Authors: Tracy Brown
Snapped
Snapped
Also by Tracy Brown
Dime Piece
Black
Criminal Minded
White Lines
Twisted
Tracy Brown
St. Martin’s Griffin
New York
This book is dedicated to the memory of my father, my best friend, my rock—William Brown, Jr. Whenever I see a little girl with her daddy—the way he plays with her and makes her eyes light up, how he acts silly with her but still makes her feel protected and special—I think of my own father and how he loved me, never wavering. He was always on my side, always in my corner and forever proud of me. They say a father is his daughter’s first love. I’m a living testament to that fact. Seems like only yesterday I watched him strolling up Broad Street—slacks perfectly creased, shirt well pressed, pea-coat draping his frame, cologne lightly scenting the air around him as he breezed down the block with his signature Kangol cocked to the side. I never stopped being his little girl and I am so proud that he was my daddy. Long before my career as an author, he was my number-one fan. Shortly after I began writing
Snapped
, we talked about it one Saturday night as the summer faded into fall. His eyes lit up and he nodded his head and said, “Now
that’s
the one!” He never got the chance to read it. But his approval will always be more special to me than any other review or critique that my work could ever warrant. He was one of a kind and I will miss him always.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SNAPPED
. Copyright © 2009 by Tracy Brown. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
ISBN 978-0-312-55521-4
First Edition: January 2010
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Too Much, Too Little, Too Late
Monique Patterson, Holly Blanck, Talia Ross, and the entire SMP staff, thank you so much for your patience as I took longer than usual to complete this novel. Thank you for helping me through the grieving process with your wonderful cards, flowers, and prayers. Your kindness has touched me deeply and I am forever grateful for your compassion and your understanding.
Monique, you are the absolute best there is. Over the years we’ve worked together, we’ve formed more than a business relationship. I don’t toss this word around loosely, but I truly consider you a
friend
who “gets” me and encourages me, and cheers me on as I face each project. Sometimes people are not aware of the effect they have on others. Perhaps without realizing it, during those days when I was holding vigil at the hospital, you were a breath of fresh air to me and gave me comfort by helping me to remember that I was not alone. Thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. Love ya!
And to the readers across the world who reached out to me to express sympathy or to share your own experiences,
I am so indebted to all of you. I’m just as much a fan of yours as you are of me, and I thank you for holding me up when I felt like falling down. You are wonderful and I appreciate you all greatly.
The large house was still and dark, except for the flickering glimmer of a lone candle at the center of the dining room table. The linen tablecloth was spotless, decked out with Waterford crystal stemware and fresh flowers. The ornate table seemed only to highlight the enormity of the room and the scale of the silence within it.
Moonlight spilled through the venetian blinds, spotlighting her perfectly manicured nails and her diamond ring and bracelets. She was in a daze, staring at the wall, trying to make sense of what had happened. She had been sitting there for hours this way, replaying the events of the past twenty-four hours over and over in her mind. And it still didn’t make any sense. Not even a little bit.
Everything had fallen apart. It had all come crumbling down. One day she was on top of the world. The next thing she knew, it was over. She stared blankly at the wall, oblivious of all the blood spattered across it. She was looking through that wall—looking into the recesses of her mind to see where it all started. How had she let this happen? she wondered. And what the hell was she supposed to do now?
The phone rang and snapped her out of her trance. She wondered who was calling, but didn’t dare answer it. The house was empty except for her and the body lying still on the floor. The phone seemed to ring forever, each ring sounding louder than the last. Soon all she could hear was the shrill volume of the ringing in her ears. She knew she couldn’t hide forever, but she wasn’t ready to face what she had done. Not until she made sense of it herself. All she could think about was what she had done. And the only thing she felt was numbness.
The ringing finally stopped. It was over, she reassured herself. All the bullshit was over.
But actually, it was just the beginning.
Special Occasion
July 14, 2007
“
Surprise!
” the crowd shouted in unison.
Camille covered her mouth with her hands as she stood in the doorway in shock. Before her was a room full of everyone she loved. Her mother was there, her sister, her cousins and all of her friends. Balloons were everywhere, and there was a huge cake in the shape of the number 30 sitting on top of a long table. Camille felt like crying from sheer happiness, and she looked at her husband in wide-eyed amazement. “You did this for me?”
