Cyndi seemed slightly caught off guard by Candice’s admission, but her face quickly softened. “Oh, Dulce, I’m very sorry. I can only imagine what you must’ve gone through. I never want to think about anyone experiencing the pain that I feel right now,” Cyndi lamented.
Candice looked at her and tried hard to feign sympathy.
“Cyndi, let’s go!” a man’s voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs.
Candice and Cyndi both jumped, but for different reasons.
Cyndi closed her eyes tightly and exhaled a windstorm of exasperated breath.
“Dulce, I have to go. Please kiss the kids for me when they wake,” Cyndi said softly. She cracked a small smile, satisfied that she’d chosen the right nanny this time around. Cyndi turned to walk away and Candice followed her with her eyes.
When she’d disappeared down the steps, Candice walked to the edge of the staircase balcony, watching the DeSosa family. They were like one solid unit, comforting each other. Arellio placed his hand on the small of Cyndi’s back, ushering her forward, while his brother, Guillermo, navigated his father’s wheelchair.
It was the first time Candice had seen all three men gathered together. Heat rose from her feet and settled in her chest. She gripped the railing to keep herself from screaming out. Watching DeSosa with his sons reminded Candice of her own father and brothers.
Hardaway Household, 2005
Errol and Eric Jr. were Easy’s two eldest children. They were twins, but polar opposites. Even as little kids, Errol was always quiet and reserved; he was the one who thought all of his actions through before making a move. Eric Jr., whom everyone called Junior, had always been the one to act first and think later.
Easy had a close relationship with both of his sons. As soon as they were potty trained, Eric had the boys play every Little League sport imaginable—soccer, basketball, baseball, football—you name it; they played it. He also did typical father-son activities like watching professional sports together and going camping with their Boy Scout troops.
As the boys got older, though, things started to change.
“Get the fuck off me! I hate you!” Eric Jr. screamed as he fought against Easy’s death grip.
“Calm the fuck down, boy! What has gotten into you?” Easy tried to restrain his son, using his arms as a human straitjacket.
Eric Jr. gnashed his teeth and thrashed his body wildly, bucking like a wild animal. It was like some unknown force had taken over him.
Easy was seriously struggling to maintain his grip. The gangly sixteen-year-old was almost as big as his father now. It wasn’t as simple anymore as holding him down until the fight left his body. Easy’s arms were aching and his back stinging. His son seemed to gain strength by the minute.
“I’ma kill you! I’ma kill you!” Eric Junior threatened now; his lip was bleeding from his own teeth biting down into it.
The entire house was awake now.
“Oh my God! What is going on?” Corine cried out as she raced to the scene. She had been worried about her son lately. His violent outbursts had become more and more frequent. It was like she didn’t even know her own child.
“I said, get the fuck off me! I’ma fuckin’ blow your brains out!” Junior screeched.
Easy was so shocked that he loosened his grip for just a minute. His son broke free, like a caged animal turned loose. He turned on his father and stood toe-to-toe with him. Junior’s eyes were wild; mucus ran out of his nose, sweat covered his face, and his chest was swollen like someone had inserted a balloon under his shirt.
“They told me to kill you! You are the enemy!” Eric Junior hissed. The fire was visible in his eyes.
Lately Junior’s behavior had become increasingly erratic; he continued to threaten his father with bodily harm and violence. His behavior was characteristic of a schizophrenic.
Easy sighed with deep regret and sadness. The “voices” were obviously telling him to kill his father.
“You better sit the fuck down,” Easy barked. Sometimes the easiest way to handle his son was to take a no-nonsense approach. He took a few steps away from his crazed son in the event that Junior decided to strike him.
“Eric Junior, please! Stop it!” Corine screamed now.
Junior looked at his mother for a minute with a fiery glare. The look in his eyes chilled Corine to the bone.
“What is the matter, baby?” she whined. Her head was tilted in dismay and confusion. Corine had never come to terms with the fact that her oldest son had serious psychological issues. “Please, baby, just listen to your daddy” she pleaded, trying to reach the innocent baby boy she knew lurked inside. Her words appeared to fall on deaf ears.
Eric Jr. growled like a lion in heat and charged into his father like a wrecking ball crashing into an old landmark. The demons inside him had full control of his limbs.
“Oh my God! No!” Corine screeched as her husband went crashing to the floor. The back of his head slammed into the hardwood floor. He lay still for a few seconds; Corine feared that Easy had been knocked unconscious.
Junior was on top of his father immediately after the fall, pummeling his dad’s face and head with punches.
“They told me to kill you!” Eric Jr. growled again. “I have to kill you!”
“Who are you talking about? Who told you to kill your father?” Corine cried out. She hoped her son wasn’t hearing voices in his head again. They had taken him to several psychiatrists. However, each time they wanted to put him on medication, Corine had refused. She was regretting her decision now.
The entire house was awake now; the commotion had roused them all from their sleep.
Candice rushed down the steps toward the noise.
“Daddy!” she screamed, her mouth and eyes wide at the sight.
