The Family Business 3 (25 page)

Vegas and I were sitting on the trunk of the BMW 750i his mother had just given me, eating Chinese food out of the container. We'd been parked under the Van Wyck Expressway overpass for about ten minutes when three police cars, two marked and one unmarked, pulled up on either side of us.

“Here comes the cavalry,” Vegas announced as the police car doors flew open. A very familiar-looking police captain exited the unmarked car, followed by three uniformed officers. As they approached us, Vegas and I placed our Chinese food containers on the roof of the car and stepped forward.

“Vegas.” The captain nodded, offering his hand, which Vegas took. He turned his attention to me. “Daryl Graham, I thought you were dead.”

“Well, you never was that smart, were you Marks?” The two of us eyed each other, until I felt a jab in the ribs from Vegas. I hated cops, and I especially hated Marks' corrupt, greedy ass, but he had always been a Duncan ally, and they couldn't afford to lose that connection, so I backed down.

“Look, I was hoping after that mishap at the warehouse that this would somehow help.” On that note, Vegas opened the rear car door and pulled out a half-filled green trash bag that he handed over to the captain. Marks looked in the bag, nodded his head, and handed the bag to another officer a few steps behind him.

“We good?” Vegas asked.

“I'm not going to say we're one hundred, but this will go a long way to making things right.”

A long way to making it right?
There was almost two million dollars in that garbage bag, and I doubted a quarter of it would find its way into the hands of the families of those fallen officers. Realizing this truth just made me hate this corrupt, dirty motherfucker even more.

“Okay, then maybe this will make it all the way right?” Vegas nodded at me, and I hit a button on my keys that released the trunk.

Vegas motioned for Marks to follow him to the trunk. I stood back and watched Marks' face light up like a Christmas tree.

“Get the fuck outta here. Is that—?”

“Sure as hell is.”

Marks motioned for the other officers to check it out. I glanced over at Vegas, who smirked at me. He'd called it right. Turning Brother X over to the cops would be ten times worse than killing him. “We good now, Conrad?” Vegas asked.

“Better than good,” Marks replied, turning to his men. “Get his ass outta there.”

“He's got a broken jaw, so he might not do too much talking,” Vegas said with a laugh as they dragged X out of my trunk and into one of the patrol cars.

Marks shook Vegas's hand.

“Conrad,” Vegas whispered, “if he happens to end up dead, I need a body so my brother can get married without jumping through hoops.”

“You got it,” Marks said before he walked back to his car. The three cop cars rolled out, and Vegas and I went back to our Chinese food.

“So, what do you think the odds are that X will see the inside of a jail cell?” I asked.

“Not good. There's no doubt in my mind that he's going to end up dead somewhere. It just comes down to how many days he's going to have suffer,” Vegas replied.

“Damn, that there is the definition of that old saying,
a fate worse than death
.” We both laughed as I picked a shrimp out of my container.

“I guess this is all over now?” Vegas said.

“Yeah, I guess, but there's still something I can't wrap my head around.”

“What's that?” he asked.

“This whole X and Bernie thing. It just doesn't make sense to me. X was a radical Muslim, right?” Vegas nodded. “Now, from everything we've been able to put together, and from what Elijah told us, X was taking orders from Bernie Goldman. Not just a Jew, but a Hassidic Jew. What radical Muslim is going to do that?”

Vegas shrugged. “Hey, maybe it was all money related. I mean, Elijah did say Bernie put a million dollars on the table to kill Pop, and X took it. Plus, don't forget Elijah said some other brother was at their last meeting, ordering X around, so maybe that's who was really in charge.”

“Yeah, that's what worries me. Something tells me this whole thing is far from over.”

Once the war was over and word got out that Pop had returned home and may never recover from his coma, people he'd known for years began stopping by to pay their respects. Frankly, we were growing tired of the stream of visitors and wanted time alone just to be together with our family, but LC Duncan was a legend and deserved to be honored. They came from as far away as Australia and India, Europe and South America, and they all said the same thing: that our father was an honorable man who they knew they could count on. He had a reputation for saying what he meant and meaning what he said, and that alone made him stand out in our business.

People talked about their desire to continue working with him. No one mentioned him being on death's door, or discussed how long he was expected to live. In fact, all anyone wanted to talk about were the moments he had touched their lives. Pop was decidedly old school about the way he did business with a simple handshake, but once you took his hand, you were not going to mess things up.

“When your father shook someone's hand and looked them in the eye, they did whatever it took to make sure they stayed good on their word,” Willie Hopkins, a good old boy from Texas, raved as I walked him out to his car with Junior, Orlando, and Daryl. He and Pop had worked together almost from the beginning, so Willie considered him more than an associate.

“Vegas,” Willie said as he got in the back of his chauffeured Bentley, “if you turn out to be half the father that LC is, then your son is a lucky boy.”

