Hard Candy (7 page)

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Authors: Amaleka McCall

BOOK: Hard Candy
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Candice could see right through Shana's act. “It's never all right for a man to hit you, Shana. But I'm not one to judge anybody's choice in men. Broady is going to get his.”
Candice immediately regretted the words after they left her lips. Uncle Rock had always told her, “Words are like eggs dropped from great heights. You can't ever put the pieces back together after they hit home.”
Shana, preoccupied with fixing her appearance, didn't seem to notice or care about Candice's offhand comment. “You ready, Candy?” she asked, smoothing down her dress when she felt it was dry enough.
“If you are,” Candice replied, yanking on the door and holding it so Shana could leave first.
Shana rushed out of the bathroom so fast, Candice could barely keep up with her. Trying to catch up, she walked headfirst into someone. Startled, she jumped back to put some distance between them. “Oh, excuse . . .” Candice looked up into the face of a stranger. “Sorry, I didn't see you.”
“Excuse me, too. Is she all right?” The man motioned his head in Shana's direction.
Candice recognized him as the man who'd been at Junior's side all night. She immediately put a scowl on her face. Why didn't his ass do something besides talk, when Broady had slapped the shit out of Shana? She had heard him referred to as Junior's “lieutenant” throughout the night. In her assessment, anybody who was a friend of Junior's was an enemy of hers.
“Nah, I don't think you would be all right if somebody six times your size slapped the shit out of you in a club filled with people.” Candice pursed her lips.
“I feel you, ma. I know that li'l dude, Broady, be fuckin' up. I'ma talk to him,” the man said.
Candice softened the look on her face once she realized he wasn't half bad-looking. In fact, he was damn near fine. Her cheeks immediately flamed over at the thought. He was about six feet two inches tall with an athletic build and had the most beautiful chocolate-colored skin Candice had seen, aside from her father's, of course. The man's head was shaved clean, and he had a long, prominent chin. His most striking feature, however, was his eyes, which were chestnut brown and showed up much lighter against his smooth, dark complexion.
“Anyway, ma, I'm Tuck. I don't think we've met before,” he said, extending his hand for a shake.
Candice had to snap herself away from staring at his perfect white teeth. He either had a great orthodontist or he had purchased them.
“Candy. Nope. We haven't met,” she said dryly, keeping her hands at her sides. She felt a little fluttering in her stomach that made her want to run in place or move her body. Or maybe even run away from him. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. This indescribable feeling was a new sensation for Candice—uncomfortable in a good way, but extremely dangerous, given her current mission.
“It's real nice to meet you, Candy,” Tuck said, putting his hand down to his side when he realized she wasn't going to shake it. “Look, I don't ever agree with that hitting-on-a-woman bullshit. Broady is a little asshole that wants to be a man so bad like his brother. That was some bullshit.”
“Yeah, well, birds of a feather . . . ” Candice walked away from him in a huff. She wanted to turn back and look at him so badly, but her pride and ego would not allow it. She couldn't help but wonder if he was watching her.
You're on a mission. You ain't here to look at no dudes. Getcha mind right, Candy.
Love for a man wasn't something Uncle Rock had taught her. In fact, he had warned her against falling in love. “Falling in love is a waste of time,” Uncle Rock had cautioned her on numerous occasions. “It never lasts.”
But Candice couldn't help thinking about the tiny possibility of falling in love. When she was sixteen, she would stay in Uncle Rock's bathroom for hours practicing kisses on her hand, making a pair of makeshift lips with the edges of her thumb and index finger. As she grew older, she began to explore the erogenous zones of her body with her hands. Uncle Rock would always ask her what was taking her so long in there, and she would reply, “I was memorizing my pressure points.”
Candice planned to tell Shana that she was done with Broady, Junior, and the entire scene at Club Skyye. She was going to let Shana know that she was leaving and that Shana was more than welcome to accompany her. But when she saw Shana by Broady's side and pretending that all was well, she just shook her head from left to right.
This poor girl
.
“Yo, apologize to my fuckin' brother,” Broady growled at Shana, who stood by his side, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, looking like she had to urinate urgently.
