The Family Business 4

by Carl Weber

  He started, “I refuse to let you—”

  “Let? Did you really just say let?”

  There was a knock at the door, and our argument stopped.

  “Mommy?” Mariah’s small voice called from the other side of the door.

  “Yes, baby? Come in!” I yelled.

  The door slowly opened, and she walked in, holding her younger sister’s hand.

  “What’s wrong, Mariah? Why aren’t you in bed?” Harris sounded frustrated, which pissed me off. He was always trying to control those kids, just like he wanted to control me.

  “I want Mommy,” Maria, my youngest, told him.

  I sat up and lifted the covers, making sure Harris had on pajama pants. I patted the center of the bed. “Come here, sweetie. Get up here.”

  “London, no.” Harris frowned, but I didn’t care. Not only did I want to comfort my daughter, who I hadn’t seen in a while, but letting her in the bed had just given me the ultimate excuse not to have sex with Harris.

  My two daughters climbed into our bed and snuggled beside me.

  “Can we watch Disney channel?” Mariah asked, ignoring her father.

  “We can watch whatever you want, baby.” I smiled at her.

  “Mariah, you and your sister need to go into your own room. You have a TV,” Harris said, sulking.

  I picked up the remote and turned the TV channels until some cartoon appeared on the screen and the kids started singing along. Harris wore a look of disgust on his face.

  “How long are you gonna let them stay in here?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Harris. Probably not that long,” I lied, then said. “But you may wanna go ahead and go to sleep. It looks like they’re gonna be up for a while.”

  I kissed the top of Mariah’s head, then did the same to Maria. I’d never been more grateful for my children than I was at that moment. Motherhood definitely had its privileges.

  Sasha

  52

  I had barely spoken ten words since my mother was killed, and most of them had been to the funeral director. My aunt, uncle, and cousins tried to be as comforting and accommodating as possible, even offering to assist me in planning my mother’s funeral, but I declined. Having people, especially people who had openly despised her, make the arrangements would not be the best idea. Like it or not, dead or alive, two facts still remained: the Duncans hated Donna, and as strained as our relationship was, she was still my mother. I handled everything myself.

  Her body was cremated, and a service was held at First Jamaica Ministries, the church she attended. It was well attended by the crème de la crème of black New York’s high society, those who my mother found worthy of associating herself with. The designer suits, stilettos, and handbags in the building were probably worth enough to fund a small third world country. The attendees were arrogant, decked out in their ridiculously high fashion, all vying for attention. As each one pranced their way to the front of the church, admiring the hand-painted portrait and then walking over to me to pay their respects, I knew my mother was probably looking down and loving the attention. I sat at the end of the front pew, dressed in an all-black Yves St. Laurent suit, heels, and a pair of oversized Gucci sunglasses that she had owned. Beside me was Junior, who had suddenly taken on the role of my protector. He was the only person I felt inclined to talk to when something needed to be said. The remaining family members filled out the rest of the row and the one behind.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had even been in a church. I was pretty much raised by my father, and religion wasn’t at the top of his list of priorities for me to learn. I felt weird as people I had never seen before walked up and told stories about Donna. They spoke about committees she sat on and fundraisers that she had chaired, how giving and supportive she had been to local substance abuse programs. One woman even said that my mother helped save her life. I realized that Donna was a stranger to me. I didn’t really know her at all. All I knew was that she had abandoned my father and me to marry a rich man—or at least that’s what I had been told. This woman that people were now speaking about was a woman I’d never known, and now it was too late. She was dead. It’s funny how most of my life I had wished she were dead, thinking I would be happy because she would no longer be a thorn in my side. Now that I was sitting there, looking at the brass urn that held her ashes, it wasn’t joy that I felt at all. It was sadness. It was confusion. My mind was all over the place.

  I closed my eyes. The deep voice of Bishop TK Wilson, who was now speaking, had a lulling effect on me, and I allowed it to soothe my aching heart.