Easy groggily regained his bearings. He put his hands up in defense and grabbed his son around the neck. Easy picked his throbbing head up off the floor slightly and applied pressure to his son’s neck. He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. Junior’s body began to go limp; saliva dribbled from his lips and his face turned a garish shade of purple.
“Eric, you’re gonna kill him! Stop it!” Corine screeched at an ear-shattering pitch.
Errol nearly barreled over the heap of tangled body parts. This was not the first time he pried his father loose from his brother’s deranged grip. This time, however, it was his brother’s neck that needed to be rescued from his father’s brutal clutch.
“Daddy!” Candice screamed, jumping up and down. She was crying hysterically.
It was her voice that snapped Easy out of his murderous trance. Easy’s grip relaxed; Errol managed to pull his brother’s limp body away from his father.
Easy stood up; the room swayed around him. He looked at his son, who lay on the ground, coughing and rolling around, gasping for air. Easy had come so close to taking his own son’s life. He couldn’t understand what was going on with the kid.
“Are you all right, baby?” Corine bent down at her son’s side. “What’s the matter with him? It’s like he’s on something!” she cried out, looking to Easy for some explanation.
Easy couldn’t call it. His son’s behavior had grown more and more erratic lately. Easy had never put two and two together that his son’s behavior had gone off the chart right around the time Easy had started grooming his boys to join the family business. He was too preoccupied with his feelings of failure that one of them was clearly mentally unstable. He’d lost a lot of sleep over the matter lately. He was beginning to think that Junior needed medication to keep his moods in check.
“Daddy” Candice whispered as her father stormed out of the room, disappearing in his office. Candice approached the closed door and debated whether or not to knock before she entered. She could hear her father talking on the phone.
“Rock! I need to see you right away. This shit is a matter of life and death,” Easy had rasped into the phone.
Why did her brother and father have to fight all of the time? And
what was her father planning with Uncle Rock? Candice slid down the wall, onto the floor, and began sobbing. She just wished her family could all get along with each other. She felt totally helpless, caught between a deep love for her father and sympathetic feelings for her brother, whom she’d watch spiraling out of control.
Candice crept around Rolando DeSosa’s living space. It smelled of liniment and hospital disinfectant—not exactly a smell she would expect to find in the lodgings of a self-proclaimed “Scarface” type of kingpin.
Candice felt anxious as she walked through the man’s private rooms. She glanced at the bed and wished she could just place a poisonous snake under DeSosa’s covers and be done with it. But she had some digging to do first. She quickly headed to the small makeshift office. A cherry wood desk with pictures of his sons and grandkids sat atop the desk. The bookshelves were also sprinkled with family photos, much like Candice’s father’s own office. She rifled through the drawers of the desk, looking for any important documents. What she came across was mostly hospital bills, utility bills and random notes. Frustrated, Candice tossed the papers back into the drawer.
In the long drawer in the center of the desk, where one usually stored pens, pencils and other small desk essentials, she found a single photograph. Candice felt a chill come over her, like someone had pumped ice water into her veins. She swallowed the golf ball–sized lump of fear at the back of her throat and willed herself to calm down. Reaching out tentatively, she picked up the photograph. She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming at the image of herself. DeSosa had some handwritten notes on the top: Easy Hardaway’s living daughter. Find and turn over to Stokes for reward.
Candice gripped her chest, trying to keep her heart from beating too fast. Uncle Rock had told her the government would be looking for her, but she didn’t realize how close she was to being found. Candice dropped the picture back into the drawer. She decided it was time for her to step up her game; it was do or die for her. She rushed blindly out of DeSosa’s living quarters and headed back to her room.
A lone figure stood at the end of the hall and watched the new nanny furtively exit DeSosa’s private quarters.
* * *
“Tucker, you can’t just assume that these people are bluffing,” Dana Carlisle said as she watched Tuck pace the floor of her apartment for the fifteenth time.
“They’re not going to fuck with my family,” he huffed, hoping that his speaking the words would make them somehow true. The truth was he didn’t know what to expect from Grayson Stokes or the DEA for that matter. They were all corrupt in his eyes.
“Well, now she’s out there killing off their people. Getting closer and closer to DeSosa,” Carlisle recounted.
He had told Carlisle all about his call with Grayson Stokes after the Baile Caliente shootings. Everyone just assumed it was Candy; that had been Tucker’s first assumption as well. But now he was plagued with doubt. He had come back to Carlisle’s house because he needed help reading through the Hardaway books. If they worked together, the puzzle pieces would start falling into place a lot faster, and they could finally see the big picture. At this point Carlisle was his best and only option.
“You really think it’s her? I’m not sure I believe that anymore,” Tuck countered. He knew Candy. He had spent almost two months with her. Though she was trained well, he didn’t think she was capable of cold-blooded murder.
“That’s exactly what she wants you to think . . . that she isn’t capable of killing. She wants everyone to think that. But the government ain’t buying it,” Carlisle said pointedly.
Tucker roughly wiped his hands over his face and let out a deep breath. He walked over to the piles of books scattered on the floor and dining table.
“I guess we better keep reading for now. We don’t have that much time, and I need to be armed with the truth this time,” he said in a resigned voice. He lifted the cover of the next set of books and flopped down on the couch. Dana Carlisle perched herself on the back of the couch and began reading over his shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m hoping somewhere beneath all of this conspiracy theory bullshit is the truth,” she said, scanning the paper for relevant information.
