“Oh, you ain’t hear me, bitch! I said, get ya fuckin’ hands off my mother!” Junior barked again. This time he clicked his gun for emphasis.
Slick momentarily stopped beating his mother to peer at him, as one would a pestering insect.
“What, little punk? I know you ain’t talkin’ to me,” Slick replied, turning to face Junior. His eyes went low at the sight of the gun in Junior’s hands. “Whatchu gon’ do with that?” Slick chortled incredulously. He faced Junior now, standing with his chest stuck out like a rooster about to go to battle over his hen.
“I‘mafuckin’shoot you, if you don’t stop puttin’your hands on my mother!” Junior spat out, waving the gun in front of him.
“Oh yeah, go ’head and shoot me,” Slick challenged, cracking the knuckles on his gorilla hands.
Betty scrambled to her feet and threw herself in front of Slick. “Stop it before somebody gets hurt! Junior, where did you get that thing? Put that gun down right now!” she demanded. Her voice had reached a high keening note.
“Move out the way, Ma. I’m not playin’ with this bum-ass dude no more! I’m not sittin’in here, letting him punch on you no more!” Junior growled as sweat dripped into his left eye.
“I said put that thing down and get it out of my house!” Betty screeched unrelentingly.
“You gon’ take up for him against your own son? I can’t believe you! This no-good nigga be beating your ass! He don’t give you no money! We starving around here! If I don’t bring in food, we don’t eat!” Junior screamed. His voice was cracking with hurt. The gun shook fiercely in his hands as his nerves got the better of him. Junior felt a sharp pain in his stomach; it was the gut punch of hurt feelings. His mother had chosen sides... again.
“Boy, you better listen to your mother before you end up in the Kings County morgue,” Slick threatened, taking a stance behind Betty in case he needed a body shield.
“You’a punk-ass bastard hiding behind a woman,” Junior spat. He looked at his mother with pure disdain and shook his head. “Stupid,” he mumbled as he lowered his gun and turned on his heels and stomped into his room. Junior grabbed his newly purchased Polo leather-armed jacket and slid his feet into his newly purchased sneakers—all courtesy of his new job.
“Where you going?” Betty hollered at Junior’s back, but all she heard in response was the slamming of a door.
Junior walked so fast down his block—he almost came out of his untied sneakers. His breath came out of his nose and mouth in strong, labored puffs, and his adrenaline coursed hot in his veins. Heading back to his spot on the block, Junior dared any crackhead or competing corner boy to try to test him today.
Just when he reached his usual post, he noticed Easy’s car. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath. Junior wasn’t much in the mood for talking; and anytime he was around Easy, since the first day he’d started working for him, all Easy did was lecture Junior about the things he needed to be “smart” about.
Easy, of course, spotted him right away.
Easy was hanging with the old black dude again. “Ay! Why you lookin’like you wanna kill somebody?” Easy hollered out as he noticed Junior’s high-yellow face flushed with anger.
The old dude eyed Junior up and down, sending an uncomfortable feeling over him.
“I almost just did!” Junior barked, sticking out his chicken chest like he was a big man.
“What? W’sup, kid?” Easy asked, placing his shoulder on Junior, steering him toward his car and away from the other corner boys in hearing distance.
Junior’s chest was still rising and falling rapidly. He used his hand to swipe at the tears on his face and the snot running out of his nose.
“Who fucked with you kid?” Easy asked, his tone more serious. “You tell me if somebody is messing with you on these streets.”
Junior looked into Easy’s face and then over at the old dude, who was still standing a little ways away, acting like he wasn’t listening. Something about the old dude seemed familiar to Junior, but he just couldn’t place it.
“Nah, it’s my mom’s boyfriend. That dude be hittin’ on her and I was gon’bust my piece in his ass just now, but she took up for his sorry ass, so I left,” Junior explained.
Easy could relate. After all, he was Junior’s age when he got fed up with an abusive male figure himself.
