The Family Business 2 Page 2

  “Nothing that I can see, Daddy. He’s done a pretty thorough job and all the proper tests. From the looks of it, Orlando’s right. He’s created the perfect drug.”

  LC nodded. “You’ve done good here, Orlando. Real good. I’m proud of you, son.”

  Orlando was beaming. “Thanks, Pop.”

  LC looked around the room at his family, smiling for the first time since he’d entered. His vision of their future was suddenly much brighter, and he was eager to get right to work.

  “Well,” he started, “I say we go forward with this new H.E.A.T. venture. Harris, you start putting together the corporations and the legal protection we’ll need. I’m thinking we should buy a couple of big rig dealerships in the Midwest and down South to launder some of this money. Oh, and set up a meeting with some of the law enforcement folks we have on payroll. Probably time some of them got new cars.”

  “I’m on it,” Harris replied.

  “Orlando, you gear up manufacturing on a small scale for now, until Harris can buy us a pharmaceutical company south of the border. Junior, put together a security plan. If this takes off, there are going to be more people than normal coming after us. When they do, I want them to know that the Duncans are not to be played with. Also, I want Orlando’s lab to have twenty-four-hour armed guards.”

  “What about me, Pop?” Rio sounded annoyed. His club activities had been an important part of the test run for H.E.A.T., but now he felt like he was about to get pushed to the side once again. His father always had a way of making him feel like a second-class citizen because of his sexuality, and he was getting more than a little sick of it.

  The two Duncan men locked eyes for a second and everyone expected the worst, but LC surprised them all by saying, “I didn’t forget you, Rio. I want you to go on a little road trip to our club down in South Beach. See if you get the same response down there that you got up here. Personally, I’d like to start distribution outside of the Northeast, away from our normal base of operation.”

  LC glanced around the room. “Any objections before I close the meeting?”

  A lone dissenting voice came from the most unlikely source. “Yes, I have an objection. I have a big objection.”

  LC

  1

  We weren’t used to hearing much from my wife Chippy at these board meetings lately, except to occasionally chastise the twins, Rio and Paris, for speaking out of turn. She’d been under the weather for the better part of a year now, waiting patiently for me to retire and take her to a warmer climate. Her focus had become more on the well-being of our children and grandchildren and less with the day to day running of our family business. That was why her firm objection to Orlando’s new drug stunned us all into silence. I could count on one hand the number of times Chippy had spoken out against me in front of our children, especially without warning. She might as well have run up behind me and pulled my pants down to my ankles, because that’s how out of character this was for her.

  “Are you serious?” Orlando asked. If I thought I was caught off guard, you should have seen his expression. He looked like someone had hit him in the back of the head with a sledgehammer—and he’d just realized that someone was his very own mother.

  Chippy rose from her chair and said, “Yes, Orlando, I’m very serious. I know this is important to you, and I’m sorry, but I just can’t get behind this.”

  “But why, Mom?” Orlando asked with a little too much whine in his voice.

  “Because it’s not safe. We’ve operated below the radar of law enforcement for almost thirty years. Something like this is going to bring them to our front door. You mark my words.”

  “Chippy,” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder, “let me worry about the cops. I can take care of it.”

  “I’m talking to my son,” she snapped. Her tone was so dismissive it caused me to take a step back. This sudden change in attitude was something we would definitely be addressing on the ride home.

  She continued, “Nothing you can say is going to change my mind on this, LC. Your greed and selfishness almost got Rio killed last year. I’m not about to let you put my other children in that position too. I don’t give a damn how much money is involved.” Chippy still hadn’t forgiven me for sending Rio to the West Coast last year as part of a business deal gone very wrong. She locked her eyes on mine, letting me know that she too planned on addressing all of this on the ride home. I just hoped I would be the one in control of the conversation.

  Orlando cut in. “Ma, this is an opportunity of a lifetime. H.E.A.T. will set up the Duncan family for the next five generations. Besides, it’s no different than what we already do, except we won’t have to kiss anybody’s ass for product anymore. They’ll be kissing ours.”

