by Carl Weber
“I know,” Trent said seriously, taking hold of the small suitcase full of H.E.A.T. “Play time’s over. It’s time to go to work.”
The chauffeur opened our door and we stepped out. Six armed guards stood blocking the entrance, waiting to frisk us before entry.
My cell rang, and I glanced down to check the number. The screen read UNAVAILABLE and my heart took a leap. Only one person ever called me from a blocked number on this line.
I held my hand up, motioning for Trent and our two bodyguards to wait, then I turned and took a step toward the side of the car for some privacy.
“Hello?” I answered.
“I hate you! I fuckin’ hate you!” Ruby screamed at me. I was kind of expecting a call like this, but not with quite this much anger.
“Hey, relax for a second. Why all the hostility?” I asked calmly. “How’s my son?”
She sucked her teeth. “Don’t act stupid. It don’t suit ya. Not after what ya just done. God, I hate you!” When she got angry, her accent was stronger and I had to pay more attention to understand her.
“Look, can you calm down a little so I can understand what you’re saying?” I watched the guards frisk Trent, knowing I had to get off the phone soon.
There was hesitation for a moment then she spoke slower. “Don’t act like ya don’t know what happen in Philly, Orlando. Your brother orchestrated it, probably with your help and blessing.”
“Oh, is that what this is all about?” I asked in this totally innocent voice, which I knew would piss her off even more.
“Yo, O, hang up the phone, man. We got a meeting,” Trent said, walking around the car toward me. I held up my index finger, telling him to hold tight for a second. “This is no way to do business. We’re showing disrespect by keeping this man waiting.”
I pulled the phone from my ear. “Just give me a second, will you? This is Ruby on the phone. It’s important.”
He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he walked back toward the house. “And you keep telling me not to let pussy get in the way.”
I turned my back to Trent and placed the phone on my ear. “Look, Ruby, I have a very important meeting I’m about to go into. Can I get your number so I can call you back? Obviously we need to talk.”
“That’s right. Your business is always more important than me, isn’t it?” She sucked her teeth. “Now I remember why I left. And no, ya can’t call me back, because this is important too. I’m trying to keep my baby alive.”
She might as well have shot me. “What’s wrong with my son?”
“What wrong wit’ him? His daddy’s family is tryin’a kill him and his mommy and his uncle. I think that’s something to be concerned about, don’t you?”
“Ruby, we are not trying to kill you or—the baby.” I couldn’t even say my son’s name. Just knowing that he carried the name of that lowlife scum Vinnie Dash had my blood boiling.
“Is that why you sent the ATF to the row houses—because you weren’t trying to kill us?” she spat. “Well, here’s a news flash for you, Orlando. Half the people in those houses were killed. And that’s just not fair. There’s a code in the streets. You don’t bring in police to settle your problems. That’s against the rules.”
“Against the rules!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “I told you when we first met that the Duncans are business people. We have resources all over the country to help us handle our problems. Your people want to come up against us, then they will see a force unlike anything they have ever seen before. We’re not gangsters or thugs, Ruby, and we don’t play by anybody else’s rules. We make the rules.”
“You know what?” she said. “Vinnie’s right about you. You’re a pompous ass who thinks he’s smarter and better than everyone else.”
“No, I’m a desperate man who wants to see his son. You wanna put an end to this, then let me see my child. Let me be a father to my son.”
“You don’t have a son. At least not by me. Vincent has a father. Vinnie’s his father, so get past it.”
“That son of a bitch is not my son’s father, dammit! Don’t say that again!” I was so mad I was shaking. “I am his father!”
She came back at me with, “Fathers don’t try to kill their sons!”
“Ruby, let’s get something straight. If I wanted to kill you or kill my child, then I would have sent someone to the Poconos instead of Philly.”
She was silent, no more smart words for me.
