The Syndicate (19 page)

The hardwood floor was cool underneath my feet as I watched him. “Hanging on,” I said.

“We have to plan a memorial for Cory and Inez. We can't find their bodies, but we'll still send them off in style,” he said.

He was confusing me. He was way too calm. Something wasn't right. Once he was only in his boxer briefs, I walked up behind him and laid a gentle hand on his back. “Baby?”

“I was wrong for how I treated them. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't be so angry,” he said.

“Javon, where did you go? What did you do?”

He turned to look at me. “Both of them loved to dance so make sure we get a good DJ who knows how to blend different styles of music. Also, make sure nobody wears black. We'll celebrate them instead of mourn them. Can't do another drab funeral so we'll celebrate.”

At that point, I knew he wasn't going to tell me where he had been or what he'd done so I left it alone. When he pulled me into his embrace, I knew I had to trust him. Whatever he did when he was away, it was for the good of the family.

Later that night, the phone woke me up. Javon had been watching it all night. The TV was on in Mama's room. B
REAKING
N
EWS
flashed across the bottom of the screen on Fox News channel. Something or some group called the IRA had been ambushed outside a popular pub in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Several members had been gunned down. That was after a building known to be the IRA headquarters had been bombed. Javon flipped the channel to the local news station. Fox 5 was reporting another bombing at an Irish pub in Sandy Springs.

“Hello,” Javon answered.

I didn't realize he had the phone on speaker until an old, deadly, and stern voice came through. “It's done,” was all the voice said on the other end before the line went dead.

I sat in stunned silence. I didn't know what Javon had done and how he had enough pull and power to do it, but I had no words. There was an aggressive knock at Mama's bedroom door.

“Who is it?” Javon asked.

“It's your uncle, li'l nigga,” Uncle Snap answered.

“Get the door for me,” Javon asked of me.

I complied, my feet slapping against the cool floor as I made my way to the door. As soon as I opened it, Uncle Snap nodded at me then made a beeline to Javon.

“Nephew, the phone call I just got . . . You had something to do with this?” he asked Javon.

Javon stood to his full height and walked over the window to look out. “I tried to be nice, Unc. Tried to do shit with decorum, but they wouldn't let me be. So I pulled out my ace in the hole. I know people, you and those in the Syndicate, thought I was flying by the seat of my pants on a lot of shit I'd been doing. Granted killing Cormac was a random act of violence; yet, the rules stated I had the right to do that. Still, the Irish gunned for me. And they kept coming.”

“Rules of the game, nephew,” Uncle Snap said.

“Rules?” Javon asked then turned around. “Ain't no damn rules. Always cheat. Always win. The only unfair fight is the one you lose.”

Mama's words rang loudly in the silence of the room as Uncle studied Javon. Clearly he was a changed man. He was hurting. So was I. So was Uncle. We all were.

“The Irish ain't shit without the IRA and you went for the jugular? You just started a war that the Syndicate didn't approve,” Uncle Snap said. There was something in his voice akin to nervousness and apprehension.

“I don't need their approval.”

“Nephew, you do. That's the way shit works around here.”

“You're still operating on old rules and the old system. The Syndicate as you know it will be no more, Unc.”

“But, Javon, listen—”

“No, you listen. Ain't nobody gon' come in and take my members of my family and I not do shit. They couldn't even give me their bodies back so I could give them a proper burial.”

“They don't ha . . .” Uncle Snap started then caught himself.

I tilted my head and frowned a bit. Uncle Snap glanced at me. I tried to read him, but he quickly averted his eyes. What the fuck was that about? Was he about to say that the Irish didn't have Cory and Inez? Or was I tripping? I had to be tripping. Maybe he was about to say something else. Had to have been.

But before I could say anything, Javon continued. “I asked nicely. Lay down my own sword and those motherfuckers laughed at me. Sent me two dead coons to show the level of disrespect they had for me. I did what I had to do,” he said.

“Yeah, but how, nephew? How the fuck did you do this?” Uncle Snap asked, pointing at the TV.

I knew he was referring to the bombings and shootings. Javon was quiet for a few seconds, but it seemed like forever.

“Some secrets . . . If you reveal your secrets to the wind, you shouldn't blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.”