Pitiful
. The whole scene infuriated Candice and she had to will herself to keep her cool. She thought she'd come to Shana's rescue, but Shana didn't want to even help herself.
“I apologize, Junior. I was just joking,” Shana said, in a real soft baby voice.
Candice squinted her eyes into evil slits, and her nostrils opened and closed with every breath she took. Now she wanted to slap Shana herself for being so meek and stupid.
“Candy, this is Junior. Junior, this is Candy.” Shana introduced her as though they hadn't even met earlier in the evening. If it was a formal introduction they wanted, Shana was aiming to please.
As Junior extended his hand toward Candice, she twisted her lips into a scowl, keeping her hands at her sides.
“Shana, I just came to tell you that I was leaving. Call me when you can,” Candice said, holding eye contact with Junior, then Shana.
“Oh, okay. That's fine, Candy,” Shana said, avoiding eye contact.
“Damn! These bitches get more and more breezy the older I get. I guess it's hard to find a quiet, obedient motherfucker to lay on her back and bring up the rear,” Junior remarked as he was set to turn away. “It was nice to meet you, anyway. What's your name, again? Lollipop or something like that?” Junior looked into Candice's eyes like he had seen them a thousand times before.
Candice inhaled deeply, willing the hot sensation of anger welling in her chest to dissipate. She finally broke her gaze with Junior and sashayed away from the group without another word, her heart thumping wildly in her chest and the fine hairs standing up on her neck. She wanted to pull out her gun and make Junior's head explode. Candice's emotions were taking over, and she had to get out fast. She was breaking a cardinal rule in Uncle Rock's training manual—keep a cool head, no matter what the provocation.
“Candy! Hold up!” Razor called after her.
Fuming mad, Candice picked up her pace, with Razor close on her heels. He just didn't know who he was messing with.
Chapter 4
Rock was huffing and puffing by the time he made it up the stairs to his apartment door. His lungs were on fire as he coughed uncontrollably. He stood with his back against the hallway door, letting his bags fall to the floor. Rock was frustrated and exhausted. Droplets of blood oozed from his mouth and formed a teardrop pattern on his shirt.
Rock's hands shook as he fumbled with his keys. He was wishing he had fixed the old rusty lock on his door because, at times like this, he hated fighting with it. When the lock finally gave, he spilled into his apartment and lay in a heap on the floor for at least fifteen minutes. He was feeling worse with each passing day and had definitely overdone it this time. With each rise and fall of his chest, he thought for sure he saw flashes of the devil.
Not the type to let illness defeat him, he bit down into his jaw and pulled himself up off the floor, determined to go through with his daily routine.
He finally managed to get to his small Formica-top kitchen table. He'd had it for so long, the flowers embedded in the material appeared to be masked by a smoke screen. Rock dropped his bags onto the table and flopped down into one of the mismatched chairs. He popped the little plastic top on his cup of green tea and opened up his
Daily News
. No matter how much his chest and stomach burned, he needed his daily cup of green tea.
Barely able to grasp the small paper cup, Rock held the small cup of tea to his mouth and took the first sip. He winced. He smoothed out the newspaper and read the first bold headline. Pain shot through his body like a bolt of lightning. A mouthful of tea and blood splattered all over the table.
Candice's phone ringing startled her out of her sleep. She bolted upright, thinking something must be wrong with uncle Rock. He was the only one who would call her this early in the morning.
“Hello,” she huffed into the phone, her voice sounding like a frog was lodged deep in her throat.
“Candy! Wake up!” Shana screamed in Candice's ear.
Candice was surprised to hear her friend's voice on the line. “I'm up. I'm up,” she reassured her friend, wishing she would just get to the point.
“Girl! Razor been missing for three days!” Shana screeched, her voice shaking.
Candice sat upright in her bed. “What? What do you mean, ‘missing'?”
“Candy! Nobody ain't seen Razor since he ran after you at the club! Oh my goodness! Broady is going crazy around here. I can't even stay in the same room with this nigga right now, it's so bad. Candy, they're saying somebody might've kidnapped Razor ass.”
“Damn! That's fucked up. Who would want to do that?” Candice asked calmly. Her stomach cramped as soon as she asked the question. Suddenly, she was on her feet, feeling the need to pace, a coping mechanism she'd acquired over the years to deal with rushes of emotions.
