Hard Candy Saga (14 page)

Broady asked the obvious, not really expecting Carmello to answer, but he nodded his swollen head in the affirmative.

“A'ight. Then that nigga shoulda been schoolin' you to the game, the history of the game, all that shit, right?”

Carmello moved his pulsing head to agree, willing to say anything to keep Broady from hitting him again.

“So, now here's where you need to play for your life,” Broady announced, like a magnanimous game show host. “Question number one!” Broady clapped his hands together when he saw Carmello's head drifting to the left.

The boy jumped to attention.

“You listenin', li'l nigga?” Broady asked, grabbing the boy's head back roughly.

“Mmmm!” the boy moaned in excruciating pain.

“Good answer. Here goes your question—for life or death Who is Rich, Alpo, and Azie?” Broady asked, getting close to the boy's ear. He waited for an answer, his eyebrows arched high in fake anticipation.

Carmello whimpered, indicating that he didn't know the answer.

“Awww shit! Don't tell me your big brother ain't never schooled you about how Harlem niggas was gettin' it back in the days?”

Carmello whimpered again, fear literally choking the breath out of his lungs. He started to gag.

“Damn, nigga! I'm from BK, and even I know who Rich, Alpo, and Azie is!” Broady proclaimed, shaking his head in dismay.

Carmello couldn't speak. His heart was hammering a mile a minute.

“You mean to tell me Phil ain't teach you shit about these uptown dudes that paved the way for him? Phil been tryin'a be like them niggas for years. Damn, li'l nigga! You ain't never watch
Paid in Full,
either?” Broady asked in astonishment.

Carmello moved his head slowly from left to right, signaling he had no idea what Broady was talking about.

Broady knew Carmello was young and probably wouldn't know the answer to his question. He just needed a justification for his actions. Getting the answer incorrect was justification enough.

“Well, let me tell you a little about Rich Porter. A'ight, think of that nigga Rich like your brother Phil. See, Rich was gettin' paper up there where you from, and he had a little brother just like you. Matter of fact, I think y'all was the same age. Rich used to give his brother everything, the hottest clothes, sneakers, all that shit, just like Phil be giving you, from the looks of the shit you was rockin' and the knot you had in ya pocket. But you know what happened to Rich's little brother?” Broady asked, his voice dripping with venom.

Carmello began to moan. He obviously didn't know, but he had to be brain-dead to have not figured out how the story would end.

“A big bad monster like me kidnapped Rich's brother, cut off his finger, and sent it to Rich in the mail,” Broady announced with glee.

Carmello started moaning louder and trying to shake his legs, even the broken one.

“I ain't finished yet. Then the same big bad monster cut off Rich's brother's head and left it in a McDonald's bathroom uptown!” Broady grabbed Carmello's head and yanked it back roughly, exposing his neck.

Carmello pissed and shit on himself from fright.

* * *

Candice fought with Uncle Rock's door lock once again. She'd refused to argue with him about it. She sucked her teeth in disgust. She planned to surprise him with a visit. Ever since the day at the range, she realized just how much she missed him and just how sick he might really be. She also wanted to brag to him about how she'd set up the weapon on the roof and tested out her sniper skills yesterday.

“Uncle Rock!” she called out as she stepped through the front door. The apartment was unusually stuffy and hot. Of course, it was dusty too. “Ugh!” she grunted, her face scrunched up. “Uncle Rock!” she called out again, glancing over at the bathroom door, which stood wide open. She walked farther into the apartment and peered into the bedroom. It was empty. The same for the kitchen. “Damn! I missed him.” She sighed.

She decided to leave him a note to let him know she had dropped by for a visit. She looked down at the coffee table and noticed a piece of paper on it that she could use for her note. “A pen, a pen,” she chanted, picking up the paper and looking around. She grabbed one from his crowded bookshelf and walked back over to the coffee table.

Bending to write on the piece of paper, she read the top line without thinking. Candice's heart seized in her chest. She became hot all over her body, and her nerve endings stood up. “What the fuck? A last will and testament?” she whispered. A sick feeling washed over her. Why would Uncle Rock have this written out? She figured it must have something to do with the cough and the blood.

Candice's mind raced, and her heart thumped painfully against her sternum. Her legs weakened, forcing her to sit down. With unsteady hands, Candice unfolded the sheet of paper and read: “I, Joseph Barton, of sound body and mind, hereby—”

“What are you doing?” Uncle Rock growled, suddenly looming above her. He had doubled back for something and found his door unlocked. He snatched the paper out of her hand before she could read any further.

Candice's eyes widened, and her mouth popped open.