Another famous quote from Mama. I could tell Uncle was offended that, as his right hand, Javon refused to tell him what he had done. Uncle's face reddened and he sucked his bottom lip in. He backed away from Javon. The look on his face was flat as his eyes narrowed.

“A'ight, nephew. If that's how you wanna run the ship,” he said, shaking his head disapprovingly before exiting the room.

Once we were alone, Javon turned to me. I had my mouth fixed to ask all kinds of questions, but he stopped me with two words: “Trust me.”

I opened then closed my mouth before nodding. Javon had done something that he couldn't even reveal to Uncle Snap. That was so telling that it chilled me to the bone.

 

 

“My baby, almost every well
-
laid plan starts with good intentions. Sometimes, it just goes south if you are weak of mind and if the universe just deems it not meant to be. You might mean well and end up doing wrong. It happens, and you can't be mad about it or hurt about it for long. That never solves the wrongs that were done. One day you'll understand that and you'll see that you can't be everything for everyone, baby boy. I just pray if that day comes it doesn't break ya,”
I heard in my dreams.

A light tap on my shoulder woke me from my dream of me and Mama sitting on her back porch shucking peas. I was about twelve then and had gotten in trouble for fighting some kid for Cory. My baby brother was being bullied for a bike and the kid tried to beat his ass and take it. When I found that out, I went after the kid and almost cracked his head in. I later learned that my sticking up for Cory was in the wrong.

Cory had taken the kid's bike and he just wanted it back. Funny thing with that though, the other, flip side to it was that Cory had taken the bike because the kid he stole it from had taken it from his little sister and Cory was just protecting and defending the girl. So, long story short, I learned that day that in Cory's actions, he had good intentions, he just went about them the wrong way and dragged me into it. That was always how it was between Cory and me. It seemed that that never was going to change. Well, it had now.

Thanking the stewardess for waking me, I shifted in my seat, and opened the bottle of water given to me to take a deep swig from it; then I glanced out the window of my plane to see the cityscape of New York City. I had the weight of the world, namely my family, on my shoulders and the pain in my knuckles was proof of that. Rubbing them I listened to the words of the woman who adopted me as a means of saving me from my fate, only to damn me in it later in life. I shouldn't have gone at my brother like I did.

Never should have laid hands on him and treated him like the stranger I thought him to be, but I did. I had regret over that the moment I kicked him and Inez out. I had remorse now that I had lost him and my little sister. In that moment, at that time, I felt like there was nothing for me to do with them both. They were killing each other just to succumb to drugs. The shit was baffling to me. What hurt worse was that they felt ignored and unsupported by me as well. I thought I had given my all to every single one of my siblings, while trying to grow in my relationship with Shanelle.

I never thought the day I chose to shift my love for her from a sibling to one of romantic investment that it would flip my whole family upside down. Had I really been that selfish in that regard, to ignore them and stunt my siblings' connections with one another? I really didn't know. All I knew now was, after searching through Atlanta and having connects searching around every nook and cranny, I came up empty in finding Cory's and Inez's bodies. That reality broke me to the core. It had me extending my PTO into vacation time at work and had me on a plane to New York City.

The shooting had jeopardized the family and I needed to rectify it by any way possible. Tucking Mama's journal in the front of my jacket, I sullenly walked through the airport with my lone Forty Thief as my security behind me until I saw a familiar face.

“Welcome to NYC friend. I'm here with whatever you need,” Lucky said in his Bronx accent. “I'm deeply sorry for your family's loss.”

Gripping him in a quick warrior handshake, he led me to a waiting chauffeured car. “I appreciate it,” was all I said as we drove away.

“Is everything set up as I asked?” I said watching the city rise up before.

Lucky sat back relaxed, studying me. “Of course. The Old Italian is currently waiting for your arrival. Can I ask, though, the fact that he was willing to meet with you one on one like this is crazy. How'd you pull this off, new blood?”

New blood?
I had to inwardly laugh at that jab because it was true. I was new to the game; however, I felt like I was playing at the table since birth. Never reveal your hand, I learned at five. Be careful who you trust, I learned at eight. Don't turn your back on an enemy, I learned right after that. So, I sat in the back of a car I had asked Lucky to pick me up in, staring at a brotha who I personally picked to be a part of the Syndicate due to Mama's notes, and I smiled.

