The Family Business 5 Read online

  “We just came by to say hello and make sure everything’s all right out here. That’s all. How y’all been?” Roscoe put one foot on the bottom of the porch and leaned on his knee.

  “We . . .” I echoed, looking over the yard. I hadn’t noticed the other two police cars parked over by the trucks, or the four other men—two black and two white—all wearing police uniforms I didn’t recognize. I didn’t appreciate seeing them now, especially on my property. Two of the men were over by the tractor trailers parked on the side of the house. One of the black guys took out his phone and took a picture of all the license plates, while the white guys took pictures of the buildings.

  I rushed over to the side of the porch and leaned over the railing. “Hey, what the fuck are you doing? You get the fuck away from there right now!” I turned back to the sheriff. “Roscoe, what the fuck is going on?”

  “Calm down, Mr. Shrugs. We’re just here for a friendly visit,” the other black guy said to me. His voice was deeper than any I’d ever heard, and from his mannerisms, I could tell he was the one in charge.

  “Mister, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but unless you have some kind of warrant, I suggest you get the fuck off my property.”

  “Um, KD, this here is Sheriff Derrick Hughes from Fulton County, Georgia,” Roscoe said.

  “Fulton County, Georgia?” I scowled. “You’re a long way from home. That’s almost a twenty-hour drive.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hughes gave me a prideful smirk as he stepped onto the porch. “Nice to finally meet you, KD. I made the trip just to see you.”

  “If you’re from Georgia, why the fuck are you all the way out here in El Paso, Texas? And more importantly, why are you at my place?” He towered over me, but I was determined to let him know that I wasn’t intimidated. I tried to eyeball him, but he was one big-ass nigger face to face.

  “We’re here because some mutual friends of ours sent me to check on you—take you to breakfast and make sure you understand how things are gonna go from here on out,” he said bluntly. “You see, I’m also the newly elected president of the Sheriffs Association.”

  Well, fuck me. They really did elect a nigger.

  “Boy, the chances of us having mutual friends is slim to none. Which are about the same chances of me sitting down to eat with your black ass,” I snarled.

  “Well then, I guess I have to explain it to you right here and now.” Hughes took a step closer, smiling at me all nice and polite. He was one confident nigger. “If you want these trucks of yours to continue traveling cross country without being disturbed or pulled over every ten miles, then you’d better start playing ball with everybody. And I do mean everybody.”

  “You listen to me, boy,” I said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I’m the last person on earth you should be threatening. You ain’t even from ’round these parts, so I suggest you get your black ass back to Georgia and get back there fast. And tell whoever these mutual friends are that if they got something to say, they better come do it themselves, because I know where all the bodies are buried, and I have no problem digging them up.” I spat on the ground, just barely missing his shoes to make my point.

  I expected Hughes to back off, but instead, he took another step in my direction and smiled as he bent down to whisper in my ear. “No, boy, you listen to me, and you listen closely, because that good ol’ boy bullshit is over. This ain’t a threat like you think it is. It’s a warning.”

  The screen door opened, and Tyler walked out, standing toe to toe with the nigger sheriff.

  “Everything okay out here, Daddy?”

  Hughes looked him up and down. “You must be Tyler. Nice to meet you.” He tipped his hat. “You gentlemen have a fine day, you hear?”

  I stood and watched as he stepped off the porch and whistled for the other three men. They climbed into their cars, one with Georgia plates and the other with Arkansas plates. Roscoe started walking toward his own car.

  “Roscoe!” I yelled at him.

  “Yeah, KD?” he asked just as he was about to get in.

  “Don’t bother putting your name on that ballot come reelection time. You wouldn’t wanna waste your time and money for something you’re gonna lose. Now, get the fuck off my property.”

  Roscoe looked like he was thinking about replying, but then he must have realized there was no point in trying to reason with me. He got into his car and drove off in the same direction as the other vehicles.

  “What was that all about?” Tyler asked.

  “That, son, is a great big pain in the ass that appeared out of nowhere.” I watched the out-of-town sheriff’s vehicles kick up dirt as they headed down the private road and off my land. “A pain in the ass I suspect was sent by LC Duncan.”

  Roman

  24

  The volume of the television was as high as it could go, but it was still difficult to hear—not that I was paying attention to the random HGTV show on the screen. I’d convinced my aunt to leave for a little while, promising that I’d call if there was any change in Mom’s condition. There hadn’t been. She was still asleep. Seemed like she was sleeping most of the time. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  “Man, that’s crazy,” Denny said. He’d been sitting with me for a while.

  “What?” I turned to see what he was talking about.

  “They paid like a hundred grand for that house and sold it for like almost three hundred?” He pointed to the television hanging in the corner of the room.

  “Yeah, because they pretty much made a whole new house,” I told him.

  “I’m saying, you know how much profit they made just by adding some paint, hardwood floors, crown molding, and a farm sink?” Denny looked like he was deep in thought as he counted on his fingers.

  “Did you say farm sink?” I tried not to laugh. “Nigga, what the fuck you know about a farm sink?”

