The Family Business 3 (21 page)

Minister Farah raised his glass of ice tea. “Congratulations are in order, my friend. To fatherhood.”

I raised my wine in a gesture of thanks, and we toasted once again to my good news. I'd invited Minister Farah out to dinner at this Thai spot on the border of Queens and Long Island to catch him up on everything that was going on with Pop, Sasha, the war with X, and of course, with my new son. I'd also been hoping to surprise him with another visitor, but the visitor didn't show up.

“Thank you, Minister. I can barely believe it myself. Me, a father?”

“So, your son—will he be attending the academy like you?”

“I'm not sure. With everything going on, I haven't had a chance to find out what his mother's plans are.”

“Well, Vegas, I've never met the boy, but you do realize he's in a very unique situation. With you as his father and Consuela as his mother, he is the legitimate heir to two very powerful families. A young, impressionable man like that should be trained for his responsibilities. If you don't send him to the school, I'd like offer my services.”

“I understand, but right now I just want to be a dad,” I told him as the waiter brought us the check. Of course, Minister Farah tried to reach for it, but I was just a little too fast for him.

“Thank you. It was a real pleasure,” he said, rubbing his full stomach.

I settled the bill and we stood up from the table.

“I really appreciate you always making time for me,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Any time,” he replied.

I turned toward the exit, and he said, “I'm gonna take a trip to the men's room before I head uptown. I'll give you a call in a couple of days.”

We shook hands again and I headed for the door.

The moment I stepped outside, I could tell that something wasn't right. Call it instinct, intuition, or just a plain gut feeling, but I sensed it. I glanced down the block and saw the lights flash on the first car of my security detail, which made me relax a little. I shook my head, thinking it was time to get my paranoia under control. Lately I felt like one of X's men was lurking around every corner.

I went around the corner of the building where my car was parked, again getting an uneasy feeling. I was starting to regret my decision to park back there. It was just so damn dark in that parking lot. I froze until I saw the other car in my security detail flash its lights.

I relaxed a little, which turned out to be my biggest mistake. As I got to my car and put Clyde away to unlock the door, I heard the sound of a round being chambered in a shotgun.

“I wouldn't make a move if I were you.” I hadn't even noticed the black-clad man in the passenger seat of the SUV, with its windows rolled down, next to my car.

I glanced over at my security detail and watched as three men got out of the car carrying weapons. My heart started pounding when I realized they weren't my men.

“Vegas Duncan, I've been wanting to meet you. My men tell me that you have quite the reputation for being the Third Coming.”

I turned in the direction of the deep voice and found myself face to face with Brother X. He had just climbed out of the back of my security car.

“Where are my men?” I growled.

“Your men are—how can I say this politely?—taking a little nap,” he said with a sinister smile.

He needed to understand that I had been born ready for any and all challenges. I opened my coat, reaching for my weapon.

“Have you forgotten about me already?” This voice came from behind me. It was the dude with the shotgun in the SUV. “Hands in the air.”

Suddenly the sound of bullets being chambered came from several different directions. Turning to my right, I saw two capable gunmen, their weapons pointed at me. To my left were another two, also ready to fill me with holes. Now, I had gotten out of a lot of dicey situations before, but this was scary, and at the moment, I was drawing a blank as to how I would survive this many shooters when my guns were still in their holsters.

“Dammit!” I sighed, preparing myself for the worst.

The man with the shotgun got out of the SUV. “Cover him,” he ordered the others as he headed over toward X.

He hadn't taken more than two steps before all hell broke loose.

I knew that sound. It was a silenced sniper rifle. When I turned around, I saw all four gunmen lying dead on the ground. Anyone who was left standing, including Brother X, headed for the hills. Not wasting any time trying to figure out what had just happened, I pulled out my guns and ran after X, but it was too late. They jumped into a car and were halfway down the block in no time.

Back over by my car, I checked to make sure the guys on the ground were dead. The sniper had hit his intended targets precisely, and no one was left breathing.

I heard footsteps emerging from the shadows, and I cocked my weapon, prepared to shoot. Then the person came into view, and I lowered my gun.

“Man, you scared the shit out of me!” I said. Standing there, brandishing a sniper rifle and wearing a shit-eating grin on his face was Daryl Graham.

I glanced at my watch. “Damn, bro, you're two hours late.”

Daryl looked around at the dead bodies. “My plane was delayed. But from where I'm standing, looks like I got here right on time.”

“Is everything all right?” We both turned to see Minister Farah coming toward us. Thank God he'd stayed behind in the restaurant, I thought with relief. That trip to the restroom had probably saved his life.

With Connie gone, it was good to be around people I considered family. I needed to be surrounded by those who loved me to help me cope with Connie's passing. In her, I'd lost not only a lover but my best friend. Of course, nothing could completely erase the pain of her death, but being around the Duncans helped ease it just a little. Putting my foot in this Brother X's ass for what he did to LC was going to help me channel my emotions even more. I had stayed by Connie's side the same way I knew she would have done for me, and now it was time for me to be there for the Duncans when they needed me most. They'd done the same for me in the past.