“Simply. You all owe me and, beyond that, you all owe Mama. I feel like cashing in tonight and discussing business before I head back out and home. So don't be sorry for my loss. I plan on fixing that tonight,” I explained taking the cigar that Lucky offered me.

Lucky's light eyes widened. He ran a hand over his pant leg then he chuckled. “Our debt to your family runs deep, and goes back decades.”

“I know it does,” I calmly said.

“Hell, many in my circle hoped you didn't,” Lucky amusingly stated. “I'm just being honest.”

Enjoying the taste of my cigar I rolled it between my fingers appraising it. “Then you all have been taking me for granted.” I took another a deep puff and allowed the smoke to snake from my lips. “What I have planned will use up a good number of IOUs and bring us right back around once we're done.”

“Damn, are you so sure about that, my friend?” Lucky asked raising an eyebrow studying me. Brotha sat back in a gray tailored suite. I stared at the herringbone pattern of gray and green socks that peeked out from under his pants and the brown spotless leather Italian shoes he wore.

Noticing that I wore something similar in all black, I gave an arrogant nod. “You're sitting at my table as a Syndicate member, aren't you?”

“Touché,” Lucky said with a smirk. “I enjoy learning from your new blood ass, friend. Please enjoy my hospitality as your host and I'll make sure you stay comfortable with your short visit.”

“I appreciate it,” was all I said.

Lucky drove us through Manhattan, giving me a history lesson on how it was once an enclave full of Italians and other ethnic groups. As he spoke about how all of New York City had changed and was still changing thanks to gentrification and other shit, in my mind I kept replaying my fight with Cory. I knew that if I could right it, I would. I'd give half my soul for my brother. I wished he had remembered that when we were fighting. Nodding as if I were listening, though I partially was, I watched as we pulled up through an alley that connected to a major hotel.

Once we got out and walked into the side door of the hotel, Lucky led me to a private conference room. Inside at the center of the room sat three men, including the Old Italian, as Lucky called him, who sat at the head. Next to him were several familiar faces that I had done my homework on. One was a Jewish mobster, and the other a Catholic mobster. I felt as if I was on the cusp of history and I embraced it for my family.

I walked into the room to see the men Mama had spoken about in her notes. I would have laughed at the fact that they indeed looked the part of old-time mobsters had I not been in a business-only state of mind.

The blend of sweet and spicy smoke from cigars accosted my nostrils. I stood with no fear, shoulders back, eyes on every killer in the room, showing them that I could hold my own if they ever sneezed wrong to test me. Several of the men swiveled crystal tumblers of skillfully shaped iced and amber liquid.

When Lucky pulled out a chair for me, I took my time to sit, before I was finally addressed.

“Lucky explains that you've come to collect on a debt we owed to Claudette.” The Old Italian asked of me in a measuring tone, “Do you understand exactly what you are pulling here?”

Offering nothing but brief curl of my lip, I folded my hands together and pressed my fingers against my lips before speaking. “I wouldn't be here if I didn't.”

I guess that I pissed someone off with what I said because one of the men in the room gave a grunt, and other shifted in a creaking chair right after. I couldn't care less. Every last one of these old geezers owed not only the Syndicate, but my family personally. Starting with the man who was Lucky's uncle.

“Humph. Interesting—” he said before I interrupted him.

“Long ago, my mother came to New York and ended up saving your life, sir. I think that story is not only interesting, but also telling of her character. It reflects on how she raised her children.”

The Old Italian shifted in his chair, lifted his drink to his lips, and took a sip. He hovered it just above the table and watched me. “Your mother saved my life, yes. She stood in the line of fire and took multiple bullets for me, risking everything. Do you understand what that is, young man? Because I'm not convinced, as of yet, that you carry that same fire and leadership. And as you know, what you ask of us does not come free even with what we owe you.”