  “I’m just saying, maybe we in the wrong business. Maybe we need to be flipping houses,” he argued.

  “Sounds good. Lemme know when you get that general contractor license. Matter of fact, lemme know when you figure out what a farm sink is for real,” I said, laughing.

  “You can laugh all you want, but that’s where the money is.”

  The fact that Denny was serious made this conversation even more humorous to me.

  “It’s plenty of boarded up places in the neighborhood I’m sure we can get for cheap,” he continued. “We can do this, Rome.”

  “Slow ya roll, Nipsey Hussle. We ain’t ready to buy back the block just yet,” I said.

  “Mr. Johnson?” A short, older white woman knocked before she walked in with a middle-aged black woman.

  “Yeah?” I sat up.

  “Hi, I’m Rebecca Naples with hospital billing, and this Nadine Walker from City Hospital Hospice Care. We came to talk to you about your mother.” She spoke softly.

  “Hospice?” I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Yes sir, the hospital social worker sent me up here,” Walker answered. “Your mother’s condition . . .”

  I glanced over at my mother, who was still asleep, then back to the lady. “Can we talk about this somewhere else? I don’t wanna do this here.”

  “Of course. I understand. We can go into the waiting room down the hall.”

  “Hey, man,” I said to Denny.

  “I got Ma. Go do what you gotta do. I’ll be here with her,” he told me.

  I followed the ladies into the small room with FAMILY CONFERENCE on the door.

  Entering the room, I blurted out, “My mother ain’t going into no hospice.”

  They sat, then Naples began speaking in the same soft voice. “Unfortunately, Mr. Johnson, your mother is uninsured, and the charges for care are excessive. We can’t continue to care for her here. She’s too sick.”

  “Do you know how crazy you sound, lady? She’s too sick for you to take care of her? That’s bullshit and you know it. Y’all greedy
asses is just thinkin’ about the money, not about what’s best for my momma.”

  She opened up her mouth to start talking, but I kept going, raising my voice to drown out whatever she was trying to say.

  “First of all, I know she’s sick, but she’s gonna get better. Dr. Ford is tryin’a set up her kidney transplant. So she ain’t leaving here,” I finished forcefully.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s hospital policy. My hands are tied due to her current state of health and the outstanding bill she already owes.”

  “How much is the fucking bill?” I yelled. “I’ll pay it.”

  They gave each other a nervous glance.

  “Mr. Johnson, like I said, it’s quite expensive,” Naples said.

  “She’s not leaving here, and she damn sure ain’t going over to City Hospital. Now, how much is the fucking bill?” I glared at her.

  She reached into the folder she was holding and handed me some papers. “It’s about forty thousand dollars.”

  I looked down at the itemized bill. I knew it was probably gonna be high as hell, but I damn sure wasn’t expecting it to be that high.

  “Shit,” I said, much quieter now.

  The bitch from billing looked like she wanted to say “I told you so,” but instead she just nodded.

  I straightened my spine and said, “Listen, I’m gonna pay this shit, but I can’t pay the whole thing today. I can get you fifteen, maybe twenty by the end of the day, the rest by the end of the week, okay?” I folded the papers and stuck them in my pocket. “I said okay?”

  Naples nodded. “If you make that substantial of a payment, that will buy you a little more time.”

  “A’ight, I’ma go home and get the money now. So go ahead and schedule my mom’s kidney transplant.” I stared her down to make sure she understood I wasn’t asking her, I was telling her.

  “You may want to speak with Dr. Ford regarding your mother’s transplant.” She stood up, and now her voice wasn’t quite so sweet. Maybe she wasn’t used to being told what to do.

  “Do you know where he is?”

  She looked at her watch. “He’s probably still in his office. His rounds start in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Bet.” I rushed out to find Dr. Ford’s office. There was no way I was gonna let them kick my mother out and take her to the worst hospital in the state. The care at City Hospital was so bad that people called it The Morgue. Patients were known to go there with a little cough and end up dead. I didn’t care how much it cost or what I had to do. My mother was staying where she was.

  “Mr. Johnson, come in,” Dr. Ford welcomed me in when I found his office and knocked on the door. “Ms. Naples called and told me you were headed down here. What can I do for you?”

  I wondered what she’d said about the way I went off on her, and I reminded myself to stay calm with the doctor. I didn’t need him to get pissed off and take it out on my moms.

  “I wanted to know about the transplant for my mother. I’m ready,” I said.

  “There’s a small problem with that, Mr. Johnson.”

  “Please don’t tell me it’s the money.” I fought back the urge to curse his ass out. Did anyone around here give a shit about anything but getting paid?

  “Well, that too, but that’s not my department.” He stopped talking and stared at something over my head like he was afraid to make eye contact.

  What the fuck was going on here? His vibe was making me nervous.

  “Doc, what exactly is the problem, then?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, my problem is you’re not a match.”

  It took me a few seconds to speak because I just kept repeating his words in my head: You’re not a match. You’re not a match. You’re not a match.

  “I’m not?” I blinked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m positive.”