Call me corny, but as I sat on a lounge chair by the pool, listening to the birds in the trees and feeling the soft breeze on my face, I felt like Connie's spirit was right there with me. It was really peaceful, until I felt a shadow over me. My eyes flew open, and I was instantly on high alert.

“What's up, stranger?” I relaxed when I realized it was just Paris standing over me.“I didn't even hear you come out,” I said.

“Yeah, you looked like you were miles away. On an island in Paradise or something.”

“Far from it. I was thinking about my deceased wife.”

“That's a little morbid.” She smiled and licked her lips. “You should be thinking about a hot body like mine, not a cold one.”

Leave it to Paris to say something inappropriate. She had always been like a bratty little sister to me, though I will admit her comment was almost crossing the line. “Damn, girl. I see your mouth hasn't changed one bit, has it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, if everything goes down how it's supposed to, we're all going out to celebrate later on tonight. I just wanted to see if you wanted to go out and have a drink with us.”

“Drink?” I said, looking her up and down. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

“Yeah,” she said with her usual sassy attitude. “Daryl, I'm not a child. I have a baby.”

It seemed like just yesterday she was running around in braces. “I must be getting old.”

“Well, you wouldn't believe some of the things I'm old enough to do. I wouldn't mind telling you—or should I say showing you—after you buy me that drink.” She was like a little girl trying to act grown.

I chuckled at her antics, imagining her as the young, pigtail-wearing girl I once knew. “P, I just lost my wife. I'm not even thinking about being with a woman, least of all one I consider to be a little sister.”

She threw her hands on her hips and pulled down her dark sunglasses just enough to reveal her eyeballs. “Hmmm, we're going to have to do something about this ‘little sister' thing, aren't we?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” I laughed her off.

“We'll see about that,” she said and then turned to leave.

I shook my head as I watched her switch her hips back into the house.

“Mommy, watch me on the swings!” I saw London's little girl come out of the house, skipping past Paris.

“Okay, honey. I see you,” London replied, trailing behind the little girl as she hopped on the swing set. London stood there for a minute, watching her, then made her way over to me.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey yourself,” I replied. “What's your little girl's name? She's cute.”

“This one is Mariah. The other one is Maria,” she told me.

I laughed. “You always said you were going to have a little girl one day, and here you have two.”

There was a moment of awkward silence and tension between us. Thankfully, Mariah's little voice cut through. “Mommy, you see me?”

“I'm watching, baby,” London shouted over to her. She stood there and stared at Mariah for a moment, but I knew she was only doing so to keep from looking at me.

I almost thought our conversation was over, but then, with her back still to me, she said, “You know, I was really broken up when I heard . . . when I thought that you had died. I can't remember the last time I cried that hard.” She finally turned to look at me. “I'm glad you're alive.”

“I appreciate that.”

Again an awkward silence fell. There was so much unsaid between us, but maybe enough time had passed that we should just leave it all as water under the bridge.

“So, how's married life?” I asked in an attempt to steer the conversation to safer subjects.

“Um, it has its ups and downs, but for the most part it's good.” She shrugged. Not exactly a glowing endorsement. “I heard Vegas tell Mommy you were married.”

“I was. My wife passed away a few days ago. Cancer.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Daryl. I'm so sorry to hear that. Are you all right? You must be torn apart.”

“I am. But it's good to be around you guys. I don't think I could do this alone.”

“I can imagine. For you to have gotten married, she must have been something really special.” There was so much unspoken meaning behind her words, but I sensed genuine sympathy for my loss.

“She was very special,” I answered.

She looked as though something was on the tip of her tongue, but it took her a while to speak up. Finally, she said, “Can I ask you something? And if it's inappropriate, just say so and I'll shut my mouth and walk away.”

“Sure.”

“You don't, like, hate me for marrying Harris or anything, do you?”

“Nah, I'm over it,” I said. I knew she would get around to that eventually. “I waited four hours and then I got on the flight . . . without you. It wasn't like I was gonna come back here and go to the wedding.”

Her expression told me she still felt guilty about that day. “You don't understand,” she said.

“I didn't then, but I do now,” I said. “You didn't want to take the chance.”

“Daryl, I—”

I put my hand up to stop her. “It's okay. That was a long time ago. You don't have to explain. I know what it's like to be in love with somebody.”

“But do you know how it feels to be in love with two people?”

We locked eyes for a minute, but neither of us spoke. Everything that happened between us was like a distant echo now, muffled by the current pain of losing my wife. I didn't have the energy to rehash old hurts with London.

I think she sensed that I was done. Without a good-bye, she went over to the swing set. “Come on, Mariah. Time to go inside.”

“London,” I called out to her. She turned around. “I don't blame you. If I were you, I would have chosen a lawyer over a thug too.”

After the botched hit on Vegas, Bernie wanted to meet with me once again. As far as I was concerned, we'd already talked one too many times. He was lucky I'd even agreed to meet in that park the last time, while his old ass fed some pigeons. And yet here he was, calling for another meeting. I was not used to being micromanaged when someone contracted my services, and the Jew was really starting to piss me off. I always finished my jobs successfully, but how the hell was I supposed to do that if Bernie kept wasting my time with these fucking meetings?

