The Family Business 3 (The Family Business #3)(18)

“Okay, Brother Samuel, send him in.” I gestured to Elijah to take a seat. “This should be interesting.”

A few moments later, eighty-year-old Bernie Goldman and two rather tough-looking Jewish men in yarmulkes entered the room. Bernie was a frail, dark-suited Hassidic Jew adorned with the standard hat, long beard, and curled sideburns.

“Xavier, it’s good to see you among free men,” he said, his Yiddish accent as strong as ever. He took the seat directly across from me, and his two bodyguards positioned themselves behind him like pillars.

“You’ve come a long way, Bernie. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You know we do not like to get into your personal business; however, it has come to our attention that you’re planning on killing a man by the name of Junior Duncan.”

Bernie claimed not to like getting into my personal business, but he damn sure made it his business to know what any one of his associates was up to at all times. Hell, he hadn’t become as powerful as he was for no reason. Knowledge was power. For that reason, I wasn’t tripping over the fact that he knew what was up.

“You can already consider him dead,” I said nonchalantly.

Bernie erupted in a coughing fit, and one of the bodyguards patted him on the back. It took the old man a minute to stop coughing and catch his breath before he spoke again. “I think that would be unwise.”

“Who are you to tell us what to do? We don’t take orders from no Jews.” Elijah flexed his muscles, challenging Bernie’s bodyguards to make a move. He hated white people more than anybody I’d ever met, but more than anything, he hated Jews.

Bernie sat back in his chair calmly, dusting off his hat before addressing Elijah like he was a child. “If you don’t know who I am and who I represent by now, young man, then perhaps it’s time you replace Xavier in prison and find out. I can have that arranged for you by week’s end if you’d like.” Elijah’s face went blank and Bernie, satisfied, turned to speak to me.

“I know this situation with your wife is important to you, but our mutual friend is concerned about what a war with LC Duncan will do to what we have built.”

His comment had me confused, and Elijah said what I was thinking. “LC Duncan is a car salesman. He’s no threat to us.”

Without glancing at Elijah, Bernie leaned forward and said to me, “LC Duncan wants you to think he’s a car salesman, but if you kill his son, you will see that he is much, much more.”

“What are you saying?” I asked, pissed off and a little embarrassed that I had badly misjudged this situation. “Are you trying to tell me the Duncans are connected?”

Bernie shot a dismissive glance in Elijah’s direction. “I’m saying that for a very smart man, you allowed your right hand to make two crucial mistakes. Number one, he should have spoken to us first. We would have told him—and you—who the Duncans are. Two, if you were going to kill Junior Duncan, you should have just done it and not let him or his family know you were coming. Your arrogance in this matter has exposed you and us immensely. Now they’ve had time to prepare.”

“So if they aren’t just a bunch of nigga-rich car dealers, then who are they?”

He paused, looking up toward the ceiling as if he would find the right words to describe them up there. “How about the most respected drug distributors on the East Coast? They have ties to the Italians, Russians, Mexicans, Dominicans, and Asians, as well as with me and my people. And you should know that they’ve reached out to all of their allies about their recent problem with you and your organization.”

I glanced over at Elijah, who was avoiding eye contact at the moment. Bernie was right; he should have known who the Duncans were. I would deal with that mistake later. For now, I had to learn all I could about what I was up against.

“And what has been the response from his allies?”

“Nobody wants a war. It’s not good for business. Most of them have decided to stay on the sidelines for now, but if they had to choose sides, I don’t think you would fare well. You provide a necessary service, but the Duncans are a cash cow that makes us all a great deal of money. Although . . . I’m sure many of them wouldn’t mind seeing the Blacks kill each other off so they can pick up the scraps, if you know what I mean.”

I knew exactly what he meant, but it didn’t change the fact that I was going to kill Junior Duncan. “And you? What do you and your people want?”

“That is an interesting question. To be quite frank, we want what you want, but we want you to do it smart.”

“I’m listening.”

“You want to kill Junior. Well, we’re suggesting you make life easier for yourself—and us—by eliminating his father first.”

“You want us to kill LC Duncan?”

Bernie leaned back smugly in his chair. “Who are we to tell you anything, Xavier? You’ve always been your own man. Still, logic dictates that if you cut off the head, it’s much easier to kill the rest of the snake.”

I shook my head. “Bernie, you are one cold piece of work. Here I am thinking you’ve come to stop me from killing Junior, and instead you tell me to kill his whole family.” We laughed together briefly, but I cut it short, announcing, “It’s gonna cost you one million dollars.”

“Huh. A million dollars for what?” He sat up, looking pained at the thought.