“Look, man, don’t talk like that. We’re gonna have you home in a flash.”
“I hope so,” Rio said. “To tell you the truth, Alejandro is getting a little antsy. He keeps making slick-ass comments out the side of his neck about my well-being.”
I tensed up. “Comments like what?”
“Never mind all that,” Rio replied. “Just tell Pop to let him speak to Miguel, for crying out loud. I’m sure that will calm his happy ass down some. I know he’s stubborn, but what’s a five-minute phone call just to make the playing field even?”
Fuck! I lowered my head. A phone call wasn’t asking too much—if only Miguel was alive to do any talking.
I didn’t have the heart to tell my baby bro that Miguel was dead, so I said, “I’ll see what I can do.” And I wasn’t lying, either. Not only was I going to see what I could do, but damn it, I was going to do it.
“Thanks, Orlando, man. I know you’ll come through for me. Pop didn’t choose you to be in charge for nothing.”
That one last vote of confidence nearly crushed me as the phone went dead. Now, if I was any kind of brother or leader of the family business, then I had to see to it that the phone line was the only thing that went dead.
“So, how is Rio?”
I turned to look up at Paris, who was standing next to me impatiently, waiting on word about her twin. Harris was sitting on the sofa across from us, and Junior stood behind him. I’d asked them to come in right after the old man left for the office. I thought it might be a good time to hear everyone’s honest opinions of our situation without Pop’s presence looming over them.
“Rio made it and he’s alive is all I can really say,” I replied.
“What do you mean, he made it? Where is Rio?” London asked as she strolled into the room. We all turned to Harris, because from her reaction, it was obvious he hadn’t told her a thing.
“Rio’s in California with Alejandro,” Harris said calmly, as if this were no big deal. “He was supposed to be a gesture of good faith while we held Miguel.”
London stopped in her tracks, and I watched the expression on her face quickly go from shock to anger. “How’s that working out for you now that Miguel’s dead?” She turned toward me. “Y’all gonna get that boy killed. Does Momma know about this?”
“No, and no one is going to tell her anything until we get him home,” I warned.
The tension in the room was terrible. Everybody was on edge, and Paris was the first to let it get the best of her. She got up in Harris’s face and screamed, “You coulda talked Daddy out of this!”
Thankfully, Harris kept his emotions in check. “We’re not all as persuasive with him as you are, Paris.”
“This is not his fault, Paris. This could all have been avoided if someone we know hadn’t killed Miguel,” I said.
“What! You shot Miguel?” London glared at Paris, who looked like she was about to break down in tears. Then London turned to Harris and let him have it. “Another secret, huh, Harris? I’m getting sick of all this mystery lately. What the fuck is up with you not telling me things?”
Harris started to get up off the sofa, until London said, “Oh, really? You gonna show out in front of my family? I dare you.” He sat right back down.
“I wasn’t trying to worry you,” Harris offered weakly as an explanation. There was definitely some unspoken shit going on between these two, but now was not the time to address it.
“And what would you recommend?” I yelled, turning my attention back to Paris. “Just go bat-shit crazy and start blazing on them?”
“Maybe. I dunno,” she said, still smoldering. “But I’m not going to let him die.”