Carl Weber's Kingpins

by Marcus Weber

  “This bitch,” Gladstone mumbled as he headed straight for Lori and her date.

  “Senator Tillary,” Lori sang, seemingly grabbing her date’s arm harder. “What a great turnout you have tonight.” Lori was taunting Gladstone and she knew it.

  Before he could make his unhappiness known, Lillian was standing there. Lillian hated to see Lori. She hated everything about her. Although Gladstone always swore that they only had a working relationship, and Lori was like a daughter, Lillian knew better. She had been with him long enough to know when he was fucking someone.

  “Well, well, well,” Lillian said snidely.

  “Mrs. Tillary!” Lori said with phony excitement. “You look radiant tonight.” Lillian squinted at Lori and then back at her husband. She could tell by his face that he was not happy to see his precious Lori with another man.

  “You must think I’m stupid,” Lillian snapped. Her bravado had come from all of the drinks she had been knocking down, back to back. “You’re the only one in the dark, Senator,” Lillian hissed, pushing Gladstone roughly in the chest.

  Several guests turned toward the small commotion. Gladstone grabbed Lillian’s hand and tried to pretend everything was fine.

  “Unhand me! You don’t want everyone to know about her,” Lillian yelled, kicking her shoes off in Lori’s direction.

  Lori jumped back, shocked.

  Gladstone tightened his grip on his drunk wife. “Lillian, I am not for this tonight. It’s time for us to leave before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Me? Embarrass me? No. It’s too late. You’ve already embarrassed me for years,” Lillian boomed, her words slurring. “You allowed this bitch . . . your mistress . . . oh, wait . . . just one of your mistresses, to come to this event like it was okay? You think I don’t know about them all? You’ve been exposed, Senator-fucking-Tillary,” Lillian spat.

  Loud gasps and groans erupted around the room. People pulled out cell phones and began recording. Security rushed around, trying to stop the disaster, but it was too late.

  Lillian stormed out of the venue. She ran straight into Antonio, who was outside the venue talking to Jackson.

  “Lillian? What’s wrong?” Antonio asked.

  “What do you care? All of you bastards are the same! You’re making money with your crooked father now. You’re carrying on with my daughter’s friend too, huh?” Lillian barked.

  “Mother!” Paige shouted.

  Lillian and Antonio turned around, shocked to find Paige and Michaela standing there. Paige and Michaela had followed Lillian outside to check on her.

  “Only you can’t see it, Paige,” Lillian slurred, not backing down from her point.

  Paige reacted as if her mother had slapped her in the face. It was one thing for her mother to make comments like this in private, to talk through these things quietly, but in public? In front of both Antonio and Michaela? Her mother had stolen her rage. She turned toward Michaela. For the first time in their friendship, Michaela was speechless. Paige looked at Antonio, hurt glinting in her eyes.

  He put his hands up. “Paige, listen,” he started.

  Paige knew him. She knew as soon as her name came out of this mouth followed by “listen,” that he was about to lie.

  “You. Piece. Of. Shit,” Paige croaked out, her words coming out in rough waves of emotion. Her anger and rage, mixed with pain of years of having forgiven his trespasses, flowed out. Tears immediately sprang to her eyes. She looked at Michaela. “And you. My oldest friend. You comforted me with his other bitches,” Paige screamed. “I never thought you would do this. Never.” She took off running, her sobs threatening to choke her to death.

  “Paige, wait!” Antonio yelled after her.

  Lillian was beyond embarrassed and drunk. All she wanted to do was get out of there by any means.

  “Who are you?” she asked Jackson, stumbling toward him.

  “I’m Jax, his brother,” Jackson said, nodding in the direction that Antonio ran after Paige.

  “Listen, I’m his mother-in-law. I’m rich, and I need to get the hell out of here. I’ll pay you for a ride home. Please, I just need to go.”

  Jackson smirked. It was like he was watching a soap opera take place. “Sure. I’ll give you a ride. No payment needed,” he said. Of course he obliged, this was the perfect way to work his way into the life of one of his father’s greatest enemies.

