Hard Candy Saga (4 page)

The stranger in the trench coat seemed to pick up his stride.

Rock noticed the gun that the man had secreted up against his leg. All of a sudden, Rock was on the move. He dropped the BC Powder on the floor and rushed out of the bodega. He took five huge strides and was standing behind the quiet kid as the trench coat stranger got right up on him.

The trench coat stranger with the gun was caught off guard by Rock's interference, but he still attempted to raise his weapon hand. He never got the chance, though.

Rock grabbed the man's wrist and clamped down on his “God's notch,” and the bones in the man's wrist immediately crumbled under Rock's grasp. The man cried out in pain as the gun fell to the ground.

When the guys on the corner noticed the commotion, they all began to scatter.

“Oh shit! A gun!” one of them yelled.

Rock realized his first impression of the so-called tough guys on the corner was right. They were pussies.

The girl who was engaged in the argument with the quiet corner boy immediately stopped screaming and rushed to the aid of her man, who was rolling around on the ground in severe pain. “Baby, you okay?” she cried out.

Rock picked up the man's gun, dropped the magazine out of it, dismantled the slide, and threw the bottom half of the gun at him.

“Oh shit! That bitch tried to set me up!” the quiet corner boy screamed, his heart racing as he realized what had just happened.

Rock nodded in agreement.

“Fuck! Thank God you were here. That nigga woulda shot me right in the back of my fuckin' head,” the quiet boy said to Rock.

Rock nodded again, but still no words.

“I'ma fuckin' kill him!” the boy screamed.

Rock put his hand up to the boy's chest to stop him. “Not here. Not now,” he said calmly.

The boy backed down. Something about Rock's words, the way he said them, had calmed him. “I'm Eric,” he said, introducing himself, “but everybody calls me Easy.”

“Rock.” He shook Easy's hand firmly.

“Yo, man, how can I repay you for that shit?” Easy asked as he eyed the girl and the guy scurrying away.

“No need.” Rock handed Easy the magazine full of .40-caliber rounds and the slide of his would-be assassin's gun.

“Nah, there has got to be something. Some money, some food, clothes, something,” Easy said.

“Just go inside and get my BC Powder. I have the worst headache,” Rock said.

Easy scrambled to do as Rock asked, and their friendship was sealed after that day.

Rock had never given Easy a price for saving his life, but as Easy moved up in the game, he continued to look out for Rock. Every day when Rock went to the store, Easy would pay for his groceries, and they'd walk and talk.

Soon, Easy graduated in the game from corner boy to boss, but he continued to frequent the neighborhood just to visit Rock. He and Rock had gone from walking and talking, to riding in whatever luxury car he had on a particular day. Easy and Rock would have long, serious talks about life.

Rock grew to trust Easy, which wasn't an uncomplicated undertaking. Easy also grew to trust Rock. In fact, Rock was the one person Easy trusted with his life. Easy trusted Rock so much, he shared his childhood with him, specifically his being born into the game. Literally.

Easy's mother was one of the first female drug dealers in Brooklyn. His father had turned her on to the game, and they were an unstoppable duo, until jealous rival dealers executed them both. Easy grew up with his grandmother, who he believed died of a broken heart shortly after his mother's murder. Then he moved in with an aunt, who treated him like shit and let her husband beat Easy at will. Though Easy didn't have an easy life, he was convinced that he knew how to hold his own in the streets.

Rock wasn't impressed. Easy still had a lot to learn. In turn, Rock revealed to Easy his talents as a professional cleaner for the CIA.

Easy was impressed. Sometimes he would joke with Rock and say stuff like, “Get the fuck outta here, Rock! That's some shit out of the movies.”

Then came the day when Easy's life hung in the balance once again. A rival hustler had threatened his life and murdered one of Easy's workers, to drive home the point. This time, Easy hired Rock to take care of his problem. The job was done so well, the police never found the man or any trace of him, despite the number of missing persons posters hanging in the neighborhood. Rock had made him ghost and had quickly become Easy's personal hired cleaner.

Easy used Rock to carry out his most high-profile hits, but no one on the streets knew about Rock, who was like a ghost himself. He'd appear when Easy needed him, and disappear just as quickly. He could wipe out a person's entire identity, but he did have one rule that he never broke—no women and no children. That became Easy's street creed as well. Rock didn't mind carrying out Easy's hits because, unlike the government, for which he carried out hits on people simply because they had information that made the government look bad, Easy killed only people who tried to harm him or his family.

