The Family Business 3 (12 page)

I had no idea how long I'd been sitting in a chair in the corner of LC's hospital room, willing him to open his eyes. At one point, I'd approached his bed and pulled the bottom of the sheets up to watch his feet, hoping he'd just wiggle a toe. Exasperated and feeling defeated, I went back to the chair and squeezed my eyes shut. It was the only way I knew to keep the tears from falling. Once they started, there would be no stopping them, but with the children coming in and out to check on LC, I needed to keep my poker face. I had to be strong for them, to let them know that everything was going to be all right—although the poor prognosis made that so hard to do. The doctors didn't sound hopeful, so no matter what I portrayed for my kids, inside I was breaking into a million little pieces.

When the door opened, I figured it was the nurse coming in to check his vitals for the thousandth time that day. I'd spent every waking moment at my husband's side in the ICU, so I'd witnessed for myself the sad reality that there were no changes, no signs of improvement. I didn't even bother to open my eyes to greet the nurse; instead, I started praying for a miracle.

When I heard the sound of a chair scraping gently across the floor, I opened my eyes to see Rio taking a seat next to the bedside. I started to say something to him, but then he started talking to LC, and I knew it was best to let my son have his moment alone with his father.

Rio and LC had a tough relationship. LC loved Rio, but he came up in a time when it was wholly unacceptable for a man to be homosexual, so he'd had a very hard time regaining his footing when Rio came out to us. It probably didn't help that his first three sons were alpha males, mirroring their father in so many ways. They played sports, shot guns, and were hyper competitive. Our oldest three boys were homing pigeons for beautiful women, which accounted for this mess we were in right now.

Rio, on the other hand, was quite unlike his father, and it made it so difficult for them to communicate. Often it seemed like Rio didn't feel brave enough to open up to LC, so if he wanted to talk now, I would keep my eyes closed and let him have his moment with LC. After all, none of us knew when it might be the last time we could speak to him.

“You can't die on me,” I heard him say, choking back tears as he spoke. “We were just starting to get along. At least I felt like you were beginning to see me as more than the son who disappointed you.”

He was silent for a moment, and it took all my strength not to go over and take him into my arms, comforting him like I did when he was a little boy.

“I know we've had our problems in the past,” Rio continued, “and I also know that you will never be able to fully accept that you have a gay son. I wanted so much to be like my brothers, but I'm not. I'm gay, and that's my normal. But I know you were doing what you thought was right, and I want you to know that I forgive you, Pop.”

LC and I had fought over that very thing so many times in the past. I couldn't understand why, even after some time passed, my husband couldn't accept Rio for who he was. LC liked to be in control, and I couldn't make him understand that Rio's sexuality was something neither one of us could ever change. He didn't have to like it, I told him, but at least he could try to accept it. What Rio said next made me think that in his own way, perhaps LC had been coming around to see things differently.

“You sending me on those missions recently with Paris and Sasha helped me to see that you really do consider me a valuable part of this family business—and that you weren't going to punish me forever for being the flaming gay son. You sending me off with Kennedy lately has meant so much. It tells me that in spite of everything, I
am
LC Duncan's son. So, Pop, thank you, because I know that I'm hard for you to fully accept.”

He seemed to relax a bit now, as he went on. “I mean, I'm not just gay; I'm super gay, unable to slide under the radar. People see me coming a mile away in my Barney's fashionista clothing and my swishy walk. Yes, I probably exaggerate it in front of you to piss you off, but that's because I need you to know that I'm never going to change. Not for you, and not for anyone.”

Listening to my baby pour out his heart made me so proud of him. He'd probably never say any of this if his dad were awake, but it was obvious that he had been needing to get this off his hairless, waxed chest. Yes, I could have a sense of humor about this too.

“Pop, I love you, and I need you to get up so that maybe one day I can actually tell you all of this to your face.”

He sighed, and then I heard him stand. He dragged the chair back to its original position, and a few seconds later, I could feel him standing over me. I kept my eyes closed as he placed a kiss on the top of my head. A few seconds after that I heard the sound of the door closing.

