not this time.
My mother glanced over at my father, who sat stone-faced. Then she looked back at me and said, “Paris, I have to agree with your father. I don’t think this trip’s such a good idea. You just had a baby.” She stood up and walked over to me, placing my son in my arms. “It’s time for you to put him first. That’s what mothers do.”
I felt like crying. “But what about me? What about what I want?”
I could have sworn I heard London laughing. If I didn’t have my son in my arms, I would have turned around and slapped her smug ass. Instead, I had to stand there and listen to her laughing, and to my father lecturing me on responsibility.
“What about you?” he snapped. “You made the decision to lay down with a man and have a baby, not us. So dammit, take responsibility for once!”
I felt my body tensing as my anger rose, and let me tell you, it was a real struggle to keep myself under control for the sake of the baby in my arms. That didn’t mean I would hold my tongue, though. It was time to show them that I wasn’t backing down. “Well, I’m going. I don’t care if I have to get my friend Lisa to watch Jordan, but I’m going to France.”
“The fuck you are!” My father’s voice boomed, and everyone in the room froze. He had a temper—we all knew that—but what the hell was this? I’d never seen him this mad over nothing.
He stood up and started lecturing, and I swear his face turned ten different shades of red. “You have a baby now! It is time to start thinking about someone else besides yourself. Your impulsive decision-making has gotten you and this family into trouble too many times, and I will not let you jeopardize my grandchild with your selfish behavior.”
My mother walked over and started rubbing his back. Like me, she was probably worried he was about to have an aneurysm or something. “LC, let her go,” she said calmly. “I can watch Jordan. He seems to be responding to me.” She looked at me, and for a second I almost said thank you, until I realized she wasn’t smiling. She was only doing this to keep my father from blowing a gasket.
Daddy wasn’t backing down. “No, Charlotte,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ve covered for her too many times. Maybe it’s my fault for spoiling her all these years. I admit I’ve had a softness for her since she was a baby, but if she takes my grandson and drops him off at some woman’s house for a week”—he shot me a look so full of disdain it made my legs weak—“then she better take the rest of her shit with her, because she will no longer be welcomed under my roof.”
Why was everyone ganging up on me all of a sudden?
“What are you saying?” I asked, close to tears now. “You’re going to disown me for going on vacation? I’m just asking for a week with my friends.” One fat teardrop fell from my eye and landed on Jordan’s arm. “Daddy, why are you doing this to me? I thought I was your baby.”
“I’m doing it because my baby is no longer a baby. You’re a grown woman—and the mother of my grandbaby.” His voice and his expression softened as he continued. “You have to understand that we’re your pit crew, Paris. We’ll change the tires, help with the oil and gas, but you have to drive the car.”
I tried my signature pout one last time to see if I could change his mind, but it was no use. His final words on the subject were this: “I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be. You’re no longer a little girl. You’re a grown-ass woman.”
Junior
10
“Hey, Harris, we’re about five minutes out,” I whispered loud enough for him to hear but not to interrupt his phone call. He gave me a quick nod and a thumbs up, acknowledging what I’d said as he continued his conversation. We’d been driving for almost an hour and fifty minutes, and he’d been talking nonstop to this person and the next, trying to secure a pharmaceutical company south of the border where we could manufacture H.E.A.T.
“Let me know what you find out. I’m about to pull into a meeting,” I heard him say before he ended the call.
“Any luck?” I asked.
“No, but I haven�
�t spread the proper incentive around yet,” he replied. “Don’t worry. I’ll have everything secured by the next board meeting.”
“Pop and O will be happy about that, I’m sure.”
“I wish my wife was,” he said with a sigh.
“What are you saying? London’s not in favor of H.E.A.T.?” This definitely took me by surprise. Ever since she had Mariah, London had been pretty much a silent member of the board, offering no strong opinions on anything pertaining to the business.
He nodded. “She was in favor of it until your mother got to her. I don’t know what kind of voodoo magic Chippy used on her, but London is suddenly totally against it now.”
