Secrets Uncovered

by Amaleka McCall

  “Junior, I can help you with your problem with Phil, but I want you to find the girl. Easy’s daughter. You know, the one who tried to kill you because she thought you killed Easy. I want her,” DeSosa said, close enough for both the sweet and pungent smell of his cigar to lodge in the back of Junior’s throat.

  “I don’t know where to find her,” Junior replied in all honesty. He didn’t want to make a two-sided deal. If he had to, he’d take care of Phil alone.

  “Well, then, our business is done here,” DeSosa said with finality.

  Junior swallowed his pride. He knew he needed DeSosa, and he wanted to feel like DeSosa needed him.

  “All right, man, tell me what you want me to do. But I want guarantees that I will be the fuckin’ one to put a bullet in Phil’s head. He hit my moms in her face,” Junior growled.

  “Good. Then we have a deal,” DeSosa said ominously.

  Avon drove to his home in Bowie, Maryland, for the first time since his meeting with the DEA and Grayson Stokes. He had to make sure his kids were safe. Stokes had scared the shit out of him. Now, as Avon pulled into the housing subdivision, he couldn’t help but remember the last time he went home.

  Avon had been undercover for almost an entire year and had not laid eyes on his family during this time. He had convinced himself that it was for their safety that he didn’t call or visit while deep undercover. Instead, he received updates on his wife and kids from his case agent, Brad Brubaker.

  When the line between “Avon, the agent” and “Tuck, the drug dealer” had become increasingly blurry, Avon decided it was time to go home for a reality check. For some time he’d felt the nagging urge to go home and hold his wife and kids. On that fateful day when he’d paid an unexpected visit home, he’d felt like a stranger.

  Avon had sat outside and watched the house, mentally and emotionally preparing himself to reunite with a wife to whom he hadn’t spoken in almost a year. He had desperately needed to get his mind right and shake the street persona he had assumed for the last year.

  Unfortunately, Avon wasn’t prepared to see Brad Brubaker walking out of his garage, or to watch his wife, Elaina, lovingly bestow Brubaker with the same smile she had given Avon so many times.

  Avon reached for his gun when Brubaker kissed his wife on the lips and picked up Avon’s daughter to kiss her on the forehead. They looked like one big happy family, and Avon felt like an outsider looking in. Avon racked the slide on his 9 mm Glock. He held it tightly in his sweaty hand as a small tornado of thoughts whipped through his mind. Avon closed his eyes and tried to squeeze back the tears as he watched 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, Avon drove a few paces and drove the car haphazardly onto the sidewalk in front of his house.

  Elaina and Brubaker nearly jumped out of their skin.

  Elaina’s eyes stretched wide open. It looked as if her orbs would pop right out of their sockets.

  Brubaker swallowed a hard lump of fear that had formed in the back of his throat. His face turned beet red, like a cooked lobster.

  Avon leveled his gun at Brubaker’s head.

  “Avon, no!” Elaina screeched at the top of her lungs.

  “Tucker ... it’s not what you think,” Brubaker tried to explain; his hands were held high in surrender.

  “I just saw you kiss my fucking wife!” Avon growled, his voice rising from the depths of his abdomen. Avon’s hands were shaking and his lips were curled into a knot. He placed his gun against Brubaker’s temple.

  “Daddy! Stop it! Daddy!”

  Avon heard his kids calling to him from the backseat of Brubaker’s car. Avon’s hands were shaking even more now; sweat dripped down his forehead.

  The commotion brought neighbors from their homes. A few watched from their lawns; none dared to intervene in the family affair, particularly since firearms were involved. No doubt, a few had already called the police.

  “Avon ... please!” 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 pitifully.

  “So you fuck him? You don’t wait to hear from me,” Avon rebutted, his voice cracking. He kept his gun firmly pressed to Brubaker’s head.

  “Daddy! Don’t shoot him!” Avon heard his daughter scream out again.

  Her little voice had ultimately changed everyone’s fate that day.

