The Family Business 4 Read online

  The Family Business 4:

  A Family Business Novel

  Carl Weber with La Jill Hunt

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  LC - 1

  Junior - 2

  London - 3

  Ruby - 4

  Chippy - 5

  Larry - 6

  LC - 7

  Vegas - 8

  Larry - 9

  Sasha - 10

  Ruby - 11

  LC - 12

  Larry - 13

  Sasha - 14

  Larry - 15

  London - 16

  Orlando - 17

  Curtis - 18

  London - 19

  Paris - 20

  Larry - 21

  Curtis - 22

  Ruby - 23

  London - 24

  LC - 25

  Larry - 26

  Sasha - 27

  Ruby - 28

  London - 29

  Curtis - 30

  Vegas - 31

  London - 32

  Ruby - 33

  Vegas - 34

  Larry - 35

  London - 36

  Chippy - 37

  LC - 38

  Ruby - 39

  Vegas - 40

  London - 41

  LC - 42

  Donna - 43

  LC - 44

  London - 45

  Sasha - 46

  Orlando - 47

  Ruby - 48

  London - 49

  LC - 50

  London - 51

  Sasha - 52

  Curtis - 53

  Ruby - 54

  Larry - 55

  London - 56

  Sasha - 57

  Larry - 58

  Sasha - 59

  Chippy - 60

  Sasha - 61

  Kenny - 62

  LC - 63

  Larry - 64

  Orlando - 65

  Ruby - 66

  Kenny - 67

  Orlando - 68

  LC - 69

  Ruby - 70

  LC - 71

  Curtis - 72

  Larry - 73

  Chippy - Epilogue

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  The Family Business 4: A Family Business Novel

  Copyright © 2018 Carl Weber

  Copyright © 2018 La Jill Hunt

  The Family Business 2012 Trademark Urban Books, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6228-6766-0

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  Prologue

  The glass doors of the quaint storefront situated in the Atlantic Terminal of the Long Island Rail Road read: NATE’S SHOE SHINE AND REPAIR. When the door opened, the brass bell clanged loudly and three men of different ages stepped inside. The older of the three, who was more salt than pepper, took a seat in the center of the three shoeshine chairs and made himself comfortable, while his two companions browsed around the store looking nervous.

  “Can I help you?” a gentleman situated at the far end of the counter with his back turned to the men called out. He was working on a pair of cowboy boots that had to be worth a thousand dollars or more.

  “Yeah, I’m looking for old man Nate?” the older of the three men asked. Unlike the younger men, he was wearing a suit. He had military dog tags hanging around his neck that looked like they’d been dipped in gold.

  “You must not be from around here, ’cause my uncle Nate passed away almost ten years ago,” the man replied, continuing to work without turning around.

  “Sorry to hear that. Nate was a good brother,” the man said sincerely. “So, what’s your name?”

  The man never looked up from his work. “My name’s Joe, but folks around here call me Shoeshine. What can I do for you?”

  “Get the fuck outta here! You’re Shoeshine Joe. Man, you still the best shoeshine boy in town?” He laughed like they were old friends, lifting his shoe. “Man, how about a shine?”

  “First of all, I ain’t nobody’s boy,” Joe snapped angrily, still without moving his head. “Secondly, I’m the owner, so I don’t shine nobody’s shoes no more. We got a kid that comes in at four for the rush hour crowd that can help you with that.” Joe stood up and finally turned around with a slight frown on his face. Then he recognized the man sitting before him. He took a step back. “Shit, I thought you were dead.”

  “That’s what I wanted people to think,” the man in the chair answered, gesturing to his shoes. “Now, how about a shine for old time’s sake?”

  “Sure, sure, no problem.” Joe hurried from around the counter and pulled out a shine box. The man eased back in his chair. “What’s it been—five, ten years?”

  The man ran his hand through his graying hair. “Closer to fifteen.”

  “Damn, has it been that long?” Joe shook his head. Observing the two younger men, he asked, “These your boys? They look just like you.”

  “Yes, sir, these two are the best parts of me, Ken and Curt.” He pointed at his two sons. “Boys, Joe here is the best shoeshine man on the East Coast. Back in the day, every time I’d come to Brooklyn I had to bring three pairs of shoes just for him to shine. He’s that damn good.”

  “Thanks, but that was a long time ago. It’s been a while since I did this for anyone other than myself.”

  “Man, shining shoes is like riding a bicycle: you just got to get back on it,” the man said, and Joe nodded his agreement as he began to apply polish.

  “So, Joe, it looks like the neighborhood is changing a lot. How’s business?”

  “Changing is an understatement, but believe it or not, that’s not such a bad thing, because business is good. These yuppies that are moving in don’t wear two hundred–dollar sneakers like the old neighborhood folks. They wear expensive designer shoes and boots that need repair. Nobody wants to throw away a seven hundred–dollar pair of shoes, so for now business is better than ever.”

