Lickin' License

by Intelligent Allah

  “Y'all know we having a boy and a girl, right?” Rich said.

  Candy countered, “Two girls, Rich.”

  “That's right,” Vanessa said.

  “This the thanks I get? I bless both of y'all with babies and y'all don't know how to act.” Rich chuckled. “Can't give y'all nothing.”

  “Two beautiful little girls that's gonna grow up and be women that will change the world,” Vanessa said.

  “Pretend that we know one is going to be a boy,” Rich said. “What would you name him?”

  “Richard,” Candy said.

  “Nah, baby.” Rich shook his head. “I got that name from a hustler. My son is gonna break that cycle of selling drugs. Only drugs he gonna know about is Viagra.”

  “How 'bout Jamel?” Vanessa added. “That's your real name.”

  “Nah. That's still hustling backwards,” Rich said. “If he gonna be three times better than his pops, his name gotta be next level.”

  “See, that's why we having two girls,” Candy said. “Boys is too much damn trouble. Gotta go through hell just to name 'em. Imagine after they born.”

  “I got it.” Rich smiled. “Future.”

  Candy squinted her eyes and turned up her nose. “Future?” she mumbled, as if the word hurt her coming out of her mouth.

  Vanessa said, “Explain that, Rich.”

  “Our son is the future. It's a whole lot of throwback and old school shit going on, but our son gonna be the next level. That's where we at as a family. Baby, people say a woman can't raise no man. That's not us. They say that same sex couples can't raise a child. That's not us either. Our son is gonna have a father and two mothers. That's some futuristic shit right there.”

  Vanessa thought Rich had a point. They were bringing children into a world where the love their parents shared was not the norm. As far as Vanessa was concerned, the norm was the past. They were the future. Their children would be the finishing touches of a family that transcended regularity. “You're right, Rich. If we have a son, we should name him Future.”

  RICH

  A month had gone by. During that time, Rich had learned that Candy would be having the son he wanted. The trio agreed that the baby's name would be Future. It was too soon for doctors to determine the sex of Vanessa's child.

  Rich felt reborn with just the thought of having children. Each day brought him new visions of all the things he wanted to do for his children. He vowed that he would never allow them to be placed in danger. The memories of his mother renting him out to be sexually exploited always lingered in his mind. Rich would die before he allowed anyone to do anything remotely close to that to his children.

  Rich was sitting in Candy’s Shop reading a Forbes magazine. The shop was about to close and he was waiting on Vanessa and Candy. He had planned to take them to see the movie Brooklyn's Finest. Just as he put the magazine down, he noticed Chase walking through the door. It was the first time he had seen Chase since the shootout. Desperation was plastered on his face. Chase did not greet anyone in the shop. He had the same creepy eyes and frown that he had when he stood on Rich's terrace the night he convinced Rich to risk everything that mattered to him.

  “Let me holler at you, homey,” Chase told Rich.

  Rich stood and walked behind him.

  “Rich,” Vanessa called.

  Rich turned to her, detecting the fear that oozed from her eyes.

  “I'll be done in a minute,” she said, while braiding a client's hair.

  “I'll be waiting outside,” Rich responded.

  Candy walked over to Rich and whispered in his ear, “Please. Not again.”

  He thought of the night Candy and Vanessa had begged with him not to risk his life and freedom for Chase. He winked at Candy and kissed her. “Don't worry.” He stepped outside, catching up with Chase.

  “I need you to make a move for me,” Chase, said.

  “I ain't see you in months since I got shot and risked my freedom for you. And that's the first thing you got to say to me.”

  “I ain't trying to argue with you, Rich. Bottom line is the connect went sour and I need you to plug me in with somebody.”

  “I know your eyes and ears work, so you see it in my swag and you heard it out my mouth and in the streets. Me and the game ain't got nothing in common but old memories.”

  “Come on, homey. I ain't asking you to go cop no bricks. But you gotta make a call or something. Let somebody know I need ten of them thangs.”

