“Why did you kill that boy?”
To me, the answer was simple. “Because he was a liar and had double-crossed us, Daddy. He stole our shipment, and he had to pay the price. I didn’t do it for myself. I did it for you.” I still couldn’t understand what the hell everybody was so worked up about. It wasn’t like this was the first time I’d taken care of business for the family. Apparently, Daddy felt like I’d overstepped my position.
“I don’t remember naming you my successor,” he said. “And I sure as hell didn’t tell you to shoot Miguel. Since when did you start calling the shots around here?”
“I don’t.”
“You damn right you don’t. That’s my job. I give the orders.”
My body tensed in anticipation. I knew I was about to get hit again. It was the only way, short of killing me, that he could save face in front of his men. I understood his reason, but I wasn’t a glutton for punishment. I had to state my case.
“Daddy, I was just sending a message to Alejandro and anyone else who wants to mess with the Duncans. We are not to be fucked with!”
He looked like he wanted to smile, but instead he mocked me with his laughter. “Sent a message? Sent a fuckin’ message? You don’t send messages around here unless I say so. Do you even know who that boy was?”
“Yeah, he was Alejandro’s messenger boy and a thief,” I replied, although doubt was starting to creep in. Usually, I could talk my way out of any situation with Daddy, but this time he was mad as hell. Had I killed a Fed? Had I slept with a Fed? Fuck.
Then Daddy told me who he was, and it was much, much worse than a Fed.
“Paris, he was Alejandro’s son. Do have any idea how badly you screwed up?”
“Oh. No.” I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. “I ... I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t know! It’s not your job to know! You’re trained to kill, Paris, but only when I say so. What do you think Alejandro is going to want now in exchange for his son’s death?”
I didn’t reply, but I knew the answer.
“You’ve started a fucking war ... and the only way out is to give them the life of someone in our family.”
I spoke in a terrified whisper. “What are you saying, Daddy?”
He reached in his jacket and pulled out a .38, pointing it directly at my head.
This couldn’t be happening. A few hours ago I was getting fucked by a hot Latin man, and now here I was, with my father holding a gun to my head. I refused to accept that this was real. Daddy wouldn’t kill me. I was his baby girl, the apple of his eye, the child that could do no wrong. Still, Daddy had taught me a rule a long time ago, and now his words were ringing in my head: Never pull out your gun unless you plan on using it.
“Paris, you’re turning into more of a problem than a problem solver. And we can’t have that.” He looked like he was about to cry. “I sent you to the best schools in Europe. Paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to have the very best teachers mold you into a woman of substance. You were supposed to be better than all the rest, and look how you turned out.”
I gathered my nerve and tried to talk some sense into him. It was my only hope of survival. “Let’s be real, Daddy. I turned out just the way you wanted me to. You didn’t send me to boarding school over there in Europe. You sent me to mercenary school, and I’m just a product of my environment. You didn’t want me to be a linguist like London, or a chemist like Orlando, and you wanted something different than Junior. And that’s what you got—a killer nobody would see coming. Your own personal hit woman.”
In his eyes, I thought I saw his resolve wavering, so I went for his sentimental side. “I’m your baby girl. All I ever wanted to do was please you. So, if it’s going to make you happy by pulling that trigger, then do what you gotta do, because I love you, Daddy.” I closed my eyes and waited for the end to come.
Orlando
35