The Family Business 4 by Carl Weber

Author:Carl Weber [Weber, Carl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

Larry

35

“This makes no sense whatsoever. We could be in New York by now, instead of on the Jersey Turnpike,” Kenny complained from the back seat. “I don’t understand why we got off the plane.”

“First of all, I done told you about questioning what I do. Secondly, who said I didn’t have business in Jersey?” I replied, handing my cell phone to Curtis so he could read a text message I’d just received. “I been in this business a long time, Kenny, and I learned to trust my gut. My gut told me to get off that damn plane. Now, stop complaining. You’re starting to aggravate me.”

“No offense, Pop, but there’s a first time for everything,” Kenny said, pouting like a little bitch. “Maybe that feeling in your gut was a stomachache.”

“Oh, really?” I replied. “Curtis, show your brother that text message.”

Curtis shook his head, handing my phone to his brother. Kenny read it and became unusually silent. The message was from Jamaica John, telling us that the pilot had been arrested and the plane was confiscated by the DEA.

“Humph! Cat got his tongue now, huh?” Momma shouted to me. “He need to start listening to his father. You ain’t a stupid man, and he should know that. Or else you should put your foot in his ass.”

“I think you owe Dad an apology, Kenny,” Curtis snapped.

Kenny hesitated for a minute then grudgingly said, “Sorry, Dad.”

“I don’t know why we gotta keep bumping heads, Kenny. You’re my son and I love you, but you have to stop second-guessing me.”

“I know, but . . .”

“But what, Kenny?” Curtis sounded a little agitated himself. “If we listened to you, we’d all be in jail right now, sharing jelly sandwiches with that damn bush pilot!”

“There you go! Tell him about himself, Curtis!” Momma shouted.

“Turn off here at this exit,” I instructed Curtis. A few minutes later, we passed a sign that announced we’d just entered Mount Laurel, New Jersey. “Go in there where it says Sage Diner.”

Curtis pulled into the parking lot, and we all got out.

“Momma, we’ll be right back. Kenny, grab one of those bricks and put it in the bag.”

The parking lot was fairly empty. Somehow, we had managed to miss the lunch crowd and beat the dinner one, so the timing was perfect. We walked inside, and sure enough, the only diners were a small group of older men sitting in a corner near the rear of the diner.

“Can I help you?” a heavyset guy in his fifties asked.

“Yeah, I’m looking for Joey the Wop,” I told him.

“You mean Joey?” the guy asked again. “I take offense to the name Wop.”

I gave a nod. “Yeah, whatever.”

I looked past the first guy to see Joey sitting at the end of a table in back. Joey was Italian and well into his late fifties, but he still didn’t look a day over thirty-five. His wavy hair was slicked back, and in typical Joey fashion, his white shirt was unbuttoned to show off the gold chains he wore.

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