  As Avon recalled the entire nightmarish scene, he felt the same sharp tug in his heart. Avon blinked back tears. All he could do now was hope that his kids had forgiven him for making such a nasty scene. In the meantime, he would focus all of his efforts on seeing them to safety. He walked into his home to a hero’s welcome. It was as if the kids had forgotten about the things that had happened. It had made Avon’s heart smile to get a neck hug from his little girl—a hug that nearly choked him with its strength. Things with Elaina were strained. Avon didn’t let that deter his focus.

  Once the pleasantries and hellos were over, Avon wasted no time demanding that Elaina and the kids pack up and go some place until he felt it was safe to come home again. Although there were few places they could go undetected, he felt fairly comfortable leaving his wife and kids under the watchful eyes of Elaina’s parents.

  So they headed there together.

  Paranoid, Avon spent the first two nights at his in-laws’, staying there until he felt certain that his family was in good hands. Avon sat up all night like a guard dog, watching and waiting.

  Avon hugged his kids and gave his mother-in-law a dry kiss on her cheek before leaving his family.

  “Thanks for doing this, Helen. It won’t be that long,” Avon assured her.

  Helen raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest; her displeasure was evident. Helen didn’t appreciate the fact that his job had placed her daughter and grandchildren in jeopardy.

  Although Avon and Elaina had tried to pretend that their visit was casual. Avon picked up his daughter and gave her a big kiss. She laid her head on his shoulders and asked him not to leave.

  “I promise to come back soon. Mommy is going to be here with you, okay?” Avon assured. With his heart heavy, he placed his daughter back down on the floor and turned toward Elaina.

  The tension that settled between them made him feel queasy. An awkward silence ensued. They hadn’t said anything of substance to one another since he had returned and ordered them to pack their belongings in haste. After the first day, all of the pleasantries had dissipated between the two.

  “How long are you going to be gone this time?” Elaina asked. Her voice was laced with resignation and irritation.

  Elaina hugged herself in an attempt to quell the trembling that racked her body. She hung her head, unable to hold eye contact with her husband. He was a stranger to her now. His being gone so long without so much as a call or an occasional visit, then the affair—and now his frantic plea that she and the kids relocate—was simply taking its toll on her body and soul. Elaina felt Avon always put his need to succeed above all else in his life, including her and the children.

  Avon let out a long, frustrated sigh. Though their relationship was strained, her safety was still important to him. And she had some nerve being angry with him, he silently groused.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I want you and the kids to stay here until you hear from me.” Avon needed to know that his wife and kids were out of harm’s way.

  Elaina shook her head from left to right and gnawed on her bottom lip. The pain and burden of it all was evident on both of their faces.

  Elaina stepped closer to him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She reached out a trembling hand. “Look, Avon, for what it’s worth ... it didn’t mean anything to me. It was the closest thing I had to you,” Elaina confessed, her voice cracking and tears rimming her eyes.

  He flinched and moved a safe d
istance from her grasp. Her words sent a sharp pang of hurt through Avon’s chest. Elaina had been the first woman Avon truly loved. But she had also hurt him in the worst possible way. He knew his pride would never allow him to be with Elaina again, but divorce proceedings were the furthest thing from his mind right now.

  Avon shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep himself from reaching out and touching her. He wanted to embrace her, hold her face in his hands and tell her he was sorry for leaving and not calling. He wished he could explain that it had all been part of his job; it had all been for her safety. But he knew that wasn’t entirely true, and they didn’t need any more lies between them.

  Her eyes begged him to understand, to love her again.

  “I gotta go. I want you to stay inside the house as much as possible. Call me if you have to leave for longer than a few minutes,” he finally said in an all-business tone.

  Elaina had hoped to hear a glimmer of love or affection in his parting words. Instead, his parting words had been cold and formal. Without a glance backward, he turned his back on her and walked out of her life once again.

  Avon pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to release some of the tension in his head. He looked down at the box he had just hefted from his trunk. Digging inside, he pulled out the next notebook and began to lose himself in the story unfolding before his eyes. It was a necessary and welcome distraction.

