Hard Candy

by Amaleka McCall

  “It says here, Eric Hardaway had become a distributor for Rolando DeSosa. But wait. Wasn’t DeSosa already working for the government as part of his immunity deal? Wasn’t he one of the big kingpins back then that made a deal with the Reagan administration?” Carlisle asked, spewing facts like an encyclopedia.

  “Keep reading. Anything about a Joseph Barton?” Tuck whispered, his voice barely audible.

  “Says here, Hardaway was a distributor for DeSosa. Things going as planned. Barton enters the picture. Hardaway wants out. He reneges on his deal. He was talking to people. There are no notes after that.”

  “Who are the media suspects in the Hardaway murders?” Tuck asked, already knowing the answer to his question.

  “Even I know that without looking at the file,” Carlisle responded. “The suspects included a dealer named Junior Carson, his brother Broady Carson, a Corey ‘Razor’ Jackson, and Hardaway’s own son, Eric Junior. All of the living suspects went free. You know the rest.”

  Tuck realized now that his case with Junior and Broady could’ve never been solved. He didn’t know that Junior, Broady, and Razor were all viewed as possible suspects in Easy’s murder. Junior was the replacement for Easy, but his connect was Easy’s connect as well. The fuckin’ government! Tuck screamed inside his head. He had been set up. They had all been set up. But why?

  “You all right? What’s going on, Tucker? They saying—”

  Suddenly the phone line went dead.

  “Hello? Carlisle?” Tuck breathed into the receiver. She was gone. Tuck knew they’d probably traced his call to the phone booth.

  He took the phone Brubaker had given him with the tracer device in it, dialed Brubaker’s cell number, and placed the phone on top of the booth.

  Tuck knew that at any minute a sniper would be homing in on him or a swarm of DEA undercover recovery agents would be storming the scene. He raced away from the phone booth and hailed a cab. He needed to find Candice before she murdered an innocent man. He also needed to tell her that Junior didn’t kill her father. Racing against time, he just prayed that he’d make it there before she did.

  Candice followed Tuck’s cab, being careful to stay a few cars back. She knew he’d lead her straight to Junior. Her mind was racing with a thousand thoughts. She wanted to call Uncle Rock so badly, but there was no time. She needed to get to Junior before whoever was killing his crew did.

  As Tuck’s cab rounded the corner onto Junior’s block, Candice fell back. She had to strategize. Getting caught inside the house would be deadly. She wanted to find a place to lay out her sniper gear.

  Tuck jumped out of the cab and raced toward a Lexus. A black truck pulled up alongside the car. Candice watched as Tuck stopped to speak to the driver. He nodded his head, looked around, and got inside the truck.

  “Fuck!” she cursed under her breath. “It must be Junior picking him up.”

  The truck sped up the block so fast, she had to frantically shift gears to catch up.

  Candice was exhausted. She’d hardly slept in days. Uncle Rock would’ve told her to go home and rest because her skills would be diminished in her state.

  But she refused to give in to exhaustion. After finding Broady, she was determined to be the one to put hot lead into Junior. At this point, she was willing to do it out in the open, witnesses and all. Hell-bent on revenge, she didn’t care about being a trained cleaner.

  Candice followed the black truck onto the Belt Parkway. Traffic was backed up. That was good. It would buy her some time to get her mind right.

  As she inched along just a few cars away from her mark, she noticed the old beater out of her rearview mirror. A flash of heat came over her. Uncle Rock, please stay out of this.

  There was nothing she could do now. She was sandwiched between cars, and the second lane was packed just as tightly.

  “You better not try to stop me from doing this shit, Uncle Rock,” Candice cursed out loud. She should have figured he would be following her.

  She gnawed on her bottom lip now. Uncle Rock had been taking out her marks before she could get to them. He had always told her that although he was teaching her how to be a cleaner, he never expected her to use those skills unless she was in a life-or-death situation.

