Hard Candy Saga

by Amaleka McCall

  Just as she pulled up to the club’s valet station, her cell phone rang. She picked up, knowing who was on the other end. “Speak.”

  “Candy! Was that you that just rode by here in a fuckin’ smokin’ hot Audi A Five?” the voice on the other end screeched with excitement.

  Candice started laughing. She was right about the caller’s identity. It was Shana, her new friend. “Yeah, that was me. I’m on my way to meet you.” Candice felt giddy inside. Achieving the first feat in her plan wasn’t that complicated. In fact, it seemed more like fate than effort that led Candice to Shana.

  Candice was on her daily research mission, driving one of Uncle Rock’s old beaters—a 1978 Oldsmobile Cutlass—as she followed her first mark, Broady. She was using one of the several cars Uncle Rock used when trailing his marks. She was late getting to her usual surveillance spot outside of Broady’s house, so she did not see him getting into his car but made it just in time to catch him pulling out. Candice followed the car, and when it pulled into the big car wash on Pennsylvania Avenue where all the high-level hustlers went to have their shit shined up, she did, too.

  The door to the Escalade swung open, and a beautiful raven-haired female emerged.

  Candice felt deflated but decided to stick around, get her car washed, and watch the girl. She followed the girl inside the long glass tube where patrons lined up to watch their vehicles go through the brushless wash. The girl was a few people ahead of Candice and was talking very loudly on her cell phone. Candice could hear the girl complaining about some nigga.

  When the girl went to pay in the store, Candice followed. Then fate intervened.

  “Oh my God! Girl, I have to call you back!” the girl shrieked as she frantically fished around in her purse. “I fuckin’ forgot my wallet in my other bag! I cannot believe this shit! I have no fuckin’ money on me!” she cried to the counter clerk.

  The clerk was unfazed and looked at the girl like she had heard this story a million times before.

  The girl whirled around in a panic.

  “The car was already washed. You need to pay,” the clerk said dryly.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do? I was arguing with my boyfriend and forgot my wallet at home. I swear I will come back and pay!” The girl placed both of her hands up to either side of her head.

  “I will be forced to call the police if you do not pay,” the clerk said in her heavy Indian accent.

  Candice’s heart quickened in her chest. She made a snap decision and stepped up to the counter. “I’ll pay for hers,” she said, placing enough cash on the counter for both cars. Candice knew Uncle Rock would’ve chastised her for revealing her identity to someone close to one of her marks.

  The frantic girl looked at Candice with big, round doe eyes. “Oh my goodness! Thank you so much! I have money, trust me. I walked out with a new bag and forgot my wallet right there on my leather sofa. I live in a big house. You see the car I drive. I have money. This is a Gucci bag, not a knockoff. I have plenty of money. I’m not a slouch. My man has money too. I can definitely pay you back. I swear, I’m not broke. Oh my goodness! I cannot believe I forgot my wallet. What if it was a real emergency? What if you weren’t here? I’m so embarrassed.” The girl moved her hands nervously as she rambled on and on, the heat of embarrassment evident on her face.

  “It’s okay,” Candice said. “I believe you have money. We all have these kinds of days.”

  “Well, I’m gonna pay you back. I swear! My name is Shana. Here, take my number down. I will meet you right after we leave here and give you your money back.” Shana made Candice jot down the numbers she was calling out.

  “It’s all good. I’m Candy. Here is my number as well.” Candice recited her cell number, and Shana punched the numbers into her cell phone.

  * * *

  Tonight, Candice sauntered down the crowded Manhattan block to meet up with Shana. If she’d planned correctly, she would be meeting some real important pawns in her game tonight. Candice had made the decision that she didn’t want to be like Uncle Rock, secretive and furtive, when she took her revenge. She wanted her marks to know who she was, wanted them to look into her eyes before she took them out. Risky or not, she was hell-bent on revealing herself and letting them know just why they were getting theirs.

  Candice noticed Shana waving and smiling from up the block.