  He was starting to feel like he knew Easy. He could only imagine what a man who’d grown up like Easy must’ve gone through to protect his own family.

  Avon Tucker was even more compelled to find Candy now.

  Brooklyn, New York, 1986

  “You see that bitch-ass right there?” Early asked.

  Easy looked over and stared out the window on the side of the car Early sat on.

  “You gon’ jump out, blow that weasel’s head off and get right back in here. You gotta earn ya wings. Ya dig?” Early said, still staring out the darkly tinted window.

  Easy watched as the man walked out of the club with a woman on each arm. He wore a long, dark mink coat, a bloodred fedora and red alligator shoes. He chewed on the end of a toothpick in his mouth. The man’s skin was the color of charcoal, and his eyes were beady like a snake’s.

  “He’s a fake-ass pimp, ya dig. He owes me more than a little bit of bread, and I’m tired of waiting. He been in that club all night spreading my bread around like he Jesus feeding the hungry,” Early told Easy.

  “You just gon’ kill him over some money?” Easy asked incredulously.

  Early stared at the sixteen-year-old boy as if he were speaking a foreign language.

  “Li‘l nigga is you dumb, deaf or blind? Which one? I ain’t gon’ kill the muthafucka in the first place. You gon’ kill this jive-ass weasel over my bread. And for the record, I’ll kill a nigga just to prove a point, so what is you sayin’? I mean, if you scared, I can go find me a real soldier,” Early demeaned. He didn’t like to be questioned or second-guessed.

  Easy had seen Early’s wrath more than a few times in the three years he’d been living under the older man’s tutelage.

  “Um ... no. I can do it. I—I ain’t scared of n-nothing,” Easy stammered. He didn’t really have a choice.

  Early had given him a home and a job since he had found him homeless and hungry. Early had offered him protection and introduced him to everybody who worked the streets. This task was simply part of the job. Easy owed him that much. If he refused the order, life as he knew it would be over.

  “I thought you would come around,” Early said, smirking. “Here. This baby will do the trick and ain’t got a lot of recoil either. Nothing more reliable than this baby here.” Early handed Easy a silver Colt revolver.

  The gun felt as cold as ice in Easy’s trembling bony hand.

  “Now go on over there and return the favor I did for you when I got rid of your auntie’s no-good husband.”

  Easy’s heart hammered intensely; he felt like he was going to be bruised from the inside. Inhaling deeply, trying to calm his nerves, he grabbed the car door handle. His sweaty fingers slipped off the metal.

  Early grabbed Easy’s arm. “Calm down, li’l nigga. This is part of being a man on these streets,” Early said.

  Easy nodded his head up and down rapidly. He didn’t even realize his eyes were blinking faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Taking a deep breath, Easy finally got the car door open.

  His target was bigger than he had appeared from the car. At six feet three inches tall, the man looked intimidating. The giant laughed; his voice was deep and guttural. Two women flanked him as they huddled together, sharing a white reefer joint.

  Easy was walking fast now; his legs were seemingly moving on their own. His mind was adrift, blank. One of the women noticed Easy first.

  “Aw, look at this little cutie-pie. You came to pay for some pussy, didn’t you, baby bo—” Her words halted, and the smile plastered on her face crumbled into a look of abject horror.

  Easy raised his hand and let off three shots into the man’s face before the woman could shriek.

  The man let out a scream that was nothing less than primordial. He staggered for a few seconds; his face seemed to break off and explode with each subsequent shot. His large body crumpled to the ground like a wall of bricks. The man’s fedora lay under his head and served as a makeshift bucket for the blood leaking from his head.

  Easy stood frozen with fear. His mind told him to run, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. It was Early’s booming baritone that finally spurned Easy into action.

  “Get yo’ ass over here!” Early barked.

