Candy Licker (6 page)

“I can't, Mama,” I said. “I gotta make that run next week.” I saw where she was trying to lead me, but I wasn't about to follow.

“Gawdammit, Candy Raye! I swear your ass is stupid sometimes. Your mama is right here, girl! Care your ass on back to New York. You got any work that needs to be done here,
I'll do it.
You got some business you need to take care of,
I'll take care of it.
You got a run to make,
I'll make it.
I know it ain't always been that way, but Mama is here for you
right now
, doll baby.”

I didn't even entertain that noise. Mama had a great life now, but who could forget she'd had such a fucked-up past? Plus, the least I owed the Gabrianos was to take the last run that I had promised them, so I'd show up on Wednesday, drop the cash in D.C, and then catch a Metro train up to New York, where
Dominica and Vonzelle would be waiting at Penn Station. We'd have a day and a half to knock the dust off our voices, and we'd be sitting pretty in the House of Homicide by Friday night.

Wednesday morning found me heading toward the airport, riding in the backseat of a bootleg taxi and praying like hell I didn't get knocked.

“Ain't you scared of what them greasy-ass gangstas gonna do when they find out you jetted back to Harlem?” my friend Lulu had asked before I left my apartment. Lulu went to computer classes with me and lived up the street from my house. She didn't get along with her moms at all, so when Mama and Caramel moved out I started letting Lulu stay with me, and she slept on my couch almost every night.

“Don't have them fools coming up in here tossing me up,” she warned. “I've seen enough movies to know this ain't the kind of grind you can just walk away from, Candy. You they top carrier, girl. You know too much. Them Gabrianos ain't gonna let a prime mule like you just slip out the noose and escape under the fence.”

“Don't worry about it,” I'd told her. “Me and Nicky are cool like that. He'll cover for me. I'ma make this last drop just like we planned, then I'll call him from the East Coast and let him know I'm out for good. Nicky is down. He'll find somebody else to cover my runs in less than twenty-four hours.”

I walked through the terminal at L.A. International and glanced at my watch. My flight wasn't leaving until eleven, so I had plenty of time. The security screening area was straight ahead, so I detoured right and wheeled my little laptop bag into the nearest restroom and looked in the mirror. The reflection staring back at me was perfect, but I was still nervous as
shit, praying I didn't get busted just when I was getting ready to slide outta the game for good.

I'd flown out of L.A. International boo-coo times, but no matter how often I transported funds I always stayed on point and I never got sloppy. You could never tell when a rival was smelling you or when your own people might be hating on you hard enough to rob you or set you up.

Besides, moving drug money around was tricky. It had to be done just right. Crisscrossed and backtracked and flipped up and down and around to keep the feds from getting a good whiff and identifying a trail. You had to be able to dip in and glide out and deliver your package better than the U.S. Postal Service.

I ran my plan down in my mind just like I'd done no less than a hundred times over the past two years. The details were tight. I willed myself to stay calm and act natural as I walked out of the restroom pulling my computer case behind me and focusing all of my energy on looking normal while paying attention to every single thing going on around me.

There were two security screeners up ahead and I didn't recognize either one of them. That was cool 'cause it meant they probably didn't recognize me neither. I'd pulled off a whole lot of different looks while traveling, but the one I was sporting today was one of my favorites. Brown contact lenses, shoulder-length brown hair that had just the right amount of curl. Plain black pants off the rack at Target and a navy-blue shirt that covered my booty and had dark buttons down the front. As usual, I'd made sure nothing about me was eye-catching or memorable, which is what made me so good at this game. I knew how to tone myself down until I was able to blend into a
crowd perfectly, which was something I could never do looking like my real self.

I'd fronted shit off in front of Lulu this morning, but in honesty, I had no idea how Nicky would react to the fact that I was leaving. He had taken me under his wing and personally trained me, so I was treated good by his people and got paid more than the average mule. But that also meant he was responsible for me and for whatever I did wrong. I'd seen the way the Gabri-ano family got down when shit didn't go their way.

A young Puerto Rican dude named Pappo used to transport for the Gabrianos a while back, but he lost his cool and got burnt out after just six months. Muling was some scary shit, and dude's nerves got so shook he started pissing all the time. In his bed, in his whip, on himself … Finally he realized he didn't have the heart for this line of work. Since his girl had just found out she was pregnant and he'd been smart with his money and stashed away a few g's, Pappo decided it was time to get outta the game and get a real job.

I guess Nicky and his boys figured on something different.

Three days after Pappo quit the Gabrianos, the police found his naked body at a landfill. He'd been beaten into the ground and tossed out with the trash. But not before the tips of his feet were hacked off and some of his toes were stuffed down his throat. I was out doing a major cash run to Texas when it went down, but the message was so loud and clear I coulda heard it halfway around the world: When you stepped off on the Gab-riano family, you'd better step lively.

