“Sophia, are you nervous?”
“No, I don’t know why I would be. Its only work.”
“Maybe it’s Monday morning blues.”
“Hmm, hmm you could be right, Dee.” Sophia chewed on toast and sipped her coffee as Deedee spoke.
“Can I ask you something, Sophia?”
“Sure but I may not have the answer for you.”
“No, it has nothing to do with you and Uncle E.”
“I didn’t mean…I’m sorry, Dee. What is it?”
“Well I’m trying to find out if it is disrespectful if you offer me somewhere to sleep and I turn it down? I mean, does it matter?” Deedee asked. Sophia kept at her breakfast before answering.
“It depends on how you say no, especially to a friend,” Sophia said to Deedee then watched as she thought about it for a while before agreeing.
“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I was a little hard on her,” Deedee responded.
“You’re talking about Coco. Sometimes our best friends are sensitive about something we have no idea about. The most you can do is apologize and move on from there,” Sophia said and drank the last bit of her coffee. “Look, I’ll see you later. I’ll call to see how you’re doing, okay?”
“Okay. Bye, Sophia. I’ll see you later.”
Sophia left the room and stopped by to give herself another once over. She didn’t look too much like a floozy, Sophia thought as she checked herself in the full length mirror. She was glad that the swelling to the left side of her forehead had finally gone down. With a touch of make-up, it was her little secret. This dark gray pantsuit actually makes me curvy, she thought as she walked away from the mirror. She stopped at Deedee’s room to wave bye before she left the apartment.
“Here are a set keys to the place. The doorman will recognize you and these are the keys to the two locks on the door. I keep the top lock open unless your uncle has been nasty.” Sophia winked and added with the hint of a smile. “Don’t you spend all day in bed, lazy head.”
“Oh I won’t. I’ve got the keys to the city.” Deedee curled her lips and Sophia recognized the teenager’s sarcasm.
“Shopping has been known to wash my blues away.” Sophia laughed and blew a kiss at the teenage girl. Deedee sat at the edge of the bed wearing her Snoopy pajamas, a smile, and staring out the bedroom window.
“It seems like it will be a fresh spring day,” Deedee said as Sophia turned to leave. She heard the thud of the door and the locks applied indicating that Sophia had left. Deedee sighed and curled up in the bed. She burrowed her head between the covers in an unsuccessful effort to shield her face from the sun. The rays easily filtered through, brightening the room and making it difficult for her to sleep.
A few minutes later, Deedee still buried beneath the covers, heard voices from the TV. Reaching for the remote, she frowned and curled back up in bed. While raising the volume, she saw his face. Immediate recognition registered when she realized she was reading his name. Robert Morgan alias Busta was shot and killed. Deedee’s fingers trembled as she nervously pressed the volume up on the remote.
...Police are searching for the killer of Robert Morgan also known as Busta. Mr. Morgan, a well known hip hop entrepreneur, was gunned down and killed in his apartment in what the police are calling a botched robbery sometime over the weekend. Neighbors were alerted to his body by a foul odor emanating from his apartment. Mr. Sanchez, a next-door neighbor, called the police. Police found the door forced open. We take you to John Deanne with a live coverage...
There was a cut to the live scene and police officer in the midst of an interview.
...Thank you Michel. Police are calling this a robbery gone bad. Apparently, Mr. Morgan surprised burglars forcing their way into his apartment sometime Friday evening and after a struggle, Mr. Morgan was shot ten times. Drawers were ransacked and money and jewelry were stolen. The police are asking that anyone with information that could lead to an arrest to please call the crime stopper’s hotline. That’s it from me, John Deanne. Now back to the newsroom...
Deedee was stunned. For a moment, she lost all feeling and her capacity to think. After fumbling with the telephone, she dialed her uncle’s cell phone number. Tears flowed as it rang through to his voice mail.
“Uncle Eric, please call me back.” Deedee sobbed as she spoke. “I’m at Sophia’s. I just saw on the news that Busta got shot...”
