The Family Business

The steel doors opened, and a large, bald-headed black man holding a sawed-off shotgun gestured for me to come in. The man’s name was Kennedy, and he, along with two other knuckleheads, worked directly for my brother Junior. They were assigned the duty of keeping secure the fifty-plus classic cars my father had collected over the years. Kennedy and his men also doubled as muscle for our family during times of trouble. They were all highly trained and would give up their lives to protect Junior and our family without a second thought.

“Hey, Miss Paris,” one of the men said, lifting his head from the desk where he’d been sleeping.

“What are you doing, Freddy? Sleeping on the job again? Wait till I see Junior,” I scolded halfheartedly. I wasn’t about to snitch on him, because I liked Freddy. He wasn’t much to look at, but he was a nice guy and knew how to handle a gun under pressure—something I admired in any man.

“No, no, I was just resting my eyes. Whatchu here for, anyway?” He walked over and gave me a hug.

“Business,” I replied, turning toward the bolted door to the room where they were holding Miguel. “Our guest doin’ all right in there?”

“Yeah, he’s a’ight. I gave him something to eat about an hour ago. Junior just said to keep him tied up until someone from the family called or came by,” Kennedy replied.

“Well, here I am.”

I took a step toward the door but was cut off by the third man’s rolling office chair. His name was Kareem, and he was a good-looking brown-skinned man about my age. I’d given him some ass a couple of years ago, but that nigger didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. He was lucky that shit didn’t get back to my brother, or I would have killed his ass.

“Where you think you’re going?” Kareem asked, blocking my way.

“To see the prisoner. You gonna let me by, or are you gonna stand here and jack off for shits and giggles? Lord knows your dick’s small enough to make a bitch laugh.”

Both Kennedy and Freddy started cracking up.

“What you trying to say? That shit ain’t funny,” Kareem barked.

“If that shit wasn’t funny, then you better talk to your boys, ’cause they sure as hell laughing. Now, open the damn door and get your ass out my way before I move it for you. I told you I have business with that man.”

He stood his ground, until Freddy said, “Yo, man, you better let her pass before she fucks you up. You know she’s not someone to play with.” Freddy shook his head at Kareem’s stupidity.

Kareem moved aside, mumbling under his breath, and Kennedy walked over and unlocked the door. I entered with both Kennedy and his shotgun on my heels.

“I need to speak with him. Alone.”

“You sure?” He looked surprised by my request. “Junior said that man is dangerous.”

Yeah, maybe with his tongue and dick, I thought. I glanced at Miguel, who was lying motionless in his underwear across the bed. He was blindfolded, and his hands were tied behind his back.

“Is that what you think?”

“Well ... yeah,” he said with a shrug. “Dude’s down with them Mexicans. Can’t take no chances with that.”

“He’s tied up, for crying out loud. What’s he going to do? Shoot me with his big toe? Don’t worry. I can handle him. Just wait outside,” I ordered.

Kennedy hesitated for a moment, probably wondering whether he should challenge me, but deciding against it. “A‘ight, if you say so. But if he gets outta hand, just holler and we’ll come runnin’,” he offered.

I might holler, but you better not come running in until I’m finished.

He exited the room, and I closed the door behind him. I stepped out of my heels and headed to the bed, treading softly across the cement floor. I stopped alongside the bed, taking a moment to quietly observe him as he slept. I took in all his sexy-ass tattoos that covered his back. He was bruised and beaten, there was no question about that, but not broken. I was actually surprised they had let him sleep. My daddy was getting soft, though I’d never say it to his face. Five years ago Miguel would have told him everything he wanted to know by now, or they would have dumped his lifeless body somewhere in a landfill on Long Island.

Carl Weber with Eric Pete's books