Trouble in Rio Read online

  Trouble in Rio: A Family Business Novel

  Carl Weber

  with

  MT Pope

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1 - Rio

  2 - Corey

  3 - Diana

  4 - Rio

  5 - Corey

  6 - Diana

  7 - Rio

  8 - Corey

  9 - Diana

  10 - Rio

  11 - Diana

  12 - Rio

  13 - Corey

  14 - Diana

  15 - Rio

  16 - Corey

  17 - Diana

  18 - Rio

  19 - Corey

  20 - Diana

  21 - Rio

  22 - Corey

  23 - Diana

  24 - Rio

  25 - Corey

  26 - Diana

  27 - Rio

  28 - Corey

  29 - Diana

  30 - Rio

  31 - Corey

  32 - Rio

  Teaser chapter

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Trouble in Rio: A Family Business Novel

  Copyright © 2019 Carl Weber

  Copyright © 2019 MT Pope

  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: 978-1-6228-6586-4

  eISBN 13: 978-1-62286-587-1

  eISBN 10: 1-62286-587-1

  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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  1

  Rio

  “This can’t be my fucking life,” I muttered as I lay in the center of my canopy bed, wrapped in my duvet. It felt like the walls were closing in on me. I tried telling myself that what I was feeling wasn’t depression; today was just one of those days, that’s all. There was a house full of people, yet I felt alone. I was a Duncan. Royalty. I had all that money could buy plus some, but I was still unhappy. Unfulfilled. It seemed as if everyone in the family had a solid position in the family business except me. Not only that, but I felt like I was the outcast of the family, the loner, the gay one.

  I know I was loved, but I didn’t feel as if my family truly appreciated what I brought to the table. Granted, I wasn’t a brilliant businessman like my father or my older brother Vegas, and I didn’t have the book smarts like Orlando or London. I definitely didn’t have the muscle power or physical strength of my oldest brother, Junior. And I didn’t have the sensual prowess of my twin sister, Paris, or our cousin Sasha. No, I was more like our mother; I had not only inherited her amazing fashion sense, but her uncanny intuition and ability to detect when people were lying. Not only that, but my reputation in the gay community as being one of the best people to party with gave me an all access pass to the happenings in the club scene. I was valuable; it’s just that my family couldn’t see my true value, and sometimes I felt like they didn’t even try. It didn’t seem to matter if I was around or not. The only time they noticed my presence was when we were in the middle of a family crisis, which there’d been quite a lot of over the past few years. We’d endured everything from my niece being kidnapped, my father being shot, to my murderous uncle escaping a mental hospital and declaring war on us. We’d survived it all—as a family. But now that there was no drama to deal with, my presence wasn’t needed.

  My mother said she loved me often. My father was a different story. Our relationship had always been “different,” and I had come to accept it for what it was. After all, he was LC Duncan, one of the most powerful black businessmen in America. Having a gay son, especially one as open as I was, wasn’t an easy pill for him to swallow. He’d made his own sort of peace with it, especially after I put my life on the line during a recent family crisis, but I still felt like there was a distance between us that didn’t exist between him and my brothers. It would’ve been nice to feel like their equal every now and then, even though I knew deep down Pop would never accept my lifestyle.

  A lack of real friends only added to my sense of isolation. Other than my sister Paris, I wasn’t really close to anyone. I had people I partied with, but there wasn’t anyone I connected with beyond face value. No one I could really talk to about men, sex, fashion—about anything, really—from a man-to-man perspective. Not only that, but it had been a long time since I had someone special in my life. The last person I even thought about as a potential mate was brutally snatched from me before we even had a chance. His death contributed to the funk I’d been in the past few months.

  Lately, I’d felt myself slipping deeper and deeper into a dense fog, and it was becoming harder to fight it. I needed to do something and do it quick. I made my way into the bathroom and took a long, steamy shower, hoping it would revive my spirits. It didn’t. Even after I pampered my skin with the finest products and put on a fly Gucci outfit, I felt no different. My mood sucked, and it didn’t look like there was anything I could do to change it.

  It was about eleven on a Saturday morning, and I could hear the chatter coming from the dining room, so I went downstairs. London and her kids were seated at the table, along with Junior and his wife, Sonja, and Nevada, my sixteen-year-old nephew.

  “Good morning, everyone.” I greeted the room with the most cheerful voice I could muster. Their responses were all cordial, but as usual, I felt like I had interrupted their conversation.

  I walked over to the breakfast food spread out on the buffet and made myself a plate, then sat in the empty seat beside Nevada. Like a typical teenager, he was too engrossed in whatever was happening on his phone to look up. The food didn’t taste bad, but I still wasn’t satisfied. It was the typical brunch we had every weekend: pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit. It was good, but it was the same—just like everything else in my life lately. I realized that I wanted something different. I needed something different. I was tired of feeling this way.

