The Family Business 3(35)
I was reminded of why the little part of me that did like Harris could tolerate him. He was so damn good at following Duncan orders. He backed right the f*ck up.
I walked back over to Orlando, who was now by himself, staring up at a television. My mother had released him, and she was now consoling Paris, who’d just arrived with Sasha.
“You see this shit?” Orlando said.
I looked up at the screen to see a breaking news story about the shooting at the Marriott. Thank God it was being reported as a gang-related event.
“O, what happened?” I asked, pulling him over to a row of chairs where we could talk alone.
“I . . . don’t know.” He dropped his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes as if it could erase the images of all that he had seen. “We had just finished our meeting with Popeye and Tony. Pop went outside to smoke a cigar, and I went to my office to see if I could reach Junior. Ten minutes later . . . Bam!” He looked up at me, his eyes wet with tears. “He was just lying there, Vegas. I didn’t even know if he was still alive.”
“You think it was X and his people?”
A look of fury passed over his face. “Who else? Vegas, I’m gonna kill that son of—”
“Excuse me.” A deep-voiced doctor interrupted us as he stepped into the room and announced, “I’m Doctor Hondo.” He was scanning the notes on the chart in his hand.
Everyone raced over to the doctor. “How is he?” my mother asked, revealing her desperation for the first time. “How is my husband?”
“Not much has changed. He’s still in surgery. We’re doing all we can. There was a lot of blood loss,” the doctor said.
“Doc, come on,” I said, urging him to keep it straight with us. “Truthfully, is he going to make it?”
He removed his glasses and looked me dead in the eye. “We’ve got our best people in there, but if you believe in prayer, now would be the time to pray,” he said with no emotion whatsoever, then he turned and left the room.
I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to wipe away any expression that would give away the true fear I felt. I had to remain strong for my family.
Orlando and I went back over to the chairs to continue our conversation, but my mother was right behind us.
“How are my boys doing?” she said, sitting down next to me and putting an arm around my shoulder.
“Never mind us. How are you?” I said.
She looked to me then Orlando. “I’ll be better when this is taken care of. Do you understand?” Even with the doctor’s news, she was standing strong as ever. The fight in her overpowered her pain—a true Duncan trait.
“I got this, Ma,” I said. “I promise I’ll take care of it.”
“I know you will, Vegas. Orlando, give him whatever help he needs. I don’t care what it costs or who has to die. I want this taken care of sooner rather than later.” She walked away, leaving me and O to take in her words.
“You heard, her little brother. It’s time to make some moves. X has his way of fighting, and so do we.” Orlando didn’t say anything. Technically my little brother was in charge of the family business, but as the older and more experienced brother, it was my job to bring down our father’s shooter.
Chippy
22
I had no idea how long I’d been sitting in a chair in the corner of LC’s hospital room, willing him to open his eyes. At one point, I’d approached his bed and pulled the bottom of the sheets up to watch his feet, hoping he’d just wiggle a toe. Exasperated and feeling defeated, I went back to the chair and squeezed my eyes shut. It was the only way I knew to keep the tears from falling. Once they started, there would be no stopping them, but with the children coming in and out to check on LC, I needed to keep my poker face. I had to be strong for them, to let them know that everything was going to be all right—although the poor prognosis made that so hard to do. The doctors didn’t sound hopeful, so no matter what I portrayed for my kids, inside I was breaking into a million little pieces.
When the door opened, I figured it was the nurse coming in to check his vitals for the thousandth time that day. I’d spent every waking moment at my husband’s side in the ICU, so I’d witnessed for myself the sad reality that there were no changes, no signs of improvement. I didn’t even bother to open my eyes to greet the nurse; instead, I started praying for a miracle.
When I heard the sound of a chair scraping gently across the floor, I opened my eyes to see Rio taking a seat next to the bedside. I started to say something to him, but then he started talking to LC, and I knew it was best to let my son have his moment alone with his father.
Rio and LC had a tough relationship. LC loved Rio, but he came up in a time when it was wholly unacceptable for a man to be homosexual, so he’d had a very hard time regaining his footing when Rio came out to us. It probably didn’t help that his first three sons were alpha males, mirroring their father in so many ways. They played sports, shot guns, and were hyper competitive. Our oldest three boys were homing pigeons for beautiful women, which accounted for this mess we were in right now.
Rio, on the other hand, was quite unlike his father, and it made it so difficult for them to communicate. Often it seemed like Rio didn’t feel brave enough to open up to LC, so if he wanted to talk now, I would keep my eyes closed and let him have his moment with LC. After all, none of us knew when it might be the last time we could speak to him.