The Family Business 3 (5 page)

We'd finally stopped moving after nearly two hours. I wasn't sure if this stop was a good thing or not, because the driver had gotten out of the car and was talking to somebody. From my vantage point inside the trunk, I couldn't make out what they were saying. I remained hopeful, but I still tightened my grasp around the shank when I heard the trunk being unlocked.

After two days in a safe house in Albany, we had headed south toward New York City, switching vehicles at least four times. I knew this was the last time as soon as my eyes adjusted to the light and I recognized the man helping me out of the trunk.

“Elijah,” I muttered, pulling him in for a brotherly hug. Elijah had been my friend and right hand man since I headed the FOI New York for the Nation. He was also more loyal than any other man I'd ever met and twice as deadly.

“As-Salaam-Alaikum, Xavier,” he smiled, squeezing me.

“Wa-Alaikum-Salaam, my brother.” He released me from our embrace. Looking past him, I noticed three cars and ten brothers standing with military precision thirty feet away.

“You've done well, my friend. What about my wife? Do we know where she's been?”

“Yes, she's been at home the past couple of days. Alone.”

“Alone?” He nodded. “And what about this Junior Duncan?”

“He's been holed up at his family home in Far Rockaway.”

“Interesting. Have you completed what I asked?”

“Everything is exactly as you instructed, except that the Jew wants to meet. I can debrief you in the car.”

“Good.” I patted him on the back then turned back to the trunk, whistling for my rats, who quickly came out of their hiding place. I picked them up, giving each a kiss before I placed them in my pockets and followed Elijah toward the car.

“X! Yo, X!” I turned in the direction of the familiar voice.

It was Jefferson, who was leaning against the car, wearing civilian clothes. Nugent was sitting on the hood, arms folded, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses. In my exuberance over being with my men, I'd practically forgotten about these two.

“Well, X, you're free,” Jefferson stated. “So you know what that means . . .” His broad smile revealed every last one of his teeth.

He turned his attention to Elijah. “Cash on delivery. That was our deal, right?”

Elijah stared at him blankly, but I had to give credit where credit was due. They'd planned and executed something I honestly didn't think they could pull off. I said to Elijah, “You got their money?”

He nodded, waving over Samuel and Adam, two of our men who were posted closest to us. Each man was carrying a green duffle bag. Samuel handed a bag to me, and I opened it, pulling out a thick stack of money for all to see.

“As promised, half a million dollars each.” I put the money back in and tossed the first bag to Nugent, who caught it on the fly. He opened the bag, showing Jefferson the contents with a smile.

“Hey, what about me?” Jefferson rubbed his hands together greedily.

“Don't worry, Jefferson. I got yours here too.” I turned to Adam, who handed me the bag he was holding. I tossed the bag to Jefferson, who unzipped it and pulled out a thick wad of cash.

“Now, that's what I'm talking about.” Jefferson's greedy ass started doing the happy dance.

The distinctive sound of rounds being chambered stopped Jefferson's dancing. He and Nugent looked up to see Samuel and Adam pointing their firearms at the two screws.

“Motherfucker, you got to be kidding me, X!” Jefferson shouted. “Are those guns?”

“First of all, my name isn't X,” I stated for clarity. I glanced at the 9mm pistols Samuel and Adam were pointing at them. “Secondly, yeah, they look like guns. What do you think, Elijah? They look like guns to you?”

Elijah nodded. “Definitely guns.”

“What's going on here, Xavier?” Nugent dropped the bag and raised his hands. There was no question about it; he was scared, but he remained cool as a cucumber. “We've done a lot to help you and your people, including putting our livelihoods on the line helping you escape. All we want is our money and to go home. I thought we were all friends here.”

“Friends,” I replied. “I don't think so. I like to think of us as business associates whose association has come to a conclusion. And for the record, I really appreciate all the hard work you've done for the cause, especially breaking me out. Regrettably, you know entirely too much about me and my organization, and your partner talks entirely too much. Eventually someone's going to figure out your involvement in my escape. So your services are no longer required.” On that note, Elijah and I turned toward the cars.

“X, you son of a bitch! You're not going to get away with—”

I never looked back, but I can assure you those were the last words Jefferson ever spoke.

Twenty minutes after I left my car, I stepped out of a wooded stretch of land and was met by the fence that surrounded an expensive gated condo complex. I hopped the fence, staying in the shadows as I made my way toward the buildings. Earlier in the day, Marie and I had visited the place as prospective buyers. Of course, she had no idea I was really scouting the place out for tonight's business, but as the realtor took us around the property, I was able to get the lay of the land, so I knew exactly which condo unit I was headed to now.