  “Are you that naïve?” she asked. “’Cause from where I’m sitting your opportunity opens us up to a whole lot more exposure, not only from the authorities but from everyone else too. Do you really think the Italians, or the Jews, or the other black families for that matter, are going to kiss your black ass? ’Cause I can assure you they won’t. What they will do is fight to take what you made. I, for one, don’t think we’re ready for that.”

  I wasn’t usually one who involved my feelings when it came to business, but I sure felt sorry for my son in that moment.

  Orlando confronted her. “You’re not sure we’re ready for that, or I’m not ready for that, Mom? Which one is it? If Vegas was sitting in this chair, would you be objecting to this?”

  “If Vegas were here we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The plan always was for him to take over that side of our operation and for you to run the legitimate side. I never wanted this for you.” Chippy loved and supported all of her kids, but she held no illusions about their strengths and weaknesses. In private, she’d told me she didn’t think Orlando was a natural born leader, but she’d never come so close to saying it in front of the whole family like this. She might as well have ripped out the boy’s heart right in front of us.

  “Charlotte,” I said, “there’s nothing to worry about. Orlando’s perfectly capable of handling things. Besides, I’ll be here to help him. So will Harris and Junior.”

  She glanced at both men and then shook her head. “Is that supposed to comfort me? I already have one son locked away for some shit you did. I am not about to let you put another one of our children in harm’s way, LC. Not on my watch.”

  I slammed my hand on the table and stood up. Bringing up Vegas’s arrest was a pretty low blow. I still wasn’t sure where all of her anger was coming from, but I had to put a stop to her tirade before things got any more out of control.

  And then London let out a squeal that tore through the tension in the room.

  All attention turned to my oldest daughter, who was holding her round belly, looking up at her husband. “Harris, I think you better go get the car. It’s time.”

  Within seconds Chippy was at London’s side. Her face, which had been so stern and condemning when she looked at me, was now softened by maternal concern. Orlando, on the other hand, was still frozen at the head of the table with the same look of disbelief that was there when his mother made her first objection. I’m sure he hadn’t been expecting his meeting to turn out like this.

  Sasha

  2

  I’d been circling the block for the better part of ten minutes before a parking space opened up in front of Rocky’s BBQ. My mouth was already watering as I slid on my shades, checked my pink shoulder-length wig in the rearview mirror, and refreshed my pink lipstick. I looked pretty damn fierce if I did say so myself, but then again, when didn’t I look good?

  I stepped out of the car and strolled toward the neon-lit restaurant. The sign above the door announced the place as HOME OF CHITOWN’S BEST RIBS. They didn’t have to spell it out for me. I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast and it was now almost ten PM, so it didn’t matter to me if they were the worst ribs in Chicago. I planned on having some with corn bread and collard greens.
<
br />   Surprisingly, for a restaurant that boasted about being the best, the place was damn near empty when I walked in. That was a good thing, though, because I hated crowds. Aside from the Robocop-looking dude behind the counter and the Puerto Rican cook, there were only three loud mouth guys in the back half of the place, along with an old man in the corner eating some BBQ chicken like it was going out of style. There was no doubt I was gonna have some of that.

  I leaned on the counter, giving the simple menu the once over.

  “What you having?” the guy behind the counter asked. He was at least six foot four, two hundred and seventy-five pounds, with a weight-lifter’s body. He gave me a look like he’d been doing this shit way too long and didn’t have patience for any BS. He really did look like Robocop.

  “Let me have some of that chicken he’s eating, and a rack of ribs with a side of collard greens and corn bread to go.” I gave him a half smile, but I don’t think he noticed because his eyes never left my body thanks to my snug, low cut running top, which showed off my flawless C-cups. His gaze wandered down all five foot ten inches of my frame, paying extra attention to the black leggings that hugged my phat round booty and athletic legs perfectly. If I wanted him, he could have been mine in a matter of minutes.

