by Dutch
Dynasty
By
Dutch
PROLOGUE
Boy I need you bad as my
heartbeat… bad like the food I eat.
Bad as the air I breathe…baby I
want you bad.
The sound of Jazmine Sullivan’s soulful voice filled the lavish banquet room of the Occidental Hotel in Aruba. It wasn’t a public concert; it was a family reunion, an event the Bells always outdid themselves with. The Bells were a crime family out of New York that extended back to the Bumpy Johnson era. Tito Bell, the 33- year old head of the family, had arranged to fly his whole family, extended family and select friends to Aruba for the reunion. Jazmine Sullivan’s performance had been a surprise for his twin sisters because they loved the young singer.
But for Tito, it was business as usual. His grip on the Tri-State cocaine market was slowly slipping away. He needed to expand, to move on to new markets and for that he needed his Uncle Guy and the Simmons family out of the South. They had a stranglehold on the heroin market south of the Mason Dixon Line and therefore the clout and the pull to help Tito move his product in the south. Tito decided to arrange a meeting with Guy at the family reunion.
Tito glanced at his Presidential as he watched his sisters dancing with their dates. He turned back around and smiled when he saw his Aunt Gloria come in with her son Kev and Guy’s other son, Tyquan. The door closed behind them and Tito’s brow furled when he realized his Uncle Guy hadn’t come. That was a bad sign, but at least he had sent his sons instead.
Gloria was greeted by faces she hadn’t seen in years. She was a Harlemite at heart, but she hadn’t been back home in several years; too many bad memories.
“Hey, big sis!” Tito’s mother Theresa said and stood up to hug her. Theresa had been married to Gloria’s brother, Eddie. “Girl, damn you look good! Where is Guy?”
Gloria shrugged. Everyone knew that she and Guy were divorced, yet they always seemed to ask about him. “You know Guy got remarried, so he’s probably with his wife,” Gloria told her simply, even though she still felt a way about it.
“Well, he’s still family,” Theresa replied, “so you tell him, next time if he don’t come, the Bells gonna put a hit on him!” she joked.
Gloria thought to herself, if you knew what I knew, you may put a hit on both of us for real. But instead she said, “I’ll tell him!”
“Kev! Boy, come give yo’ aunt a hug wit’ yo’ fine self!” Theresa gushed, hugging Kev then turning to Ty. “And you too, Tyquan. I’m yo’ aunt too!”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Ty smiled then obeyed her.
“Hey, Gloria,” her sister Pam said timidly.
Gloria sucked her teeth. “Bitch, you ain’t dead yet?” Gloria spat coldly.
“Gloria?!” Theresa said in shock.
“No, it’s okay. Only the Lord can heal our hearts. God bless you, Gloria,” Pam said and walked away.
“God damn you, bitch!” Gloria said a little louder than she would’ve liked, causing a few heads to turn.
Theresa grabbed her arm. “Glo, you dead wrong for that,” she whispered harshly. “That was a long time ago.”
“Not long enough when your own sister was fuckin’ yo’ husband for years! Now the bitch wanna be saved?? Please.” Gloria waved her off.
“People can change, Glo. Besides, Guy ain’t exactly faultless,” Theresa reminded her.
Gloria held up her left hand to show that her ring finger was empty, even though her middle finger was diamonded up. “Which is why I divorced his black ass!”
Kev cleared his throat. He already knew enough about his father’s player ways to fill up a book. “Aunt T, um… where’s Tito?”
“Oh, he should be—”
“Right here,” Tito finished for her, hugging his aunt Gloria then his two cousins.
“Glad to see y’all could make it,” Tito greeted.
“And miss a free trip to Aruba? Boy, bye,” Gloria chuckled.
“What up, Kev? It’s been a minute. Let’s find somewhere to talk. We got a lot of catchin’ up to do.”
Kev and Ty excused themselves, then followed Tito out of the banquet hall and over to the hotel’s spacious poolside area. The little Bell children were wilding out like little ghetto kids minus the Ritalin. The twins, Asia and Brooklyn, were out there with their dates until they laid eyes on Kev and Ty.