“They found his truck on the side of a road out in New Jersey. Girl, niggas in the streets are saying that he might be dead. It's not like Razor to even miss a day—much less three days—calling Broady or coming around to make money.”
Candice didn't really know what to say to comfort Shana. “Why would somebody want to kidnap him? Did he owe somebody money? Did Broady do something to somebody?” Candice asked, pacing the room. She closed her eyes and tried to picture Razor's face the night he'd followed her out of the club.
“Girl, they finally put a thing about it in the paper. Just because his baby mother is making such a big deal about it.”
“Damn! It's in the newspaper?” Candice immediately thought about Uncle Rock and his daily morning newspaper review. Her heart thumped a little bit. She wondered what he would be thinking if he read about Razor in the paper, if he'd even realize who Razor was.
“I still can't see why somebody would want to kidnap a grown-ass man,” Candice said, wanting to hear Shana's assessment of the situation.
“Well, Broady is convinced it's some uptown dudes that want to move in on his spots in Brooklyn. Broady had beef with some of them from back in the day. I heard Broady saying something about he recently got into something with these dudes. I think Junior and Broady will surely prepare for war if Razor don't turn up soon. I'm telling you, this is not going to be a good look. If they don't find Razor safe and sound, it's about to be war out here, Candy.”
Candice was quiet on the other end of the phone. The fact of the matter was, Corey “Razor” Jackson was missing, and she was one of the last people to see him alive and in the flesh.
Junior Carson paced up and down his living room floor, rubbing his neatly trimmed goatee with his left hand. All of his workers, including his brother, were silent. They didn't dare interrupt him when he was thinking or pacing, or both. Junior finally turned toward his brown leather sectional, where all of his workers sat uncomfortably quiet and looking at their feet.
“I leave for one fuckin' week and y'all niggas go buck wild, partying e'ery day, flashing big money, beatin' niggas up on the streets and embarrassing them. I mean, I can't fuckin' step out for a minute without shit getting out of hand.” Junior slammed his hands down on the oak bar that sat on the far left of his living room, near the sliding glass doors, making a few of his workers jump.
“Now what the fuck are we supposed to do? Y'all sayin' y'all think it's niggas from uptown that got Razor, but why? Why would Phil and those cats even reach all the way down to Razor's level if they were tryin' to make a point?” Junior's words were stiff and bitter as he looked each man in the face. His crew's assessment of Razor's disappearance just didn't sit right with him.
Broady jumped up and screamed, “It was those niggas! Hands down! Who the fuck else would do some shit like that? Brooklyn niggas know better!”
What he failed to say was that just last week he and Razor had encountered Phil's girlfriend in a club uptown. When Broady tried to push up on her and she refused him, Razor stepped in and tossed a drink in her face. Broady mushed the girl's head so hard, it really constituted a slap, and she almost hit the floor. Broady was sure that she had reported the events of that night to Phil soon afterward, explaining his suspicion that Razor's disappearance was related.
Junior eyed Broady with menace in his gaze, giving him the unspoken signal to sit his ass back down.
Broady stood his ground, his face curled into a scowl and his fists clenched. There was nothing Junior could say to comfort him.
Razor had been Broady's friend since he was five years old. All of the times Junior had beaten Broady up as a child and their mother let Junior get away with it, Razor was the one who comforted Broady and let him hide out at his house.
Now that Broady was older, wiser, and bigger than Junior, he was growing sick of his brother's domineering ways. Broady had at least seven inches and one hundred pounds on his older brother. He'd always resented the favoritism his mother showed Junior, but at the same time, he felt like he owed Junior his life and freedom. Junior was the one who had paid off all the dudes in Shamrock's spot so they wouldn't testify as witnesses against Broady in June Bug's murder, sparing Broady a serious prison bid.
But Junior was also the one who had turned Broady on to the streets after his basketball dreams went up in smoke. “You need to learn how to earn your own keep,” Junior had told him one day soon after the incident at Shamrock's. Junior had already decided that Broady's future in basketball was over, so he turned Broady on to the only other way he knew how to make money.