I crept my way around back, climbing up the trellis onto the balcony with Bonnie in hand. It was dark inside the condo, and if I was lucky the occupants were asleep, but that didn't mean they were to be taken lightly by any means. I took a moment to catch my breath and evaluate the situation, and then I placed Bonnie back in her holster and pulled out a small tool kit, which allowed me to pick the lock on the sliding glass door in a matter of seconds.

Opening the door just wide enough to slip inside, I simultaneously reached for Bonnie. Inside, I remained motionless for a good sixty seconds, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room as I tried to ascertain if I'd alerted the occupants to my presence. So far, so good, but I could hear the sound of a television and some snoring off to my right in another room, which meant I definitely wasn't alone. I would go check on the identity of the sleeping person in a while, but I wanted to gather some information first.

I made my way over to a desk in the corner, confident there'd be some sign of what I was looking for amid the contents of the makeshift home office. I scanned the top of the desk the best I could in the dark. There was nothing telling, just some bills for a Mr. Curt Bunn. The name didn't ring a bell, so I moved on to the laptop. I wanted to turn it on, but the light and the sound may have woken my snoring friend. Pulling out the desk drawer, I discovered a nine millimeter handgun very similar to Bonnie, but without the silencer. Just as I reached out for it, I heard the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered in a gun, followed by the sensation of cold steel on the back of my neck. How the fuck I could have let someone sneak up on me, I don't know.

“I'd put both of those down if I were you.” It was a determined male voice, and he was whispering as if he didn't want to wake the person in the other room.

I did as I was told, letting go of the gun in the drawer and slowly placing Bonnie down on the desk.

“Where I come from, people get killed for shit like this—without even giving it a thought. So consider yourself lucky that I haven't plastered you brains all over my brand new desk.” He pressed the gun firmly against my neck for emphasis. “Now, you damn sure better have a good reason for being here.”

I stared off into the dark, speaking to my unseen enemy. “I'm here to find out if the rumor is true.”

“Rumor?” he whispered. “Most people don't go breaking into houses looking for rumors.”

“The rumor is that Daryl Graham, who supposedly died in a fire back in New York, is really alive. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

There was a slight pause before he answered in a slightly louder voice, “No, I wouldn't. As you can see from the paperwork you were snooping around in, my name is Curt Bunn.”

A smile spread across my face as I turned around slowly, looking into the face of the man with the gun. “Curt Bunn, huh? Well, you sure as hell look a lot like Daryl Graham, Curt.”

“Then this Daryl Graham must be one hell of a handsome motherfucker, Vegas.” Lowering the gun he had been aiming at me, my best friend since I was six years old spread his arms wide to give me a brotherly hug.

“Man, Daryl, it's good to see you, brother. I missed you,” I said, getting a little misty-eyed.

“It's good to see you too, V.” Daryl was just as choked up as I was. “I missed you more.”

“You know, you really had me fucked up when I heard you were dead. I was crying and the whole nine.”

He broke the hug. “Sorry about that, man, but it was important that people thought I was dead.”

I didn't press for details, because I knew Daryl well enough to understand that just like mine, his life was complicated, and sometimes things were on a need-to-know basis. If and when he wanted to tell me the full story, I was sure he would.

Daryl and I had met in elementary school. It was a school that someone with Daryl's address shouldn't have been attending, but his mom, who was a maid, wanted so much more than his local public school could provide. So, she secretly enrolled Daryl into one of the better suburban schools using the address of one of her employers. She wanted Daryl to rub elbows with kids from a different socioeconomic class. One of those kids just happened to be me, and from the moment we met in Mrs. Moran's first grade class, we were pretty much inseparable.

Pop had taken such a liking to my new playmate that when the school system busted his mom for faking their residence and kicked him out, Pop took it upon himself to find her a place in the district. He later paid for Daryl to study abroad at Chi's Male Academy with me. He then hired Daryl as the family's troubleshooter when we graduated. It was a job that he excelled at, until this chick Crystal aborted his baby. He kind of went off the deep end emotionally for a while, and decided to go out on his own. Unfortunately, it didn't take him long to get himself hemmed up in some trouble and land in the city lockup. By the time he got out, I'd been sent away for a while myself, so Daryl and I hadn't seen each other in a long time.