As I opened my eyes, a lone tear escaped and dripped down my face. I brushed it away and exhaled hard to release my pent-up emotions before more tears could begin cascading. I heard the door open again, and I turned, expecting to see Rio returning, or maybe one of the other kids. They were coming and going so often lately that they might as well have installed a revolving door.

The person who walked in was definitely not who I was expecting.

“Donna. What are you doing here?” I was sure my face revealed my feelings about her presence. I'd been caught too off guard to slip my mask of calm back on.

She closed the door behind her. “I came to see LC, of course. How's he doing?”

“Of course,” I echoed then got up and went to stand protectively beside my husband. “I'm sure LC would appreciate you coming to see him.”

“Please,” Donna said, waving her hand. “You and LC, you're like family.”

“Yes, family.” I pulled the sheets up to LC's chin.

“I came as soon as I heard.”

“I'm sure you did.”

She walked over and stood next to me. “How's he doing?” she asked again.

I shook my head. “Not good. He's in an induced coma. They have him on a respirator for now.”

Donna looked down at him. “Oh, no. I can't imagine what it would be like . . . for you . . . if LC were to—”

I put my hand up. “I don't even want to think about that right now.”

Donna respected my wishes. “How are the kids holding up? I saw Vegas in the hallway, and the rest of them in the waiting area.”

“As well as to be expected, considering their father's in the hospital in a coma.”

“I didn't see Junior,” she said. “Is he okay?”

I stared at her for a moment, unsure how much I wanted to say. My feelings about Donna were complicated, and I didn't know if I really wanted her to know all the details about our situation with Brother X just yet.

“He'll be around shortly,” I lied. Truth was we hadn't seen or heard from Junior in days.

Fortunately, a knock on the door prevented her from probing any further.

“Knock, knock,” London said, sticking her head in the room. She saw who was with me and walked in the room to give her a hug. “Aunt Donna!”

“London, how are you?” Donna asked.

London pulled out of the embrace but kept one arm around Donna. She looked at her father. “About as well as can be expected, considering.”

“I know, I know,” Donna consoled London. “But just hang in there. Your father is a strong man.”

“Yes, he is,” London agreed through her tears. She looked over at me as I struggled to hold back tears of my own. Reaching her hand out to take mine, she said, “And so is his wife.”

When she squeezed my hand, I quickly turned away. This time the tears fell freely, and there was nothing I could do about it.

“You ready for another game, O.G.?” one of the young bucks on the handball court boldly challenged. There was nothing like being out in the fresh air, playing a little handball. I loved watching basketball, baseball, and football, but when it came to actually playing a sport, I'd take handball any day. I guess it was a New York thing, or perhaps the lone wolf in me.

“I'd love to stay and kick your ass, young brother, but I'm late for an appointment. You brothers be strong.” I gave each one of them some dap before walking to my car to retrieve Bonnie and Clyde. Once I had them holstered in, I put on a jacket and headed into the brownstone across from the park. Hopefully I hadn't taken too long or moved too quickly. Neither would be a good option.

The building had three floors, with two apartments on each floor. Surveying the doors for a telltale sign, I kept moving from the first floor. Running up the stairs, I spotted what I'd been looking for: an apartment with an Italian flag sticker on it. I definitely had the right place.

Reaching into my holster, I pulled out Clyde. It wasn't always the case, but sometimes bigger was better, and I was most definitely looking to make an impression. Taking a deep breath, I ran at that door and slammed my right foot into it, knocking the door right off the hinges.

“Damn, they just don't make doors like they used to, do they?” I said, stepping into the studio apartment.

“What the fuck?” The big, hairy naked bastard on the bed jumped up, reaching for his pants, which probably contained a gun. He froze when he saw Clyde aimed at his head. I took a few steps closer to the bed, watching his eyes light up with terror as he recognized my face. “Oh, shit. Vegas! You're out!”

“That's right, Johnny. I'm out.” I grabbed a chair, pulling it up next to the bed, then motioned to the cocaine on the table. “You still fucking with that shit, I see.”