  Easy raced into the car. He was hyperventilating; his chest rose and fell so hard. He tried to swallow back the vomit. As the car sped down the streets, making hairpin turns, he lost all hope for keeping his cool. Easy placed his head between his legs and threw up the contents of his stomach.

  “Damn, boy! I can tell this was your first time offing a nigga. Well, you can bet that it ain’t gon’ be your last. You gotta be that ruthless, nigga, on these here streets, baby boy. You gon’ have to get used to this shit without losing your lunch.”

  Early laughed unsympathetically as Easy retched.

  Chapter 6

  The Insider

  Candice pressed the doorbell and waited, tapping her left foot rapidly on the concrete step. She could feel sweat beads running a drag race down her back.

  “Can I help you?” asked the woman who had snatched open the door.

  Up close, her icy blue eyes and lemony blond hair had Candice stuck on stupid. Arellio DeSosa’s wife looked as though she had just stepped out of the pages of Vogue magazine.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” the beautiful Caucasian woman snapped, her forehead furrowed.

  “I’m sorry. I am here from the agency ... the nanny job.” Candice stumbled over her words, her fake accent making her tongue feel foreign in her mouth.

  She had been watching Flora long enough to know which agency she worked for and was finally able to get up the nerve to go inside and apply for the job.

  The woman gave Candice the once-over and her face softened. At least they hadn’t sent a beautiful young girl, like they usually did. Cyndi DeSosa wouldn’t have to watch her husband around this little, fat, frumpy girl. There was an awkward pause as both women took measure of the other.

  “Come in,” the woman finally said, stepping aside from the door. “I hope you have your act together ... not like that last one,” Cyndi grumbled.

  Candice felt slightly weak in the knees as she crossed the threshold of the DeSosa home. A funny feeling came over body; her nerve endings felt alive. She was inside! She was so close that she could hear the DeSosa woman breathing and smell her rich perfume.

  Uncle Rock would’ve warned against this method. He liked to be the furtive hit man who took his targets by surprise. Candice was the opposite. She wanted to be near her victims, to witness their pain up close as she picked their lives apart, pie
ce by piece.

  “Did they tell you there were two children ... little ones, very active,” the woman explained.

  Candice just nodded. Her brain was having trouble sending the right signals to her tongue. The room swayed around Candice and her ears rang. Her stomach had huge bat-sized butterflies bouncing around in it. The excitement and nervousness was overwhelming Candice.

  “What’s your name?” the woman asked as she noticed the glazed-over look in her eyes.

  “Um ... I—I am Dulce,” Candice stammered, her horrible attempt at an accent coming and going like the uneven slopes of a mountain.

  “Hmm, Dulce, like candy, is Spanish? Interesting,” Cyndi commented.

  Mrs. DeSosa wore slim-cut jeans, a pair of black patent leather stilettos and a close-fitting Lycra shirt that hugged her ample breasts. Simple but elegant—both at the same time. She had the body of a Victoria’s Secret model.

  “I’m Cyndi DeSosa ... Mrs. DeSosa to you,” the woman introduced rudely, not bothering to offer her hand. She needed to establish a strict employer-employee relationship early on. No more little bitches close to her kids, close to her husband.

  “You have the papers from the agency?” Cyndi asked suspiciously.

  Dumb ass. You should’ve asked before you let me in. I could’ve killed you and your family by now. Candice put on a fake smile and dug into her oversized purse, careful not to let the woman see her two best friends—Glock and SIG Sauer—lying snugly inside. Candice retrieved the paperwork and Cyndi snatched it from her hands. She looked at Candice and then back down to the paperwork.

  “I only deal with people that Ms. Sanchez sends. Did she send you?” Cyndi looked at Candice with one raised, speculative eyebrow.

  Candice thought about how she had put a gun to Flora’s head, threatened her life and took all of Flora’s agency paperwork. She’d then put the barrel of the same gun into Ms. Sanchez’s mouth and told her that if she ever contacted the DeSosa family about her little visit, she would die. Both women had readily agreed, but Candice still left them with a nice gun butt scar to prove she meant business.