“That’s right,” I said, my voice calm because I knew I had her spooked. “I’ve known where you are since the last time we spoke. We were sending your brother a message. As long as he protects that piece of shit Vinnie Dash, none of you will be safe.”
I let her marinate on that for a second as I turned to check on Trent. He was nowhere to be seen. Shit! I’d been so wrapped up in Ruby’s bullshit that he must have gone inside without me.
“Is my brother dead, Orlando? My brother was in those row houses. Did your people kill him? Because if they did, I swear I’m going to put a bullet in your head.”
Now it was my turn to be silent. I didn’t quite know what to say to her without causing World War III, but now was not the time to give her a long, drawn-out explanation. Trent was inside with Alejandro, and I was showing major disrespect by keeping them waiting.
“Ruby, let me call you back. This is a really important meeting and I’m late. Please, just give me the number.”
She didn’t respond. I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked down at the screen: CALL ENDED.
“Fuck!” I jammed the phone in my pocket and headed up to the house, hoping like hell the meeting would go better than that conversation had.
LC
18
Harris and I walked down the long corridor of Penn Presbyterian Hospital, stopping in front of room 632, where a black policewoman sat by the door reading a copy of US magazine. She rolled her eyes, barely glancing up at us when Harris cleared his throat to get her attention.
“This patient is not allowed visitors,” she snapped then went back to reading.
“Is that right? Well, I’m attorney Harris Grant. Agent Wilson sent me to speak to the prisoner.”
She lowered her magazine and sat up a straighter, her attitude completely gone. “Mr. Grant, I was told you were going to be here two hours ago. Please go right in.” She stood up and held open the door for us.
A well-built black man with a shaved head was handcuffed to the bed. He was wearing one of those hospital gowns that opened up in the back so your ass hangs out, but I could tell he wasn’t anybody’s punk. The way he stared at Harris and me as we walked in was murderous. Even the guard took notice.
“You want me to stick around?” she asked, her right hand massaging her holstered nine millimeter.
“No, we’ll be fine,” Harris replied.
“Suit yourself, but I’ll be right outside if you need me.” She was looking directly at the prisoner, tapping her gun in warning as she closed the door.
There were two chairs next to the bed. Harris and I sat down.
“Hello, Jeffery Moss,” Harris said. The prisoner didn’t respond. “Or should I say Randy Marshall? I see you shaved off your dreads.”
This caused the young man’s eyes to widen in fear at the knowledge that his true identity had just been revealed. The monitor above his bed revealed the sudden racing of his heart.
Harris studied him for a minute, but Randy still said nothing. “You had everyone fooled for a while there, didn’t you? You actually did a pretty good job of hiding. New look, fake passport . . . hell, you even had your fingerprints burned off, didn’t you?”
I watched Randy clench his fists at the mention of his fingerprints. He still wasn’t talking, but his body language said everything we needed to hear. He was scared—just as we wanted him to be.
“Too bad you can’t hide from facial recognition software. Technology is a bitch, isn’t it?” Harris chuckled as Randy started squirming. “Don’t worry. We haven�
�t told the feds yet. Well, except for the ones who are on our payroll.”
Finally, Randy spoke. “Who da fuck are you?”
“My name’s Harris Grant. I’m his lawyer.” Harris pointed to me. “You know who he is, don’t you?”
Randy nodded, his eyes burning with animosity as he measured me up. The man had true hatred for me, of that I had no doubt; I just didn’t know where it was coming from. I’d never met him or had any dealings with him.
“I can tell you don’t like him very much, do you?” Harris asked. Randy didn’t bother to deny the accusation. “Well, considering your predicament, it’s important that you understand that your fate and your life is tied to him. You’ve done a lot of bad things, Randy, along with pissing off a lot of the wrong people. There’s quite a few people out there that would like to see you fry.”
Randy sat up a little straighter. He was paying attention, but I could tell he didn’t really understand what was going on. Not yet.
“You have legal representation?” Harris questioned him.
“Yeah.”