“Just a little here and there.” Johnny Calzone was a mid-level Mafioso for the Genovese crime family. He specialized in street level gun sales. Rumor had it that a quarter of the guns on New York City's streets came through his hands at one time or another.

“Where's my money, Johnny?” I eased his pants closer to me with my foot, just in case.

“What m–money, Vegas?” he stuttered.

I glanced over at Terri Russo, the bleach blonde wife of Genovese capo “No-Nose” Frank Russo. She pulled the sheet up above her breasts. Johnny had a bad cocaine habit, and an even worse habit of fucking his boss's wife and daughter. He'd been doing both since before I went away. How the hell he'd kept this secret from his boss for all these years was a mystery to me.

I took out my phone and snapped a quick series of pictures of the happy couple. Terri, a feisty, big-titty woman, looked like she wanted to jump up and snatch the phone out of my hands, but her obvious fear of Clyde kept her at bay.

“The money for the key of coke I gave you before I got locked up.” I snapped a couple more pictures, this time pulling back the sheets so their naked bodies were exposed. Terri tried to cover herself again, but when I pointed Clyde at her head, she backed the fuck up.

“Man, Vegas, I paid you for that dope. Don't you remember?”

“No, I don't remember shit, but that's okay.” I lowered Clyde, placing him back in his holster, then took a good look at my phone. “You know, these iPhones really do take great pictures.” I turned the phone so they could see a full-screen shot of their naked bodies, side by side.

“You motherfucker!” Mrs. Russo grabbed the lamp off the nightstand and raised it up like she was about to throw it at me.

“No, Terri!” Johnny screamed, wrestling the lamp out of her hands.

“Smart move, Johnny. Now, about my money . . . I guess I'll just take the matter up with her husband. He still has the same cell number, right? Maybe I should just text him.”

Terri looked at Johnny with fear in her eyes. “Do something! Give him his money or kick his ass, but do something.”

“Well, he's not gonna kick my ass,” I said with a laugh.

“I don't have that kind of money, Terri,” Johnny said, on the verge of whining. She looked totally disgusted with him.

“Hmm, now, that's a problem, because I need my money. Maybe I should just send these pictures to Frank. I'm sure he'll pay me to find out where these pictures came from.” I lifted my thumb to start writing a text, and before I could press the first letter, Johnny was begging.

“Come on, Vegas. How long we known each other? You know I'm good for it. Matter of fact, I'm more valuable to you alive than dead. You know that.”

I scratched my head. “Look, I'm not a totally unreasonable guy. Maybe we can make a trade.”

“A trade? A trade sounds good. What kind of trade?” He turned to Terri, looking hopeful. She rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

“An informational trade,” I said. “Rumor has it that you supply the Islamic Black Panther Party with guns.”

“Well, you know you shouldn't believe everything you hear,” he replied, but his face told the truth. Johnny did way too much coke to be able to hide his thoughts.

“I don't, but I believe
that
shit. Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know or what?” I started to type a text.

“I'm not messing with IBPP,” he insisted. “Those dudes are crazy. They'll kill me.”

“And you think her husband won't kill you? Have you met Frank Russo? I used to play cards with him in prison. He's not a very nice guy when he's upset.”

“Come on, Vegas. Anything but that.” Sweat beads had started forming on his forehead.

“Johnny, all I want to know is where they're held up. I'm not asking you to mess with them. It'll be our little secret.” I looked down at my phone then glanced up at Terri. “Unless you want me to send these pictures to Frank.”

“Johnny, tell him what he wants to know.” Terri sounded even more scared of her husband than she was of my gun. “If Frank sees these pictures, he's going kill us both.”

Johnny still wasn't giving in. “Vegas, you don't understand.”

“No, John, you don't understand. I want that information. Now, you have about five seconds before I hit send.” I started a countdown with my fingers.

When I was down to two, I started waving my thumb over the screen like I was preparing to hit the button, and Johnny finally relented.

“Okay! Okay! They spend most of their time at a safehouse in Rosedale. Two-seventeen Wilshire Road. Jesus Christ, don't send those pictures.”