Her heavy sobbing prevented her from continuing. Deedee dropped the telephone in the bed and sat staring at the television now running a commercial. She felt her hands go cold and clammy and tears continued to stream from her eyes. By the time the morning show returned, Deedee was sobbing loudly again.
“Uncle E, where are you? Please call me and tell me you’re okay.” Deedee cried, wiped her eyes in her pajamas and cried some more. She pressed redial on the telephone. It rang through again until the voice mail was engaged.
Deedee felt limp and woozy and thought she was going to faint. She walked as quickly as possible to bathroom, bent her head over the toilet bowl, and started vomiting. She sobbed loudly as she sat hugging the bowl, not knowing if her uncle was alive. Deedee silently prayed for the best.
TWENTY-THREE
Eric Ascot ran from his Range Rover shirt unbuttoned, belt unbuckled and laces undone. He had been in the studio trying to figure the right keys to a beat. It was what he did as a music producer, toil in the studio in search of the perfect beat.
Except this morning he was supposed to be back at the strip club so the Geisha twins could get him Busta. He sprinted as fast as his body would let him. Eric was out of breath when he got to the front door of the club. He checked it and it was locked.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he said stomping his feet. He turned to leave and spotted them outside the diner across the street waving at him. For some reason, a strange feeling hit him. Maybe it was guilt but he had been hoping they would be gone by now. Eric put a smile on his face and walked across the street to greet them. “I was a little worried that I would miss you,” he said still sucking wind.
“You were late but the big man is in there,” one said as she pointed toward a doorway.
“No, no, not the big man. I want Busta, the big black man,” Eric said with his arms directing his words.
“No, you said the big man. The big man downstairs in the club. Not upstairs but downstairs,” one of the strippers said.
“Downstairs, right? Thank you,” Eric said. He saw both ladies rubbing thumb and forefingers together. He pulled out a twenty. “Thanks,” he said and walked away.
He double-checked the number of the building. Eric was not sure he had the right place and looked back to see that both ladies from his evening had left.
Eric rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing happened. I’m so stupid. This is the world’s oldest set-up. How could I fall for it?’ Eric smiled more at himself for falling for what he presumed was a trick to relieve him of his cash. He was about to make his way back to the Range when the door opened.
“Yes, can I help you?”
Eric was caught off guard and fumbled for what exactly to say. He saw a pair of eyes zeroing on him and knew this was not going to be easy.
“Ah, someone told me that I could find a friend of mine inside. Busta?” he said partly questioning his reasons for being here. “I mean, if I have the wrong address then please excuse me.”
“No, hold on. Don’t go nowhere,” the guy said.
“Ahight, ahight, I ain’t going nowhere,” Eric replied and sized up the guy walking away. Around six-six and two sixty, he had a linebacker’s build and was probably the muscle for the big man, Eric thought. He soon returned and bid Eric inside.
“Come in. The boss wants to see you.”
Eric walked behind the huge man. He did not know who he was supposed to be meeting.
“What’s the name of your boss?” Eric asked as they went down the stairs just like the Geisha twins had said.
“Oh, sorry, I thought you already kne
w it’s Maruichi.”
“No, that name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Francisco Maruichi of the Maruichi family.”
Eric heard but thought it was some kind of joke. He knew that rap artists, tired of seeing the same old monikers, were adopting Italian and Sicilian surnames. Was this what Busta had been up to, pretending to be a mobster? As he neared the bottom of the rounded staircase, Eric braced himself in anticipation of someone yelling, ‘Surprise stupid’. What he saw caused a far greater shock than he was expecting.
The place looked like a restaurant with limited seating. There were only four tables and spaghetti fettuccini was being served by what seemed like real waiters complete in their black and white uniforms. Eric did not see a menu. He looked around and saw a wall of black and white photos of gangsters, fake and real. Snapshots of Pacino and Deniro were framed next to Gigante and Gotti.
At one table sat five men, all sturdy with slick hair and suits. Chatting loudly, they seemed to be having a good time. Eric stood unnoticed by all. He waited for Busta to pop out in the midst of all this and announce himself to this Italian gathering. Eric saw the man who had answered the door and two others in velour warm-up suits sitting at another table.