  “Where’s the parentals?” I tried making small talk.

  No one answered for a minute.

  Just as I was about to have an attitude, Nevada looked up and said, “You say something, Uncle Rio?”

  I turned and repeated my question. “I asked, where are the parentals?”

  “Oh, my dad is down in the gym with Uncle Daryl and—”

  I shook my head. “Uh, I wasn’t talking about your parentals, nephew. I was talking about mine.”

  “Oh, my bad.” Nevada shrugged.

  “It’s okay, Nevada. It’s not like he specified whose parents he was referring to,” London said.

  I glanced up at my sister and asked, “Why the hell would I be asking about his parents?”

  “Anyway, to answer your question, Momma and Daddy went out for a drive this morning,” London said then went back to talking to Sonya.

  As tempting as it was to respond with a snide comment, I decided to finish my breakfast without saying another word. Showing a serenity I really didn’t feel, I walked out of the dining room and didn’t stop until I was out the front door. When I hopped into my car, I knew exactly where I was headed.

  Forty-five minutes later, I was at my spot. All the Duncan children had their own secret hideouts, including me. Mine was located in a country setting, surrounded by trees and a huge iron gate, all on a quarter acre of land. I pressed the password into the keypad, put my fingerprint on the sensor, and the gate to my small but adequate getaway opened and allowed me access. I drove up to the front of the small, two-story bachelor pad and bypassed the three-car garage, deciding to park in the driveway instead.

  I entered the house and looked around at the décor I had meticulously selected. There were huge mirrors on all the living room walls, making it feel bigger than it really was. The color scheme of burnt orange, brown, and red gave the place a warm atmosphere. Mostly everything came from Pier One, my favorite go-to place for home décor because their pieces were unique, just like me. The focal point of the dining room was a huge glass table surrounded by cast iron chairs, with an elaborate olive-green dish setting at each seat. Everything matched perfectly: the rug, vases, and pictures throughout the room. Stepping into the black-and-white motif kitchen, I saw the sparkling clean stainless steel appliances—the same ones my parents had at their home. I figured if they were good enough for them, then surely they were good enough for me. I’d decorated the place with love and attention, and usually it relaxed me when I escaped to this space. My home away from home was a breath of fresh air. But, somehow, I didn’t feel the usual peace this time.

  I flopped down on the burnt orange sofa in the living room and checked my phone to see if I had any missed calls or texts. Not one. I started to scroll through my social media feeds to see if anything was popping in the city, but there wasn’t anything I wanted to do on there. I loved New York, but shit was not lit for me right now.


  Again, I was overcome by the urge to be somewhere else, somewhere carefree where I didn’t have the pressure of being a Duncan, always worrying about my family’s reputation. Everywhere I went, I had to think about how not to end up as a feature story on Page Six or TMZ. And God forbid my parents got a call from someone who had heard that I was somewhere doing something with someone that brought negative attention to the Duncans. Never mind the fact that the Duncan name brought its own set of drama because of the enemies who had it out for my family. We had more than our fair share of haters, that was for sure, and I didn’t need or want anyone coming for me. Thinking about this shit all the time was getting so damn tiring.

  “I need to get away. I just need a destination. Somewhere I can let loose and not care,” I spoke out loud.

  I asked Siri for gay hot spot cities. She came up with a few locations, Atlanta, Los Angeles, and Baltimore being the top three. Atlanta was the current gay mecca, but I knew that in my current mood, I wouldn’t have patience for the drama queens down there. Los Angeles was too far to fly just to have fun and come back. Baltimore was a popping city, and even though it was ghetto as hell, it did have its hot spots, and the gay scene was on point for the most part. Plus, it was the closest. I decided to take a chance.

  I went to the bedroom closet. My wardrobe selection here was pretty limited compared to my overstuffed walk-in closet at the family house, but I was able to grab a few pieces I knew would work until I got to Baltimore and did a little shopping. I didn’t know how long I was going to be there. While tossing my things into my Louis Vuitton Weekender bag, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. A couple of months ago, I had begun to grow my hair out. Once it was long enough to rock short twists, I dyed it into an array of blue and green ombre colors that I called my mermaid look. I loved it, and so did Paris; my parents, not so much.

  When she saw it, my mother had simply asked, “And how long do you plan on wearing your hair like that?”

  My father inhaled deeply, turned away, and shook his head, the same way he did pretty much every time he saw me. I believed the only way I would ever get his true approval would be to tell him I’d decided to be straight—and since that wasn’t happening, we both had to deal with one another the best way we knew how.