  “And we all know that there is an appointed time for all of us. The Bible says that there is a time to be born, and yes, there is a time to die. We are grateful for the time that we had with this beautiful woman,” Bishop said. “And although her death seems untimely to us, God knew what time it was. Amen.”

  Not long after, soft chords emanated from the organ, and people began filing out. I remained seated, unable to move.

  “Sasha, baby, I’m so sorry.”

  It seemed like the millionth time someone had said that to me. I glanced up. Aunt NeeNee stood in front of me, tears streaming down a face full of sadness. Aunt Chippy stood beside her, comforting her. I stared at her blankly, not saying a word.

  “I can’t believe this happened to you. If you need anything, you know I’m right here for you, honey. I’m so sorry. This is horrible,” NeeNee continued.

  Slowly, I stood. I lifted the sunglasses from my face and stared at her. She went to hug me, but I took a slight step back. I could feel the seat of the pew on the back of my legs, then felt Junior’s arm steadying me. As we stood face to face, I felt the smoldering heat of pain, which had been in my chest ever since I found my mother’s lifeless body, suddenly start to rise.

  “Your husband and your sons did this to me,” I said, my voice calm and steady. “Trust me, they will pay.”

  “Sasha, honey,” Aunt Chippy said, a look of surprise on her face. “Please. Not here. Not now.”

  I ignored her and continued, “You’d better pray to God that Uncle LC finds their asses before I do. You might wanna get the number of the funeral director before you leave. Start planning now, because they’re all gonna die. Like the pastor just said: it’s their time.”

  Curtis

  53

  We’d been digging up another one of my dad’s stashes, this time out in the woods of Pennsylvania. Kenny had been quiet, which was unusual, because most of the time you couldn’t shut him up. In that respect, he was kind of like my old man, who always seemed to be talking. But not today. He was moping around like someone had put down his dog. I asked him over and over what was wrong, and each time he responded with a simple, “Nothing.” I knew my brother well enough to know that he was lying. I listened to him sigh over and over again before I decided it was time to find out what the hell was really going on with him.

  “Kenny, what’s wrong with you?” I asked him, tossing a shovel full of dirt to the side. “And don’t sit there and tell me nothing, either.”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbled, jamming his own shovel into the ground.

  “I ain’t ask you what the fuck you wanted to do.” I reached for his shovel to stop him from digging so that we could address this.

  He turned and scowled at me. “Let go, Curt.”

  “Nah. Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Okay, you wanna know? I’m so sick of this shit,” he said as he let go of the shovel and started walking away.

  “Sick of what? Where the hell are you going?” I demanded to know.

  He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t stop walking. I started shoveling again for a brief second before I realized I couldn’t just let this go. Something was seriously wrong with my brother, and I had to fix it before it got in the way of our mission.

  I followed behind him. He was leaning against the Explorer that we had been traveling in since getting back from Jamaica.


  “I thought you quit,” I said, pointing to his cigarette.

  He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I did, but these are the only thing that calms my nerves.”

  “What’s going on, bro? What’s got your panties in a bunch?” I asked again, leaning up against a pine tree with my hands in my pockets.

  “This. You. Him.” He shrugged his shoulders then finished his cigarette. “This whole situation is fucked up.”

  “What does that mean?” I decided that after we dug up this bag, I was going to take him to get laid. Maybe that would help his sour mood.

  “It means I’m not down with this shit anymore. It’s not fun, and I’m starting to see what everyone is talking about. Curtis, Pop is—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, I was in his face, grabbing him by the collar. “Don’t you say it, God dammit! Don’t you say it. He’s not crazy!”

  “Then what was that shit he did to Aunt Donna, huh? If that wasn’t crazy, then what was it?”

  I stared at my brother, stunned by the things he was saying. “Shut up, Kenny. You’re wrong.”

