The Family Business 3 (The Family Business #3)(15)

“You know, you really had me f*cked up when I heard you were dead. I was crying and the whole nine.”

He broke the hug. “Sorry about that, man, but it was important that people thought I was dead.”

I didn’t press for details, because I knew Daryl well enough to understand that just like mine, his life was complicated, and sometimes things were on a need-to-know basis. If and when he wanted to tell me the full story, I was sure he would.

Daryl and I had met in elementary school. It was a school that someone with Daryl’s address shouldn’t have been attending, but his mom, who was a maid, wanted so much more than his local public school could provide. So, she secretly enrolled Daryl into one of the better suburban schools using the address of one of her employers. She wanted Daryl to rub elbows with kids from a different socioeconomic class. One of those kids just happened to be me, and from the moment we met in Mrs. Moran’s first grade class, we were pretty much inseparable.

Pop had taken such a liking to my new playmate that when the school system busted his mom for faking their residence and kicked him out, Pop took it upon himself to find her a place in the district. He later paid for Daryl to study abroad at Chi’s Male Academy with me. He then hired Daryl as the family’s troubleshooter when we graduated. It was a job that he excelled at, until this chick Crystal aborted his baby. He kind of went off the deep end emotionally for a while, and decided to go out on his own. Unfortunately, it didn’t take him long to get himself hemmed up in some trouble and land in the city lockup. By the time he got out, I’d been sent away for a while myself, so Daryl and I hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

“I knew you’d understand my postcard,” Daryl said. I looked down at the Star of David he wore around his neck and had to laugh. Daryl was a Black Hebrew Israelite, or, for lack of a better word, a Black Jew. In Chi’s school, his code name was Israel, and mine was Nevada. That’s why, when I received the postcard with the photo of Israel on the front, I knew it was him—or a death trap. I sure was glad it turned out not to be the latter.

I tucked Bonnie back down into my holster. “Man, I can’t believe you’re alive.”

He clicked on the low wattage lamp on the desk. “And I can’t believe you’re out of jail,” he said, shaking his head. We stood there for a minute, grinning at each other like two long lost brothers finally reunited.

“This is a cause for a celebration.” He walked over to the mini bar, grabbed two glasses and a bottle.

“Hennessey,” I said as I watched him pour his favorite drink. “You always did like this ghetto shit.”

“You know it.” He turned around with a glass in each hand. “Sit.” He nodded toward the small couch. I walked over and took a seat, while he sat across from me in a chair.

In spite of the time that had passed since we last saw each other, Daryl and I were close enough that I knew I didn’t have to bother with formalities. I skipped all small talk and got right to my point.

“Dee, I really need your help. My family needs your help.”

He raised an eyebrow as he downed another sip of Hennessey. “What kind of help? What’s going on, man?”

“You ever heard of a dude named Brother X?”

Daryl almost choked on his drink, which confirmed much of what I’d already suspected about the man we were up against.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” Daryl said. “He’s one bad-ass dude with a lot of bad-ass dudes behind him. Y’all aren’t doing business with him, are you? This bastard ain’t nobody to play with.” He placed his empty glass on the table and poured himself a refill.

“Then you can imagine how he’s reacting to Junior screwing his wife.” I gulped down the last of my drink.

“Screwing his wife?” Daryl shouted, then glanced over toward the bedroom door and lowered his voice. “Damn, never a dull moment with the Duncans.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied in frustration. “So you can see why I need you to come back.”

Without taking even a moment to think about it, Daryl shook his head. “I wish I could, bro. I really do. You know I’d do anything for the fam, but—”

“Honey? Is everything okay?” A female voice came from the bedroom.

We both turned toward the sound, and I saw the silhouette of a woman standing in the doorway, bathed in the glow of light from the television that was now turned on in there.

“Everything’s fine, baby. Come over here. I want you to meet somebody,” Daryl said.

The woman who walked into the room and placed a hand on Daryl’s shoulder was thin and frail. She looked to be about sixty years old. If I didn’t already know his mom, I would have guessed that this lady was Daryl’s mother.

“Vegas Duncan, I’d like you to meet my wife, Connie.”

It took a lot of effort to conceal the shock of hearing that my boy was married to this little old lady. Back in the day, Daryl could get pretty much any chick he wanted, and he usually went for the hottest ones around. This woman was a far cry from that.

“Nice to meet you Vegas, I’ve heard so much—” The woman started a coughing fit that I watched Daryl coax her through with more love than I’d given him credit for. I was honestly impressed and more than a little surprised.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Connie,” I said, taking her frail hand when she stopped coughing.