  * * *

  As Michaela stood outside watching Antonio chase down Paige, she realized how right she was. She and Rod weren’t going to get a divorce, because she had signed that stupid deal to be on Casey’s dumb-ass show. Her outburst at his birthday party was enough to boost ratings for the next couple of months, and both of them were more about the money than about each other. Instead, they were going to stay married, and he was going to cheat on her, and she was going to let him, because she loved Louboutins and Balenciaga bags. She looked at Antonio as he hustled after her friend and she wondered if Rod would ever run after her like that. But she knew that he wouldn’t.

  Earlier that night, Michaela had made a terrible mistake. And really, she didn’t even know how it had happened. She had driven herself to the fundraiser that night in her white Maserati Levante, Rod had gotten it for her as a present after they had signed to the show. The producers had eaten it up. But now she was parked in the lot, sitting behind the steering wheel trying not to cry and giving herself a pep talk.

  “Okay, Michaela, you got this,” she said into the pull-down mirror. Her red YSL lipstick caught the light of a car pulling in behind her. She groaned. There went all her privacy. She had her head down on the steering wheel when somebody knocked on her window. She jumped, hitting her head on the roof of the car, but before she could scream, she realized that it was just Antonio. Michaela laughed and rolled down the window.

  “What are you doing out here?” asked Antonio, flashing that same smile he always gave her. She knew she wasn’t special, that he smiled like that to everyone, but there had always been something about the way he talked to her that made her feel like she was the only person in the world.

  “Oh, you know, I was just taking a little break before I went into that whole thing. What are you doing though? Why aren’t you inside yet?” asked Michaela.

  His smile faded away. He seemed nervous.

  “I was just handling some business with my brothers. No big deal, really,” he assured her, flashing that smile again. She started to tear up. “Wait, oh no, why are you crying?” asked Antonio. He looked around to see if anyone else was in the parking lot and then ran around the car and got in the passenger seat.

  “It’s just been hard ever since Rod and I, reached our . . . agreement, or whatever,” she said, moving her hair out of her face, making sure her outburst hadn’t ruined her look. She had spent time on her hair and makeup, because this was the first time she was leaving the house since everything had gone down.

  “No, I get that,” said Antonio. He was sitting squarely in the passenger seat. He didn’t want anyone to pass by and think anything unsavory was happening, because it wasn’t. “Marriage is something that you need to work on. No one is without their problems,” he continued. He thought about him and Paige, and how hard things had been ever since he had lost all of their money in that ridiculous-ass scheme. He should take his own advice. Michaela laughed.

  “You both have to want to work, though,” she said quietly, her eyes on the Maserati logo in the middle of the steering wheel. She had not thought that she loved Rod enough to feel hurt like this. It was taking over her whole body. She thought that she could blame what happened next on having lost her heart somewhere along the way.

  On his side of the car, Antonio could feel the energy change. He was worried that he had maybe said the wrong thing. He turned to look at Michaela, but she was already looking at him, tears pooling at the edges of her eyes. She put her hand on his thigh, unable to stop herself. Antonio had spent so
many years loving Paige the way that people only get loved in fairytales—couldn’t he love her too?

  “Michaela, we can’t do this,” Antonio said, trying to edge away from her. He had no idea what had come over his wife’s best friend.

  “Please,” she whispered, moving her hand higher up on his leg. Antonio winced, a mixture of pleasure and guilt. Taking her opportunity, while he was weak with shock, Michaela put her mouth on his neck, passionately kissing him. A little too passionately. Antonio gave into the pleasure for a few moments before snapped back to reality. He jumped, forcing her off of him.

