The Family Business (29 page)
Read The Family Business Online
Authors: Eric Pete,Carl Weber
LC
49
I took a long, slow breath to steady my emotions before I dialed the phone. I’d really screwed up, letting my emotions over my brother Lou’s death get in the way of making a sound decision for my family and my business. By ordering my West Coast affiliates to take out Alejandro’s brothers, I’d as much as signed Rio’s death certificate. It was a move that would not go over well with any of my children or my wife. Right now I didn’t have time to worry about what they thought, though, because the task at hand was way more important. Its outcome could determine the survival or demise of us all.
“Alejandro, are you ready to talk?”
“You murder my brothers for no reason. Now you’re attacking and killing my men all over L.A., and you want to talk?” Alejandro bellowed, his voice coming through the speakerphone and filling my office with his venom. “I will talk once your son and that tramp bitch are chopped up and delivered to your doorstep! Now, I ask you this one last time. Let me speak to Miguel—if he is not already dead as well. Por favor.”
Tramp?
Rio was gay, and the local talent I rented to take out the brothers were all men. Who was Alejandro referring to?
Rio was gay, and the local talent I rented to take out the brothers were all men. Who was Alejandro referring to?
“What tramp?” I asked.
“The one my men said you sent to rescue your son. Do not deny it. She is at this very minute fighting to protect him, but believe me, neither she nor that little woman you call a son will leave L.A. alive.”
Orlando was standing near me, waving his hands wildly to get my attention. I hit the MUTE button on my phone and asked him, “What is it, dammit?”
He answered me breathlessly. “Paris is out there. With Rio.”
My chest tightened, and it took me a moment to catch my breath. Now two of my children were in danger. I could only assume that if Orlando knew about it, he was the one who sent Paris out there. He was giving orders without me. Once my kids were home safely, I would kick his ass for insubordination.
Thankfully, Alejandro did not seem to know that the tramp was actually my daughter. I wanted to keep it that way.
Still glaring at Orlando, I picked up the receiver and continued my call off the speakerphone. “Alejandro, I’m only calling to get you to stop,” I said.
“Then you don’t know me after all,” Alejandro said. “This stops when the streets flow with blood. Revenge for my brothers—and for your arrogance.”
“And what about your arrogance, Alejandro? You stole my shipment. You killed my only brother first, and now you tell me your men are going to kill my son.”
“We did not steal your shipment or kill your brother. But I will kill your son,” Alejandro answered with absolute determination.
Orlando’s phone rang. I continued to trade accusations and threats with Alejandro, until something Orlando said caught my attention. “What are you talking about, Rio?”
He was talking to Rio. My son was still alive. With my attention now divided between two phone calls, I was waiting to hear Paris’s name come out of Orlando’s mouth. I needed to know that she was still alive too. Instead, his face went pale, and he rushed over to me and whispered in my ear.
It was information that nearly knocked me out of my chair.
“Alejandro, wait.” I interrupted his tirade. “My other son has just given me some very disturbing news.”
“I am not interested,” he answered.
“No, I think you should hear this. He’s telling me that we’ve both been played.”
“I do not have time for this!” he raged. “Next time we talk, it will be in the afterlife. And I am pretty certain we’re both going to hell.”
“Wait!” I had to get him to listen before any more blood was shed. “Someone in your organization has been working with the Italians out here.”
“Your attempt to stall and save their lives is futile.”
“Goddammit, Alejandro!” I slammed my fist on the table. “I swear on my granddaughter’s life that I am not lying to you. They’ve played us both.”
I held my breath during the silence that followed, feeling each thud of my racing heart. Finally, he spoke, slowly and cautiously, his voice still full of suspicion. “And you know this how?”
“Just... don’t kill my son. Or the tramp. Call your men off. We need to talk about this, Alejandro.” It was the best I could do. I still didn’t have all the information I needed, but Orlando was claiming Rio had proof.
“You’re not giving me anything, Lavernius. Make me a believer. Make me believe that you are an old, senile fool and not simply a ruthless man who deserves what’s about to happen all around him.”
Orlando slipped me a piece of paper.
“Who is Road Map?” I asked Alejandro.
“Who?” he asked in return.
“Road Map,” I repeated, worried that I’d misread the paper Orlando slid in front of me.
“We don’t know any fuckin’ Road Map.”
I looked at Orlando and shook my head. He understood my message and spoke quickly into his phone to try to press Rio for more information. I imagined Rio on the other end, God knows where, terrified for his life. Of all my sons, he was the least equipped for a situation like this. And it was my fault he was there. A sense of regret threatened to overwhelm me now.
Orlando glanced at me. My face must have betrayed my emotions, because he quickly took control of the situation. He pressed the button to put my phone back on speaker.