  “I ain’t wrong. That was sick and uncalled for. Donna didn’t do shit to him or us. Innocent people are dying at this point, and I don’t like it. Dad is saying that all of this is for family; well, she was family too. He lied to us, Curt. He said we were going over there to talk to her about joining forces and being allies, but because she said no to us, he ended up killing her. Whatever is going on with him, it’s getting worse. He’s out of control, and I don’t wanna be a part of this shit anymore.”

  I let him speak his mind, but I didn’t see things the same way. “He’s not out of control, Kenny. He’s pissed. Don’t you see he’s doing all of this for us?” I said in defense of my father. “We can’t let him down. He’s depending on us. He’s our dad.”

  “Curt, we out here killing people and blowing shit up all on the strength that he’s our dad.”

  I thought about what Kenny was saying, and for the first time, I had to admit he had a point. We really didn’t have any information other than what my dad had told us. I’d never doubted his story or wondered if there might be another side, especially since his story about LC taking everything from him hadn’t changed over the years. Whenever I went to visit him in the hospital, he would talk about how my uncles had put him there because they wanted him out of the way. They wanted a bigger portion of the Duncan empire that Pop said rightfully belonged to him.

  He wouldn’t lie to us; at least, I didn’t think he would. He promised us that Kenny and I were the reason he was doing all of this, so that the legacy that was stolen from him would be passed on to us once it was recovered. That was what he said, and that was what I wanted to believe, but Kenny’s faith in our dad had become weak.

  “I can’t do this anymore. He killed Aunt Donna, man. Shit, how was killing her helping us get his portion of the business back?” Kenny folded his arms and waited for my answer, which I really didn’t have.

  “It’s a respect thing, Kenny. I don’t necessarily think killing Donna was the right thing to do, but maybe it had to be done. We got all this dope, the streets are talking about the Duncans, and they ain’t talking about LC, or Vegas, or Orlando. They’re coming to us now.” I straightened my spine and threw back my shoulders proudly. My entire life, I had lived in the shadows of my cousins, and now because of Pop, we were coming into the light. We were taking back our power, and I enjoyed that feeling.

  “He’s gonna get us killed, Curt, and I ain’t trying to die over nothing stupid.” Kenny stood just as straight as I was, and we came face to face.

  “So, what the fuck are you saying, Kenny? You just gonna leave me?”

  “No, but the next time something like this happens, I will, so you better have a talk with him, because you can bet on that.”

  Ruby

  54

  “Is Daddy going on the boat ride with us, Mommy?” Vincent excitedly squirmed in the seat beside me.

  “Yes, Vincent. Now, sit down and play wit’ your Transformer,” I told him as Vinnie stepped on deck. We’d just boarded a yacht that Vinnie must have secretly purchased just for this purpose: our escape from Jamaica. “See, there he is now.”

  “I need you to get that dope over to me and on this damn boat now, CJ!” he yelled into his phone, pacing back and forth. “I told you to have it here before I arrived. I don’t care about any of that shit. You saying it’s on the way means it’s not on the damn boat.”

  He ended the call and flopped down in the seat across from me. He was sweating so much that his shirt clung to his chest. I shook my head at him in disgust.

  “De captain says he’s ready when we are,” Blake said, stepping onto the deck and sitting beside Vincent.

  “Yeah, well, we ain’t leaving until my extra luggage gets here. After that, I want to get as far away from this island as possible.”

  “Dis is getting ridiculous, Vinnie. We keep running away over and over,” I told him. “I can’t keep doin’ dis to my son.”

  “Our son, you mean.” He gestured for Vincent to come to him, and he did, jumping in Vinnie’s arms. “Vincent is our son. Don’t you ever forget that. Right, buddy?”

  I glanced over at Blake, who tried to maintain a neutral expression, but I could see by his clenched fists he was not a happy man.

  “Vinnie, dis is not de life I want to live.”

  “And you think it’s what I want?” he replied angrily. “What do you want me to do, stay at the house and have them kill us? We’re running away so we can stay alive, Ruby.”

  “I knew dat Larry Duncan was going to bring trouble. You never listen to me,” I snapped.