  Rich shook his head. “Just get on the phone and talk myself into a conspiracy charge, huh?” He noticed Vanessa step out of the shop. She was gazing at him. “I’ma be with you in a minute. Get in the truck.” He tossed her the key to a white Hummer parked feet away.

  “When you start giving bitches the keys to the whip?” Chase asked.

  “You gotta curve your tongue. That ain't no bitch. That's wifey,” Rich said, as Candy stepped out of the shop and walked over to Vanessa.

  “Wifey?” Chase's face wrinkled like a prune. Rich had never referred to a woman as wifey before. Chase looked at Vanessa and Candy. “That's what the fuck this all about? All this game over shit is about some pussy-eatin' bitches? Motherfuckin' hos got your nose open like a line of coke? I knew it.”

  Rich clenched his fist, holding back the urge to hurt Chase for disrespecting the two people who mattered most to him—the two women who were bearing his seeds. He turned to Vanessa, who stood beside Candy in shock. Leah and a couple of clients were nearby. Rich turned back to Chase. “I'm a let that bitches comment slide. Matter of fact, I'm gone.” He turned to walk away.

  “Fuck is you going?” Chase said. He yanked Rich's arm.

  Instinctively, Rich swung. He connected square with Chase's jaw. Chase stumbled back and pulled out a gun, but Rich grabbed it. They tussled for control of the .357-caliber Glock.

  “Rich!” Vanessa screamed.

  As Rich twisted Chase's arm. A shot went off. The hot lead tore through a car window, sending specks of glass to the ground. Rich head butted Chase and the gun fell to the ground. Chase kneed Rich in the balls, then dropped him with a right hook to the jaw. He began stomping his Timberland boots into Rich’s chest.

  A thunderous clap from a gun sounded and a bullet ripped through Chase's shoulder. He fell against a parked Toyota Camry. Rich looked up and saw Vanessa holding Chase's Glock. Smoke rose from the barrel.

  “Bitch shot me,” Chase blurted.

  Rich scrambled to his feet and took the gun from Vanessa. He aimed it at Chase, ready to squeeze the trigger. Then he noticed the small crowd gathering around the scene. He took a step back and turned to Vanessa. “Come on.” He pulled her toward the Hummer as Candy opened the passenger side door.

  * * *

  Rich drove straight to his penthouse, followed by Candy in her BMW. In minutes, Rich was packing a duffle bag. He didn’t anticipate Chase snitching, but he was not certain what anyone else who witnessed the shooting would say. More important was what Chase would likely do to Rich, Vanessa and Candy. Chase was not only capable of killing, he liked killing.

  “Come on, y'all gotta get packed,” Rich said, stepping into the living room.

  Candy was hugging Vanessa, rocking back and forth. Vanessa needed to be comforted after having just shot Chase. She was shell-shocked, mumbling about her nearly killing another human being.

  “You did what you was supposed to do,” Candy said, caressing her back.

  “Candy, go pack y'all shit. I wanna be outta here in five minutes,” Rich said. After Candy left, Rich sat beside Vanessa and turned her face toward him. “Baby, you ain't do nothing that Chase wouldn't have done to me if he had the chance. You hear me? You saved my life.”

  Vanessa nodded and hugged Rich. “I love you.”

  “I never doubted you, but you just proved that in a whole different way tonight.”

  Candy retuned with her overnight bag. “I got everything,” she said.

  Rich stood and wiped the tears that began to fall
from Candy's eyes.

  “When I saw that gun, I just froze,” Candy said. “I thought I was gonna lose you like I lost Dez.” She looked into Rich's eyes, fighting back tears. “I don't wanna lose you, Rich. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” The word “love” had slipped out. But it felt right rolling off his tongue. At that moment, Rich was certain he was in love with two women. He grabbed Candy's overnight bag and his duffle bag and set them on the couch. “We gotta get outta the city.”

  Candy nodded.

  “Where we gonna go, Rich?” Vanessa asked.

  “Up State. I got a hideout up there.”

  “I didn't know that,” Candy said.

  “Me either,” Vanessa said.