  Shana bounced anxiously like a starstruck fan spotting her favorite celebrity. “Hurry up, girl! I can’t wait to get inside! Broady’s friend that I was telling you about is anxious to meet you. I’m so excited that you’re here!” Shana squealed, flashing her cosmetically perfect smile.

  I’m anxious to meet his ass, too. Candice smirked to herself as she got closer. “I’m here. I’m sure he can wait.”

  The one thing Candice couldn’t stand about Shana was all of the excited talking and high-pitched shrieking. After all, she’d lived with a recluse for the past four years.

  She plastered a fake smile to her face and made herself grin and bear Shana’s overly bubbly personality.

  Candice surveyed the crowd outside of the club and, as she’d been taught, made mental notes to herself about faces and features. She could feel more than one set of eyes on her, but she didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable. She knew she could probably beat half the men out there in a fight, and the entire club in a gun battle.

  “Owwww!” Shana screamed as Candice finally got close enough for Shana to examine her closely.

  Candice smiled, still slightly annoyed by her boisterous friend.

  “Bitch, you is doin’ it up in those fuckin’ leggings, that shirt, and those hot-ass pumps! And that clutch is fire. Bitch, you gettin’ it in t’night!”

  Candice blushed. She wasn’t used to having girlfriends or the playful derogatory name-calling and banter that came with them.

  “Stop it! You’re the one looking hot as ever. That dress is poppin’, and those stilettos are the shit! I know they cost at least a grip!” Candice said, returning the compliment.

  Shana smiled and nodded her head in the affirmative. She wanted to impress Candice; that much was clear.

  Candice’s compliment was genuine. The flowered silk kimono-style dress with big pink, royal blue, and yellow flowers on it flattered Shana’s caramel skin. Shana was a pretty “around-the-way” kind of girl. Candice could tell that fast money had changed her from a hood rat to a hood superstar. She was rocking a new weave, different from the one she wore the last time Candice saw her. This time it was a straw set number with very fine, tight curls that bounced around her face. Shana seemed to change hairstyles like she changed her drawers—every day it was something new. In true haute couture style, Shana wore a large colorful tropical flower tucked into the side of her hair. Shana was short, so the heels she always wore made her look taller. Her legs were thick, and her ass sat up, round and firm. Her average face was graced with a perfectly round black mole on her right cheek, lending her an exotic look.

  Shana grabbed Candice’s arm and dragged her toward the club’s doors.

  “Where we goin’? You don’t see this line?” Candice asked, feigning confusion. She knew damn well they didn’t have to stand in the line. She just hoped like hell they didn’t ask for her ID. Candice had a driver’s license, thanks to Uncle Rock teaching her how to drive by the time she was sixteen, but she wasn’t twenty-one yet.

  “Candy, do I look like I stand in lines? I told you before, my man and his brother owns this place. I was only outside looking for you,” she explained.

  Of course, Candice already knew this. She played stupid as Shana practically dragged her to the door. The big bouncer at the door nodded and stepped aside when he saw Shana. It was like Rihanna and Alicia Keys had showed up all at once.

  Shana bragged, “See what I mean?”

  Candice had to admit to herself, it felt good to get that type of treatment. She wondered if her father had basked in the deference he received from others.

  Shana said a fe
w hellos and gave a few hugs to various club goers as she maneuvered her way through the crowded club with Candice beside her. Shana screamed to Candice over the music, “I told Broady all about you. He is looking forward to meeting the chick that saved his baby from embarrassment at the fuckin’ hood car wash and who also has me hanging out, keeping me out of his hair these days.”

  Candice nodded. I already know Broady. This meeting is just a formality.

  Shana continued rambling loudly in Candice’s ears. “I also told his friend Razor about you, too. I told him you was too cute and that you had bomb legs. I wish I had your legs. Girl, those are killers. Do you work out? I know that’s a stupid question.”

  Candice had to focus to keep up with Shana’s rapid blabbering. She didn’t know if she even wanted to meet a dude who called himself Razor, much less date him. But she knew there was little she wouldn’t do for her cause.

