Daddy's House (3 page)

I just shook my head, “Can you at least call me a cab?” I asked with begging eyes, through the tiny slit left in the door.

She looked hesitant again, but agreed. “Wait at the bottom of the hill,” she instructed again skeptically, and watched my every move. The moment she shut the door, I heard about four deadbolts being locked one after another.

I turned and walked away pitifully. All my life I’d been let down, so this was no different. I don’t know why I thought a complete stranger would go out of her way for me, when not one person in my family cared at all, other than my cousin, Tracey. As a matter of fact, they all probably wanted me dead; my mother, uncles, aunts and cousins. I was starting to think that I deserved it. I slowly walked down to the bottom of the driveway, wondering if she would keep her promise. Then I thought about my other option, call Agent Barnes. He would surely have me picked up in no time, and placed in another situation with a new identity. For the last few months I’d been Ms. Danielle Crouch instead of my real name, Candice Holmes.
What a name
, I thought. For me, Danielle Crouch was getting old. I needed to make a way on my own, without the help of the system. I was starting to feel like my family was right. Testifying against them probably wasn’t the brightest thing to do.

I finally found a secluded area near a bush at the bottom of the hill, knelt down and waited for my cab. I wondered if the woman had even called
She may have called
the police instead
, I thought. No one could be trusted.

For the next twenty minutes, I contemplated my next move. When Tracey came to mind, I knew it was a bad decision, but the most comfortable one. After all, she was my first cousin, born to my aunt, Vicki, my mother’s sister. Tracey lived in Harlem, and was one of the rebels of the family, who departed ways from our relatives years ago. She was five years older than me, but we’d always been close. Tracey felt like what I did was right. She said she would’ve done the same damn thing. “Fuck’em all,” she said.

I remember using her as my one phone call the night I got locked up. She said I didn’t deserve to be in jail, and to do what I had to do. Taking her advice, I did just that. But here I was, twelve months later, all fucked up. I hadn’t talked to Tracey since that night, but had somehow convinced myself in a matter of minutes that I was gonna call to see if I could stay with her for a while.

As my cab approached, the white woman emerged from her house. She pranced down the hill like a letter carrier waving a telegram. I turned my back and waved down the speeding cab. I didn’t have anymore time to waste.

“
Hey!” she yelled. “Wait!”

I kept walking and hopped into the cab. I didn’t wanna face her again. I’d embarrassed myself enough. The cab driver had already rolled down the back window, and the woman leaned in the car before I could object.

“
This for you,” she said, handing me a white envelope.

I hesitated, and just gazed at the envelope. Although it was flat, I figured she only had big bills, and was thankful for her help. The woman started sniffing like the smell was familiar.

I wondered if she realized it was me who smelled like her dog. I lowered my head again in shame.

She placed the envelope in my hand firmly and backed away. “Good luck,” she uttered. I guess she felt guilty for the undercover racial insult.

“
Let’s go,” I told the driver.

“
Where to?” he asked, in his Asian accent.

“
Amtrak.” I shot the woman a look that said thank you, as the driver pulled off. She smiled slightly, but I couldn’t smile back. Besides, I had nothing to smile about.

The ride was quiet, just what I needed. The cab driver kept looking back at me, probably wondering why I looked like I’d just gotten up. He had no idea I was running for my life, bad breath and all. I made sure I didn’t make eye contact, ‘cause I didn’t want him asking me any questions. I leaned back into the torn leather seat, and cried inside like a baby.

Visions of my mother’s mocha-colored face consumed my mind. On the outside, we seemed so much alike, except for our weight. Side by side we would walk, turning the heads of every guy in sight. We were known as the mother and daughter with the bootylicious butts, until hers expanded too much. She grew in size, becoming a full-figured woman, yet still beautiful in the face. People always said my smooth deep brown skin came compliments of my mother. I’d always just smile, because good looks and deep dimples were the only things she’d ever given me.