  As I stared at my reflection, I decided to make a change before I headed to B’More. I went into the bathroom to begin my transformation. It had to be something drastic, so I grabbed a can of shaving cream, smoothed it all over the top of my head, and started shaving. Before long, all my hair was sitting in the sink. I looked in the mirror and gasped. Because I had my mother’s complexion, people always commented that I was her spitting image. But now, as I stared at myself, I looked exactly like a younger version of my father. Hell, I looked even better than he did. I decided to add one little touch, though. I popped in a pair of hazel contact lenses from the medicine cabinet, and then stepped back to admire my new look. Smiling at myself in one of the full-length mirrors, I was satisfied.

  I sent Paris a quick text from my regular phone: Gonna vanish for a few days. Reach me on my bat phone if there’s an emergency. She was probably the only one who would miss me, and I didn’t want her to worry.

  I went to the safe in my bedroom closet, removing a burner phone, some extra cash, and a box labeled Magic Tricks. Then I shut down my regular phone and locked it in the safe. I was ready to hit the road.

  I walked out of the house into the garage, where I had two other cars—a BMW and a Honda Civic. Baltimore wasn’t the safest place in the world, so I opted for the Honda. I pulled out of the driveway, and the gate closed behind me. I took one last look at my spot in the rearview mirror as I headed south, hoping to find the change I was looking for.

  2

  Corey

  As my father walked into the visiting room, the first thing I noticed was that he was a little thicker than I remembered. It had been a few months since we’d seen each other, and he no longer looked muscular. If anything, he was a little flabby. His demeanor, however, was still the same. My father had always commanded attention in every room he entered. I was filled with all types of emotions as he made his way over to me. There was admiration for the way he carried himself even though he was going to be locked away for the rest of his life, pain because his presence reminded me that my mother was under six feet of dirt, and fear that clenched my chest because I was finally going to share a secret with my father that I’d been holding for as long as I could remember.

  He passed by two armed guards, who were posted at the door even though there was almost no chance anyone in the room was carrying a weapon. Visitors were required to go through several security measures before they were allowed in. My father had been an inmate in the federal correctional facility in Cumberland, Maryland for over a year while waiting to be transported to another facility. Seeing him in this place was unsettling to me. He had warned me many times that this was a possibility because of his life in the streets, but I never thought it could happen to someone who was so good at his job. But he knew better than I did, and this was just the proof that made me a believer. Seeing him now made me wonder if this would be my home one day too. I had to live with the strong possibility of that happening because now that he was locked up, I was handling the day to day operations of his street business.

  My father sat down with a serious look on his face. I wanted to smile, but I had to save face because, even though he was behind bars, he was still my blueprint in many ways.

  “Good to see you, son,” he said in an upbeat tone as he picked up the phone that was on his side of the thick barrier between us. The slight smile on his face let me know that he was happy to see me, and I hoped that would still be the case once I told him my news.

  “Good to see you too, sir.” I matched his tone.

  “So, what’s good?” he asked. I knew he was referring to the business. My father had been in the drug game a long time. Now the territory had expanded, and he had a hand in a little bit of everything in the city: clubs, liquor stores, payday loan stores, and, of course, drugs. They were all bringing in good money, even the clothing boutique I’d recently invested in. Life was busy and sometimes challenging, keeping all these things together and watching out for the backstabbers lurking everywhere. Thank God my business partner had my back. It made things a little easier for me.

  “Everything is everything,” I replied.

  “Good. So why are you here?” he asked. It was a fair question. It wasn’t like I’d been visiting regularly.

  I paused, trying to get my heart rate under control. Over the last year or so, I had witnessed some downright dirty things: murders, torture, robberies, kidnappings—they all came along with the territory of the illegal empire I’d inherited—but to sit in front of my father on the opposite side of this glass to tell him what I needed to tell him brought me great fear. However, I had wrestled with this for a long time and had procrastinated long enough. It was time to tell him.

  “I’m here because I need to tell you something that I should’ve told you a long time ago. I’ve been putting it off, but it’s time for me to man up and just—”

  He interrupted me. “Stop it. I already know. I’ve known for a while.”

  My heart began pounding so fast that I thought it was going to come out of my chest. He knew? How? When did he find out?

  “Shit, at first I was cool with it,” he continued.

  “You were?” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat to play it off.

  “Yeah. I knew once I landed in here it was going to be a major transition for the business and you were going to need some additional support. You did what you had to do, right?” He nodded at me. “I am a little disappointed that you kept it from me.”

  I was both shocked and relieved at his explanation, so I simply nodded and said, “Uh, yeah, about that . . .”

  “But things are getting out of hand. Which is why you’re coming to me now, and that’s what matters. Don’t worry, son. I already got a plan in place. I got somebody on it already.”