“What’s his name?” Easy asked calmly, looking off into the distance.
“Slick, but his real name is Broady too, like my li’l brother.”
“Where he be at?” Easy inquired, leaning back on the hood of his car, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist concocting a diabolical plan.
“At that gambling spot behind Poppy’s store. He be in there all day gambling away my mother’s welfare check and his little piece of paycheck and any money we get in the house. That’s why you seen me stealing the food that day you bought me the stuff from the store... . We don’t have shit because of that nigga Slick. And my momz just keeps on taking him back in, like she dumb or sumthin’,” Junior whined, jerking his head and shoulders with feeling.
Easy’s gaze turned serious as he analyzed the situation.
“He’s a fuckin’ duck! I just wanna kill his ass!” Junior spat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, itching for action.
“Calm down. Watch ya mouth! I’m still your elder. And stop letting all these jealous eyes out here on these streets see you upset and making threats. Niggas will turn state’s witness on you in a New York minute,” Easy warned. He nodded at the old dude, and the dude walked over.
“Seems like our little friend here got a problem he wanna take care of,” Easy said to the old dude.
“This is my friend Rock...Mr. Rock to you, youngun,” Easy introduced.
Junior remembered the man from the first day he met Easy, but he still didn’t feel comfortable with the weird old dude, who always seemed to stare at him too long.
“Let’s go pay your mom’s boyfriend a visit in a bit. Just let me take care of what I came out here to do first. I’ll be back to get you in a minute,” Easy assured.
Junior breathed a sigh of relief. Easy seemed to have all the answers to his problems. He felt powerful around Easy, and he wanted to be just like him when he grew up.
Easy found Slick playing deep at one of the back tables in the smoky, underground gambling hole. He effortlessly kicked the legs of the folding chair Slick occupied, sending him toppling to the ground.
“Say sorry to the kid,” Easy hissed, his dark boot pressed against Slick’s neck. Slick knew who Easy was, and he wasted no time bitching out to his fear.
“Junior, li’l man...you know I be messing up sometimes, but—” Slick had started to speak, but his words were short-lived when the butt of Easy’s gun landed on his skull, rendering him speechless.
“All I told you to say was sorry,” Easy spat.
Slick’s bladder involuntarily emptied on the floor of the basement gambling hole. The rest of the patrons of the illegal gambling spot had cleared out as soon as these intruders had arrived with their guns pointed and raised.
Junior felt powerful, like God right now. He was proud to be associated with Easy, and he loved seeing Slick humiliated.
“Now try it again,” Easy instructed, forcing Slick’s head up so he could look at Junior’s face.
“Junior...little man,” Slick said.
His words caused Mr. Rock to flinch.
“Don’t call me that,” Junior gritted. “I’m not none of your li’l man. You don’t be acting all nice when you tryin’a kick my mom’s ass, nigga!” Junior spat out.
“I—I’m sorry, man. I love Betty. You gotta believe me. I... can’t control it sometimes,” Slick pleaded.
Watching his grown ass start to cry like a bitch was a shameful sight to see.
“You a sorry-ass bitch. You always sayin’sorry, but you go right back to doing it,” Junior accused. Mr. Rock whispered something to Easy.
“This is taking too l
ong, Junior. It’s time for you to get your feet wet. You always face your enemies and let them see your eyes before you engage in warfare,” Easy told him.
Junior looked Slick in the eyes. He leveled his gun at his chest and pulled the trigger. Junior’s body stumbled backward from the powerful shot. He dropped the gun like it was a piece of hot coal.
Slick’s body slumped to the floor.
Junior stood stock-still; his eyes were as wide as saucers, and his body trembling.
Easy grabbed him by the shoulders before he collapsed to the floor.