  Candice noticed that Shana was leading her toward the roped-off VIP section of the club. Typical hood shit. The one thing she’d found out while doing her research was that Broady and his crew were typical ghetto-ass hustlers. Everything they wore was big, gaudy, and attention-grabbing—the obligatory multicolored diamond Jesus pieces dangling from long chains that hit them in the center of their chests; huge, chunky diamond studs that resembled miniature ice cubes in their ears—and, of course, all of their cars could be seen five blocks away sitting on the biggest rims, with the brightest trims and darkest tints. In other words, all bling and no brains, their flashy lifestyle only making them huge magnets for stickup kids and cops.

  Everything Broady and his crew did was outlandish. One day Candice had watched from her hidden perch as Broady embarrassed one of his little teenage workers right on a street corner by making the boy take off all of his jewelry, sneakers, and fitted cap and hand it over to him. A crowd formed as Broady screamed in the boy’s face and humiliated him.

  So, although it was just another typical night at Club Skyye, nothing was ever typical with Broady. He had the VIP section roped off with thick white velvet ropes, clearly armed bouncers standing guard in front of the VIP entrance, and half-dressed groupies posted up outside, desperate to get inside. A bunch of street dudes posted up around the club, keeping an envious eye on the VIP section.

  “Watch me make these wannabe groupie, hood rat-ass bitches mad right now! They all wanna be me so badly!” Shana screamed into Candice’s ear.

  Candice had already figured out that Shana, although a pretty girl, had low self-esteem and was the type that constantly had to prove to others that Broady was hers. But Candice knew the real deal, having witnessed him with more than one chick on several occasions when Shana was out of the picture.

  “What’s up, Black!” Shana smiled at a tall, dark-skinned VIP bouncer, cutting her eyes at the groupies.

  The bouncer smiled back and stepped aside so Shana and Candice could enter. Candice noticed the bouncers checking out Shana’s ass and taking no notice of her. Fake-ass security. They don’t even know my ass is armed. She smirked as she stepped by the big-for-nothing bouncers.

  When Candice and Shana walked beyond the velvet ropes, the first person they encountered was Broady. Candice knew he was a big dude, but seeing him from a distance was nothing like standing in front of him. She had to crane her neck just to look up at him. This nigga is a monster.

  “Where the fuck you been at?” Broady barked at Shana. His reaction startled Candice, but Shana didn’t seem fazed by his hostility.

  “I told you I was outside waiting on my friend Candy. This is her.” Shana opened her arms as if presenting Broady with a prize.

  Broady eyed Candice up and down, squinting his eyes to get a better look. “Your face looks familiar. Where you from?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as he stared her down.

  A sudden hot flash came over Candice’s body, and she felt something akin to nervousness flit through her stomach. She had waited for this day for a long time and didn’t want anything to mess up her plans.

  “Not from around here,” she replied with an attitude.

  Broady eyed her up and down, a lazy grin on his face.

  Candice could tell that all of the expensive bottles of Ace of Spades had worked on him. She held his gaze, shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

  The moment felt surreal to her, almost like looking into the face of the devil. Candice could feel her heart thumping in her throat. She bit down into her molars to keep herself from screaming. It was really him, in the flesh. Her nose flared; she tapped her foot.

  According to the hood, this was the man who had bragged about emptying a 10-round magazine into the back of Easy’s head. Candice didn’t know exactly who had actually shot the weapon that ended her father’s life, but she knew Broady was heavily involved.

  “I know you not from my hood, because I know everybody around my way. But, like I said, you look like somebody I might know. Something about your face is real familiar, baby girl, that’s all,” Broady said, his voice slurring.

  Candice lowered her eyes into slits and gritted. “I’m not your ‘baby girl,’ and you sure as hell don’t know me.” She instantly regretted the words after they had slipped from her mouth. Candice could feel her emotions taking a hold of her. She had to get it together, or she’d be in trouble. The sudden tension was as thick as the haze of weed smoke that hung in the club.