  “You want mac and cheese or a drink with that?” he asked, jotting down my order.

  “No, I’m good. I got water in the car.”

  He turned to hand my order to the cook, and I decided to flirt with him a little to pass the time. “Are your ribs as good as Carson’s? I been to Carson’s, and their ribs are finger licking good.”

  He laughed. “Fuck Carson’s. Our ribs are the best in Chicago.”

  I flashed a smile at him, satisfied that I’d finally gotten him to make eye contact. “Where’s your restroom?” I asked.

  He pointed to a door in the back. I gave him another flirtatious smile then strutted past the old man, who was eating his chicken. When I got close to the table with three men, all conversation ceased as I walked by—that is, until they saw my butt.

  “Look at the ass on her,” I heard one of them say under his breath.

  “You a ribs kinda girl?” one asked, sounding straight out of Brooklyn, not Chicago.

  I stopped and turned, making sure I gave him the best view. He was the cutest of the three, and although all three were wearing suits, his stood out as the only one that hadn’t come off the rack at some cheap department store.

  “You don’t look like a ribs kinda girl,” he flirted.

  His buddies were now standing behind me, and I could practically feel their eyes touching my ass. Not that it was a problem, because a girl’s gotta be honest with herself: You don’t wear an outfit like this if you don’t expect to attract attention.

  “Oh yeah? What kind of girl do I look like?”

  He stared confidently in my eyes. “You look like the kind of woman who would enjoy champagne and caviar, dinner on the French Rivera . . . and making love on a yacht in the middle of the Caribbean.”

  My smile broadened. He really was talking my language.

  I leaned over, placing both hands on the table to show him more cleavage. I wasn’t usually into white boys, but this one showed promise. “And you can make that happen?”

  “Sweetheart, I can make that happen and more.” He extended his hand with a smile. “My name’s Mike Nugent.”

  “I’m Sasha,” I replied, taking his hand and flashing a sultry smile.

  “Forget the ribs, Sasha,” he said smoothly. “Let me take you to a real restaurant, someplace with atmosphere and a five-star menu.”

  “You know what, Mike? I like the way you talk.” I stood up and turned toward the door to the restroom. “Now hold that thought. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  He sat back in his chair like he owned the joint. “I’ll be waiting,” he said confidently.

  I swung my hips like a supermodel on the runway as I made my way to the restroom. They waited until I turned the corner to start talking about me, but that didn’t stop me from leaning against a wall to listen to their conversation.

  “Holy shit, Mikey. She’s fuckin’ beautiful. Looks like Nicki Minaj. I’d pay to fuck a broad like her.”

  “Well, Paulie, too bad you’re not me, ’cause I’m gonna fuck her for free,” Mikey said with a laugh.

  Silly boy, I thought with a smile as I headed into the restroom. In his mind he’d already had me in bed, probably already saw me on my knees, sucking his dick before he hit it from behind. It wasn’t the worst thing anyone had ever thought when it came to me, but I had other ideas for Mr. Mikey Nugent, because nothing was ever free.

  In the bathroom, I placed my bag on the sink, humming Nicki Minaj’s song “My Love” as I washed my hands. I gave the contents of my bag one last check, threw the bag over my shoulder, and then smoothed my hair before opening the door to make my grand entrance.

  Mikey and his crew were all smiles, their eyes feasting on my body as I walked back over to them.

  “So, what’s it gonna be, doll? Italian, Greek, seafood . . . you name it.” He sounded even more confident now.

  “Hmm, sorry to say this, but I’m thinking about just taking home the ribs I ordered,” I said as I reached into my purse. “I would ask for a rain check, but you’re going to be dead in the next five seconds.”

  The silenced pistol that I’d pulled from my bag was pointed at his head before he even had time to react. His boys were so busy looking at my tits and ass that they missed any chance they might have had to stop me.