  “How could I be so fuckin’ dumb!” she scolded herself. Candice should have known from the years of living with Uncle Rock that there was no way she could have stolen shit out of his safe without him finding out about it. She felt like a stupid kid. Uncle Rock was always clipping her wings, trying to protect her from everything. From men to danger, he didn’t trust her to take care of herself.

  Candice noticed the black truck dip in and out of traffic, navigating its way forward in the heavy traffic. She waited for an opportunity and did the same, hoping they didn’t notice.

  She noticed in her rearview that Uncle Rock didn’t dip with them. In fact, his car eased off the highway at the next exit. She crinkled her eyes in confusion. She knew her uncle too damn well. Uncle Rock already knows where they are going!

  Candice’s hands shook with a mixture of anxiety, anger, and fear. She didn’t know if she was more worried about Uncle Rock killing Junior first or about her ability to carry out her plans.

  The black truck took the next exit ramp, and Candice followed, a few cars behind, in hot pursuit.

  Tuck kept dipping his head back to look into the rear window of the truck. He had a feeling they were being followed.

  Junior had told Tuck that his mother didn’t take the news of Broady’s death well, and that he wanted to have one last meeting with his connect before getting the fuck out of New York.

  Tuck held on to a small glimmer of hope that this meeting with the connect would somehow reinvigorate his case. That idea quickly vanished when he realized that the connect was probably DeSosa, a man who worked for the fucking government.

  Junior, driving with his one good arm, drove the truck down a series of side streets. “This is where it all started, son,” he pointed out. “Those right there is the projects I grew up in.”

  Tuck took in the dismal surroundings.

  “That abandoned store right there is where I met Easy, where all this shit began. Good ol’ East New York.”

  Tuck looked at the street sign as they drove toward what looked like a dead end—Fountain Avenue. The night he and Junior had come to meet the connect, Tuck wasn’t able to make out any of the landmarks.

  Junior slowed the truck to a halt in an open lot with trash heaps just about everywhere and an old, abandoned warehouse in front.

  Tuck remembered the building as the same one he had been taken to that night. “You sure he gon’ show up this time?”

  “Yeah. He knows all about the war on the streets. He gon’ show up.”

  “So what’s your plan, man?” Tuck made small talk, trying to keep his nerves at bay.

  “I’m gon’ make this one last quick lick, and I’m out of the game. I’m too old for this shit now, nigga. The power, the glory, the bitches, the money—you grow tired of it at some point.” Junior grew solemn. “I done lost my brother to this shit. There ain’t much else I’m willing to give up, feel me?”

  Tuck had also given up a lot. Albeit for a different type of power and glory, in the end, the drug game claimed lives on both sides.

  A car pulled up in front of the warehouse.

  “A’ight, son,” Junior told Tuck. “It’s showtime. Once I introduce you, the game is all yours. I’m warning you, these Spanish cats don’t play. Keep your mind right, and everything I built can be yours.”

  Tuck shook his head, clenching his ass cheeks together to keep himself from shitting his pants. The shit would hit the fan at any minute. He looked around the deserted lot.

  “C’mon,” Junior said, pulling open the door.

  Tuck followed suit.

  They walked side by side, both of them nervous for different reasons. As they approached the darkly tinted Cadillac, Tuck took a deep breath.

  Junior tapp
ed on the window, and they both stepped back.

  Then Tuck heard it. The voice.

  “Don’t move, you fuckin’ murderer!” Candice screeched, gripping her Glock 22. She placed the gun up against Junior’s temple, her hands trembling.

  “What the fuck!” Junior screamed.

  Tuck whirled around and pulled his gun on her.

  Candice was shaking all over.

  “Drop your weapon!” Tuck ordered.

  “Stay out of this! You don’t have shit to do with this beef!” she yelled at him, her voice quivering.

  “Look, baby girl, we can talk about this,” Junior pleaded. “I didn’t have nothing to do with Shana getting murked.”

  “And this ain’t got nothing to do with Shana, either,” Tuck interjected.

  Candice’s eyes stretched slightly.

  “She thinks you’re the one who killed her father. Eric Hardaway.”

  Junior was stuck on stupid at Tuck’s revelation.