“Mr. Zuniga,” he said, “someone there with you is nicknamed Road Map. I don’t know his description, but he’s apparently working for the Italians. He is responsible for our shipment being stolen and, indirectly, for our mistrust of you, sir. He is responsible for my uncle’s death, your brothers, and your son. For that, we apologize, but we were misled.”
“You, whoever you are, are sounding as desperate as Lavernius. And you are a worse liar.” Alejandro’s voice turned ominous. “But at least now I know my son is dead. And so is Lavernius’s son.”
“No!” Orlando pleaded. “It’s not a lie. My brother has proof. Call your men off.”
Alejandro laughed wickedly. “Based on what? My son is dead. There is nothing more we have to say to each other.”
Orlando did not give up. “Please. My brother has a phone. It belonged to Dash’s man on the West Coast. He was working with this Road Map.”
“And why should I care?” Alejandro asked.
“He’s going to call Road Map now.”
“You are stalling for time,” Alejandro said. “But it is of no consequence to me. If you’d like your brother to spend his last few minutes on earth playing this silly game, then so be it.”
Orlando barked into his cell phone, “Rio, call the number now! Do it!”
He ended his cell phone call with Rio, and it was like a knife in my heart. Would that be the last contact any of us ever had with him?
Alejandro’s voice came through the speaker. “Lavernius, this-”
Suddenly we heard the sounds of a scuffle, and then silence. The call was disconnected.
Orlando and I sat staring at each other in paralyzed silence. The future of my family hung in the balance, and we were cut off from all contact with Rio and Alejandro. There was no way of knowing what was taking place on the West Coast. All we could do now was sit and wait.
Harris
50
Frangio’s, a little Italian bistro in Long Beach, Long Island, was a place where someone with my complexion was not really welcome, no matter how nicely dressed. I would never have come here, except for the fact that this was where Vinnie Dash said he wanted to meet. I was there to speak to him on behalf of LC. With any luck, Vinnie would agree to talk to his father about joining forces in our fight with Alejandro. Unfortunately, it was starting to look like Vinnie was a no-show.
I was beginning to feel a little antsy. The guidos milling about weren’t making me feel all that welcome, and with all the drama happening, there was no use in tempting fate. If Vinnie wasn’t here in the next few minutes, I was leaving. I was picking up my phone to send him a text when suddenly I noticed someone at a table across the room. It was Sal Dash, the head of the family.
I hadn’t noticed him earlier, probably because he was without his signature suit. He was dressed simply in a golf shirt and a pair of slacks, looking nothing like the violent crime boss he was. He was sitting alone, eating a bowl of soup. I guess this was him in his environment, free from threats.
I knew this to be an illusion, though. Someone like Sal never traveled alone. From the look of the hulking goons seated at tables around him, he’d obviously come with protection. I was beginning to second-guess my own decision to arrive at the restaurant without security, especially with the news of Uncle Lou’s death still so fresh in my mind. Nevertheless, I was here now, and Sal had turned and looked me dead in the eye. There was no turning back.
As I approached his table, he dabbed his mouth with a napkin and gestured for me to take a seat. I remained standing.
“Where’s Vinnie?” I asked.
“Indisposed. Come. Sit down,” Sal said with a grin. Actually, it was more like a smirk—the same arrogant look I remembered from our first meeting, all those years ago at Georgetown. “You don’t like meeting with me, do you?” Sal said when I declined to sit for a second time. “Not many get to break bread with a man like me on a regular basis. You’re lucky, son. Soon the Dashes are going to have a seat on the commission, and then there will no longer be five families running New York, but six.”
“I’m not your son.” I felt my blood pressure rising as I realized that I’d been set up. Vinnie had never intended to meet me here. It was Sal all along.
My phone began to vibrate on my hip. I checked it quickly, then hit IGNORE. It was London, but she’d have to wait until my impromptu meeting with Sal was over. As much as I hated being in this man’s presence, I was there to do a job for LC. It was not going to be easy to convince Sal to join forces against Alejandro, and I didn’t need any distractions making it even harder.
Sal rose up out of his chair. If I wouldn’t sit, then he would stand up to meet me face-to-face. “No, you’re not my son,” he hissed. He was close enough that I could smell the minestrone on his breath. “But you are my brother’s bastard son, which makes you a part of my family. In my world, we treat even our nephews like sons.” His words spoke of family bonds, but his expression revealed the truth: it pained him to think that his family’s blood was running through my veins beneath my black skin. The feeling was mutual.
“That man fucked my mother and left her with a child. He is a coward, not a father, and I am not part of your family.”