“Let’s go. You a man now,” Easy declared as he led Junior away from the murder scene. Easy stopped him for a minute and looked at him seriously. “You only ever kill people that are a threat to you or your family, and you never get back at a man through his woman or children,” Easy sternly lectured. Junior nodded his agreement. “I learned that from him,” Easy said, nodding toward Rock.
Word on the street the next day was that Slick was killed in a gambling spot over a bad debt.
Junior was now reminded of just how powerful he felt the day he took a man’s life. The thought compelled him into action. Junior picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.
“Hey, it’s Junior. I need a meeting. This is fucking life or death,” Junior spat. After hanging up the phone, he walked over and touched his mother’s cheek. She moved slightly but was still knocked out.
“I didn’t let anyone hurt you then, and I’m damn sure not going to let them do it now,” he promised before leaving the apartment.
Chapter 4
Sorting Out The Truth
Avon took the long way to Dana Carlisle’s house. As he pulled up, he could see Carlisle peeking through her front blinds. He smirked when she pulled the door back before he could even lift his fist to knock.
“Come in,” Carlisle greeted. Tucker walked inside just like he had for the past three weeks of crashing at Dana’s place.
“Look, Dana...about the way I acted...,” he started to apologize. He had argued with her the day before. Tucker had grown frustrated when Carlisle insisted that she would help him find information on Candy and Easy Hardaway. Tucker had told her it was too risky, but she had insisted on helping him. She had never seen him so passionate about a case. He had also never seen her so hell-bent on getting involved in one.
“Shh. I understand. You were just trying to protect an old friend,” Carlisle joked, winking at him. She gave him a thorough once-over. Avon had stayed at a hotel after their argument. He looked like he had shit, showered and shaved. She stared at him, starstruck by all his sexiness.
“I can’t stay long. I have a lot of things to get straight in my life,” Tucker explained, taking a seat on Carlisle’s futon, which had served as his bed when he stayed with her.
“I understand,” she whispered. “Are you finally going to try to go home? You know ... work things out with her?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. In reality, the green-eyed monster of jealousy was slowly crawling up her back.
“You said you had something important to show me, right?” Tucker got straight to the point. She had called him with an urgency to come by. He figured it would be something related to Candy.
“Yeah, I do.” Carlisle conceded his abrupt shift in subject, knowing that she had struck a nerve. She rushed into her home office, talking over her shoulder. “So you must be glad to be in one piece after all you went through,” Carlisle called out, her voice growing faint as she walked to the back of her house.
“Yeah. It’s all been really crazy. Look ... let’s not...” Tucker replied evasively. He had already told her he couldn’t involve her.
Carlisle shuffled back into the living room, dragging a large box behind her. Tucker offered his assistance by casually brushing her hands away and lifting the box onto the pub-style dinette set in her kitchen.
“Well, this is what I wanted to give you. Don’t say I’ve never given you any gifts,” Carlisle said flirtatiously.
“What exactly is all of this?” Tucker asked, surveying the large, dusty box.
“It’s all the shit you need to know, all packaged up. It’s also the thing that could get me fired from the DEA, and probably earn me the top spot on somebody’s fuckin’hit list, so guard that stuff with your life. I don’t really understand everything, even after I read through most of this stuff. But it seems like after the Hardaway family was killed, the DEA tossed the house and found what’s in the box. I couldn’t really believe it myself. Never thought I’d ever see the day when a drug dealer would be writing down his life story,” Dana said, shaking her head.
Avon looked at her strangely.
“Yeah, that’s the same reaction I had when I saw what was in those boxes,” Dana told him. “I’m telling you, the shit reads just like a fiction novel, Tuck. Eric Hardaway was in deep. You have to read this shit for yourself,” Carlisle huffed, placing her hands on her hips.
“Where’d you find—” Avon started to say.
“Don’t ask me any questions. You didn’t want me to ask you any, and I don’t want you to ask me any. Just take it and make good use of it,” she said, smiling wanly.