Broady was growing a bit wary of living in his brother's shadow, but he also understood that Junior had taken over an empire. He realized, too, if he played his cards right, he could be the next in line to take over the family business.
As Broady became immersed in learning the business, he began to see his brother as a hypocrite and a fake. Junior had completely stolen Easy's street style and identity. Easy didn't like his workers to be flashy and loud, but Junior was very flashy and loud. Easy had chastised Junior several times, but it had all finally come to a head when Easy gave Junior a direct order that he blatantly disobeyed. Easy was furious, and he quickly shut Junior down, taking away all of his spots and sending him back on the corner to do hand-to-hand sales. Junior was furious beyond words and soon after began plotting his revenge.
Now Junior was walking like Easy, talking like Easy, and adopting Easy's same low-profile style. But Broady knew who his brother really was, and he was nothing like Easy. In Broady's assessment, Junior wasn't nearly smart enough to run the empire that Easy had grown. Broady knew he was just as good a candidate as his brother. If nothing else, his sheer size and determination would garner him the respect and admiration needed to take over operations in Brooklyn.
“I'm telling you right now this shit ain't over. I know it was those cats, and I'm ready to bust my gat at those niggas. War or no war.”
Junior finally walked over to his brother and looked up into his face. Broady could see the fire in his eyes reflected in his brother's.
“Bruh, you don't want war with me. Sit down and we gon' talk about this.” Junior gritted, roughly placing his hand on Broady's huge shoulder and forcing him back down into the sofa.
Broady relented for the time being.
“I don't want nobody to make a move until I have a chance to call a meeting with Phil. I need to find out what the deal is. Right now having all y'all niggas sitting in here tryin'a figure out if and how a nigga came up missing is costing me cake. Everybody get the fuck back to work, except you, Tuck.”
All of Junior's workers stood up and began filing out of the room. Broady sat slouched in his chair, meanmugging his brother. Junior was sitting at the end of his couch with his feet up, like a grand pasha. Their eyes locked on each other, and the room seemed to crackle with energy.
The same way you got that seat by overtaking niggas' shit is the same way I'm gonna get it, too.
For the first time in his life, Broady contemplated doing physical harm to his older brother, for his indifference toward Razor's possible death.
“Yo, Tuck, I need you to get in contact with Phil's main dude. I'ma have to talk to these niggas and see what's really good. I gotta run damage control. Probably something these hothead-ass niggas done did.” Junior sucked his teeth and huffed in disgust.
Tuck sat on a bar stool next to the couch and took it all in, while Broady was still glowering at Junior.
Junior said to Broady, “Son, why don't you go home and fuck your bitch or something? You look like you need some ass.” He grabbed his remote and clicked on his sixty-inch flat-screen television.
Avon Tucker sat in a darkly tinted Lexus LS 400 with a black hoodie on his head and dark shades covering his eyes, even though it was well after midnight in Brooklyn. He looked out his windshield at the desolate surroundings. He was parked under the Brooklyn Bridge on a street that had only one streetlight, which just so happened to be out. A rat that resembled a baby otter wobbled by and stopped to sift for food in the various piles of trash that littered the concrete.
Avon held his burner on his lap, his left hand gripping the handle. Every ten seconds he glanced into his rearview mirror, then left and right, scanning his surroundings as he had been taught.
Better safe than sorry.
After a few minutes, he picked up his “other” cell phone and dialed the phone number again. It rang. Avon's heart jerked in his chest.
“Hello,” a female voice huffed into the phone.
Avon just listened.
“Hello?” the female said again, more urgently this time.
Avon quickly disconnected the call. He closed his eyes and bumped his head back and forth on the car's headrest. That had been the fifth call he'd made in the past thirty minutes. He knew she would be asleep, but he couldn't help himself. He pictured her smooth skin being touched by another man, her caramel legs intertwined with a man's thick, hairy leg. His imagination was running wild now. He thought if he called and listened to the background he'd be able to tell if his wife was still all his. He didn't know why he wouldn't just speak to her, ask her if she was cheating on him while he was away. Or just tell her he loved and missed her like crazy. But he couldn't do that. Not right now. It was still way too dangerous.

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