  “Oh, shit! Paulie, it’s a hit!” Mikey yelled just before I pulled the trigger with a smile on my face. The bullet lodged between Mikey’s eyes, and he fell backward out of his chair. I’m sure he was dead before he hit the ground. His boys were still reaching into their jackets for their weapons when I spun around, taking them out with two shots apiece.

  It was over except for the old man, the cook, and Robocop at the counter. The old man threw his hands in the air the second I looked in his direction. I gestured for him to get on the floor, and he did what he was told. He was no threat. The cook wasn’t stupid either. Once I started moving in his direction, he hit the floor too. Unfortunately, I could tell from his body language that Robocop was going to be a problem—a big fucking problem. He proved me right when he jumped over the counter holding a sawed-off shotgun.

  “You bitch! Those guys owed me ten grand from the Bears game. Now who’s gonna pay me my money?” he howled.

  Damn. Why did this guy have to complicate things for me right now, just when things were going so well? I’d come in expecting to hit Mikey. Finding his partners Peter Mann and Leo Garza there was an added bonus. My contract was complete, and no one else had to die, unless Robocop didn’t want to back the fuck down.

  “Trust me, baby,” I said with a sigh. “They would have never paid you. Why do you think I’m here? They owe my employer over five hundred grand.”

  “I don’t give a damn how much they owed other people. They were going to fucking pay me,” he said, standing his ground.

  “Oh yeah? When? The game was Monday night; it’s Thursday now. I doubt they have a thousand bucks between them, bunch of coked out losers.”

  “Well, bitch, then you’re going to pay me.” He took a step closer, and I felt my finger twitch on the trigger.

  “Mister, I don’t like being called a bitch. Matter of fact, I’ve killed people for less. Now drop the fucking shotgun so I can get by.”

  “I want my money!” He took another step closer.

  Well, at least this time he left the bitch out of it.

  “Look, I don’t have a lot of time. Either you drop the gun or I make you drop it. ”

  “Who the fuck you think you are, Annie Oakley?” He sounded angry, but the look on his face said he was more confused than anything. It wasn’t the first time some dude had misjudged the power that lay beneath my beauty.

  He took another step in my direction. Bad move.

 
“Annie Oakley ain’t even in my fucking league,” I said as I pulled the trigger and blew the gun out of his hand.

  “You shot me!” he screamed. “You fucking bitch. You fucking shot me!”

  “What did you just call me? Didn’t I tell you not to call me a bitch?” A swift kick to his groin dropped him to the floor. “You ungrateful bastard. You could be dead right now. I coulda killed you instead of shooting your hand. Now stay down or be dead!”

  He looked up at me with hatred in his eyes, but at least he knew enough to stay put. I left him lying there, holding on to his bloody hand.

  “Hey, is that my order?” I asked when I spotted a bag on the counter. When I didn’t get an answer, I raised my gun again, pointing it at no one in particular. Putting a little more bass in my voice I repeated, “Is. That. My. Order?”

  “Yeah,” the cook said from the floor behind the counter. “Those are your ribs.”

  “How much do I owe you for them?”

  “They’re on the house,” the cook replied, sounding close to tears.

  I glanced over at Robocop. “That cool with you?”

  “Yeah. Just get the fuck outta here.”

  “Thanks, hon.” I stashed the gun in my bag, snatched up my order, and headed out to my car. Five minutes later, I was in a parking garage, switching vehicles and removing the tacky sunglasses and the wig. I’d just finished changing in the backseat when my cell phone rang.

  “I have been told the job has been completed?” a deep, Indian-accented voice asked.

  “It has,” I replied.

  “Then I will arrange for the second half of your payment to be delivered in the normal fashion, along with the first half of your next assignment.”

  “Next assignment? I was hoping to get a little R&R, maybe a week or two off for vacation. I’ve been at this for six straight months.”

  “I am sorry, Ms. Sasha, but that is not possible. Your next assignment is very important to our employer. It must be completed as soon as possible.”