For some reason, she thought employing me within her empire was a gift. Instead, it was a curse. Whenever I felt pain, I thought of her. Whenever I felt afraid, I thought of her too. Strangely, most of the time she was the one putting fear into my heart. Fear was nothing to Big V. Although we were only thirteen years apart, she took control of the streets like she’d been around for years. She had our ruthless neighborhood on lock ever since I was twelve. Of course, she claimed it was all for me. “We gotta eat,” she’d say. “I gotta take care of my girl. You

ain’t got no damn daddy.”

I remember her getting her big break five years ago when I turned seventeen. She hooked up with Luther, a Columbian who had major paper. Luther started fronting my mother drugs, and told her all she had to do was get the customers and keep’em satisfied. Big V did just that.

She locked down the streets by any means necessary. She surrounded herself with notorious killers, who handled all her dirty work, and made a name for herself. She committed murders, shot up blocks, paid off cops, and screwed whoever she had to in order to get to the top. That was her specialty, my mother claimed to love everyone she ever met. That was her way of bamboozling her way to the top.

For years, my mother brainwashed me into thinking that she really loved me too and that putting in work for her would be short-lived. She lied for years, saying that I would be on my way to college as soon as she made her first million. Well, that mil never came. I was just another one of her cash cows.

On my twentieth birthday, I remember asking her if I could finally go to school full time. Her reply was, “Bitch, who needs school? And who gon pay for it? I got crackheads to invest in!”

For most who knew her, bragged that she was a beast, not to be fucked with, but I was her seed. I figured I’d get cut some slack. I just wanted to be free. I never wanted to be in that life anyway. She warned me to never double cross her, and said if I did that I would surely die. Big V was known to keep promises.

I got teary eyed thinking about how she was my blood, but realized I had to be strong. I’d been taught by Big V to be fearless against others, especially the streets. That just didn’t work when it came to her.

The driver’s voice brought me back to reality. “Thirty-one fifty,” he said, eyeing me through his rearview mirror. We were sitting in front of the station and I hadn’t even noticed. I opened my purse to pay, when I thought about the envelope the white woman had given me. I quickly ripped it opened, and stuck my hand inside. My heart fluttered.
She couldn’t have
.

“
What the fuck!” I shouted.

The driver looked at me like I was crazy. I grabbed the five dollar bill from inside the envelope, and added it to my $82.00 life savings. I couldn’t believe the white woman thought five dollars would be helpful. I paid my bill, hopped out, and headed into the Trenton, New Jersey station bold, bare foot and all. Hopefully the driver wasn’t too upset that he’d only received a fifty cent tip, but now wasn’t the time to be generous. I was on a mission.

Once inside, I stood there looking at the big board, thinking about which way I would go. I got constant, disapproving stares from the waiting passengers. One man went as far as fixating his eyes on me, and pressing his daughter’s face against his pant leg, to keep her from looking at me. He frowned for minutes, like I’d done something to him, but I couldn’t worry about that. I had to make moves. I knew my money wouldn’t take me far, but I wondered if I had enough to make it any further than two stops.

I couldn’t shake the rambling thoughts in my head. I pictured myself contacting Agent Barnes, and him sending a car for me right away. The only problem was when my ride pulled up, my mother was the one driving. I stood in the station going crazy, until the best idea hit me. I darted to the pay phones in the corner near the snack shop. The quarters went in slowly, and I prayed the call wasn’t a mistake. Tracey’s number hadn’t changed in over ten years, so it was easy to remember. She answered on the first ring.

“
Who da fuck is this callin’ me so early?” she asked.

I hesitated at the thought of how hood she was. Maybe her place wasn’t gonna be the best move for me. I had my bout with the hood life.

“
Who da fuck is playin’ on my phone?” she smacked.

“
It…itt….itt’s…it’s me,” I finally said.

“
Candice?”

“
Yeah, it’s me, Tracey,” I replied slowly.