“Leave! Get out!” Uncle Rock yelled, his voice an angry, booming bass. It was his only defense. He didn't know what else to say or do at that moment.

Candice scrambled off the couch with a pained look on her face. She was in a daze, her eyes wild with hurt, distrust, and fear. She couldn't even speak. Uncle Rock was a liar. It was all a lie. She took several awkward steps backward, swallowing the hard lump that had formed in her throat.

Uncle Rock stared at her, fire flashing in his eyes, his hands curled into two gorilla fists.

Candice had no choice but to turn and run out of the apartment, tears streaming down her face like a waterfall.

Uncle Rock started to give chase but decided against it. He unfurled his hands and looked down at his trembling fingers. He slapped his bald head with his hands. He squeezed his head tightly, needing to think straight. He didn't mean for it to happen like this. He needed to keep Candice far away from him right now. He knew they were watching him. Being around him would place her in grave danger.

But having her mad at him made him want to die. Pain gripped him like a vise. He slumped down to the floor, his legs giving out. Turning his head to the side, he threw up the blood that had been collecting in his mouth.

Candice raced to her car and slid into the driver's seat in a white-hot haze of fury. The tears would not stop coming. Her hands shook so badly, it took her five tries to get her key into the ignition. She kept replaying the words she'd read back in her mind. She slammed her fists against the steering wheel and screamed. Not uncle Rock. He was all I had. He promised never to lie to me.

It might not have been such a big deal for some people, but the bond between Candice and Uncle Rock was one that had been built on trust.

Candice couldn't think straight. Wheeling her car out of the parking spot, horns blared from behind. She was driving recklessly.

Speeding down Brooklyn's streets, Candice decided niggas had to die—and soon. She was really out for blood now. She wasn't going to let another slipup or another killer prevent her from getting to any of her marks again. She'd step up her “cleaner” game and then get the fuck out of Dodge.

Avon drove down the New Jersey Turnpike, doing over one hundred miles an hour. He needed to get out of New York for a minute. He needed to think. After the big disappointment with Junior's connect not showing up, he felt like his case was slipping away from him. Avon usually warned Brubaker when he wanted a trip home. The DEA undercover team had to always account for him, so if he was leaving his assignment, he needed to let them know.

Not this time. Avon wanted to lay eyes on his wife and his kids. He felt like he needed to see them to put things back in perspective. His life as Tuck was spiraling out of control. He was losing a grasp on his case, which meant on his career and reality.

Avon had been in Brooklyn so long, looking at concrete sidewalks, crowded streets, and dilapidated buildings, the clean, quiet, tree-lined streets in the Bowie, Maryland subdivision where he had purchased a home with his wife made him feel like he was an outsider. His heart pumped uncontrollably as he drew nearer to his street. He wondered what kind of homecoming he'd receive. He knew his wife would probably scream and cry and try to scratch his eyes out for being so neglectful. He wondered if the kids would recognize him with the shaved head, a feature that belonged solely to Tuck.

Avon rounded a corner and slowed his car to ease up to the driveway. He swallowed the knot of fear lodged in the back of his throat. He didn't know why he was so nervous to be home. He was only three houses away from his home when he suddenly threw on his brakes, causing his body to lurch forward and thump back onto the seat. “It can't be,” he whispered, squinting to get a better view of his driveway. He couldn't be seeing right. He could swear that was Brad Brubaker's personal car parked in front of his home.

A car behind him beeped its horn. Startled, Avon pulled his car over to a curb outside of a house down the street from his own. His house was in plain view now. It was five o'clock in the morning, too early for Brubaker to be making a goddamn check up on Avon's wife and kids. Avon's first instinct was to drive up to his house like a madman, kick in the door, and start whipping some ass, but he needed to see it with his own eyes to believe it.

He could hear Brubaker's voice in his head.
I saw Elaina and the kids. They're doing well. She says you haven't called. You might want to reach out and get in touch with your wife
. Avon's chest heaved up and down. He dug into his waistband and set his street weapon on his lap. Nobody knew he was coming home.
If I murder these traitor-ass bastards, nobody would even suspect me
. Brubaker had never set up Avon's surveillance team, as he had asked for and been promised.

“This motherfucker planned on leaving me out there for dead so he could fuck my wife.” Avon gritted, his teeth gnashing together.

Before Avon could decide on a course of action, he noticed the garage door of the house going up. His heart started thumping so hard, he could feel it in his throat.

Elaina emerged dressed in a pair of skintight running shorts and a sports top. Pfeifer, the golden retriever she and Avon picked out at an animal shelter before they'd had children, came running out of the garage after her.