“Vinnie Dash, I presume?” Harris laughed.
Randy nodded.
“I’ve known Vinnie a long time. You know, technically he’s my cousin by blood, but I’m not much for that side of the family. . . . But let me not get off track. Vinnie is a poor excuse for a lawyer who used to be in a mob-connected family. I’m the lawyer Vinnie Dash wishes he could be. I’m also the lawyer who can save your life and put you back on the streets if I represent you.”
Randy looked confused, his head swinging like a pendulum between me and Harris. “Why would you represent me?” He was talking to Harris but looking at me.
“Because this man wants me to. That’s why.” Harris pointed a finger in my direction.
Randy glared at me, his eyes full of distrust. “Almost two years ago Vinnie came to you on my behalf. He asked you to distribute coke and weed to me, but you said you’d never work with a dirty Jamaican. Said we was uncivilized. So why you wanna help me now?”
I pulled my chair closer to Randy to make sure he heard what I had to say to him. “You say you know who I am, young fella? Then you know about my reputation as a businessman. My entire career was built on relationships and being a man of my word.”
He was still glaring at me, but his breathing slowed down and I could tell he was calming down a little.
“I’m telling you, neither I nor any of my family members have spoken to any of the Dashes about you.” I looked him straight in the eyes. “I don’t have anything against Jamaicans. I’ve got Jamaican blood flowing through my veins. And as far dealing with Jamaicans, ask the Shower Posse if I have any problems dealing with them.”
“You know, LC, this could have been part of Sal Dash’s master plan,” Harris suggested. Sal Dash was Vinnie’s father, the head of a small mafia faction. The plan Harris was referring to was something that took place last year. In an effort to cut us off from our West Coast connections and take over our distribution network, Sal had manipulated Alejandro and my family into a war. Before it was over and we figured out Sal’s hand in all of it, Alejandro had lost two brothers and his son Miguel, and we’d lost my brother Lou, in addition to half a dozen employees on each side. Eventually Sal and his son Tony were killed and the war averted for now, but Alejandro still held ill will because of his son’s death. Hopefully Orlando’s meeting with Alejandro would be a step toward repairing that relationship. In the meantime, we had to get to the bottom of this problem with the Jamaicans, which apparently Harris thought was somehow related to Sal.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” I said to Harris.
“When Vinnie approached me about leaving you and working with them, he bragged about not being worried about having enough black faces to work our territory. I think the black faces he was talking about were Randy and his people.”
“Makes sense,” I replied, looking at Randy. “Sal Dash was coming at us from all angles. If he couldn’t get the Mexicans to take us out, I guess he figured he’d recruit the Jamaicans next. Telling you that I called you dirty Jamaicans was a pretty good way to manufacture a rivalry, don’t you think?”
Randy shook his head. “None of this makes sense. Why would Vinnie lie to me?”
“Because he’s a liar and a scum bag. That’s what he does. That’s what his whole family does,” Harris answered. “So, is it true? Did they offer you a chunk of Queens to run?”
“Maybe he did, but that doesn’t make him a liar. Why should I believe you?” Randy protested.
“They didn’t care about Queens, Randy. Queens is a drop in the bucket compared to our East Coast distribution network. That’s what they really wanted. But I bet they didn’t tell you any of that, did they?”
Randy stared straight ahead, listening as Harris put the pieces together for him.
“Don’t you see? I bet they never mentioned the big picture to you, did they? They figured they’d throw you a few scraps to keep you happy, while they pulled in millions. But Vinnie doesn’t really give a shit about you, Randy. They were using you to get to me and my family.”
Randy was breathing harder now. I could tell Harris was getting through to him, although he still wouldn’t admit it. That’s when I stepped in and took things to a more personal level.
“How do you think your sister got hooked up with my son? Do you think it was an accident? Orlando’s been using that escort service for five years. I’m sorry to say, but everyone knows he’s their best client. I wouldn’t be surprised if Vinnie paid them off to make sure they sent Ruby over there. Probably figured it would piss you off enough that you’d go kill Orlando yourself.”
