The Family Business

He nodded his understanding, then headed back into his bedroom to get dressed.

As I waited for Harris, I tried to call Orlando again. This was probably the twentieth time I’d called him since we found out the shipment from Asia would not be delivered, and the twentieth time I’d reached his voice mail. He’d better have a damn good reason for not answering my calls, because if he wasn’t dead or seriously injured, I was going to kill him myself.

It wasn’t long before Harris came downstairs, retrieved his coat, and followed me to the front door. He looked tired, but then again, so did I.

“So what’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s Paris,” I told him as we headed for the BMW I’d driven home from the dealership. “She’s being detained at the Fifty-first Precinct in Brooklyn.”

“Son of a bitch! What is wrong with that girl?” Harris didn’t mask his frustration. I was sure he was sick of leaving his family in the wee hours of the night to retrieve her. “What are they holding her for now?”

I stopped in my tracks and told him, “Harris, that boy she brought to our board meeting tonight is dead.”

Shock registered on his face. “Get the fuck out of here! The councilman’s son? You’re kidding, right?”

“I only wish I was.” If he was half asleep before, he sure as hell was awake now. “Here, you drive.”

“Jesus Christ, did she do it?” Harris asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

I wasn’t surprised to hear him ask that question. I didn’t want to believe she did it, but the possibility had crossed my mind as well. I loved Paris, but we both knew that she had a lot of issues to work through and a lot of growing up to do. She had been known to make impulsive decisions that got her into trouble ever since she was Mariah’s age. Not only that, but she had a temper that only I could control—probably because she’d gotten it from me in the first place. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time she’d been held by the police and needed to be rescued. Usually, it was for fighting some woman over a man. One time it was for something as stupid as someone looking at her wrong, but not this time. This time it was because someone was dead, and we both had to wonder if Paris could have done it.

“No, I don’t think she did it,” I replied.

“Has she been charged?”

“From what the desk sergeant told me, she’s being held as a material witness. She was there when the boy got shot.”

“Well, that’s a good thing.” He placed the car in gear, and we headed down Rockaway Boulevard. “LC, this is what I’m here for. Don’t worry. We’ll get this cleared up quickly and have Paris home in no time. What did Orlando have to say?”

“Nothing. I haven’t been able to reach him.”

Harris tried to play it cool, but I could see it caught him off guard. “That’s unlike him. I hope he’s okay. Last thing we need is for him to show up missing.”

“Look, Harris, I don’t need anything else to worry about right now, okay? Let’s just focus on getting Paris away from the police. Orlando is a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

“Point taken,” he said, but that didn’t stop me from worrying about my son. Harris was right; this wasn’t like Orlando at all. If he wasn’t home when I got there, I was going to have to make a few calls.

Silence took over the car for a while as we were both lost in our thoughts about this latest situation.

After a while, Harris said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” I already knew what it was going to be about.

“It’s about Orlando.”

Yep, I should probably have my own psychic network the way I could read his mind.

“What about him?”

“You sure this whole leadership thing hasn’t gone to his head? I mean, he should be here or with Junior.... Look, I know he’s your son and the man works hard for the company, but-”

Carl Weber with Eric Pete's books