  “It's for emergencies. The less you know the better for all of us. If you don't know about it, police can't scare it out of you, thugs can't beat it out of you and it won't slip out of your mouth to your friends if you're drunk or high. But that's irrelevant. Right now we gotta go. Candy, you follow us in your car.”

  Rich stepped out of the door, holding both bags. As they took the elevator downstairs, Vanessa kept breaking down and crying. At the ground floor, Rich dropped the bags, and held Vanessa's hands. “Everything is gonna be straight. I promise you.”

  When the elevator opened, Candy grabbed the bags. “I'll a take these to my car and wait for y'all.”

  “Good.” Rich turned to Vanessa. “Baby, you gotta listen and you gotta listen quick. You went through a serious situation tonight, but it ain't nothing you can't overcome. You ain't by yourself. You got two other people supporting you. Two people that love you to the fullest. Ain't nothing we can't do or get through together. Now, come on.” He put his hand around her shoulder and they began walking.

  “I'm scared, Rich,” Vanessa mumbled. “I don't wanna lose you.”

  “I don't wanna lose me either, baby. Just like I don't wanna lose you or Candy. We a team, baby, and ain't nobody gonna come between us.” Rich stopped and looked into her eyes. “You hear me?”

  Vanessa whispered, “Yeah,” and hugged Rich.

  “Now come on, baby.” Rich unhanded her. “We gotta go.” They began walking through the hall toward the entrance of the building.

  The doorman ran inside. “Call the police!” he screamed to the receptionist. “A woman was just kidnapped outside.”

  Rich's eyes expanded. He charged through the door as a black Taurus turned the corner. Chase. We used that same fuckin' getaway car to put in massive work. Now it's coming back to haunt me.

  “Mr. Thomas. It was Ms. Johnson,” the pale doorman said to Rich. He pointed to Candy's BMW that was parked across the street. Her overnight bag and Rich's duffle bag lie on the street beside it. “She was getting inside, and out of nowhere, this car pulls up. Two guys jump out, snatch her and pull off.”

  Rich turned toward Vanessa. Her face was covered in tears, she dropped to her knees. Rich knew there was no avoiding what circumstances were dictating. He was being forced to revert to the life of killing and crime from which he had struggled so hard to free himself. He was facing the worse drama he had ever been in. But he was prepared to kill whoever he had to in order to save one of the two women he ever loved.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CANDY

  Everything was dark. It had been that way for Candy since the masked villains forced her inside the Taurus and put a black pillowcase over her head. She screamed and tried to fight back, but her useless attempts to free herself came with a price. She was beat into submission, gagged with an oily rag, her hands tied. Her wrists felt like they were on fire. She assumed it was a gun that hammered her head, which was throbbing. And there had to be a gash because she felt the flow of warm liquid slowly trickling down from her forehead between her eyes and over her nose.

  The ride was short and silent. Short indicated to Candy that she had not left Harlem. No talking was a sign that she was dealing with professionals. Not some James Bond-type professionals who could beat a man to death in ten blows and evade police with the help of high-tech gadgets. Candy's captors were the type of professionals who had snatched up so many people in the 'hood and done so many robberies, that no matter how dramatic a mission was, they never uttered a word in the presence of witnesses. A familiar voice could convince a jury to convict. And professionals never were convicted of crimes. Candy had dealt with enough hustlers and street thugs to know real beef when she saw it. But for the first time in her life, she was experiencing it.

  She was snatched from the car. The firm grip on each of her arms felt like gloved hands—another professional sign of calculated criminal experience. One of her Gucci pumps came off while she was being drug down a short flight of concrete stairs. They must be taking me to a basement.

  The first thing Candy heard was the barking of a dog. There was a third set of footsteps behind her, presumably the driver of the Taurus. Tears began flowing from Candy's eyes when she felt a hand squeeze her butt.

  They stopped. The irritating sound of chains seemed to come from every direction. Candy's body was slammed face-first onto a table. Her wrists and ankles were chained separately, then pulled apart until her body was stretched out.