Randy hung his head low. Clearly I’d struck a nerve at the mention of his sister.
“Use your common sense, son. What kind of friend would use a man’s sister like that?”
Randy balled up his fists. If he hadn’t been shackled to the bed, I’m sure he would have been tearing the place apart by now.
“You know, Randy, we have more in common than you might think. We’re both heads of our families, and we’re black men trying to make it in a white man’s world. Family means everything to me, and I suspect the same of you. Your nephew is my grandson. I want to see him grow up to run your business and mine.” I stopped speaking and waited for Randy to make eye contact before I said, “Together we can be a very powerful team, young man. Much more powerful than you and Vinnie Dash could ever be.”
He shook his head, an obvious last ditch effort to prove to himself that his life was not a lie. “No. Vinnie wouldn’t betray me. He got me out of jail. I’m not going to betray him.”
“And why do you think he got you out of jail?” I asked. “Vinnie needed you. If you weren’t protecting him, he’d be dead at the hands of his own kind.”
Randy was still unwilling to accept that Vinnie was anything less than loyal. “We made a lot of money together,” he said.
“We can make you even more money,” Harris assured him.
“I can offer you something better than money,” I added.
He stared at me, probably wondering what could possibly be better than money.
“I can offer you your freedom,” I said.
“I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“Son, like I told you before, my success is based on me keeping my word. If you know anything about me, then you know about my reputation. People wouldn’t just give me ten million dollars’ worth of product if I was not trustworthy.” He nodded his head, the first sign that we were getting through to him.
“Everyone knows that LC Duncan’s word is his bond,” Harris confirmed.
Randy then asked me the easiest question I’d heard since I walked through the door. “What would I have to do?”
“Other than arrange for me and my son to see my grandson? I want Vinnie Dash delivered to me.”
Paris
19
My body was keeping beat with the music from my seat in the VIP se
ction of Rio’s hot new club, The Firehouse. Bodies were bumping, bouncing, and grinding all over the place, and everywhere I looked there were celebrities. You can’t even imagine how damn good it felt to be back on point, ready to reclaim my throne as the queen of Queens. I wasn’t quite back to my pre-pregnancy weight, but after three weeks of P90X workouts I was still able to rock an Alaia band-aid dress. Of course I had a little more booty than usual, but the fellas seemed to like it, so I wasn’t trying to hide it.
“It’s so good to be out of that house and get my drink on,” I said, clinking glasses with my road dog Rio. He’d been down in Miami doing his thing for Orlando with H.E.A.T. and had just returned for the grand opening of the new club.
“I don’t know how you did it. I’da gone fucking bananas.” He rolled his eyes all dramatic.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love Jordan and all, but he is cramping my style,” I acknowledged, sucking down my cocktail then staring at the empty glass. “It’s one thing to come home to eat your meals and sleep, but to be trapped there with Momma and London all day like a bunch of Stepford wives . . . ugh. Just shoot me and get it over with.”
“I know that’s right,” Rio co-signed. “Well, at least you’re here. I thought Mom was gonna bust a gasket when you asked her to watch Jordan.”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes.
“So, what I miss while I was away?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
“What hasn’t been going on?” I sighed. “I’m just glad Daddy was in Philly tonight ’cause he’s really been trippin’ lately, Rio. Do you know he threatened to cut me off last week if I went to my friend’s wedding and left Jordan with Lisa?”
Rio tipped his designer sunglasses down and peered over them at me. “Come on now, Paris. Stop exaggerating. What’s the rest of the story?”
“What? There is no rest of the story, I swear. All I did was ask Momma to watch Jordan for a week while I go to France for the wedding.”
“France! You was gonna leave your baby for a week and go to France?”
“Yeah, and? What’s the big deal?”