  “You got a live wire for a tongue, huh? You better watch your tone. I may think I know you, but judging from how breezy you talkin’, you certainly must not know me.” Broady lifted his drink to his mouth.

  Shana started laughing nervously, sensing that shit was getting critical. “Broady, you don’t know her. You always think somebody is familiar-looking. Stop the madness. We came to have fun. No more drama from ya ass,” Shana said, dragging Candice by the arm toward an empty table.

  “Girl, I’m so sorry about that. That nigga can’t hold his liquor for shit, and he always think he know some damn body from somewhere.”

  “I’m fine. I’m a big girl. I can hold my own.” Candice folded her arms across her chest. She wasn’t fine at all. She wanted to drop her bag and pull out her Glock and take Broady’s fucking head off right then and there.

  “Well, look . . . take a drink. All of the shit up in here, no matter how expensive, is free. I’m gonna go get Razor, so you can at least meet him. I mean that is the whole reason you came out tonight, right?” Shana said, eyeing Candice suspiciously.

  Candice just nodded. She was lost in thought. She saw Shana get up, walk over to a group of dudes, and come back with one.

  “Candy, this is Razor. Razor, Candy,” Shana called out over the music.

  Candice stood up and gave a halfhearted smile and extended her hand for a shake. The man she had been introduced to did the same. She gave him the once-over. Way too short, way too ugly, gold teeth, and a long pinky fingernail. Candice cringed. This man could do nothing for her by way of attraction.

  She sat back down, and Razor sat across from her at the table. She considered him for a moment. He might not prove entirely useless. Perhaps he might know some details of how Broady killed her father.

  “Candy, are you as sweet as you look?” Razor licked his lips like he was about to indulge in a succulent meal.

  Candice didn’t hear the question, because she couldn’t stop looking in Broady’s direction.

  “Yo, w’sup with your friend?” Razor asked Shana.

  Candice was sure Shana would intervene to divert Razor’s attention. She could hear them talking, but she wasn’t listening. Right now, she had one mark on her mind, and she wasn’t about to let him out of her sight.

  Broady Carson stood a hulking six feet seven inches tall by the time he was fifteen years old. His dream was to go to the NBA, but like with so many of his counterparts on the streets, it never materialized. The streets had called him early, as conditions at home with a single mother and absentee father deteriorated.

  Broady’s older brother, Davon, who every
body called Junior, had always tried to protect his big little brother from a life in the streets. When Junior was hustling and trying to make a name for himself in Brooklyn, he’d chastise Broady for staying out late, and he would try to encourage him to go to school and get a basketball scholarship.

  But Broady worshipped his older brother and always wanted to be just like him. He started hanging out on the street corners with his friends who were already hustling, and in the local gambling spot run by a dude called Shamrock. In fact, it was in Shamrock’s gambling hole that Broady got caught up in an event that ultimately changed the course of his life.

  * * *

  It was a cold winter night, and Broady ran top speed all the way home. He was drenched with sweat under his North Face bubble goose jacket, fear danced in his eyes, and his heart was like a jackhammer in his chest. When he reached his building, he took the stairs two at a time and burst through the door of the project apartment he shared with his mother and brother.

  He ran straight for Junior’s room, which he had already been forbidden from entering. “Where the fuck is it?” he huffed under his breath, his chest heaving up and down as he rummaged through his brother’s belongings, tossing Junior’s numerous shoe boxes around. “Got it!” he said triumphantly as he finally found what he was looking for—a silver Beretta special.

  Broady had seen Junior stuff the weapon in his front waistband many a day. He also knew that Junior used a different weapon when he was on his monthly trips out of town.

  “Now, bitch! You wanna try to play somebody? Like a nigga can’t get his hands on his own ratchet. Well, we gon’ see who the boss now.” Broady gritted as he unzipped his goose, lifted his sweater, and tucked the weapon securely in the front of his pants, just as he had seen his brother do in the past.