They all got quiet when he sat at an empty table. Furtive and suspicious, glances shot his way when they heard his cell phone ringing. Eric dared not take the call. Instead, he let the call go to voicemail then turned the phone off. The men returned to their powwow.
He continued to look around expecting Busta but nothing happened. Eric started to feel impatient and stared at the ceiling. The door to the bathroom opened and it was clear that the man who walked out was someone important. From the way the waiters greeted him to the way they held their breath waiting for his approval on a bottle of wine, the respect was obvious. He came and sat next to Eric with a smile.
“I bet you’ll never find a better pasta primavera this side of the equator,” he said and presented his hand. “Francisco Maruichi,” he continued. Eric stood and shook his hand.
“Eric Ascot, how are you doing?”
A waiter walked over and Maruichi spoke, “Bring us two primaveras and coffee.” He paused and asked, “How’d you like your coffee, Mr. Ascot?”
“Black, thank you,” Eric said and waited for the point of the meeting to make itself known. Maruichi, about six four or five and closer to three hundred pounds, did not say anything until after the waiter was through serving the coffee and had departed. He took a sip then spoke.
“We’ve got some things in common, Mr. Ascot. You’re a success at what you do. I’m successful with what I do.” While Maruichi spoke, Eric sized him up. With the setting reminiscent of a mob hangout, all that was missing was the score from the Godfather movie.
Another cup of coffee later, the wise guy with the lethal charm of a screen gangster was singing his own praises. “I grew up on the streets. I went from nothing to something. Just like you, I know what it feels like to have nothing,” he said pointing his platinum pink diamond ringed pinky at Eric. He had Eric’s undivided attention. “So I’m not gonna let no one just waltz in and take what I’ve built.” Francisco nodded and wiped his hand. “You’ve got to put a wall up dividing what’s yours and the rest. That was the reason your friend, Busta, is dead.” Eric’s jaw dropped.
“You said dead? Busta’s dead?” Eric asked in earnest trying to understand. He finally managed to shake the cobwebs from this hard knock. Busta had been one of his brother’s closest friend’s. Feeling a pang of responsibility, Eric sat and stared off for a minute. When he fully recovered, he could hear Maruichi speaking.
“I’m sorry. You did not know this, Mr. Ascot? I thought that was the reason you came here to discuss business. Busta spoke highly of you and your business enterprises. Sadly, Busta is now gone but that should not stop us from doing business, Mr. Ascot.”
Eric knew the man with the mobster grace was talking but he was in the midst of trying to deal with the reality of Busta’s death. It was news to him and his brain refused to process anything else. Eric was stupefied. His eyes wandered around the enclave. He contemplated leaving this wise guy hangout.
“Wait a minute, Mr. Ah...”
“Maruichi.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me that Busta is dead? Who killed him? When?” Eric asked as his thoughts flailed frantically trying to come to grips with the facts.
“I’m afraid so. It happened on Friday evening. He was shot ten times. Someone executed him and made it look like a robbery. I’m sorry, I thought you knew all about his death.”
It took Eric some time to fathom everything that had just been said. He felt unbalanced, like his chair was giving out on him and he sat up straighter to stabilize his frame. Eric felt his anger gathering momentum, building inside of him. It felt as if his head was going explode. He had just found out and the incident had occurred three days before.
It slowly became clear that Busta’s murder was linked to the same thug who had tried to kill him at home last Friday. Eric knew that Lil’ Long was responsible for the rape of his niece. Busta and Eric had connived to have Lil’ Long murdered. What went wrong? How did Lil’ Long find out? Who else was in on this? Eric sat drowning in deep thought.
“Are you okay?” Maruichi asked.
“Friday? You said it was on Friday that Busta was killed, right?” Eric asked without acknowledging Maruichi’s concern. Maruichi sipped his espresso before he spoke.
“Yes, I’m sure it was Friday,” he said as he sat the cup down. “I was fishing out on the island when I got the call. The whole thing upset me so much, I couldn’t catch a single fish the entire weekend. The funeral’s tomorrow.”
“Do you know where?” asked Eric.