He laughed. “Oh, you have it so wrong, Harris. He loved your mother. He was going to leave his life—this life—for her.” He shook his head. “We can fuck niggers, but we can never really be with them. I tried to explain it to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He would have shamed my family. He had to be taken care of.”
“You killed your own brother,” I stated, summing up the root of my disgust for this man.
“I did not kill my brother. I had someone else do that.” His explanation was flippant, as if these things happened to normal people every day. “It’s the price you pay for stealing from the family.”
“I don’t have time to stroll down memory lane with you,” I said, anxious to end this meeting and get the hell out of Long Island.
My phone vibrated, and I reached down to silence it again.
“You might wanna answer that. I’m pretty sure it’s your wife.” Sal’s voice sounded sinister, and I felt a chill run down my spine.
“How the hell did you know that?”
“There are a lot of things I know. One of them is that you should answer that call from your wife. I’m sure she has something important to tell you.” With that, he sat back down and resumed his meal calmly.
I hit speed dial for London’s number, my anxiety skyrocketing as she picked up before the first ring was complete.
“Harris!” she howled. “Mariah! She’s gone!”
I almost dropped the phone when Sal flashed me a knowing smile. “What?”
“Someone kidnapped Mariah,” she blubbered through her sobbing.
“What do you mean, someone kidnapped her? How did you let this happen? You’re supposed to be her fucking mother!”
“You son of a bitch! Do you think I wanted her to be kidnapped?”
The line went silent for a few seconds; then I heard Junior’s voice. “Harris, man, you need to get home. This shit is serious.”
“I’m on my way.” I ended the call. That was when I noticed that all the goons from the surrounding tables had moved in, ready to pounce if I made a move on Sal.
“What do you know about my daughter’s kidnapping?” I said, barely able to control my breathing to speak.
“Have a seat, counselor,” he requested again, and this time I had no choice but to comply. “Our plans have changed. Called for some improvisation.”
“I don’t give a shit about your plans. I want my daughter back. What do you know?”
He made me wait for his answer while he took another spoonful of soup. Each second that passed was torture.
“You know, it’s kind of a shame it had to get to this point. Things were really heating up between you niggers and the Mexicans. For a while we thought you’d all just take each other out. No more competition for us.”
As he slurped the last bit of soup, I had to grip the table to keep myself from strangling him. If his goons killed me, there was no hope for Mariah.
“But we’ve had no word from California,” Sal continued. “Our guy inside the Zuniga organization hasn’t checked in, which means he’s probably been found out.”
“What the fuck does this have to do with my daughter?”
“Don’t you get it?” Sal said, sounding exasperated. “We have your daughter. That’s why I agreed to meet with you over here.”
I lunged for his throat, overcome with anger and grief, but two of his men pushed me back down in my chair and held me there. Their massive hands felt like vice grips on my shoulders, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me wince in pain. One politely jammed a gun into my ribs, while normal families quietly enjoyed their meals all around us.
Sal looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Relax. She’s okay
—for now.
I’ll show you.”
—for now.
I’ll show you.”
He snapped his fingers, at which point one of his men produced an iPhone to show me a video of Mariah. I saw my daughter sitting on the floor in a tiny room. Poor thing was spooked. She refused to play with the toys in front of her as she sat crying for her mommy. I wanted to reach through the phone and rescue my child, but the gun in my side reminded me how defenseless I really was.
When the video was over, I asked, “What do you want, you piece of shit?”
Sal smiled, glad to have arrived at the crux of his lesson for tonight. “Take care of LC,” he replied as he broke off a piece of focaccia bread and dabbed it in the bottom of the soup bowl. “That’s it. And your dear, sweet Mariah’s returned to you unharmed. It’s really quite simple.”
“I want my daughter, and I want her now,” I growled.
“And I just told you what you need to do. Capisce?”
I tried to appeal to reason. “I don’t know shit about killing someone. They’ll just wind up killing me instead, and then we all lose.”
“No. You’re too brilliant, boy. You’re close to them. You’ll figure out something, and they’ll look to you to steady things in the aftermath.”
“I won’t. They’re my family.”
“Bullshit. You’re nothing like those common street thugs and drug runners. LC has always been nothing more than a petty crook with delusions of grandeur. A wannabe king who won’t admit he’s still a stable boy. Besides, it’s easy for you to cut ties. You did it with your father all those years ago. Come back to your real family.”
I was reduced to begging. “Please. Just give her back to us. Anything but this. I’m not a killer.”
“Oh, I know that,” Sal said, causing the men on both sides of me to laugh. “That’s why they won’t expect anything from you when it happens. Now, do the right thing. Don’t make me have to show you how a killer acts—at your daughter’s expense.”
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