  “Mind your fuckin’ business!” Candice growled, the tears forming in her eyes. She tried to will them away. Getting emotional was a sure way to blunder the mission.

  “Yo, shorty, you got the wrong man,” Junior said calmly.

  Candice shoved her gun harder into his head.

  “He didn’t kill your father, Candy,” Tuck assured her.

  “Yes, he did!” Candice screamed. “Broady was there! So was Razor!”

  Junior looked at the tinted car windows and wondered why the fuck his connect’s henchmen didn’t get out and blast this little girl.

  “I’m tellin’ you, ma . . . it wasn’t me!” Junior said in a placating tone.

  “You motherfucker, don’t you fuckin’ stand in my face and lie! My father had just argued with you! You were jealous and wanted to take over his business. You set him up, and you and your little crew came in and killed him and my whole family!” Candice screeched. She racked the slide on her Glock just to make Junior flinch.

  “Candy! Let me tell you the real story! You can’t shoot him. He is innocent,” Tuck exclaimed, his gun still trained on her.

  “If you don’t drop your fuckin’ gun, his brains go flying now!” Candice growled. She didn’t know why the fuck she just didn’t blow Junior’s brains out and then shoot Tuck. Now she realized why Uncle Rock told her that feelings fucked up everything.

  Tuck placed his gun down and raised his hands above his head. “Candy, I put my shit down. Listen to me. I told you before I wouldn’t hurt you. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m about to tell you everything. The whole truth.”

  “Just shut the fuck up!” Candice screamed. She was crying now.

  “Listen to him, ma,” Junior said, although he didn’t know what the fuck Tuck was talking about.

  “Your brother Eric Junior was the one who really shot your father, your brother, your mother, and your sister, and then killed himself. He was being used, brainwashed.”

  Tuck’s words fell on Candice’s ears like atomic bombs. She gripped the gun harder now. “You’re a fuckin’ liar! I found them! My sister was naked. They raped her! They raped my mother too!” Candice cried, her legs buckling a bit as she recalled the scene in her head. It wasn’t her imagination. The dreams were real.

  Tuck was at a loss for words. He didn’t know anything about that.

  “I came there after the fact,” Junior filled in. “Your father had called me to come control your brother. He had gotten out of hand.”

  Candice yelped, “You are a fuckin’ murderous liar! I watched the news. You were a suspect. Your fingerprints were in the house!”

  “Yeah, I went in, but I ran back out,” Junior explained.

  “Your brother bragged about it. He was on the streets saying he shot my father and got off.”

  “That’s just how Broady was,” Tuck chimed in. “He talked a lot of shit. He was tryin’a make a name for himself.”

  “You just tryin’ to fuckin’ save your friend!” Candice screamed. “Well, it’s too late.” She pulled her trigger finger down from the side of the gun and placed it into the trigger guard.

  “Candy, wait!” a voice wheezed.

  Candice jumped.

  “Let me tell you the truth once and for all,” Uncle Rock gasped out.

  Tuck bent down quickly and tried to pick up his gun. Within seconds, Rock had his face in the dirt.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Tuck gasped, Uncle Rock’s foot heavy on his back.

  “Yo! What the fuck is going on here?” Junior barked.

  Candice’s demeanor softened. Uncle Rock had come to save the day. If she wasn’t so angry, she would have laughed.

  “Candy, let me tell you the truth about what happened to your father,” Uncle Rock said softly, his voice raggedy and breathless.

  “Stay out of this, Uncle Rock,” Candice choked out. She was angry at herself for being so emotional.

  “Your father made a deal with some very dangerous people, Candy,” Uncle Rock began.

  Easy held his head in his hands as he listened to the voice on the phone.

  “Junior, don’t you ever fuckin’ question any of my executive decisions. I’m the boss. Remember that shit. If you don’t want to be excommunicated and shut out of this hustle, you better do what the fuck I say to do. I am your fuckin’ father. You don’t run this operation!” Easy growled. He didn’t know how he’d completely lost control of his own son. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought Eric Junior had been given a bad batch of PCP. The boy had seemingly changed overnight.

