“Pop! Pop! He’s no good to us dead.” I could feel Orlando trying to pry my fingers from around Miguel’s neck as he pleaded with me. I released Miguel, and he fell to the ground in a fetal position.
“There was supposed to be a shipment of two hundred ki’s of Alejandro’s best product stowed in that car. Ki’s that are bought and paid for and belong to me. I want my shit, Miguel.” I kicked him hard in the gut, and when he tried to crawl away from me, I kicked him again.
“Se?or Duncan, I swear, I had nothing to do with this. Por favor,” Miguel pleaded. At this point, I didn’t give a shit what he had to say. I just needed a place to take out my aggression, so I kept kicking him repeatedly until I was too tired to kick him anymore.
I grabbed him by the hair and, with Lou’s help, lifted him back into the chair. I patted Miguel on his shoulder as a father would his son. “You say you have nothing to do with it? Well, I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we? And God help you if you did, ’cause I still haven’t forgotten that you slept with my daughter.”
Harris
25
I will never forget the day that I learned the truth about my wife’s family business. When I first met her, I saw the Duncans just like the rest of the gullible, admiring public did—as legitimate businessmen who’d made it big by selling cars. Their wealth was something to be admired among black families in Queens—but that was only because they did an exceptional job of hiding their dirty little secret.
Their family business was based on a union of three things: cars, drugs, and violence. LC had taken a legitimate car dealership and a lucrative exotic auto transportation business and turned them into a front to supply New York City and most of the Northeast with all the illicit drugs they could handle. The operation was backed up and enforced by a criminal enterprise of loyal men and women willing to do whatever it took to make the almighty dollar. There are still times when I look in the mirror and wonder how I let myself get so deeply involved in all of it.
It was a week before my wedding, and LC had asked London to have me stop by his office for a little chat. I didn’t think much of it, assuming he wanted to have one of those father-of-the-bride conversations. You know, “Take good care of my little girl” and all of that. I was a little nervous to meet with LC, because I hadn’t spent much time with him up to that point. Except for a couple of family gatherings during the holidays, London never seemed to want to bring me around her family. At the time I just figured they were a little more dysfunctional than she wanted me to know about, but I would soon find out the truth. She didn’t want me to know she was the offspring of one the biggest drug dealers on the East Coast. That kind of thing might have put a slight damper on our marriage plans, you know?
When I arrived at LC’s office, he asked me to take a ride with him to South Jamaica. During the drive, just as I expected, he went into this speech about how much family meant to him and his wife, then went on and on about how much he loved his daughter.
“You know, Harris, I like you, and I’m really happy London found you. You seem like a nice kid with a good head on your shoulders,” he said as we parked in front of a Crown Fried Chicken.