  “No, God, no,” he yelled, “what is wrong with you?” His whole life flashed before his eyes. He had no idea where everything had gone so wrong so quickly. First, he had gotten cut from the team, and then he had lost all of their money and savings, and then he had got caught up with the Cartwrights, and now this? Paige’s best friend in the whole world was trying to seduce him. It was too much. Paige could forgive a lot of things, but she couldn’t forgive this

  Michaela almost couldn’t believe what she had just done. But a part of her also could. She had always had a sweet spot for Antonio, and even though she had never admitted it to Paige, or even herself, she was always so jealous of the fact he had set his eyes on Paige all those years ago and not her. As Antonio freaked out next to her, Michaela had to admit that a part of her had wanted him this whole time. She heard a slam as Antonio got out and began to walk toward the fundraiser. Quickly, she threw on her shoes and ran after him.

  Now, as she stood outside, almost in the same place that she ran in after Antonio, Michaela thought about all the damage she had done. About all the hurt she had caused her friend. She would have said Rod too, but she truly didn’t think that he loved her enough to care.

  Chapter 9

  Making Moves

  Two weeks after the first meeting with Mo, Antonio sat next to Jackson in the backseat of the second of three heavily-tinted black Cadillac Escalades as they caravanned through the Bronx, resembling a presidential motorcade. The dark streets rapidly whipped by the SUV’s windows. Antonio was still always amazed that at three o’clock in the morning, the hood was alive with people like it was noontime. It was business as usual, which meant he and the Cartwrights would always be in business.

  “Nervous, nigga?” Jackson asked, breaking the unsettling quiet inside the car.

  “Psh, c’mon. Only you think I’m soft. I know what’s up,” Antonio responded, lying. He was nervous as hell. He’d played out in his mind a hundred scenarios of how shit could go wrong. Jackson had given him a crash course in the business, so he felt confident about his abilities, but he wasn’t sure about who, if anyone, to trust, especially when it came to his brothers and Emil. Hayden had already tried to play him, Jackson hated and resented him, and, Emil seemed too good to be true. In Antonio’s mind, Emil had still let him into the fold too fast and too easily. Antonio knew he had to keep his guards up.

  Just thinking about it, Antonio shifted in his seat and peered out of the long back window. The other vehicles were following close behind. He exhaled. For now, he could at least take comfort in the fact that all of their goons were in the vehicle directly behind him. Antonio knew his becoming a boss had left a lot of people unhappy. During the last meeting at the Blu with the crew and the customers who purchased their supply from Emil, Antonio said he would no longer be holding those type of long table meetings. After Gladstone’s threat, Antonio thought it was too risky. His father-in-law could easily have him followed or bugged, and that would bring the entire operation down. Antonio was surprised that a man as smart and savvy as Emil had allowed those type of meetings anyway. “We are not the mafia. We are not some big time Mexican or Colombian cartel either. There is no need to risk ourselves by coming together like organized crime bosses. If you need something from us or we from you, we can arrange to meet privately in a setting that won’t raise any red flags, but it won’t be once a week,” Antonio had announced during the last meeting.

  Of course, his announcement was met with groans of protest, but he didn’t let that faze him. The biggest protest came from Jackson, as expected. It would be the first of many decisions Antonio made without Jackson’s input. There was always a fight after. Antonio was getting used to it. He had become adept at using Emil against Jackson, who was his brother’s one weakness.

  Antonio knew from listening to Jackson’s story that all it took was one snitch to blow the lid on those meetings and law enforcement would be able to swoop in and pick up everyone at one time on RICO. He also knew Gladstone Tillary was always out to get the Cartwrights. Antonio promised himself he was going to finally find out why. For Antonio, risking all of your distributors at once was a stupid business move. A few men in the room that day hadn’t been thrilled, especially because he’d also told them that the prices of the supply were going up twenty percent across the board on the instruction of Emil and Mo. Even though he was making more enemies than friends, he needed to find a quick way to recover the cost of the damage that had been done by Max King.

  * * *

  The convoy of vehicles had finally stopped. Antonio clenched his fists to calm the shaking in his hands. The vehicles had all stopped for a few seconds at a steel gate located at the end of a long alleyway. Aside from the scurrying rats and the glint of the city lights in the distance, the area was completely desolate. All of the surrounding industrial and factory-like businesses were shut down for the night and not set to open before the sun was shining bright in the sky. Antonio decided right away this was a place he would’ve never gone alone.

