Page 4 of The Millionaire Mortician
As we were getting settled in bed, there was a loud explosion outside our house. Everyone jumped out of their beds and ran outside. Outside our gate was nothing but smoke and flames. I heard my grandmother on the phone with the fire station almost immediately.
“Get back!” Uncle Lester kept hollering.
Everyone tried inching up to see what it was and what was going on. The place got hot as hell as the smoke made us cough. About ten minutes later, we heard sirens in the distance. Before we knew it, they were in front of our house and jumping into action.
When they were almost finished putting out the fire, we all got closer to the gate, and that’s when we saw it was my father’s SUV. The fire officers opened the doors and then thetrunk. Their whole body language and demeanor told it all. Uncle Lester took off running toward the SUV with Milan and me in tow. What we saw broke all our hearts — it was our parents lying dead in the back of the SUV.
Their faces were unrecognizable, and their bodies looked weird and swollen. It seemed as if the fire truck got there in time because their bodies weren’t burned.
Uncle Lester jumped in the back and pulled a properly wrapped brick out of my father’s stomach. Once he realized what they’d done — removed my parents’ insides and replaced them with their own drugs, Uncle Lester quickly jumped out of the whip and pushed Milan, me, and any other family members away from the scene, but it was too late.
That image of my mother and father would forever be embedded in my and Milan’s memories.
As I sat there, recollecting what we witnessed at just thirteen years old, I remembered why Milan gained such an interest in being a mortician. He used his pain to become so much more than any of us would’ve known, and I was fucking proud of him.
After Milan’sinterview was over, I made my way to my dealership to get some other shit done. By the time I reached Williamsburg, it was going on two o’clock in the afternoon. The dealership was busy with customers... a sight I loved to see.
My place of business wasn’t for just everyone. It was a high-end luxury dealership featuring a diverse selection of foreign cars. Only the wealthy were allowed to set foot in my place. Doing so helped minimize people wasting my workers’ timewhen they know they can’t afford a car from me, and it also helps keep any opps out. You must be vetted before gaining entry.
As I walked through, I greeted everyone I saw on my way to my office. Once inside, I sat in my high, dark brown leather chair and took some deep breaths in and out. Before I could move another inch, my door swung open with the speed of light.
“Mr. Marcano, I need you to sign this,” my secretary, Deyonna, demanded.
Deyonna had been working for me for a few years. She knew what I would want, how I wanted things done, and knew the ropes of the business. Deyonna was able to run the company in my absence, so whatever she needed signed, I knew I didn’t have to look at it. I just had to sign it.
I waved her in. “Bring it,” I told her.
She raced over and rested the paper in front of me. I looked for where my signature was needed and scribbled away.
“Thank you,” she sang and ran back out of the office.
Before the door could fully close, it reopened, but that time it was Milan.
I stood from my seat and rounded the desk. “Good shit today, bro,” I complimented as we dapped each other up and embraced.
He tapped my back. “Good lookin’, bro.”
As we broke our embrace, I went back and sat behind my desk while he went and got comfortable on the sofa I had in the office.
Silence filled the room for a while before either of us spoke. My mind was on his interview and what he really wished he could’ve said. I knew it was the same thing he was quietly thinking about as well. Whenever something triggered us to think about our past, we would get into a certain mood, and it was evident that we were in that place.
“You gucci, bro?” I finally spoke up and asked.
Milan shifted in his seat and stared straight forward with his index finger covering his lip. “Honestly, my nigga, I don’t know,” he answered.
“Hmmm. I felt that.”
The room went silent again for a few moments. “Ain’t it crazy that the shit feels like it happened yesterday?” he questioned with a confused expression.
“Mommy and Dad?” I wanted to confirm we were on the same page.
“Yeah.” He finally looked at me.
“It is crazy. It’s been two and a half decades, and it’s still fresh in my mind,” I told him.
Knock. Knock.
Someone at the door interrupted our conversation. I wasn’t sure if it was rude or for the best. The moment was heavy, and it always did something to us.
