The Family Business 3 (The Family Business #3)(60)

I turned to Olga. “I need to speak to Boris.”

“He is busy,” the old man barked in a thick Russian accent, expecting that to send us scurrying back out the door.

I ignored him, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. I placed it on the counter and looked directly at Olga. “You must be his mother, Olga. He speaks very highly of you and your meat pies.”

“How do you know my son?” she asked as the hundred-dollar bill disappeared into her apron.

“We spent some time Upstate together. He said if I ever needed to speak to him, I should come here. Can you please tell him that Vegas Duncan is here to see him?”

“Wait here,” she ordered and then turned and walked to the back of the shop. She whispered in the old man’s ear, and he slipped into the back. Olga returned to the counter, and we ordered the sour cherry baklava and some caramel cakes, more to stay busy and not look like two pussies while we waited.

By the time we finished paying for our goods, the old man returned and directed us to the back. We left our pastries on the counter and followed him through the back door, into a room where there were at least five sets of tables filled with men playing cards.

The old man pointed at another door, where we found Boris. He was working in a converted storeroom barely big enough to fit all three of us. Orlando glanced at me, and I knew what he was thinking right away. Boris did not look like a person who could help us out of our current situation. He had no idea who Boris and his family were.

“Vegas Duncan.” Boris spoke with a deep Brooklyn accent, his Russian almost non-existent, since he’d spent the majority of his youth in America. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We’ve got a huge f*cking problem, man. I need you to speak to your uncle and have him call off his dog.”

“I’ve heard. Things have not been good for the Duncans,” he remarked. “What I don’t understand is how your problem with Brother X is our problem.”

“Our families have known each other a long time. Your uncle and my father have done business for a long time. You and me have done business recently and made a lot of money,” I reminded him. “That relationship could come to an end if things keep going the way they have been.” I had to explain it in economic terms he would understand—and the only terms he would truly care about. His help was necessary to the future of my family’s business, but he wouldn’t care about that unless he understood how our future was intertwined with his.

He settled in behind his desk. “What are you asking, Vegas?”

“That you and your people align yourself with us.”

“That’s asking a lot.” Of course I knew it was, which was why I had chosen to have this conversation in person in the first place.

“I was told this is an issue amongst Blacks,” he continued.

I wasn’t surprised by his comment. No one, no matter how gangster, is going to jump into someone else’s battle unless he thinks it’s going to benefit him in some way. The good thing, though, was that he hadn’t come right out and said no. I just had to explain the stakes to him in terms he understood.

“X’s men burned up three million dollars’ worth of weed that was supposed to be allocated to you and your people. He burned your shipment to the ground, Boris.”

His eyes narrowed to angry slits. Boris was one of the biggest marijuana wholesalers in the country. Clearly word had gotten back to him about our warehouse fire.

“Still think it’s only amongst us Blacks?”

“Are you saying we will not receive a shipment this month?” He studied me closely, our history right there on the table. I could tell that he was weighing all his options in his mind. I needed to give him one more reason to see the advantage in siding with the Duncans.

“I’m saying that we’re going to take care of our friends first—the people that are aligned with us, not those who are sitting on the sidelines while a psychopath tries to take down our family and our business.”

“This is a big decision, not one that I can make on my own.” It was not a definitive answer, but at least now I knew what side of the fence he was leaning on. “I just want to know what your terms are.” It was always about money.

I breathed a sigh of relief.





By the time Orlando and I exited the bakery, things were a little better.

“That wasn’t their shipment that burned in that warehouse. That was our reserve,” Orlando said as we crossed the street.

“Oh, it wasn’t? You should have told me that while we were in there.” I laughed, patting him on the back. “I’m sure Boris would have wanted to know that.”

Orlando looked at me with the same admiration he had for me as a kid. “I like your style, Vegas.”

“Our style, little brother. Our style.”

“Now what?” Orlando asked, showing me that he trusted me.

“Now we meet with the Italians. Tomorrow you’re going to meet with the Jews, and I’m going to meet with the Asians,” I answered as we got into the car and headed to our next destination.





Brother X





41


Elijah and I headed into the south entrance of Prospect Park around eleven o’clock in the morning, wearing dark glasses and baseball caps pulled low to avoid being recognized. Joggers, bikers, nannies pushing strollers, as well as older couples taking a morning walk, all parted like the Red Sea as Elijah and I came down the paved trail. We stopped for a hot dog at one of the vending carts, a treat I’d long missed being locked up. There was nothing like a good old-fashioned kosher hot dog, piled with sauerkraut, onions, and a good helping of spicy mustard, washed down with a grape soda.