  The man glanced over at the two younger versions of himself, who were now posted at either side of the door; then he looked down at Joe.

  “That’s great. I’m happy for you,” he said sarcastically. “But I wasn’t talking about the shoe business. I was talking about the information business.”

  Joe froze, peering over his glasses. It had been years since anyone had even mentioned the figure he was now kneeling before. The man was a killer, no if, ands, or buts about it. Word on the street was that he’d been locked up and died in his jail cell, but that couldn’t have been true, because he was sitting right there in the flesh, asking for information. Joe just hoped the information he wanted wasn’t the kind that might get him killed.

  “I don’t really know much about nothing other than shoes.” Joe shrugged as he tentatively continued to shine the man’s shoes. “My uncle Nate was the one who knew everything about everyone. Not me.”

  “Is that so?” It was obvious from the look he gave his sons that the man thoug
ht Joe was lying through his teeth; however, he remained calm. He nodded to Curt, the older of his sons. Reaching into his pocket, Curt pulled out a stack of cash and placed it next to Joe’s shoeshine box. It was more money than Joe had seen in a while.

  “I’m sure you can be just as helpful as your uncle, don’t you think?” Curt spoke for the first time.

  Joe stared at the money, thinking of the pile of bills stacked on his kitchen table at home, along with the constant calls from the finance company about the past due note on his wife’s car. It was tempting, but still, he didn’t move.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not big on information.” He went back to shining the man’s shoes.

  “Okay, maybe information is the wrong word. The truth is, I’m looking to buy something. Maybe you can help me with that.” The man reached into his pocket and pulled out another stack of cash, placing it alongside the money Curt had put down.

  “Wha–what you trying to buy?” Joe asked nervously. He swallowed hard as he gathered up the bills and placed the money in his apron pockets. Glancing up at the two other men, he saw that they were amused by his sudden change of heart. Not that it mattered to him. He knew there had to be at least twenty or thirty thousand dollars in front of him, and it was a sum he just couldn’t pass up.

  “If I wanted to purchase a large amount of dope, where would I go to find it?”

  “You’re joking, right?” It was Joe’s turn to be amused. “If anybody knows where to find dope, it would be you, wouldn’t it? You know the key player better than all of u—” He stopped abruptly when the man bopped him on the head just hard enough to get his full attention.

  “Motherfucker, don’t worry about what I know. Does Verizon go to Sprint when they need new towers? Does Ford go to GM to help them build cars? Of course not! So why the fuck would I go to LC and ask for help? I’m trying to put his ass outta business.”

  Joe raised his hands defensively, hoping to give himself a moment to collect his faculties. That was not the response he’d been expecting. He thought for a second and said, “Well, you can’t go to the Mexicans or the Colombians now that Alejandro’s dead.”

  “Why not?” Curtis asked.

  “Rumor has is it LC’s son Vegas is fucking—or used to fuck—Alejandro’s widow, and she’s supplying them with everything they need. But there is always Lee and his people. He’s been hurting ever since him and LC fell out over that Sal Dash fiasco.”

  “I never liked that Asian bastard, but it’s worth a try. The enemy of my enemy is supposed to be my friend, at least until you kill the bastard.” The man laughed. “All right, so who else you got?”

  “Well, there is a guy who’s been looking to move some product. He usually moves marijuana, but he’s sitting on a shit load of dope, and I heard he wants to unload it cheap.” Joe finished one shoe and moved on to the other.

  “Why is he sitting on it?”

  “Nobody will buy it from him. Guy’s got a price on his head, and everyone is afraid of pissing off the Duncans. He’s got a lot of dope, but his supply isn’t infinite. Where do you go once he dries up? Not to the Duncans, that’s for sure.”

  The older man sat back. He looked intrigued. “Sounds like me and him need to have a talk. What’s his name?”

  “Vinnie. Vinnie Dash.”

  He lifted his head. “This Vinnie any relation to Sal?”

  “Yeah, he’s Sal’s son. He’s the only Dash left after the war a few years ago. Which LC won, I might add.”

  “Is that right? So, where do I find this Vinnie Dash?” the man asked.

  “You don’t. Dude’s running his business out of Jamaica. You gotta get in touch with his man Jamaica John in Co-op City if you want him. He runs a vape shop,” Joe said matter-of-factly, getting over his initial discomfort now that the information was flowing.

  “Okay. Thanks, Joe. For someone who doesn’t know much information, you’ve been extremely helpful. Hasn’t he, boys?”

  The two younger men smiled and nodded.

  “Glad I could be of service. Good doin’ business with you.”

  “Pleasure was ours,” the man replied as Joe finished off his shine. “I’m sorry we won’t be able to do business in the future.”

  “Huh?” Joe was confused until he looked up and saw the gun pointed right at his head. Before be could react, a silenced shot entered his forehead and he fell to the floor.

  “Damn, why’d you shoot him?” the younger of his two sons shouted. The older son didn’t look happy, but he kept quiet as he picked up the money that had spilled out of Joe’s apron.