“Well, Mom can be pretty persuasive when she wants to be,” I said, recalling my own conversation with her in the hospital. I hadn’t made up my mind yet, but she had made a pretty convincing argument.
“Huh, tell me about it,” he said. “Listen, don’t forget to remind me that I have something for you when we get out of this meeting.”
“Something like what?” I asked, interested. Harris wasn’t the type to give anything unless it could benefit him in some way. “What you got?”
“Don’t worry about that now. Focus on what you’re doing and what’s got to be done.” He pointed at a parking garage. “But trust me. You’re gonna like it. A lot.”
“A’ight then, I’m gonna take your word on that.”
I eased off of the gas, pulling my Range Rover into an underground garage. We were followed in there by a white cargo van filled with six of my men. They parked next to us, waiting patiently for further instructions.
I turned to Harris, who was adjusting his tie. “How do you wanna play this?” Normally I’d call the shots when it came to security, but since he’d set up this meeting, I deferred to him.
“Just us.”
I nodded my understanding, motioning for my men to hold tight, and then Harris and I got out of the car, opened up the trunk, and removed two briefcases. From that point on it was Harris’s show, so I followed him to the elevator. Six floors later we stepped out and were greeted by a middle-aged woman at a desk.
“Harris Grant to see Mr. Wilson, please.”
“Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Grant. They’re waiting for you in conference room one.” She pointed down the hall. “Third door on your left. I’ll let them know you’re on your way.”
“Thank you,” Harris replied and I followed him down the hall.
At the door to the conference room, we were met by a white man, roughly about forty, with a balding head. He was average height, with a stocky build like a fireplug. Clearly he was someone who’d pressed some serious weights in his time. I didn’t consider him a threat, though. He looked like the type who was more muscle than fight.
“Mr. Wilson, this is my associate, Mr. Duncan.” We shook hands, getting the formalities out of the way.
“We’re in here.” He opened the door and stepped aside to allow us to pass.
The room we stepped into was empty, not at all what I had expected. There was no conference table, no chairs, no people waiting for us. Nothing. Wilson walked across the room and opened a second door, which put me on edge. Normally I like to run a background on all parties involved before going into a high level meeting like this, but with Harris in charge, I was basically going in blind. With almost no information on this guy or his associates, I had no way of knowing what could be lurking behind the second door. I was starting to second guess Harris’s decision to leave all of my guys outside.
I glanced over at Harris, who didn’t seem in the least bit concerned.
The second room was small, but at least it wasn’t empty. There was one window, a conference table, and four chairs. Already seated was another white man with a crew cut. He stood to greet us, and I sized him up. He was taller than Wilson, about six foot two, and although he was not as heavy as Wilson, he was still solid. He had a presence about him that screamed ex-military.
I reached into my suit jacket and massaged my glock, making sure it was still there. If I had to, I could take these dudes down, but the big one wouldn’t go down easy.
“Mr. Grant.” He grinned as he shook Harris’s hand. “Nice to see you again.” He turned to face me. “I’m Raymond Stevens. You must be Mr. Duncan. I met your father on several occasions.”
I nodded, taking in the nervous energy he was trying to cover up as we shook hands. His palms were sweaty, as if he was as worried about this meeting as I was.
Harris motioned for us to sit then he got right down to business. “Gentlemen, the Duncan family has asked me to provide you with certain information that should make your lives and ours easier.”
He handed a folder to Wilson, who skimmed through it before handing it to Stevens, who did the same. Harris gave them a minute to examine the contents of the folder, then proceeded to lay out in vivid detail exactly what he needed and the proficiency with which he needed it to be performed. After his explanation, he took the briefcase from me and placed it, along with the one he was carrying, on the table in front of him.
“Well, I hope we all have an understanding of what must be done.” He pushed the briefcases to their side of the table.
They both nodded. Mr. Stevens, clearly the point person, spoke next. “Mr. Grant, if the information you have given us is correct, I don’t think this should be a problem at all.”