“I knew you'd understand my postcard,” Daryl said. I looked down at the Star of David he wore around his neck and had to laugh. Daryl was a Black Hebrew Israelite, or, for lack of a better word, a Black Jew. In Chi's school, his code name was Israel, and mine was Nevada. That's why, when I received the postcard with the photo of Israel on the front, I knew it was him—or a death trap. I sure was glad it turned out not to be the latter.

I tucked Bonnie back down into my holster. “Man, I can't believe you're alive.”

He clicked on the low wattage lamp on the desk. “And I can't believe you're out of jail,” he said, shaking his head. We stood there for a minute, grinning at each other like two long lost brothers finally reunited.

“This is a cause for a celebration.” He walked over to the mini bar, grabbed two glasses and a bottle.

“Hennessey,” I said as I watched him pour his favorite drink. “You always did like this ghetto shit.”

“You know it.” He turned around with a glass in each hand. “Sit.” He nodded toward the small couch. I walked over and took a seat, while he sat across from me in a chair.

In spite of the time that had passed since we last saw each other, Daryl and I were close enough that I knew I didn't have to bother with formalities. I skipped all small talk and got right to my point.

“Dee, I really need your help. My family needs your help.”

He raised an eyebrow as he downed another sip of Hennessey. “What kind of help? What's going on, man?”

“You ever heard of a dude named Brother X?”

Daryl almost choked on his drink, which confirmed much of what I'd already suspected about the man we were up against.

“Yeah, I've heard of him,” Daryl said. “He's one bad- ass dude with a lot of bad-ass dudes behind him. Y'all aren't doing business with him, are you? This bastard ain't nobody to play with.” He placed his empty glass on the table and poured himself a refill.

“Then you can imagine how he's reacting to Junior screwing his wife.” I gulped down the last of my drink.

“Screwing his wife?” Daryl shouted, then glanced over toward the bedroom door and lowered his voice. “Damn, never a dull moment with the Duncans.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied in frustration. “So you can see why I need you to come back.”

Without taking even a moment to think about it, Daryl shook his head. “I wish I could, bro. I really do. You know I'd do anything for the fam, but—”

“Honey? Is everything okay?” A female voice came from the bedroom.

We both turned toward the sound, and I saw the silhouette of a woman standing in the doorway, bathed in the glow of light from the television that was now turned on in there.

“Everything's fine, baby. Come over here. I want you to meet somebody,” Daryl said.

The woman who walked into the room and placed a hand on Daryl's shoulder was thin and frail. She looked to be about sixty years old. If I didn't already know his mom, I would have guessed that this lady was Daryl's mother.

“Vegas Duncan, I'd like you to meet my wife, Connie.”

It took a lot of effort to conceal the shock of hearing that my boy was married to this little old lady. Back in the day, Daryl could get pretty much any chick he wanted, and he usually went for the hottest ones around. This woman was a far cry from that.

“Nice to meet you Vegas, I've heard so much—” The woman started a coughing fit that I watched Daryl coax her through with more love than I'd given him credit for. I was honestly impressed and more than a little surprised.

“It's nice to meet you too, Connie,” I said, taking her frail hand when she stopped coughing.

“Well, I'm going to leave you boys to talk.” She kissed Daryl's forehead. “Love you. Don't stay up too late.”

“Love you too,” Daryl said. “And please make sure you turn the oxygen on, babe.”

Even after she closed the bedroom door, I could still hear the sickly woman coughing. My uneasiness must have been written on my face, because Daryl came to her defense in a hurry.

“Don't judge her. I love her.”

“Enough to marry her?”

“Yeah, can you believe it?”

“Honestly,” I said, “I can't.”

A deep sadness passed over him. “She's got cancer, Vegas. She only has a short time to live, and I'm going to be here for her, no matter what. Which is why I was about to tell you that I can't come back.”

I pressed a little harder, not wanting to accept his decision as final. It may sound cold, considering how sick his wife was, but my family was in dire circumstances. “Dee, please. The family needs you. I need you, bro.”

“I'm sorry. She's been too good to me. She's been there for me when I needed her most. You know you and the family mean the world to me. I owe you all more than I could ever repay you in a lifetime, but I won't abandon her, man. She's my family too.”

I have to say I was a little disappointed in Daryl. As tight as we had been, and as much as my father had done for him over the years, I never would have expected him to say no when I came looking for him. But I saw that he wasn't going to change his mind. Daryl had family of his own now, and he needed to tend to her. I decided to let things rest—at least for now.