“Somewhere up in Harlem. I love that piece of America. I used to have a lot of friends there. They’re all gone now,” Maruichi said with a smile. “I’m going back to visit my old stomping grounds.” Maruichi spoke and Eric watched him feeling an uneasiness rise from the pit of his stomach. Eric sighed then began to speak.
“Look, I really wanna thank you for your time and...”
“Eric, Busta was a business associate and good friend of mine. He worked with my family for over ten years. He never let us down and was never behind on his payments. Busta was good for business.”
“Ah, I’m sure he was,” Eric answered and began to rise.
“What I’m telling you is for me and you alone. Busta did not have the right defense.” Maruichi was able to hold Eric’s attention. “When you build a castle, you need to put a moat around it. If not, the commoners will walk in and plunder your loot.”
“I hear you,” Eric said as he leaned back with his hands locked at the back of his head and listened.
“I know you’ve got a castle and I can put a moat around it so that your castle stays safe and sound. Do you understand what I’m saying here, Mr. Ascot?”
“Yeah, I understand you very well, Mr. Maruichi.”
“Call me Frankie,” Maruichi said and patted Eric’s shoulder. Eric nodded in agreement and was about to reply when Maruichi cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Eric, you take some time and think about this. You know the police are not willing to stop this war. You know they’re not gonna offer any type of special protection. And you know a man must protect his family and his livelihood.”
He was giving Eric all the assurances a person needs to hear when down, that there is someone in a stronger position willing to reach out and give a hand. The question was what would it cost? Eric knew that in the short run an agreement like this might guarantee him insurance for his family. Just the idea of Sophia made him think of getting up and walking away from the table. She would argue and say this was the mob. He could just hear her voice now. Eric sipped.
“Take your time, Eric. More coffee or something stronger?” Maruichi asked. Eric did not immediately reply. Thoughts of Busta’s death and Sophia being mad at him consumed him. He couldn’t let go the image of Busta, his body fo
und filled with bullets. Eric did not want the same fate to happen to anyone in his family. He was caught between going straight and taking a curve. Either way, it was wrong. He knew he couldn’t sit back and do nothing. Something had to get done. Someone would have to get touched.
Maybe he should have gone to the police but now it was too late for that. What would they have done? They wouldn’t have prevented anything. It was too much. He wasn’t sure of much but one thing he was sure of was that if he accepted the drink Maruichi offered, it would mean listening seriously to his offer. Eric was very sure of that. It was getting closer to decision time. Eric’s brain raced to keep up.
Sophia may get mad at me but she’ll get over it if she can’t accept it right away. I need to protect my niece and myself. If I walk out of here and there’s no protection in place that means it’ll be open season on me. That bit Eric was sure Sophia would never understood.
Eric thought long and hard before asking: “Did you say something about a drink?” The words leapt out of his mouth and seemed to touch off an alliance. Maruichi nodded, smiled, and waived at the waiter.
TWENTY-FOUR
Earlier when Sophia Sullivan had chosen her outfit for the day, she did so with a lot of thought. After all, in about a half hour, she was meeting with Michael, her friend and assistant district attorney, for what should be a lunch meeting. He had insisted on it being today. On the phone, he had made it sound as if it wasn’t urgent but Sophia knew it had something to do with Eric. She wanted it to be top priority.
Michael had hinted as much but did not want to go over details on the phone. He wanted to meet in person. He gave her the excuse that he did not want Eric to be sitting next to her while he was on the phone with her. Now, as she stared at her reflection in her compact and freshened up her make-up, she remembered their conversation.
“Ask your fiancé to explain what is really going on,” he had advised her. After some thought, Sophia had decided to ask Eric directly. Sometime between Saturday night and early Sunday morning, she had encouraged him to come clean. Instead, Eric had tried to soften his answers. He told her there was nothing going on, just some crazy guy deciding to rob him. Sophia had her doubts. She pressed him for answers to her questions most of Sunday. This only led to a major blow up by Sunday evening. Explaining that he needed time to think, he left for the only place in his world where Sophia was never allowed, the studio.
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