Harris, who had been so calm and nonchalant up till now, narrowed his eyes at them. His demeanor grew icy. “Think? What the hell is there to think about? Either you can do it or you can’t. It’s as simple as that.” Reaching across the table, he pulled back both briefcases.
I’d always considered him a good lawyer, but he was on some other shit now, and the fear these men were exhibiting was palpable. I’d never seen him like this, and I have to admit I was impressed. He reminded me of Pop in a way. Either it was going down the way he demanded or we were about to stand up, take our cases, and step.
“Mr. Grant, please don’t misunderstand me. What I meant to say was, we’re certain you’ll be pleased with the results,” Stevens backtracked. I could tell by the concerned look that passed between them that they were worried the deal had slipped through their greedy little fingers. Those men were sweating in their white shirts waiting to hear Harris’s response.
“I hope so, Mr. Stevens. I also hope we can keep this discreet.”
“You won’t get any grief or have anything traced back to you,” Stevens promised in his attempt to smooth Harris’s ruffled feathers.
“Very well,” Harris added for clarity. I swear I could see every muscle in Stevens’s body relax as he realized the deal was not completely lost.
“From now on you’ll be dealing exclusively with Mr. Duncan,” Harris said.
“No problem. We’ll keep Mr. Duncan apprised of everything.” Stevens handed me a business card, and Wilson followed suit.
“Good.” Harris stood up, signaling the end of our meeting. We all shook hands, sealing the deal, then Harris pushed the briefcases back over to their side of the table. This time they opened them, and there were smiles all around.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen. I hope you understand how serious we are about this situation.”
“Absolutely,” they answered in unison.
Harris and I didn’t speak until we were on our way down in the elevator. “Good job in there, brother-in-law.” He had no idea how relieved I was that I hadn’t had to pull my piece out of its holster.
“Thanks.” Harris reached into his pocket and handed me a folded up piece of paper. “Here. Your sister asked me to give this to you.”
“What’s this?” I asked.
“I told you I had something for you.” He watched as I unfolded it.
There was a name and a phone number on the paper. I looked to Harris for an explanation. “Am I supposed to know what this is?”
He laughed. “Sonya Brown. She’s the nurse in the maternity ward. You know, the one that you
were flirting with. London took it upon herself to get you her number.”
I’d have to remember to thank London for this, I thought as I slid Sonya Brown’s number into my pocket.
Orlando
11
After spending a few days in Miami, where we met with some of our better clients from Atlanta, New Orleans, and Charlotte, Trent and I hopped on a flight to Puerto Rico. The meetings had gone well. Of course, we wined and dined them and took them to the best clubs South Beach had to offer, but none of that impressed them more than the quarter million dollars’ worth of H.E.A.T. we provided for each of them. Nothing—and I mean nothing—motivates people in our line of work better than free money.
Now I was on the way to the biggest meeting of my life—a meeting with a man who could influence my reputation among most of the South American and Central American underworld.
“Hey, you okay over there? How about a drink to settle your nerves?” Trent reached over to the mini bar in the limo and poured two glasses of whiskey without waiting for my response. He handed one to me then raised his glass to mine.
“Here’s to keeping it all in the family. I just wanna thank you for the opportunity again and for bringing me into the family business. I love you, cuz. You believed in me when nobody else did. ”
“It’s cool. Look, as long as you keep up the quality of the work you’ve been doing then you’ve got a spot on the team. Like Pop always says, teamwork makes the dream work.” Trent laughed. We’d each sat through our share of LC Duncan’s lectures about family throughout the years.
“The only way this family can be torn apart is if it stops remembering it’s a family and starts acting like individuals,” we recited in unison, clinking our glasses together in a toast to LC’s family motto.
“Pops is no joke with his words of wisdom. I gotta give him that.”
“Shit, I thought your pops was no joke, but from what I can see it’s your mom who’s the scary one. What’s up with that anyway? You see the way she was eyeing us before we left?” Trent questioned.