“Sir,” I said, turning around with a mixture of fear and dread. Bernie had threatened to bring him to our next meeting, but I had hoped he wasn’t going to show up.
I stood up and bowed my head in a gesture of respect. Once upon a time, we had both followed the Nation of Islam, but when Minister Farah returned from teaching in Europe, his vision had changed. He taught me his new philosophy of black economic empowerment, which truly meant “by any means necessary.” On that day, the Islamic Black Panther Party was born, with me as its figurehead leader. Minister Farah maintained the appearance of being part of the Nation of Islam. He kept his involvement in the IBPP so deep underground that even my top men didn’t know who he was.
He walked up on me. We were face to face—well, not literally, as I towered over the man who was even smaller in stature than the Jew. He looked at me for a moment like a father welcoming his son home, but then, in a swift move, the palm of his hand connected with my check so forcefully that I thought my head might spin around. I would never have expected him to be able to throw such a powerful blow.
He looked down at my fists, which were balled up out of reflex.
“Oh, what? You want to get physical with me?” He hit me three times: once in the ribs, once on the thigh, and a kick to my knee, paralyzing my left side momentarily. He had to have hit pressure points. “Is that what you want?”
“No, no, no.” I raised my open palms in a gesture of surrender.
He snickered, knowing I’d never lay hands on him.
“We gave you Vegas on a silver platter the other night. How the hell did you screw that up?” he asked.
“We?” I questioned, looking over at Bernie.
“Don’t play stupid,” Minister Farah said. “You know the information came from me.”
He was right. If I’d thought about it, I would have known that. Seemed like I’d been slipping a lot these days, starting with the way I’d slipped up and underestimated the Duncans. When this whole thing started, I thought I was dealing with a bunch of car salesmen. Sonya’s infidelity had really thrown me off my game.
“I’m sorry. But he had help.”
“Of course he had help,” Farah shot back. “Daryl Graham is back in town. But that doesn’t change the fact that Vegas should be dead right now. I will not stand for failure, Xavier. Do you think I fed you all that information about your wife and Junior Duncan just so you could get revenge for a man sleeping with your wife?” he asked me.
“It has always been about LC Duncan. Junior, he’s no threat. He’s soft. He has a heart. LC Duncan and Vegas are ruthless, and neither of them want to give up H.E.A.T. Now, we’ve got Orlando ready to give us what we want, and with LC on his death bed, all we need is Vegas dead.” He stared at me like he was a ten-foot tall giant looking down on me. “You got that?”
“Yes, sir.” I bowed my head, reiterating the respect I had for him.
“Then get the hell out of here!” he shouted. “Leave us grown folks to talk, and close the door behind you . . . boy.”
I turned toward the door and hurried out. It didn’t go unnoticed that Elijah paused before following me—almost as if he didn’t want to follow me anymore.
Sasha
46
The way he’d gripped the ends of that rope and tied my wrists together, I knew those were some strong hands that could do magic. I just never imagined they’d be cupping my breasts the way they were now.
Hell, who was I kidding? Sure I had. I had imagined that and more from the moment I saw Elijah—once I took my eyes off the gun that was being aimed at my head. Brother Elijah was one fine-looking man. He couldn’t hide from me what I knew was under that bowtie and suit. Almost made a sistah want to convert.