Frankie smiled at her and nodded, proud that he’d been able to pull this off without Camille getting wind of it. His wife was a hard woman to surprise, and he had gone to great lengths to make this happen. Camille beamed with joy and threw her arms around her handsome husband’s neck in an ecstatic embrace. “Happy birthday,” he said, hugging her tightly. Cameras flashed all around as if the couple were being swarmed by paparazzi.
Camille swirled around and faced the crowd of partygoers, a permanent smile plastered on her face. They began to rush her, planting kisses on her cheeks, hugging her and wishing her a happy birthday. Soon, Frankie got lost in the crowd, but Camille spotted him standing across the room with his cohort Gillian. Camille smiled. God, she loved him!
When they had gotten married seven years prior, Camille had been a twenty-three-year-old aspiring model/actress and Frankie had been a low-level hustler. He wasn’t making any real money in those days, just enough to be hood rich and finance a ghetto-fabulous lifestyle. Today, the name Frankie Bingham (Frankie B, as he was known in the hood) was synonymous with respect, extreme wealth, and clout. He made major moves and major money, diversifying his criminal enterprise by investing in other ventures. Frankie made money not just from drug distribution, but from a myriad of businesses that ranged from a barber shop to a bar and grill. He always used the various connections he’d made over the years to keep himself plugged in to the newest get-money capers. It had been a rough road to the top. Through all the ups and downs, Camille had loved him.
Even in the early days, she could tell that Frankie was destined for greatness. He was a very handsome man, tall, brown, and sexy as hell. He was rough around the edges, yet more charming than anyone she’d ever known. He had broad shoulders and his toned physique made everything he wore look amazing. But most of all, he was focused. He was a risk taker, and he chased paper like few others. Frankie lived big. When he came around, heads turned. Camille herself was a five-foot-ten beauty with smooth chocolate brown skin, full lips, and flawless style. She complemented Frankie, and the two became fixtures in the circles of the ghetto-fabulous
elite. They met at a nightclub in Manhattan and fell in love almost instantly. They got married after dating for less than a year and had lived together in a cramped studio apartment in the early days—Camille working hard to break into modeling and Frankie working his way up the ladder of one of New York City’s most notorious criminal organizations. That seemed like a lifetime ago. A lot had changed since then.
Frankie had worked for Doug Nobles, one of the city’s original drug kingpins. Nobles (as he was known in the streets) and his crew controlled the dope trade in Brooklyn in the eighties and nineties, and Frankie had been a bold young hustler who made a lot of money for them. Frankie had been hungrier than ever back then, eager for the lifestyle of the movers and shakers that he saw doing big business before his eyes. He wanted to impress Nobles and even the low-level street hustlers he dealt with day to day. So he had put in work, flying below the radar and never getting bagged, but bringing back double their investment at times. He gained the trust and respect of the men at the top—the ones who really had the power. Nobles took a particular interest in the young man and took him under his wing. And then Nobles got sent away for twelve years on a murder charge.
That was 1992. While Nobles did his time, his children corresponded with him via weekly letters. So did Frankie. And Frankie went along with Baron and Gillian when they visited Nobles up north. In some ways, Frankie became like a son to him. Nobles admired his work ethic and valued his loyalty. He schooled the young man on the ins and outs of the game, and he spoke from experience. Frankie grew to love Doug like a father. Though Doug loved and was proud of his own son, Baron, Doug felt especially close to Frankie.
In the years since his release, Nobles had wisely continued to play the background. He let his son take the lead while he pulled the strings from behind the scenes. Nobles had been quietly grooming his daughter for the business as well. He didn’t want her settling for a role as the wife of some hustler. If she was going to be affiliated with the game at all (which was likely, considering the fact that she had been surrounded by gangsters, killers, and hustlers from the moment she was born), Nobles wanted his baby girl to be the one calling the shots.
By the time Nobles came home from prison, Frankie had used his close relationship with Nobles to gain leverage in the game for himself. Frankie eventually became the main distributor for all of the Nobles family operations, and over the years he had become a real part of the family. It wasn’t unusual to find him seated at the family Thanksgiving feast or standing as a pallbearer at a family funeral. These days, he ran a distribution empire that dealt in everything from cocaine and heroin to prescription drugs. And he also owned several legitimate businesses where he only made cameo appearances on occasion. He and Camille enjoyed a life of luxury, and to her the only thing missing was the pitter-patter of little feet.