  Easy hung up the phone on his son. He looked around and saw his oldest daughter in the doorway. He gave her an uneasy smile. Easy didn’t like his kids to see him angry.

  “C’mere, Candy Cane.” He called her to his side. Easy hugged her tight. “Please be home on time from practice. Your mother will be beefing if you don’t.”

  Candice sulked. “She gonna beef even if I get here on time.”

  “I’ma send a car to the gym for you,” Easy told her.

  “No!” Candice protested. “I’m gonna be on time,” she assured, starting out the door.

  “I’m trusting you, Candy Cane.”

  Just then Easy’s phone rang again. He looked at the number displayed on the small screen and sighed. “Yeah,” he answered.

  “There is nothing you can do or say to change my mind. I’m gettin’ outta the game. I’m an old man now. I’ve grown out of all of this shit,” Easy said. “C’mon, DeSosa, ain’t no reason to raise your voice. I should be the one pissed with you. I hear you been talkin’ to my son. He is not going to go against me.”

  Easy listened some more.

  “You can make all the threats you want. I’m out of the game,” Easy said with finality. He disconnected the line.

  Easy dialed Rock’s number, but there was no answer. “I wish this dude would get a cell phone,” he huffed. He couldn’t reach Rock on the ancient landline he used.

  “Eric!” Corine called out. Easy snapped out of his trance. He shook off the feeling of trepidation that lurked in his mind and walked out of his home office to see what his pain-in-the-butt, high-maintenance wife wanted.

  “Whatchu wanna buy now for this party?” Easy yelled out as he moved toward the living room. He pushed the strings of a dozen helium balloons out of the way, just to see where he was going. “This woman would buy these kids the world for a damn party,” he mumbled.

  Easy stepped into his living room, and his heart almost stopped.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Junior?”

  Easy’s son, his junior, his firstborn, was holding a gun to his own mother’s head, and there were three other men of Hispanic descent with him. That much was obvious. They hadn’t even bothered to cover their faces, even though ski masks lay on the floor near them. Easy knew what that meant. He wasn’t going to make it out alive.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Eric Junior screamed, his voice sounding deranged and off-kilter.

  The other men started speaking in Spani
sh.

  Eric Junior relinquished his trembling mother to the men. His baby sister and his brother had already been subdued.

  “Junior, don’t do this,” Easy begged, a sharp pain stabbing him in the chest. His heart was breaking. His own son.

  “Why?” Corine cried out as one of the men manhandled her.

  The other two went about binding Easy up.

  “There is only one way out of the game,” Eric Junior said, his voice sounding harsh and unfamiliar.

  “What did they give you, Junior? What kind of drugs?” Easy asked.

  His son walked over to him and hit him across the face with the gun, and blood spurted from Easy’s mouth.

  The Hispanic men began laughing.

  Easy bent his head. He had given up right then and there. There was no greater pain than to have your own flesh and blood betray you in such a way.

  “Hold ya head up, nigga!” Eric Junior screamed as he hit his father again.

  Easy refused to do as he was told. His neck was throbbing with an unbearable shooting pain. It had been snapped back, left and right. Another blow to the face caused something to crack at the base of his skull this time. It felt like a fire had erupted in his brain. Easy could not even open his mouth to let out a whimper, much less a scream.

  “You thought you could leave the game just like that? I asked you to be boss, to let me take over. You didn’t want that. Thought I wasn’t ready. You think I’m crazy, and had those fuckin’ people calling me a manic-depressive psycho,” Eric Junior growled. He hit Easy again, this time even harder.

  Easy didn’t budge. His pride wouldn’t allow it. It wasn’t in him to fold and give in to another man, even his own son. Cut from a different cloth, he wasn’t going to show weakness now.

  “How does it feel to have your own son turn on you, motherfucker?” one of the Hispanic men taunted, getting so close to Easy’s face, his breath hot on Easy’s nose and lips.

  Still, Easy continued to let his head hang, his blood dripping on the expensive Oriental rug that covered his living room floor.