“Thank you, Willie,” I said as I closed the door and waved good-bye.

Willie's comment got me thinking about Nevada. I hadn't had enough time to spend getting to know my son yet, although his cousins, and especially Ma, were already crazy about him. As the oldest grandchild, he seemed to have plenty of patience with his younger cousins, who wanted to monopolize all of his time. At first Paris was a little hostile because suddenly she wasn't the only one with a male heir in the house, but even she had been won over by Nevada's charm. That boy certainly reminded me a lot of myself. The whole thing happening the way it had was weird. Great, but weird. Now, if I could just get Consuela and Marie to make peace with each other.

“Hey, isn't that . . . ?” I turned to look at whatever had caught Daryl's attention. Our security team was directing a familiar black Mercedes truck to park in front next to London's Rover. Minister Farah got out of the car and came toward us, followed by a bodyguard.

Minister Farah greeted Daryl and me with a quick embrace. “Gentlemen, I'm here to pay my respects. I hope you don't mind. I also wouldn't mind meeting that son of yours, Vegas.”

He reached over and shook Junior's hand. They hadn't seen each other since our first visit to Harlem, when we went to him for advice. With everything that had happened since then, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Orlando stepped up and introduced himself. “How are you, Minister Farah? Orlando Duncan. Nice to meet you.”

“So how are you doing, Minister?” I asked.

“I'm surviving, thanks to the grace of Allah. How's your father?”

“He's the same.” I took a deep breath and left it at that.

“Pops is a warrior. He may be down, but he's not out.” Junior's words resounded through all of us, especially because we needed them to be true.

“He'd be proud of you boys and what you accomplished against Xavier. The odds were stacked against you, and you persevered.” He gave us that wizened smile that said he was proud of us as well. The four of us shared a prideful look.

“Thank you, Minister. Come in.” I led him inside, with Daryl following. Orlando and Junior stayed out in the driveway to get a break from all the sadness in the house.

We hadn't made it five feet into the house when we heard Ma's voice.

“Minister Farah, so good of you to come.” She came down the stairs, always impeccably dressed and gracious, to greet our guest.

“I am so sorry this couldn't be a happier occasion. It's been years.” He kissed my mother on both cheeks.

“Thank you so much for coming. I appreciate it.”

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, taking her hand.

“Just go on in and visit with him. It's been too long.” She turned to me. “Vegas, you boys take Minister Farah in to see your father.”

Ma gave him a kiss on the cheek and then left to greet some more visitors. Daryl and I led Minister Farah to Pop's room. Sonya was in there, changing the dressing on his wound. As soon as she finished, she scooted out to give us privacy.

Minister Farah moved close to LC, staring down at him for a while. I could tell that seeing Pop in this condition affected him. He seemed out of sorts, and for a man as buttoned up as him, that was saying a lot.

“Hey, let's go back outside,” I offered, giving him an out.

“Is it that obvious?” He tried to keep his tone light, but his feet were almost at the door.

We followed him out of the room. Minister Farah seemed to be in a real hurry, so it didn't take long before we were at the front door and then back outside.

“You all right?” Daryl asked him. He nodded, but the expression on his face worried me. Minister Farah and Pop were acquaintances, but I guess I hadn't realized that they were so much closer than that.

“To see a man that powerful stuck in the in-between is jarring,” Minister Farah said, reaching for his keys distractedly. Seeing a person in a medical crisis can affect people all kinds of ways.

He turned his attention to the basketball hoop at the side of the house. “Hey, is that your boy?”

“Yes, that's him.” Nevada was shooting hoops with Kareem and James.

“He's a fine-looking boy, Vegas. Looks just like you.”

“Yeah, he does. Doesn't he?”

The minister nodded. “Have you given any thought to letting me teach him privately? I can make a man out of him.”

“I talked to his mother about maybe letting you tutor him for a year; then, if he's ready, sending him to the school.”

“Fantastic. He'll be my most prized student.” Minister Farah looked so pleased with himself, and somewhere deep inside of me, an alarm bell started ringing.

“Well, with that being said, I'll see you gentlemen soon,” he said.

“Sure thing.” I gave him a halfhearted smile.

“Man, you better watch out,” Daryl said with a laugh after Minister Farah was gone. “I think the minister is planning on making your kid his own.” He was joking, but I was afraid it might not be too far from the truth.

“You're doing a great job. You fit right in like you've been a regular member of the staff,” said Louisa, one of the Duncans' housekeepers. When I'd checked on LC an hour ago, Louisa had helped me change his bedding. A conversation we started in the laundry room had carried on into the kitchen, where I sat watching her sweep and mop the kitchen floor while we chatted.

“Thank you so much,” I said politely, trying not to sound insulted. I wasn't there to be a regular member of the staff; I was there because I was a member of the family, or at least I would be soon, now that Xavier's body had washed up on Jones Beach two days ago. With him being pronounced dead, I was free to marry Junior and officially become a Duncan.