  “Get the fuck off me,” Candy tried to yell through the oil-stained cloth that gagged her. She shifted and scrambled to free herself to no avail. The chains were locked somewhere on the table. She heard clicks. Candy kept kicking and turning until another set of chains slammed against her head and back. More blood. Her hair stopped it from leaking too far.

  Her ankles were simultaneously gripped by the gloved hands. The chains jingled as they tightened, pulling her limbs further apart. Her body was outstretched on the table, a limb at each end. She felt as if something inside of her had torn, muscles, ligaments, arteries—it was as if anything within her that was capable of expanding was stretched beyond limit.

  The pillowcase was partially removed from her face for a second. She got a glimpse of the basement. It was covered in soot and debris. Tears leaked from her eyes as she felt her clothes being cut off. The snip of scissors was deafening. Candy was certain that a harsh reality awaited her once she was nude.

  Heels. Candy could hear the click-clack of shoes. It must have been hard bottoms of another professional thug. The steps grew louder, closing in on her. The steps stopped and a hand wrapped in a latex glove trailed from her ankles upward. Her butt cheeks were parted and what felt like a thick tree branch was rammed inside her anus with full force. Candy tried to wiggle away, but the more she moved the more her body seemed to tear apart. More chains lashed her head and back. More blood exited her body.

  Candy's tears increased when she heard the clicking of a plastic-encased razor being opened. The sound was familiar. She had carried a razor all her life. Everyone in the shop seemed to have one. Leah, Meisha, Chanel—everyone but harmless Vanessa. Candy's muffled screams did not go much further then the rag in her mouth as the razor dug into her butt cheek. Each one of them was slowly and carefully carved. It was the type of precision that went into surgical incisions and sculpting fine art.

  The chains were removed from her limbs and she was turned over. When she tried to break free, chains slammed down on her face and stomach, over and over until piss and shit leaked from her. She was beat back into the toxic pool of blood, feces and urine that covered the table. Candy had been so focused on trying to avoid the severity of her situation and block out the pain, she forgot there was a child in her womb. That agonizing truth set in when Candy could not scream. She could not think. She did not know who she was or where she was. All she knew was she did not like what she was experiencing.

  * * *

  Candy had been bleeding all night. She awoke when the Taurus hit a pothole. She was in a steamy trunk filled with the hot stench of her waste that covered her body. Her entire body was sore and she was too fatigued to move. The Taurus came to a halt and the trunk was opened. Through the pillowcase covering her face, Candy could feel the sun and see some of its g
limmer. Then she felt a pair of hands lift her. Her body cringed as she slammed against the hard, tar-paved street. The door of the Taurus slammed and its tires peeled off. There was a haze of burnt rubber that Candy could hardly smell through the waste ingrained on the pillowcase and her clothing.

  “What the—”

  Finally. A familiar voice. Tears rushed from Candy's eyes. The voice had snatched her back into the harsh reality of her life. The pillowcase was removed from her head. When the blinding sun wore off, Candy looked into Leah's eyes. Both women were in the center of one of the lanes on Lennox Avenue in front of the shop.

  Leah took off her jacket and wrapped Candy's body. She removed the oily rag from Candy's mouth and screamed for help.

  VANESSA

  Vanessa was snatched from her sleep at 9:03 in the morning by the sound of gunshots. She crawled from bed and crept out of the bedroom in search of Rich, but she couldn't find him. She peeped through the curtain of another room, toward the sound of the gunfire. She exhaled when she saw Rich shooting at bottles in the woods behind the cabin they had arrived at the night before. She ran out the back door and called Rich. He kept shooting. She covered her ears, walking closer, noticing a small arsenal of guns and bullets spread out on a bed sheet on the grass.

  Rich turned to her. In his hand was a .50-caliber Desert Eagle. In his eyes were tears. Vanessa slowly approached and hugged him. She remembered that Rich had not gotten much sleep when they arrived at the cabin tucked discretely in the woods. Rich had blamed himself for Candy's kidnapping. Vanessa had tried telling him it was not his fault, but he insisted that had he not punched Chase, Candy would be with them.