I opened my mouth to counter the insult he had spit out and the bald-faced lie he just told me but, before I could, the old man held a hand up. Motherfucker must have known that I had something else up my sleeve to counter that lie. Yes, the three men in this room had enough power to collectively start a war that none of us would come through alive if they didn't want us to, but in their elder years they took more to running things behind the scenes. That was all well and good, but they still owed Mama and I intended to collect by any means necessary.

Straight up, I was pissed at that. The insult stung deep considering everything I had been doing to keep the family safe and secure in the Syndicate. But, I was taught to be a businessman, so anything I had to say in grievance would be said to the Old Italian privately.

However, I couldn't stop myself in saying, “My leadership and fire has brought the rise of the Syndicate to a new era. One that many of you just cannot reach. But, yes, our problem is with the Irish.”

The Old Italian nodded.

The Jewish mobster said, “Tell me how you came to be in the crosshairs of the Irish again.”

I told him what he wanted to know. Told them how Cormac had sent men after me while I was in public with my fiancée. Told them how when I wouldn't comply with Cormac's demands, he kidnapped my little sister and my little brother.

“By then, I was no longer in a talking mood. He had already shown he had no respect for me by removing my mother's chair, sitting at the head of the table, and taking what didn't belong to him. I had to put up or shut up. So I put up. Cormac's dead and now his family comes after me and mine? They wouldn't even give me the fucking bodies back. They sent dead raccoons to me with pictures of my brother's and sister's faces attached,” I snapped. My eyes watered and I had to catch myself so I wouldn't let my emotions get the better of me. “I tried to do shit diplomatically. Even went as far as to tell them if they just gave me my siblings' bodies back, I would back down. They spit on me. Spit in my fucking face!”

“So now you're here and want to call in your mother's debt to repay them.” The Catholic priest's croaky voice made me turn his way.

“Yes,” I answered with no qualms.

“Calling in this favor means you want us to start a war with the Irish, a war that may come back to bite us in the ass one day,” the Italian said.

I sat up, back straight, eyes never leaving the Italian's eyes. “Frankly, I don't give a damn. The Syndicate is mine and I won't stand for any level of disrespect. Not when I tried to back out of the fight peacefully. I was willing to concede this fight if only for their dead bodies to be given back to me and my family. Cory and Inez deserved a proper burial.”

I stopped talking then. I could feel my anger rising. So much so my fisted hand started to shake. Part of me wished Shanelle were here with me. She could help level out my anger and emotions, but I had to do this shit on my own. Had to prove to myself and others why Mama chose me as the leader over everyone else.

The Old Italian looked at the other two men in the room then back at me. “We do this for you and what do we get in return?”

“Not a damn thing,” I snapped. “This is a debt owed to Mama and since she is gone, you owe it to her kids, me specifically as the leader of the Syndicate. Don't try to play me like I'm some remedial dimwit. I came to you with respect. I passed through all the proper channels by reaching out to Lucky first and having him bring me here. I respected the chain of command and I expect the same in return,” I said sternly. So much so that each of the old men glanced at one another and nodded one by one. I knew what was owed to my mother. They wouldn't fleece me out of anything more.

The Old Italian looked at Lucky and said, “Get the others in here. Father Seamus to be exact.”

Lucky nodded and went to do as he was told. I watched as about fifteen to twenty other men walked into the room. Some were in suits. A few others in clerics clothing. All of them dangerous.

The Old Italian stoically stared at me then chuckled. “Father Seamus, hand our young man the file of information about our little Irish family in Atlanta.”

A fat, old, leather-faced man with muddled brown hair quirked a glossy eyeball my way. He sat as if he were king, dressed in an all-black suit with a cleric collar around his neck. The disdain in his eyes let me know that he didn't trust me. Which I really didn't give a fuck about. I was just here for business. I watched him shift in his groaning chair, handing a stack of folders to a female attendee. I observed the exchange is patience.

Curious enough, she looked like Lucky, like she could be his sister. That was all that I noted about her, besides the Glock tucked against the small of her back.

“As you see,” Father Seamus started, “the Irish MC became problematic for us, even back in Ireland, once they start mixing with unsavory rednecks. They forgot how not to draw attention to themselves and we in Ireland had to limit our partnership. Alas, that is corrected now and their dealings with the heartland pipeline will become yours, once we switch hands.”