“Cuzzo!” they screamed in unison, making their way over to them.
Kev shook his head thinking damn I wish they wasn’t family.
The twins were gorgeous. They looked just like the singer Rihanna; they even had the same color eyes. The only difference was they were thicker in the hips and both keep their hair long.
“Look at my country cousin!” Brooklyn chuckled. She was the oldest by only a few minutes.
Ty knew how to tell them apart, because usually with twins one twin’s face is longer than the other’s.
“Watch yo’ mouth, Brooklyn… ain’t nothin’ country about me. I’m just southern,” Ty quipped. The twins kissed them both then left the three of them to talk.
They sat around the poolside table and Tito opened up. “I hope everything is good wit’ Guy. He isn’t sick is he?” Tito implied.
Kev smiled because he knew that Tito was dying to know why Guy didn’t come. “Pop sends his regards, but it couldn’t be helped. But believe me… talking to me is like talking to him.”
Ty hated the way his older brother assumed the lead role. He wouldn’t speak on it at the meeting, but he planned on checking his ass later.
Tito peeped the look on Ty’s face but kept it moving. “Cool,” Tito replied, masking his disappointment, “that’s what it is then. Let me get down to it. We’ve got the Tri-State area on smash. You’ve got the South on smash. Now being that our thing is coke and yours is dope, there’s no way we could step on each other’s toes if we decided to join forces,” Tito proposed, then stopped to give Kev a chance to speak.
“I’m listening.” Kev nodded. Guy had taught him when a man brings the deal you let him do all the talking.
Tito was hoping to get a gauge of where Kev’s head was so he could tailor his idea to address Kev’s concerns. When that didn’t happen he continued, “Now with us, we’ve got our hands in a little of everything. From the hottest black owned record labels to construction… and of course more than a few politicians’ backs. As I’m sure you have your hands in more than a few cookie jars and puppets yourself. My point is… we’re both not getting the most for our money when it comes to the overall picture.”
“How so?” Ty inquired.
Tito directed his attention to Ty. “Because, Fam… we got cops, district attorneys, politicians, and they all want a piece of the pie. Now with baking ourselves a larger pie, their piece stays the same while ours more than doubles,” Tito broke it down.
“So what you’re asking is… that we share markets and utilize each other’s resources,” Kev surmised.
“Exactly,” Tito replied.
Kev smiled. “I feel your vision, Cuz, but we don’t want to expand. New areas mean new problems. I can tell you now, Guy’s gonna say, ‘if it ain’t broke don’t fix it’.”
“A fifty-fifty split of millions is far from broke,” Tito quipped.
Kev chuckled. “I’m gonna have to decline your offer, Cuz, but I do have one of my own.”
Tito was clearly upset but remained cordial.
“Like you said, we both have our hands in a lot of cookie jars. Where I think we can make the best match is in construction,” Kev told him.
“Construction?” Tito echoed.
Kev nodded. “With the economy fucked up like it is and housing in the dumps, we can combine our companies’ credit ratings and snatch up anything we want. Five years down the line we’re talking
about 4-5 times our initial investment.”
Tito couldn’t believe what Kev was saying. That fucking Guy was trying to belittle him and appease him at the same time! Tito was talking millions now, not five years! “Construction?” Tito chuckled. “Did Eddie give Guy a hammer when he came to him to get on?” Tito was referring to the fact that it had been his father Eddie that had initially put Guy in the game.
“So should I tell Pop you feel like he owes you, Cuz?” Kev asked calmly, but Tito could tell he was vexed.
Tito sighed. “No disrespect, Fam. Really. It’s just… we family, and at the end of the day, it’s all we got, you know? Do me a favor… talk to Uncle Guy; just ask him if I could talk to him face to face.”
All three of them then stood up and Tito shook their hands.
“No doubt… I’ll deliver the message, Cuz,” Kev assured him.
The only good sign at the meeting was Tito could tell Ty was interested. He could see that look in his eyes. Kev may be content with the way things were but Ty was restless. He knew Ty saw the bigger picture. Tito thought to himself how it would be if Ty was calling the shots.