Her voice changed suddenly. She seemed excited. “Gurllllll, I miss yo ass. They tell me you got out. Where you at?”

I hesitated again. “Have you heard from my mother?”

“
Hell to da naw,” she answered quickly. “Last I heard that trick was still locked down, probably intimidating somebody’s daughter by now.” She laughed. “Besides, the whore told me a year ago that she hated me, and if I wasn’t her niece she would’a had me gutted like a pig for

runnin’ my mouth. So fuck her!” Tracey let out another one of her crazy, loud laughs.

“
Look, girl, I’m in trouble,” I confessed.

“
Ah-huh,” she said, smacking her lips for the second time. “I figured that. Shiiiiiiii…d, that’s the only time you call. The last time was a year ago when you first got locked up.”

“
Seriously, Tracey, some dudes came looking for me and knocked down my door. Big V probably sent’em. I need a place to hang out.”

“
Where you at?” she repeated.

“
Don’t worry about that. Can I come stay at your spot for a while?” I looked around nervously making sure I wasn’t being watched.

“
Sure, but you might as well know, a bitch gotta work to live up in here! If you still as pretty as you used to be, I can get you a few gigs workin’ wit’ me.”

“
I ain’t into that,” I replied. Tracey was still stripping last I knew. “Look, we’ll talk later. I’m on my way.”

“
Wait, what time you gon’ get here.”

“
Ahhh…not sure. Just meet me.”

“
Where, bitch?”

“
Hold on a sec, let me check the time,” I said, stretching the phone cord to get a better look at the board listing all the train routes. “Damn!” I shouted. “It leaves in ten minutes. I gotta go. Meet me at Penn Station by Macy’s on the 7th Avenue side in a hour. If I don’t make the train, I’ll call you back. ”

“
Bet,” was all I heard her say before she hung up.

I darted down the stairs, taking two at a time to Track #9. I figured since I had cash, paying on the train would be fine. I breathed a sigh of relief when the train was in sight.

Three steps from the door, a hand flew in my face.

“
Miss, you can’t get on without shoes,” a tall guy said. His Amtrak name tag read, Lawrence.

“
Looks like you need a man in your life. Didn’t your father ever tell you not to walk around without shoes on?”

Damn, I’d never even met my father. My mother told me I was a result of a one night stand.

“
But…the train is gonna leave if I go get shoes,” I finally responded, damn near out of breath. I gave him the most pitiful look possible. I had to think quickly. “Sir, my boyfriend is after me. He’ll kill me if he catches me.” I closed my eyes to think about my life. It was the fastest way to make myself cry. Before a tear could fall, the horn blew from the train. There was no time.

I turned to walk away, when Mr. Lawrence yelled, “Go ‘head, get on, but watch yourself. The conductor on this train is mean and no-nonsense. You better stick your feet way under the seat, and call the police on that boyfriend of yours,” he added.

I hopped on the train, wanting to smile, but just nodded thanks to Mr. Lawrence. Making my way down the aisle, I scanned every seat, trying to choose my spot wisely. Plenty of seats were available, since I’d just missed rush hour. The train started moving, but I was still searching.

When I spotted a lady with a baby and a few bags scattered on the floor, I climbed over her to the window seat, thinking it would be the perfect spot to hide my bare feet.

The woman sniffed like she had allergies or something, and then shot me a funny look. I didn’t care, getting to safety was more important. I turned my head while she shifted in her seat, and moved her bags back and forth. The moment my eyes looked ahead, I forgot all about the rude woman, and focused on getting my money together for the conductor headed my way. Mr. Lawrence was right, he did have that no-nonsense look. He was tall and bald, and reminded me of Charles Barkely.

As I dug in my purse, scrambling for money, my neighbor hopped up like she couldn’t take it any longer, leaving me wide open for the conductor to see. He walked right up to my seat, and hit me with one word. “Ticket,” he said sternly. His eyebrows were thick and bushy, and made me scared to even speak.