  My emotions were all over the place, and I couldn’t think straight. I’d heard what the doctor said, but he had to be wrong. There was no way he could be right. There was some sort of medical mistake—hospitals made stupid-ass mistakes all the time. Maye some dumb motherfucker in the lab mixed up my blood sample with someone else’s.

  “Nah, that ain’t right.” I shook my head to try to clear it.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson.”

  “Run the test again.”

  He shook his head and gave me a sympathetic look. “We’ve run the test several times. The results are not going to change.”

  “How can that be? I’m her son.” There was a buzzing in my head, and I felt kinda like I might pass out.

  “Genetics are funny. They don’t always fall where we think they should,” Dr. Ford said. “I know this is painful, but I’ll speak with the hospital administration and get your mother added to the transplant list as soon as possible—provided you’re in good standing with the billing department. But, Mr. Johnson, either way, like I said, this is a very expensive long shot.”

  At least he was working with me. “Hey, Doc, how much does an operation like this cost?”

  “We’re talking over two hundred thousand dollars, and that’s not including the medication she’ll be required to take afterward. It’s a huge financial undertaking.”

  “Shit, you got that right,” I said, stunned by the numbers. “You just do what you gotta do. I’ll come up with funds,” I told him. “Even if I have to rob a bank.”

  He laughed, and I joined in, even though I was dead-ass serious.

  When I got back to my mother’s room, she was still asleep, and Denny was still glued to the TV watching run-down homes get fixed up.

  “What’s up? Everything good?” he asked as I paced the floor.

  “Yeah, I just had to get some stuff straight with her bill,” I told him. I wasn’t ready to say anything about the genetic test, because as far as I was concerned, that was just some fucked-up mistake that I would sort out later. For now, my only focus was getting my mother back on her feet.

  “She needs this surgery, but real talk, I ain’t got the money to pay for it right now.” My voice was low because even though my mom was knocked out, I didn’t want her overhearing our conversation.

  Denny leaned forward, his voice just as low as mine. “Yo, we still got that shit from the other day. That’s something.”

  “Yeah, but that probably ain’t gonna be enough to cover it.”

  “Listen, bro, your mom’s been more of a mother to me than my own. You ain’t in this by yourself. Whatever we get, for however long we get it, it’s yours until she’s better.”

  I looked over at the guy who’d been my best friend since elementary school. He always had my back, and now he had me damn near in tears. I swallowed hard, trying not to show the emotions I was feeling.

  Denny walked over and dapped me up. My voice cracked as I said, “Thanks, bro. I love you, man.”

  “I love too, bro.”

  Rio

  25

  “Okay, Rio, you can do this.” I told myself as I popped a Xanax, which the doctor had prescribed for anxiety. What I really needed was a line of coke. “You can do this. You’re a Duncan.”

  My ribs were healing and my bruises were fading, but inside, I was terrified. Every time I heard a male voice, I would jump, scared that I was about to get beat down again. I couldn’t keep living like this—hence, the reason I was parked outside a house in City Island, trying to gather my nerve. I’d been staring at the house for the past ten minutes. No one had gone in or out, and the only light came from the first-floor front windows.

  I reached for the door handle, preparing to step out of the car, but I felt my heart rate instantly increase. “Man up, Rio. You know you wanna do this,” I scolded myself. I’d been thinking about doing this ever since I got home from the hospital a week earlier.

  Grabbing a black bag from the passenger’s seat, I riffled through the array of weapons—knives, nunchucks, pepper spray, a small baton, taser, handcuffs, and a gun. I opted for the gun, which I slipped under the back of my shirt. Gather
ing my courage, I finally got out of the car and crossed the street.

  “Who is it?” a female voice yelled over the blaring TV when I banged on the screen door.

  “Uber Eats,” I said, praying that they even delivered in this area.

  She snatched the door open. “I didn’t order no—”

  I grabbed her by the hair and pushed my way inside, whipping out my gun.

  “Who the fuck is it?” a man yelled.

  I turned to see a guy hopping into the living room on his one good foot. The other foot was in a cast, and he was holding a crutch. One of his arms was in a sling. Dude was fucked up—and from the look on his face, he was pretty shocked to find me standing in the living room.

  “Get your hands up.” I pointed the gun at him.

  “Man, just shoot me, ’cause there ain’t no way you gonna get me to raise my hands as much pain as I’m in,” he said.

  “We don’t want no fuckin’ trouble,” the woman announced when I let go of her hair and shoved her toward the hop-a-long dude.

  “A little late for that. Do you know who I am?” I asked hoppy.

  “Yeah, you that crazy lady’s son. Rio.”

  “Exactly. Now, where the hell is Vaughn?”

  He pointed to the room he’d hobbled out of, and I motioned with my gun for them to move. I followed them into the kitchen where there was, believe it or not, a hospital bed and an even more fucked up man. He had two broken arms, and his leg was in a cast, propped up in the air. The cervical collar around his neck made it impossible for him to turn his head and look at me, so I walked around the table into his line of sight. His face was so fucked up it looked like something out of a horror movie.

  “I came here to fuck you up, but it don’t look like you can get anymore fucked up unless I break your other leg,” I said, making sure he could see my gun.