I
'd cleared the security checkpoint and was waiting at the gate to board my flight when I got the call. This was the most dangerous part of my job because if I got caught boarding a plane with dirty money it was all on me. If I got caught handing it over on the other side, somebody else went down with me. It didn't matter though. The penalty for transporting interstate was crisp on both ends, so I was always on alert at boarding time.

I flipped open my cell phone.

“Lucy there?”

The voice was scrambled, but I knew it was Nicky.

“Nah,” I said quickly. “You got the wrong number.”

Without another word I stepped out of line and wheeled my bag away from the gate. Nicky's call was a warning. Either the fake ID I was traveling under had come up hot or shit was on fire on the other side. Either way I needed to roll with a quickness, but I made myself walk naturally through the terminal and down toward baggage claim when I really wanted to break out and run.

I didn't get really scared until I took a taxi back to my apartment and paged Nicky. He called me back ten minutes later and there was seriousness in his voice.

“It was a bad flight, Candy,” he said. “Hal fucked up when he gave you that ID. The feds were looking out for it and they had agents waiting on the back end.”

If I hadn't been planning to quit the mule game before, I sure as hell was quitting now. I still needed to get to the East Coast before Friday, but Nicky had other plans for me.

“Forget this morning, Candy. I've already dealt with Hal and he's gonna need a wheelchair for the next six months. But I have something else for you. A one-day trip. Seattle. Your flight leaves Friday afternoon.”

I
was nervous but I didn't see no way around it. I called Nicky back later that night and told him we needed to talk. He swung by my apartment in his fresh Peugeot and took me to an icecream parlor not far from my house, someplace he'd taken me many times before.

There was no other way to say it so I just broke it down to him straight. “I can't make the next run,” I told him. “I'm already tied up for that day. I got other plans.”

“Plans?” He licked his chocolate cone. “Break em.”

I couldn't even look at him I felt so bad. “I can't, Nicky. I'm going back to New York. To sing. I've got an audition with a record label and I got a strong feeling it might lead to something.”

Nicky stopped eating his ice cream and stared at me. He'd been good to me over the years, the closest thing I'd had to a father, really. I saw the disappointment in his eyes and I felt bad for putting it there, but I was on a mission and nobody was gonna stand in my way. My main purpose in life was to become a recording star, and no amount of muling in the world could make that happen.

He sighed and chucked his ice cream into the trash. “What?” he asked. “What? We're not taking good enough care of you, Candy, is that what it is? What more do you want? More money? A bigger place? What? Is it a car?”

I shook my head over and over. “I want to sing, Nicky. I want a recording contract.”

He laughed. “You might get a contract all right. On your fuckin’ life.”

“I have to sing, Nicky. This could be my big chance.”

“Forget it,” he said. “Stay away from the recording business. They're all sharks, and they all work for me in some capacity anyway. Be a good girl. Make your drop.”

“I can get somebody to fill in for me,” I said real quick. “The job'll get done and shit will be smooth. I promise.”

“Who?” Nicky laughed again, but I knew damn well he wasn't amused. “Who's gonna make your drop, Candy? That kid you go to school with? The one who's living with you and mooching off you for free? Oh, I know. Your mother, right? You're gonna let that junkie mother of yours get her hands on my money and run it for you, right?”

“My mama ain't no junkie,” I mumbled under my breath. “She got herself together now.”

He stood up. “I can't believe this shit! You're serious, aren't you? Your mother? You're gonna throw your whole life away on something stupid, Candy? If I'da known you were that dumb I would've left you in that coat closet back in Harlem.”

He balled his napkin up and hurled it at the trash can. “I take you under my wing and put myself out for you and this is the kind of thanks I get? This is the way you repay me? I'm warning you, Candy. I care about you, but if you mess things up with the family I'll do whatever I have to do. You'll be dead to me, Candy. You hear me?”

I didn't say nothing. I had to do what I had to do too.

“Well, fine,” Nicky said, standing up. His eyes were cold.
“Let your junkie mother make the drop. If she fucks it up and gets out of pocket, you'll both end up paying. Your mother is a fiend, Candy. There's no such thing as an ex-trickster. Remember that.”

M
ama was too down.

“Don't worry, Candy,” she told me. “I know what to do and I got you covered. Trust me, I can do this.”

I swallowed hard. Mama needed the extra money this run would bring, but I needed Mama. She was my only backup and everything inside of me wanted to believe she could pull it off because I was between a rock and a wall. Nicky was mad at me, but Hurricane Jackson wasn't about to give us a second shot and Dominica and Vonzelle had let it be known that our entire career depended on my ass being in Harlem on Friday night.

My head was spinning. I was so stressed I couldn't think straight. Whatever decision I made, the repercussions might come back to bite me on the ass, but singing was my life. Hell, Mama was right. Opportunities like this didn't come banging on your door every day. I'd be stupid to let one this big pass me by.