  “Listen to you about what? Larry’s not the problem here, and neither am I. We’re not the ones who just happened to run into Junior Duncan in Negril. It was you; so don’t blame this shit on me.”

  “Me can’t believe dis. You blaming all this on me?” He wouldn’t look at me, so I continued ranting. “I don’t sell drugs. I didn’t steal a container of drugs. All I did was follow you.”

  “Shut up, Ruby. I can’t deal with this right now.” Vinnie stood up and walked back into the cabin of the boat. Vincent followed behind him without even glancing back at me. Sometimes it made me sad that my son admired Vinnie so much.

  When they were gone, Blake leaned over and said quietly, “Listen to me, Ruby. Now nuh de time to anger him. Truss what me saying to ya.”

  “You not saying anyting to me, Blake. You still haven’t told me if Vinnie killed my brother.”

  “Dat’s because I don’t know yet. I’m waitin’ to hear back from a man.”

  “What man?”

  “A man in de States by de name Flynn. He’s de only one other than your husband and de Duncans who know de truth.” The look on Blake’s face was sincere. “So keep quiet ’til me and him have a chance to speak. You may be barking up de wrong tree.”

  “From de look on your face, you don’t tink so,” I replied.

  Blake looked left then right, placing a finger to his lips.

  “What you want me to do? Just sit here and shut my mouth?” I glared at him.

  Blake nodded seriously. “Fo’ right now, yes. He unda enough pressure. Man like that could snap and kill you and de boy.”

  I decided to take Blake’s advice. I folded my arms and inhaled in an effort to relax my nerves, which were all over the place. I couldn’t keep living like this. Not only was my life in danger, but so was the life of my son. Here we were, fleeing our second home in two weeks, and not only were we running from the Duncans, but now the Asians too. The number of enemies we had was increasing by the minute, and I was tired of running.

  Vinnie came back, and he seemed a bit calmer.

  “All right, the dope is here. Soon as they load the boat, we can get the hell outta here,” he told us.

  “I’ll go make sure dem handle it properly.” Blake stood up and left.

  “Where are we going now, Vinnie?” I asked
. My hope was that he would say Montego Bay or somewhere close, but from what I had gathered, staying in Jamaica was definitely out of the question. I hoped wherever we were headed would at least be nice and tropical, where my son and I could still enjoy the beach.

  “I hear Florida’s nice this time of year,” he said.

  “What’s in Florida?” My eyes widened and my voice cracked.

  He looked into my eyes and said, “Hopefully Larry Duncan and the rest of my money.”

  Larry

  55

  “Do you know what to do? You want me to send Curtis with you?” I asked Kenny. We’d just pulled up to the Kings County Courthouse in Brooklyn, and I was sending Kenny on an assignment, but I was concerned because he hadn’t said a word since we left the safe house in Long Island.

  “I got it,” Kenny mumbled as he got out of the car, carrying a small knapsack. “Go in, pay the bail money, and bring him out. It’s not rocket science, Dad. Nobody needs to get killed in the process.” He headed down the sidewalk and up the steps into the building

  “What the hell is that all about?” I turned and asked Curtis. I was hoping he wasn’t still in his feelings about Donna being killed. It had been a pretty tough night of arguing and name calling when Kenny and Curtis returned from digging up one of my stashes. The things you do for your kids. I had actually ended up promising him I wouldn’t kill anyone without talking it over with him or his brother first.

  “I thought we cleared the air last night,” I said.

  “We did.” Curtis shrugged. “I think he was fucking with you.”

  “He better straighten his damn attitude up before I straighten it up for him. I saw him talking to his grandmother this morning.” The thing that pissed me off the most was that despite her feelings about Donna, Momma actually agreed with Kenny and started chastising me for my temper and anger issues. All of a sudden, she was Kenny’s biggest advocate, spewing off about how they’d proven themselves and I needed to start listening to them, or I was going to be a lonely old man with only my guns as friends. She was so upset she’d decided not to even take the ride into Brooklyn with us.