I had a good mind to raise my fee to a million and a half, I thought, as I followed one of his men to a conference room. The thought made me laugh. Nothing would get that cheap bastard's attention faster than charging him more money.

Our escort stepped to the side and directed me and Elijah to enter the conference room. Bernie sat scowling at the large table, a security guard standing on either side of him.

“How come Vegas Duncan is still alive?” Bernie spat before we had even stepped fully into the room.

“Aren't you at least going to offer me a seat first?” I said.

“Vegas Duncan!” He pounded his fist on the table. He seemed pretty fearless, coming at a man of my physical stature that way. I studied his eyes and decided that one of two things was going on in his head: either he was feeling a false sense of security because of the guards surrounding him, or a deeper fear about something else was causing him to be reckless with me. Whatever was going on in that brain of his, he didn't look like he was in the mood for any type of pleasantries, so the same way he'd gotten straight to the point, so would I.

“We almost got him the other night, but the guy's like a cat with nine lives,” I told him as I settled in to a seat. “Be patient—and trust me. We know what we're doing. I guarantee that all the Duncan are as good as dead.”

Bernie looked unsatisfied with my answer. “I called you here to find out when you plan on doing what you're being paid a very healthy sum of money to do. And what do you give me?” He raised his hands and then let them fall. “Excuses. Empty promises. You've reached men in prison who are surrounded by inmates, gang members, and guards, yet you can't get to a fucking guy driving a red Ferrari?”

My jaw tightened, but I was determined to keep my composure. Elijah, on the other hand, was having none of it.

“Why are we even standing here and listening to his ass?” Elijah always did dislike the Jew.

I replied to Elijah but kept a hard stare focused on Bernie. “I'm starting to feel the same way.”

“I have a million reasons why you're standing here listening to me.” Bernie reminded me of the payout that awaited us when the job was complete.

“I said we'd do it,” I snapped, “and we will. In the meantime, not that I'm one to give status reports, but we do have a Duncan being held hostage.” I lifted my head and poked my chest out slightly. I was quite proud of this feat.

The sound of weak applause came from behind me. Bernie's eyes surfed over my shoulders to look at whoever had entered the conference room.

“Very good. You captured a woman.” Our new guest's voice was laced with sarcasm. “Tell us, Brother Xavier, are we supposed to be impressed?” I recognized the voice instantly.

“Sir,” I said, turning around with a mixture of fear and dread. Bernie had threatened to bring him to our next meeting, but I had hoped he wasn't going to show up.

I stood up and bowed my head in a gesture of respect. Once upon a time, we had both followed the Nation of Islam, but when Minister Farah returned from teaching in Europe, his vision had changed. He taught me his new philosophy of black economic empowerment, which truly meant “by any means necessary.” On that day, the Islamic Black Panther Party was born, with me as its figurehead leader. Minister Farah maintained the appearance of being part of the Nation of Islam. He kept his involvement in the IBPP so deep underground that even my top men didn't know who he was.

He walked up on me. We were face to face—well, not literally, as I towered over the man who was even smaller in stature than the Jew. He looked at me for a moment like a father welcoming his son home, but then, in a swift move, the palm of his hand connected with my check so forcefully that I thought my head might spin around. I would never have expected him to be able to throw such a powerful blow.

He looked down at my fists, which were balled up out of reflex.

“Oh, what? You want to get physical with me?” He hit me three times: once in the ribs, once on the thigh, and a kick to my knee, paralyzing my left side momentarily. He had to have hit pressure points. “Is that what you want?”

“No, no, no.” I raised my open palms in a gesture of surrender.

He snickered, knowing I'd never lay hands on him.

“We gave you Vegas on a silver platter the other night. How the hell did you screw that up?” he asked.

“We?” I questioned, looking over at Bernie.

“Don't play stupid,” Minister Farah said. “You know the information came from me.”

He was right. If I'd thought about it, I would have known that. Seemed like I'd been slipping a lot these days, starting with the way I'd slipped up and underestimated the Duncans. When this whole thing started, I thought I was dealing with a bunch of car salesmen. Sonya's infidelity had really thrown me off my game.

“I'm sorry. But he had help.”

“Of course he had help,” Farah shot back. “Daryl Graham is back in town. But that doesn't change the fact that Vegas should be dead right now. I will not stand for failure, Xavier. Do you think I fed you all that information about your wife and Junior Duncan just so you could get revenge for a man sleeping with your wife?” he asked me.

“It has always been about LC Duncan. Junior, he's no threat. He's soft. He has a heart. LC Duncan and Vegas are ruthless, and neither of them want to give up H.E.A.T. Now, we've got Orlando ready to give us what we want, and with LC on his death bed, all we need is Vegas dead.” He stared at me like he was a ten-foot tall giant looking down on me. “You got that?”

“Yes, sir.” I bowed my head, reiterating the respect I had for him.

“Then get the hell out of here!” he shouted. “Leave us grown folks to talk, and close the door behind you . . . boy.”

I turned toward the door and hurried out. It didn't go unnoticed that Elijah paused before following me—almost as if he didn't want to follow me anymore.