Avon felt a stab of pain in his chest. Being gone eight months seemed like years to Avon. He'd forgotten how beautiful his wife was. Her skin was still smooth and her hair as silky as he remembered it. Elaina started jogging in his direction, with Pfeifer leading the way.

“Shit!” Avon quickly threw himself down in the seat. He didn't want her to see him. He didn't know what he would do or say to her right then. He stayed down in the seat until she passed. He knew she wouldn't recognize the Lexus.

Elaina jogged by the car and disappeared into the running trails behind their house. This was a prime opportunity for him to enter the house, kill Brubaker, and let his wife come home to find her murdered lover in the bed—a bed she was supposed to be keeping warm until her husband returned.

But the thought of his kids sleeping soundly nearby caused him to scratch the idea entirely. He decided to wait for Brubaker to come out of the house. Then he'd blow his fucking brains out right there on the quiet residential street.

After forty-five minutes of watching the house and willing himself to stay calm, Avon spotted Elaina and the dog trotting back to the house, coming from the opposite direction. She'd run the entire five miles of the trail. Avon knew that because he used to be her running partner.

A surge of longing overcame him, but it was soon replaced with pure unadulterated anger. When his wife got to the front door of the house, Avon saw her stop dead in her tracks and smile. A few seconds later, Avon's son and daughter came bounding out of the house, dressed for school. Avon still knew the difference between their school clothes and play clothes. A hot feeling came over his entire body, a combination of hurt and extreme love for his family.

Elaina bent down and both kids hugged her neck. She was still smiling. Avon knew how much she adored her children. Inadvertently, he caught himself smiling.

His smile quickly turned into an evil grimace when Brad Brubaker walked out of his garage. Elaina bestowed him with that same smile. Avon gripped his gun tightly as he watched Brubaker kiss his wife on the lips and pick up his daughter. From where he sat, they looked like a one big happy family.

Avon racked the slide on his 9mm Glock, holding it tight in his sweaty hand. A small tornado of thoughts whipped through his mind. He could kill Elaina and Brad right there on the street, but he'd tell them just what he thought of them first.

He closed his eyes, trying to squeeze back the tears, when he saw his kids pile into Brubaker's car. Flexing his jaw in and out, Avon couldn't take it anymore. He mashed the gas pedal of the Lexus, and it lurched out of hiding. Tires squealing, he drove a few paces, taking the car haphazardly onto the sidewalk in front of his house.

Elaina and Brubaker jumped. Elaina's eyes stretched so wide, it looked as if they would pop right out of their sockets.

Brubaker swallowed a hard lump of fear that formed in the back of his throat. His face turned beet red, like a cooked lobster.

“This is what the fuck you been doing while I was in the streets, risking my fuckin' life?” Avon barked, leveling his gun at Brubaker's head.

“Avon! No!” Elaina screeched at the top of her lungs.

Pfeifer was barking ferociously and running around in circles. He didn't even recognize Avon anymore.

Brubaker put his hands up high in surrender. “Tucker, it's not what you think.”

“I just saw you kiss my fuckin' wife!” Avon growled, his voice rising from the depths of his abdomen. Avon's hands were shaking, and his lips curled into a knot. He placed his gun against Brubaker's temple.

“Daddy! Stop it! Daddy!”

Avon heard his kids calling from the backseat of Brubaker's car.

The screams brought some of the neighbors from their homes. A few watched from their lawns, none daring to intervene in the family affair.

Avon's hands were shaking even more now, and sweat dripped down his forehead.

“Avon, pa-lease!” Elaina begged, tears cascading down her face. “I thought you were gone. He told me that you had left, turned on us. You never called,” she cried.

“So you fuck him? You don't wait to hear from me,” Avon rebutted, his voice cracking. As time stood still, Avon kept his gun pressed against Brubaker's head.

Avon heard his daughter scream out again, “Daddy! Don't shoot him!”

Avon knew this scene would traumatize his kids. His shoulders slumped slightly as he felt a sharp tug in his heart.

Focusing intently on his target, he almost didn't hear the sirens wailing in the distance. Someone had called the police.

Avon moved his gun and took a few faltering steps backwards, refusing to turn his back on Brubaker. Hastily, he jumped back into the driver's seat of the Lexus and reversed off the sidewalk, and the car came off the raised curb with a loud clang. Avon wheeled the car into drive and screeched away. He took the back exit of the subdivision, figuring the police would come through the front entrance.

As Avon drove away, he blinked back tears, his heart thumping painfully against his sternum. He had not felt a sense of hurt and loss like this since his father's death. The only thing that kept him from murdering his coworker and adulterous wife was the fact that the two traitors stood in the presence of his kids. As he navigated the car back toward I-95 North, he told himself that he wasn't done with Brad Brubaker just yet.