Tucker had no idea just how desperate she had been to help him get the information he sought. Or the depraved acts she had performed to gather these documents. She owed more than a few people in the classified archives a bunch of favors.
“Thanks for this and for everything else. I’m sorry I can’t...I never intended to...” Tucker was stumbling, truly tongue-tied. He never meant to drag her into the mix. All he’d wanted to do in the first place was go undercover, make a big bust and then redeem himself.
Dana shifted her weight from one foot to the other and shoved her restless hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Avon was clearly having a difficult time saying the words that were in his mind, but not on his tongue: I’m sorry I kind of used you, although I know I could never be attracted to you, because I am in love with someone else.
Things between them had happened so fast. The revelations that Brubaker was trying to set him up to look like a rogue agent; watching Rock Barton shoot himself in the femoral artery. Watching Candy suffer as she learned that her own brother, under the government’s direction, had killed her father. It was enough to make anyone go crazy.
Carlisle had been there at the end. Her smiling, loyal face was the only comfort in the face of death, destruction and betrayal. Dana had opened up her arms and her home to Avon, listening to him pour out his heart over his wife, over Candy and over his time on the street.
In the end her porcelain skin and the lemony smell of her shampoo had made him feel clean and whole. She’d rubbed his bald head and massaged the tension out of his neck. Her long, spindly fingers kneaded him, probing him.
Their first kiss was electric. It was hot, fast and furious. Animalistic.
He’d devoured her tongue like a starving refugee. She nearly ripped his shirt from his muscular chest. Her mouth moved over him so fast—he felt like she’d set his chest ablaze.
Carlisle had made the first move by removing her jeans and then her panties to expose her woman’s core. Tuck felt flush; his body betrayed him. His emotions were on overload and he mindlessly took her: forcefully, brutally, clenching his ass cheeks with every release of his hurt, frustrated loneliness.
She had screamed out more than once—mostly from pleasure, not pain—but she certainly could not have enjoyed their coupling very much.
He had been brutal and selfish and completely insensitive to her wants and needs. After ejaculating, he had collapsed on the futon, spent.
The next day, neither spoke about the events that had transpired in the dark. Instead, the focus had switched back to Avon’s impending task—finding Candy.
Shaking away the memory—the mistake—Avon finally decided he would just let the heavy silence that stood between them remain intact, like the Great Wall of China.
“You okay?” Carlisle asked, noticing his glassy, blank stare.
“Oh ... yeah. I’m—I’m just gonna go,” he said, stumbling, his palms sweaty. He leaned toward her awkwardly, giving her a clumsy hug.
Carlisle felt light-headed and unsteady on her feet. She lifted her arms uncomfortably and pat his back—a friendly pat like what men would exchange. She fought the urge to kiss him on the neck. She inhaled his scent and closed her eyes. She was glad that she could help him unravel the Hardaway case. In the meantime, she planned to keep a close eye on him—whether he liked it or not.
Avon got into his car and stared over at the box he had placed on the passenger seat. His first thought was to drive to a safe place and look inside, but the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach prevented him from moving. The dark-tinted windows on the car gave him a sense of security that no one would be able to see inside. He finally gave in to his curiosity and pulled back the thick gray duct tape sealing the box.
The first notebook on the pile was an old-school black-and-white marble composition book. Tucker picked it up and read the cover: MY LIFE, BY ERIC HARDAWAY. Pressed for answers that might lead him to learn more about the young girl he’d become so obsessed with, Avon placed the old dusty notebook against the steering wheel and began to read. Just like Carlisle had said, it was like reading a book.
Avon immediately escaped into the life of Easy Hardaway.
Brooklyn, New York, 1983
“You little bastard! Get ya ass over here!” Doobey screamed, his pale face turning crimson.
Eric stood rooted to the floor. His fists were balled at his side. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. He wasn’t going that easily this time.
“Did you hear me?” Doobey barked, stepping closer to his nephew.
Secrets Uncovered Page 4