  “I wasn’t taking a chance of someone paying his ass double what we gave him to tell them what we wanted. Now, help your brother pick up the money and let’s go. We got business to handle.”

  LC

  1

  Grateful. That was the only word that came to mind as I looked over the balcony of my bedroom into the sprawling backyard of our family compound. The sun was bright in the sky, but a slight breeze dissipated most of the morning heat. It was going to be a scorcher, that was for sure—not that the heat bothered me. I was just glad to be alive. It was a little less than six months since I’d been shot and left for dead, so no one appreciated a beautiful day and a little excess heat more than I did.

  For a few minutes, I watched my grandson Nevada practicing his martial arts stances with his instructor, Minister Farah. At one point, he stumbled just a bit, but to his credit, he never lost his composure. I could see he was serious about perfecting the art. He would not quit until he got it right, like a true Duncan.

  “Breakfast is ready.”

  I turned to see my wife Chippy easing up beside me. She was wearing a multicolored caftan and a pair of simple gold sandals. I had been so caught up in watching Nevada that I hadn’t even heard her sneak up behind me.

  “What’s got you out here grinning like that?” She slipped her arm around my waist.

  “Thinking about you.” I reached over, pulled her close, and kissed her softly.

  “Liar.” She laughed and shook her head.

  “And Nevada,” I added, sliding my hands down to caress her butt.

  “Mm-hmmm.” She flirted, squeezing me back. “What were you thinking pertaining to me?”

  I gave her a seductive look and said, “About last night.”

  “Yeah.” She grinned. “Last night was pretty darn amazing and definitely worth smiling about.”

  “You’re so right.” I kissed her neck. Even through the flowing material she wore, I could make out the soft curves of Chippy’s body, and I became aroused. Even at our age, she still had that effect on me. “We can always go inside and have an amazing morning too.”

  “LC, you better stop it. Breakfast is ready,” she said, trying to get away from me. Her hand rested on my chest. “Besides, the kids will hear us.”

  I frowned. “You know, I’m getting sick of these kids. They been cock-blocking me for almost forty years.”

  “I know,” she said sympathetically. “Look, it’s not just the kids. I’m worried about you. I don’t wanna push our luck. You are still recovering.”

  I looked into her eyes then back down to her hand. Her finger covered the exact spot where the bullet had entered my body and nearly took my life a few months ago. Chippy had always been brave, but I knew the thought of losing me had scared her. I wanted her to feel secure and know that everything was going to be okay. She was my wife, and I always wanted her to feel protected.

  “I’m fine, Chippy. We’re fine,” I assured her.

  “I know you are fine, LC, but let’s just take today to rest up.”

  “I wore you out, huh?” I winked.

  “Boy, you already know I did that to you. The way you were snoring last night, I’m surprised you even made it out of bed this morning,” she said with a satisfied smirk.

  We both laughed and again, I was grateful. I turned my attention back to Nevada.

  “You see him? He’s a natural.”

 
; “I wouldn’t say all that. He’s been training with his mother since he was small. But he is good,” Chippy said.

  “I want him to be even better. He needs to learn the finer things in life, and you’re going to have to show him,” I told her.

  “Is that so?” I didn’t look at her, but I was sure she was giving me the side-eye.

  “Yes. He’s our future, honey. One day, all of this will be his, and he has to learn not only how to run it, but to appreciate it as well.” I walked over and placed my hands on the railing as I watched my grandson take down his instructor. The surprise on his teacher’s face was mixed with embarrassment.

  Chippy walked up beside me. “Wow, you’ve certainly had a change of heart.” There was a hint of contempt in her voice.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I turned to her with a frown.

  “A month ago you weren’t even sure he was Vegas’s son. You went on and on about how he might not be a Duncan. Now you’re ready to turn the reins of the entire business over to him.”

  “A month ago I didn’t know what I know now,” I said confidently.

  “And what is that?”

  “He’s definitely a Duncan,” I replied, hoping that would put an end to it. Of course, with Chippy, that was never the case.

  “How do you know for certain?” she pressed. “Because when I told you he was our grandson, you didn’t want to hear it. What’s changed your mind all of a sudden?”

  “I just know,” I said defiantly. This was not a discussion I wanted to continue, because it could go totally wrong.

  “Lavernious Duncan, don’t play games with me. I know you, remember? It’s bad enough you won’t tell me who the hell shot you, but you are going to tell me why you changed your mind, or else what happened last night is not going to happen again for a long time.”

  I raised my hands defensively to stop her tirade. “Okay, okay.” Chippy was right. She did know me well. I shrugged and admitted, “I had Orlando swab him and do a DNA test a week ago. He told me the results last night. He’s a Duncan, Charlotte.”

  She looked at me and shook her head. “I should have known. I hope Orlando was discreet, because you know if Vegas finds out, he’s going to lose his mind.”