The Family Business

To lighten the mood a bit, I asked, “So, since your papers are a little funny, does that mean that anytime you won’t do what I say, I can just threaten to call immigration on you?”


Luckily, she understood I was joking, and she joined right in. “Mr. Orlando, I’m not afraid of you. Besides, you never have to worry about me refusing to do whatever you want me to do for—or with—you.” With that, she picked up another shrimp and did that thing with her tongue again.

For the rest of the meal, we kept the conversation pretty light. Any time a subject seemed to make her uncomfortable, I changed it in a hurry. Ruby gave off this air of vulnerability that just made me want to protect her. At the same time, she exuded a sexuality and a confidence about herself that just made me want to peel off her dress and make love to her right on the table in the restaurant. This woman had me going in so many different directions at once that I didn’t even notice my brother walk into the restaurant until he was standing directly in front of me, looking ready to punch somebody.

“Yo, uh, Junior ...” I glanced at Ruby, who was looking nervously up at Junior’s hulking presence. “What are you doing here, man?” This was not exactly the kind of restaurant my brother frequented, especially since it was way the hell out on Long Island, where my family rarely went.

He shot a disdainful glance at Ruby and shook his head. “I shoulda known you was with a b—”

“Junior!” I stopped him before he could call Ruby a bitch. “I said, what are you doing here? And what is your problem, man?”

“What I’m doing here is trying to find you, fool. Good thing I put that damn GPS tracker on your car last time it was in the shop. Why the hell aren’t you answering your phone?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. I addressed the phone first; the idea that he was tracking me would be dealt with later. “My damn phone ain’t rung once since I’ve been here.” I looked to Ruby. “Isn’t that right, Ruby?”

She didn’t answer, and the strange look on her face told me I was about to find out something I wouldn’t like.

“Ruby?” I said again.

“I’m sorry,” she admitted. “When you went to the men’s room, your phone kept ringing and then a few texts came in. We were ...” She glanced quickly at Junior, maybe to be sure he wasn’t ready to hit her. “We were having such a nice conversation. I didn’t want it to be disturbed by phone calls. I didn’t think you’d mind if I turned off your phone.”

I shook my head and counted to ten as I gripped the sides of the table to keep myself from going off. I could not believe I was about to get cursed out again by my old man for not answering my phone, and it wasn’t even my fault.

I was almost afraid to ask Junior, “What were you calling for?”

He tilted his head in the direction of the door, so I got up and followed him outside, where we could have some more privacy. I didn’t even look in Ruby’s direction as I left.

Outside, Junior blurted out, “The shipment’s been hijacked. Somebody stole the truck with the Roadster on it.”

I suddenly wished I hadn’t eaten so much at dinner, because I felt like I was about to throw up. “Not the shipment. Tell me you’re fucking kidding around.”

Junior shook his head solemnly. “Dude, I would not joke about this. Pop is damn near ready to have a heart attack.”

As the recently appointed head of Duncan Motors, I had to keep my bearings. I wanted to flip out, but I tried to remain calm as I asked, “Okay, look, any idea who could’ve done it?”

“Nope, but Pop wants us all back at the dealership ASAP. I’m sure he’s got some thoughts.”

“I’ve got a few of my own. I’ll meet you back at the shop.”

“Cool. Don’t take too long,” Junior said.

“Don’t worry. I won’t,” I said over my shoulder as I headed back into the restaurant.

Carl Weber with Eric Pete's books