Hard Candy
Page 14
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 f
oul 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 till 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.
Candice sucked her teeth angrily as her cell phone buzzed for the fiftieth time. She didn’t bother to look at the caller ID since she already knew who it was.
“Shana! Stop fuckin’ calling me. Obviously I don’t wanna talk!” Candice screamed into the air, pressing the ignore button once again. Candice didn’t have time for distractions. She was angry enough to shoot up an entire neighborhood right now. She certainly couldn’t take a chance with any of her marks turning up missing before she had the opportunity to exact her own brand of justice. What she had read at Uncle Rock’s house wasn’t going to deter her from her mission. No matter what.
Candice packed her supplies and set the small black duffel bag next to the plastic case that held her AR-15. She ripped open the plastic on a brand-new pair of black leather gloves and slid one glove over her fingers. She held the gloved hand up to her face and examined the fit. Uncle Rock always told her that the gloves had to be like her second skin, with no awkwardness to impede movement. Candice dressed in all black as well. No matter what Uncle Rock had done in his past, she realized that his intentions had been good and he had taught her well.
Candice didn’t have the benefit of having Uncle Rock’s old beater to drive this time. She didn’t care about driving her Audi, either. She wasn’t worried about anybody recognizing her car.
Feeling ruthless as she climbed into her ride, she wheeled it out of the parking space and headed to Broady and Shana’s house. Broady would be first. Candice thought about showing up at Shana’s door, going inside, and then blowing Broady’s brains out on the spot. But, she decided against it because she didn’t want to put Shana through that type of trauma. She decided that she would wait for him to leave the house and follow him wherever he went that night. She was going to see to it that he didn’t return home.
Candice pulled to the corner of their block but was unable to turn onto the street. A police officer came walking toward her car, giving some crazy-looking hand signals to indicate that she needed to reroute her car. The DO NOT CROSS tape was being rolled out to section off a part of the street. Lights flashed from all of the police and ambulance vehicles parked haphazardly on the street, giving an eerie glow to the night.
Candice furrowed her eyebrows. “What the fuck is going on out here?” she whispered. Her first instinct was to hightail it out of there, since she had a high-powered weapon in her trunk. But the police on the scene were too preoccupied to search her car.
Candice parked on the corner and began walking up the street to investigate the situation. A small glint of worry crossed her mind. Maybe this has something to do with why Shana was blowing up my phone. Maybe he beat her up again. Or worse.
She picked up her pace, inching closer to the police activity. As she got closer, she realized that Shana and Broady’s house was in fact the center of attention. Full-fledged panic set in. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead, and Candice began to run, a thousand thoughts crossing her mind at once.
Though Candice worried about Shana, she was equally concerned that someone had killed Broady before she got the chance to do it herself. That would be the second of her marks to turn up dead. She remembered Shana telling her that Broady was in beef with dudes from uptown. Shit! What if they got him first? Candice scolded herself for not considering other such possibilities.
A uniformed officer stopped her when she got within a few feet of the house. “Ma’am, you cannot go any further,” he said gruffly, placing his hand up to halt her steps.
Huffing and puffing, Candice was a mixture of nervous anxiety and physical exhaustion. “That is my sister’s house,” she lied outright.
Candice stepped back. “Will you at least tell me if the victim is a female or male? I’m worried about my sister,” she said, playing the role of a concerned family member.
“I can’t give you any information. If your sister happens to be a victim, someone from the detective squad will contact you as next of kin. Your sister does have your information stored someplace, right?” The officer lifted an eyebrow. He’d heard the “that’s my sister or brother” line a million times before.
Candice nodded absentmindedly. Of course, Shana had her information. Her cell phone records at least would indicate that the two of them were indeed close.
Candice took in the scene, her gaze riveted to the Emergency Service Unit parked in front of the home, as well as the FDNY ambulance. The entire scene was overwhelming. Exasperated, she turned to leave just as a storm of dark blue uniforms and trench coats rushed out of the house. Some of the EMTs were carrying a stretcher, but the police and other EMTs swarmed around the body, preventing her from seeing who was on it.
Through the static-filled police and medical personnel communication via two-way radios, Candice understood that the victim was a female with a gunshot wound. She was unconscious and had lost a lot of blood. She put her hand over her mouth. It is Shana. Oh my God! Broady shot Shana! That motherfucker!
“ETA to the county is approximately six minutes,” an EMT reported in his call to the trauma center at Kings County Hospital.
Struck with a burst of energy, Candice raced back toward her car. She was going to follow the ambulance. She was hoping they could save Shana’s life. Shana may have been just a means to an end for her initially, but she was certainly not a bad person. Unlike most people Candice knew, Shana deserved to live.
Chapter 10