  The two chain-linked gates in front of the vehicle moved open slowly like someone was operating them with a remote control. Each vehicle slowly inched forward. Antonio could hear rocks and gravel crunching under the SUVs wheels. A red brick, windowless warehouse sat on the dark waters of the New York Harbor. Some of Emil’s men got out of the vehicle behind, guns in hand. Antonio went to grab the door handle closest to him. Jackson grabbed his arm, halting his movement. Antonio looked at him questioningly.

  “Hold up. Let them do the sweep first,” Jackson said seriously. Antonio’s shoulders slumped. He felt like a stupid amateur. A few minutes later, one of Emil’s workers tapped on the window and gave Jackson a hand signal.

  “A’ight. We’re clear. Bosses wait for doors to be opened for them,” Jackson said with a smirk. He noticed how embarrassed Antonio was, and didn’t miss the opportunity to exploit it.

  “Whatever,” Antonio grumbled.

  The driver quickly jumped out and yanked the door open.

  Antonio slid out of the car, Jackson at his side. They glided over to the center of the warehouse, their goons watching closely for any false moves.

  Four young dudes approached from another vehicle. No surprise there. It seemed Mo’s whole crew was comprised of young dudes. One kid stepped forward, his dark eyes trained on Antonio’s face.

  “You must be Antonio,” the short kid said, his New York accent thick. Antonio nodded. “Cam . . . what up?” the kid introduced himself, extending his fists toward Antonio for a bump. Antonio did the same, bumping his fist with Cam.

  “Mo asked me to let you know, he hopes this is the start of something good. He said to tell you what up and he didn’t know you used to ball,” Cam relayed.

  “Tell him I appreciate it. You ready?” Antonio said, his tone kind of flat. He wanted to get to the business at hand.

  He wasn’t there to make small talk. Jackson had already warned him that some of these cats try to make small talk to throw you off your game. He told Antonio he needed to be stern and hold his ground, no matter what. Antonio could see Jackson boiling over, wanting to say something so badly. Two of Emil’s guys retrieved two black duffel bags from the spare tire well in the back of the vehicle they had come in. Antonio could see the strain on their faces as they lugged the bags filled with cash.

  Cam walked over, flanked by two of his young dudes. They all watched as Jack
son unzipped the bags to reveal crisp new stacks of cash bound with thick red rubber bands and separated into twenty-thousand-dollar stacks.

  “The first bag is for what we received last night on the first shipment. The second is the first half of what is owed for the past debacle,” Antonio said smoothly, like he had been doing this for years. In actuality, his heart fluttered under his rib cage like a moth trapped in a jar. So far, he’d said exactly what he and Jackson discussed he should say. Antonio was definitely getting the hang of things.

  “A’ight,” Cam replied, handing the bags off to his partners. The three young dudes easily lifted each stack of cash, flicking through them as if they were decks of cards. Even as fast as they flipped, Antonio knew they were still being meticulous about the count.

  “Straight,” one of the young guys announced.

  When they were done counting the money and secured the bags in their vehicle, Cam stepped closer to Antonio. Jackson moved in too, afraid he would miss something. That annoyed Antonio.

  “Antonio, son. Mo wanted me to tell you one more thing,” Cam said, almost regretfully. His eyes darted around wildly.

  A cold sweat immediately broke out over Antonio’s body. This was the bullshit he didn’t want. No funny business. He raised his eyebrows in nervous anticipation of what was to come. Anything was possible in this business.

  “What’s up?” Jackson interjected, stepping to Cam.

  Antonio put his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “It’s cool. Let’s hear him out.”

  “Listen, nigga don’t shoot the messenger. Mo wanted me to tell y’all. I could care fucking less,” Cam said, annoyed by Jackson’s aggressive move.

  Antonio shifted his weight from one foot to the next, listening intently.

  “It’s cool. Get to it,” he huffed impatiently. He squeezed Jackson’s shoulder as if to say, “Just chill.”