“Miss Sonya, Miss Sonya!” I heard a little voice calling before I saw the miniature body it belonged to. “Miss Sonya.” Mariah came bursting into the kitchen.

“What is it, Mariah?” I said. “And slow down. The floor is damp, and you might fall and get hurt.”

“I need a glass of water.”

“Water,” I said, standing. “You're making all that ruckus over water?” That must have been one parched child. Probably worked up a thirst running through the house like that. When I was little, I only got excited to beg for soda or juice.

“Not for me,” Mariah said. “It's for Pop-Pop. He wants some water.”

I halted halfway to the refrigerator, turning to look at her. “Mariah, were you in your grandfather's room?” I said, gently scolding her. That little girl loved her grandfather so much that she wanted to be in there with him all the time.

“Yes,” she replied sheepishly.

“Mariah, remember, you're not supposed to bother your grandfather. He needs his rest.” London didn't want Mariah seeing her grandfather that way. It would cause her to ask more questions than her young, inquiring mind was already asking.

“But he wants some water.”

I held the little girl's hands as I thought about how to approach this. I didn't want to say the wrong thing. She was just a child who dearly loved her grandfather. Children make up imaginary friends all the time, so I didn't find it strange that she was playing a little game involving her grandfather. After all, he spoiled the girl rotten. Of course she would want to pretend he was awake and telling her how special she was. Just like old times. She was taking it a bit far with the whole water thing, though.

“Mariah, your grandfather can't drink water from a glass. There are tubes called IVs that are giving him water.”

“They must not be working, because I was just talking to him. He said he wanted water.”

Looking down at the little girl, I realized that she seemed quite sincere. A feeling went through my body. I looked back at Louisa. She shot me a look, along with a shrug of her shoulders, that suggested maybe I should go check things out. Was it possible the little girl wasn't playing a game of make believe at all?

“You wait right here, Mariah. Let me go check on your Pop-Pop.” I let go of her hands and exited the kitchen.

The closer I got to LC's room, the more anxious I felt. By the time I reached his door, I was doing a light jog.

The door was cracked open, probably left that way by Mariah when she came looking for water. I slowly pushed the door open and walked over to LC's bed.

“Water.” His voice was weak and hoarse. He looked at me, his eyes pleading.

At first, I stood there in complete shock. I had to blink a few times to make sure I hadn't allowed my imagination to get the best of me. “Mr. Duncan,” I mumbled.

“Water,” he repeated.

“Dr. Whitmore . . .” I said it in a normal tone at first, but then I found myself running out the door and yelling for the doctor the same way Mariah had been yelling for me. “Dr. Whitmore! Dr. Whitmore!”

I saw him rushing down the hall. “What is it, Sonya?”

“It's Mr. Duncan. He's conscious.”

“What?”

“He's talking.” I moved out of the way as the doctor hurried into LC's room.

He walked over to the bed to see for himself. “Mr. Duncan, can you hear me?” He took LC's wrist to check his pulse.

LC nodded and blinked, struggling to keep his eyes open.

I had to go get the family. I couldn't let them miss this.

“Miss Chippy! Miss Chippy!” I called out. There I was, acting like a kid again. My shouting caused such a stir that practically every family member in the house came running to see what was going on.

“Sonya, what's wrong?” Miss Chippy said. She looked terrified. No doubt she was expecting to hear terrible news.

I smiled, letting her know there was nothing to fear. “It's Mr. Duncan,” I said excitedly. “He's awake.”

“What?” She placed her hand on her chest and leaned against the wall to steady herself.

“Awake,” London said as she brushed past us quickly to go into the room. Miss Chippy and I were right behind her, followed by Orlando.

“He asked for a glass of water,” I told her. “He's not just awake, but he seems to be alert.”

“Daddy,” London said, throwing her hands over her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears. Harris entered the room just in time to comfort his wife.

I looked to Orlando, who was choking back tears of joy. His face looked more relaxed than I'd seen it in weeks.

No one's emotions, however, matched the depth of feelings displayed by Miss Chippy. Dr. Whitmore moved to the side to allow her a moment with her husband. Tears poured from her eyes as she walked over to LC, placing her hands gently on his face as she leaned in to give him a kiss that communicated the strength of the deep, abiding love they shared.

He'd been in a coma for almost a month now. No one knew when, or if, he'd ever come out of it. This moment proved that LC Duncan wasn't the head of this family for nothing. It was going to take more than a couple of bullets and a coma to keep him down.

“LC,” Chippy said softly, taking his hand.

He opened his mouth and croaked out, “Water.”

Chippy smiled as if he had just said the most beautiful word she had ever heard. She looked over her shoulder at all of us. “You heard my husband,” she said, then looked lovingly back at LC. “Get my husband some water.”