* * *

Although Shana was afraid of Broady on most days, right now she was too angry to feel fear. She stalked through the house in a murderous rage.
How dare this motherfucker not come home for two gotdamn days!

Shana saw her reflection in a mirror as she passed through the hallway. She shook her head in disgust at the large, dark circles forming under her red-rimmed eyes. Running a nervous hand through her tousled hair, her chipped nails snagged in the nest of hair.
This bastard got me 'round here looking like shit, worried fuckin' sick, and he just decided he wasn't coming home? He must take me for a fuckin' fool!

At first when Broady didn't come home, considering the fact that they had just buried his best friend, who had also gone missing and then turned up dead, Shana had good reason to suspect foul play. She had been a blubbering mess.

Between crying and pulling her hair out, she had called Broady's phone at least every two minutes. It rang each time, which told Shana that the phone was on and not turned off or disconnected. Shana had left so many voice mails for Broady that each time she called back the voice prompt “Mailbox is full” came on. When Broady finally picked up his phone and told her to mind her fucking business about where he was, Shana thought she would lose her mind on him. Although relieved to hear his voice, she cursed and screamed at him for his nonchalant attitude until he hung up on her.

To vent about Broady, Shana tried calling Candice a couple of times, but even she appeared to not be answering her phone. Shana felt dejected and distraught, but she was also seething mad.

“Wait 'til that nigga steps foot in this house,” she ranted.

Over the years she had dealt with Broady's philandering. There were even times when bitches followed her home and called her cell phone just to brag about the fact that sometimes when she left the house, Broady would call them up for a quick fuck in her bed. Shana used to lose her mind over it. She would curse, cry, and scream, but Broady would always persuade her to stay on, reminding her that she really didn't have anywhere or anybody to turn to. But enough was enough. Shana told herself that between the beatings and now cheatings, she'd had about all she could take. Being around Candice had convinced her that she needed to spread her wings a bit and learn to be an independent woman. She knew if she left Broady, her homegirl would be there to support her.

Shana stopped pacing the house when she heard Broady's keys turning in the lock. A hot flash came over her body, and she whirled around with fire in her eyes. Broady came through the door, and Shana immediately lit into him. Ignoring her completely, he headed for the stairs.

Shana quickly cut him off in the dark foyer, barely able to make out his face. She didn't care if he looked angry, she was ready for this fight.

“So you fuckin' finally decide to come home after two days? Here I am thinking somebody killed ya fuckin' ass, and you was probably out with some bitch or some shit! Do you know how gotdamn worried I was, Broady? Ya brother after your head, them uptown niggas afta you, and I'm not supposed to worry?” Shana screeched, her hands flailing in front of her, and her neck dipping side to side.

Broady pushed past her. “You better get the fuck up outta my face, Shana. I'm tellin' you,” Broady growled.

Shana followed him, her fury clouding her mind and giving her the necessary courage to continue. “You think you just gon' walk up in here without an explanation? Yeah, you can hit me and beat my ass, but I'm still gon' speak my fuckin' piece!”

“Bitch, I'm tellin' you to keep it fuckin' movin',” Broady said in a deceptively calm voice.

Shana was expecting him to jump on her and choke her, or slap her into obedience. Instead, he simply walked away. She followed him up the steps and into their bedroom.

“Broady! I want a fuckin' explanation!” Shana screamed, her voice cracking. Tears started running down her face from all of the built-up emotion.

Broady finally turned around toward her. “A'ight! You obviously don't know how the fuck to listen. I told you to shut the fuck up and leave me alone, but you kept right on!” Broady's voice boomed. He flipped on the ceiling light in their bedroom.

Shana's mouth dropped open. She stared at him, and he stared back at her. Her legs became weak as she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Broady approached her like a deranged lunatic. “Now you still wanna fuckin' beef?” he hissed, spit flying from his mouth. Blood was splattered all over the front of his shirt, and there were large drops of dried blood on his sneakers as well.

“What . . . what did you do?” Shana choked out in fear, stepping back slowly.

Out of nowhere, the monster advanced on her, his hands outstretched. Shana didn't have enough time to escape his quick strides.

Broady grabbed her around her neck and lifted her off her feet with one hand, her petite frame no match for his brute strength. He squeezed her neck tight.

Shana's feet swung wildly as her body fought for oxygen. Drool spilled down her lips and ran down her chin onto Broady's giant claw hands. Her bulging eyes rolled back into her head, and her entire body went limp.