“Ay yo! What’s all this, you talkin’ to Pops when you talkin’ to me bullshit?” Ty fumed, slamming the door to Kev’s suite after they entered. “He sent us both down here!”
Ty felt like Kev had handled that all wrong. There were numerous times when he wanted to jump in and take control of the conversation, but held back as Guy had taught him to never air the family’s dirty laundry to anyone.
“Look, that shit Tito is talkin’ ain’t in our best interest. Case closed,” Kev shot back.
“Case closed?! Nigguh, how you know what Pop gonna say?!”
“ ‘Cause I already talked to him before we left. He knew Tito probably wanted to move shop down south and he ain’t wit’ it. How you think I was able to offer him the construction deal without Pop’s approval?” Kev said with a glib smirk on his face.
Ty was heated but he was also hurt. Guy hadn’t talked to him about the trip. Yeah Kev was the oldest, but he didn’t have the foresight or sheer instinct Ty had. Guy had told him that himself, but little by little, it seemed like Guy was grooming Kev to take over the family business.
That made Tito’s deal that much more important. He had to convince Guy. The Simmons didn’t have to expand, but they could bring Tito in under their wing. Ty could personally oversee it and if everything went right, create his own niche between his family and the Bells. Because one thing was for sure, he refused to be under Kev should he become the head of the family, and was prepared to make sure that didn’t happen…
Chapter 1
The ambulance’s siren pierced the air like the wail of a woman in agony as it raced along the rain slicked streets. Pedestrians and drivers alike watched as it whizzed by with looks of apprehension etched on their faces. It was like they could feel the impending drama building in the air, because many of them already knew who was inside. The shooting occurred only a short time ago, but the streets were already abuzz with what had gone down.
Guy Simmons, the aging Don of the South, had been shot outside his favorite bar and grill on James Street. Both of his trusted bodyguards were murdered in the process. Everywhere gossip was rampant in the streets as to whom and why, they knew the Simmons family’s response would be ruthless and brutal.
“Please, God, don’t let him die! Please!” Gloria Simmons wailed as she sat beside Guy in the ambulance, gripping his hand. She held it so tightly it was as if she wanted to will her life force into him. “Guy, I know you can hear me,” she said, bent near his ear. “Just hold on, baby, we almost there. Remember what you always said, ‘they can’t keep a good man down.’ ”
His breathing was shallow and his eyes were closed, but he indeed heard her and it warmed him inside. Even though they had been divorced for a few years, they had been married for over twenty, had a child and an unbreakable bond forged through fire.
Seeing his eyes move under his eyelids, Gloria gasped and kissed his hand. “I’m here, baby. Always. I’m here,” she assured him before asking, “Who… did it?”
Guy didn’t know who had done it. But he knew that it had to be someone close to him because of how it went down. He definitely knew that. As he struggled to communicate his reply, he could feel his strength ebbing away and then was enveloped in darkness and silence.
Guy Simmons had been born and raised in Goldsboro, North Carolina. His father Willie was a brick layer by day and a gambler at night. He and his wife Mabel ran several successful liquor houses in and around Goldsboro. They lived in Webbtown, an area situated in the middle of Goldsboro, which served as the city’s version of Black Las Vegas. The shotgun houses that teetered and leaned side by side offered every vice imaginable, and Willie Simmons had a hand in it all. From prostitution to gambling to bootleg liquor, the Simmons family lived high on the hog and city slick in a countrified way. Hustling was in their blood since all the way back to slavery.
Willie’s great grandfather was lynched for horse theft after escaping the brutal whip of his slave master in Mississippi. Willie’s daddy, born Geechie in South Carolina, ran moonshine across the south until he too was gunned down. Willie eventually relocated to Wilmington, then ultimately carried on the Simmons tradition.
As mentioned before, hustling was in their blood.
Guy was born with a ghetto silver spoon in his mouth—in other words, “nigguh rich”. An expression that meant you was richer than most black folks but only slightly better than average to most whites. He was the child and was catered to accordingly. He excelled in everything he did, sports, women and school, everything that is except the family business.