Brooklyn, New York, 2006
Easy and Rock sat across from each other, gauging the other’s thoughts.
“I don’t know if I can do what you’re asking me to do, Rock,” Easy said, breaking the tense silence that had settled in the room.
It wasn’t what Rock wanted to hear.
Rock closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. Easy’s words stung like a swarm of angry yellow jackets. Already a man of few words, this topic left his stomach reeling. He planned his words very carefully, not letting on too much. It had been a hard decision to ask Easy to leave the game. Especially now, when Easy was at the top, riding high.
Easy had graduated from pushing packs of heroin to running the entire crack cocaine game in Brooklyn. That was what made Rock so sick to his gut.
Rock cleared his throat roughly; the grating sound causing Easy to jump a bit. The tension in the room was palpable now. Easy had always taken Rock’s advice; in turn, Rock had served as Easy’s loyal “cleaner.” But perhaps he was asking too much of Easy.
“I can’t tell you what to do. I can only advise you to get out of the game now. I’ve heard that DeSosa is working with some very dangerous people,” Rock said, his tone ominous.
“How do you know anything about DeSosa? I know you never liked him, but you’ve never told me why,” Easy said, frustration mounting in his voice. He respected Rock, but right now Rock was overstepping his boundaries.
Rock looked at Easy, square in the face. “I know more than you think.”
“Here you go with the conspiracy shit, Rock. C’mon, man, all that crap is TV bullshit. I’ve listened to your stories, but I’m not about to make an important life decision based on your crazy-ass thoughts.” Easy was trying to keep his composure now.
Rock was quiet. He looked different, like he had been up all night in a fight and had barely come out of it alive.
Easy eyed him closely. He appreciated everything Rock had done for him over the years. He didn’t want a beef with his old mentor.
“I have been in the game almost twenty years now, Rock. I moved up. I’m finally at the top. You have to understand that,” Easy said, softening his tone while trying to level with Rock. “I can’t say no to DeSosa just cuz you telling me I should quit because you got a bad feeling about my connect.” He needed Rock to understand where he was coming from.
“Look here!” Rock barked, coming alive. He looked crazier than Easy had ever imagined.
“What’s up with you, man?” Easy asked, alarmed at his friend’s angry demeanor.
Rock took a deep breath. “Easy, this is something you have to do. Don’t ask any more questions. Call up DeSosa and tell him you’re leaving the game. You have to trust me on this,” Rock said, his voice full of concern.
Rock stood up. His large body cast a dark shadow over Easy. Easy gazed up at Rock. He had trusted this man with his life—literally—from day one.
“I’ll think about it,” Easy said, trying to hide his frustration.
“You better not think about it too long,” Rock warned before rushing out of the room.
Easy contemplated the consequences of actually carrying out Rock’s order, but he needed to discuss a few things with DeSosa first. Easy dialed DeSosa’s number, but he quickly hung up when it started to ring.
He needed to think this out a bit. Telling DeSosa he was leaving the game would be no easy task. He needed to talk to Rock first and figure out a plan for disengaging himself. Extricating himself from DeSosa’s network certainly would not be as simple as a phone call.
Chapter 21
Dangerous Encounters
Junior pulled up to the DeSosa home, like he’d done every three days for the past several weeks. He rushed inside and was frisked at the door—the normal routine. J
unior was nervous for some reason; he had a strong premonition that today wasn’t going to be a good day.
DeSosa was sitting with his back turned toward the door, but he felt Junior’s presence. A long, awkward silence ensued.
Junior opened his mouth to fill the choking silence, but he wasn’t able to get a word out.
“So what do you have for me?” DeSosa asked without turning around. Cigar smoke danced around his head and colored the air a hazy gray.
Junior cleared his throat. He had been dreading this meeting, since he had nothing substantive to report. He balled up his toes in his shoes, rocking on the balls of his feet.
“DeSosa, man . . . I’m—I’m . . . sorry,” Junior stammered. He cleared his throat again. He wondered if DeSosa, like Junior’s mother, would be able to tell he was lying just from the shaking in his voice. “No new updates. I been to the apartment she used to stay in and it was trashed, but she wasn’t there. I don’t know where else to look . . . I mean . . .” Junior continued, glad to have gotten his lie out without pause.
He had no intention of trying to find Candy; and if he did, it wouldn’t be to turn her over to DeSosa. Junior needed DeSosa’s help getting at Phil.
“For some reason, Junior, I don’t believe you,” DeSosa snapped. His face was drawn into a scowl; the look sent chills down Junior’s spine.
“Well, I’m telling you the truth. I have no idea where she is or where to find her,” Junior said, false frustration lacing his words. He had to make it look and sound believable. His sheer frustration with trying to find Candy, the gotdamn assassin, had consumed his days and nights.
“Well, then, Junior, our business is finished. We have no more to discuss until you bring me what I want. I can’t give you Phil without assurance that I will get what I want. Looks like our deal is off. You can go,” DeSosa rasped dismissively.
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