“Boy, didn’t I tell you to bring yo’ ass heah afta’ school directly!?” Willie huffed, chopping on his trademark cigar.
“I know, Daddy, but I had to go to the library to research my book report. Ms. Calvin says—,” Guy tried to explain but his father erupted again.
“The library?! The goddamn library?! Boy, here I is tryin’ to teach you how to take care of yo’self and you tellin’ me about a goddamn book!”
Willie turned his back, shaking his head and slammed the door of his illegal still behind him. He just couldn’t figure his son out, but truth be told, Guy didn’t want to follow the family tradition, he wanted to start his own. He was tired of living in the shadow of his family name. Instead he wanted to be the shoulders the next generation stood on. A sentiment his mother seconded and encouraged.
“Baby, don’t worry about yo’ daddy. I got him,” Ms. Mabel told him one night after one of their arguments as she cleared the table.
“Why can’t he understand?” Guy shook his head. As much as he wanted to be his own man, he also wanted his father’s approval.
Ms. Mabel sat down and lovingly took her son’s hand. “Guy, you know yo’ daddy can’t read and he don’t trust what’s in them books. His great- great- grand-daddy was a slave and he tried to read, which almost got him killed. That’s why he turned to horse thievin’. The Simmons men, none of ‘em could read, and they look at school as some-thing for uppity nigguhs,” she explained.
“But I can read,” Guy responded proudly, “and I am gonna be somebody. Not like dad—”
“Your father is somebody,” Ms. Mabel reprimanded her son. “He provide you that roof up heah and that food in theah,” she pointed at his belly then continued, “so don’t think ‘cause you can read you better’n yo’ daddy, you hear me?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Guy answered with his head down. His mother lifted his chin.
“But you gonna be somebody too.” She smiled that angelic smile that his father fell in love with. “A different kind of som-body… a new somebody. The time yo’ daddy come from, we had to think that way to survive. But a new day is dawning, and the Lord is shining on black folk! You gonna be the first Simmons to go to college. And after that, anything’s possible. Look at Booker T. Washington and all these great black folk. Times a changin’ and
before you know it; we’ll have a black president. He might even be you!”
Guy laughed as he kissed his mother then rose from the table. “I don’t know about all that. I ain’t even get into college yet.”
“You will.”
And he did. He was accepted at Howard University in Washington, DC but never got a chance to attend, for a week later, he received a letter that would change his life forever.
“The Army?!” his mother exclaimed, clutching her chest. She had heard so much about the war in Vietnam, not just on the news but some of her friend’s sons had been drafted only to return home in a box. “No, Guy! I don’t want you going to nobody’s war. What about school?!”
“I can still go once my tour is over, Mama,” he explained. “Besides, I don’t really have a choice. Once they draft you, you either report or go to jail.”
He didn’t mention that since he was the first born son he could be exempt from duty. Deep down he wanted to enlist. He had read so much about the Tuskegee Airmen that he too wanted a chance to add his name to history.
“Aww, Mabel, the boy’ll be alright,” his father said, “he’s a Simmons and ain’t no Simmons ever ran from a fight.”
For once he agreed with his son. He’d rather see him in the Army than at some sissy school learning the ways of the uppity nigguhs.
“Then maybe you’ll learn how to be a man and make me proud of you, my son,” Willie added.
Guy turned and looked his father in the eye.
“All my life I’ve been Willie Simmons’ son, but one day you’ll be known as Guy Simmons’ father!” Guy walked out, leaving his father with a slight smirk on his face.
…y’all brothers don’t want it; I got the
Godfather flow the Don Juan DeMarco;
swear to God, don’t get it twisted…
The sound of Jay-Z’s “Can’t Knock the Hustle” blared from the burgundy BMW 645 coupe sitting on 22-inch rims that the streets called shoes. Pappy, the owner of the car, leaned against the hood while kicking game to two beautiful red bones. Pappy was an average looking 21- year old brother, but it was his money that made him fine in the eyes of the gold diggers. A year ago the lanky boned, skinny young man would’ve never gotten a second word in with this caliber of chick, but since the come up of the Wolf pack, his crew, he was a bona fide hood star.