* * *

When Easy met Corine, he went to Rock for advice about whether or not he should trust her. Corine, the daughter of a retired NYPD homicide detective, had been forbidden to see Easy. Easy desperately needed Rock's advice, but Rock, unable to speak about women or love with Easy, clammed up and cut his visit with Easy short when the subject of Corine came up. And Easy didn't push the issue.

It was a sensitive topic for Rock. The one woman he'd loved had gotten pregnant by another man by the time he returned from the war. At least that was what she told Rock when he returned home to find her with a son. Rock was devastated. The entire time he was at war, she had been his motivation to return home.

Afterward, Rock gave up on the concept of love and marriage, and anything associated with it, and decided to never let another woman into his heart. Aside from occasional sex to satisfy his basic needs, he never deluded himself with notions of love again.

Rock didn't attend the wedding, nor did Corine's parents, who had disowned her for associating with street trash. When Easy began having children, Rock's heart began to soften a bit. He would attend the christenings, birthday parties, and any other special occasions, and slowly but surely, the Hardaway family became like his own.

* * *

Rock coughed up more blood as he doubled over in pain. Each day, the burning and pain seemed to intensify. He was starting to wonder if he should have started the chemotherapy. Rock wasn't a strong believer in modern medicine, and his time with the government had made him paranoid. He knew all about doctors experimenting on perfectly healthy people, especially poor people with little or no medical coverage. Even after his diagnosis, Rock believed that the government had placed the cancer in his body as a way to, over time, eliminate him. He held a lot of government secrets and was also one of the few highly trained operatives that could probably take down an entire army platoon alone.

A nagging thought in the back of his mind was causing him to second-guess his decision to refuse treatment. The thought of leaving Candice behind all alone was unbearable. The doctors had already told him that if he didn't get chemotherapy and radiation treatment immediately, he would not make it another two months. Rock had a difficult decision to make, especially now that he knew Candice was venturing into very dangerous territory.

Candice took the last bobby pin out of her doobie and threw it on the dresser.

Candice bopped to Usher's lyrics as she sauntered over to her full-length mirror and checked her face, hair, clothes and, most importantly, her assets—tits and ass—for good measure. “Candy, you's a fierce bitch when you wanna be,” she said out loud to herself as she looked over her shoulder at her almost heart-shaped backside which made her leggings look like they'd been painted on. On most days Candice wore jeans or sweats. Although she'd grown into a beautiful young lady, she preferred to be tomboy-comfortable rather than sexy. Candice thought her looks were merely average on a regular day, but her smooth skin, full lips, long, slim legs, and flat stomach had garnered her more than a little bit of attention on the streets. And attention was exactly what she was seeking tonight. She wanted to be noticed and ultimately accepted by the most important players in the game.

Candice had taken the first lesson she'd learned from Uncle Rock to heart—always know your mark's first and last move before you make your move; never rush to judgment until you know absolutely everything about the mark. She smiled just thinking about how she'd goaded Rock into teaching her all of his skills. He had been a little miffed that she'd found out what he did for a living, but she would not give up until he started teaching her about weapons, defensive tactics, and how to go ghost.

In true astute pupil fashion, Candice heeded Uncle Rock's words, and had been doing her homework for a few weeks now, this time on human marks. She was confident that she had gone unnoticed while she did her research. She had their routines down pat in her mind. Now the time had come for her to throw the bait.

* * *

When Candice arrived at Club Skyye in midtown Manhattan, the first thing she did was drive her midnight blue Audi A5 slowly past the long line outside. Her windows down, she noticed heads turning as dudes and chicks on the line realized it was a girl driving the high-priced car. Candice felt powerful for just a fleeting moment. It immediately reminded her of how people in the streets used to react when her father walked into any public place. Easy would command a crowd's attention no matter where he went.

Just as she pulled up to the club's valet station, her cell phone rang. She picked up, knowing who was on the other end. “Speak.”

“Candy! Was that you that just rode by here in a fuckin' smokin' hot Audi A Five?” the voice on the other end screeched with excitement.

Candice started laughing. She was right about the caller's identity. It was Shana, her new friend. “Yeah, that was me. I'm on my way to meet you.” Candice felt giddy inside. Achieving the first feat in her plan wasn't that complicated. In fact, it seemed more like fate than effort that led Candice to Shana.

Candice was on her daily research mission, driving one of Uncle Rock's old beaters—a 1978 Oldsmobile Cutlass—as she followed her first mark, Broady. She was using one of the several cars Uncle Rock used when trailing his marks. She was late getting to her usual surveillance spot outside of Broady's house, so she did not see him getting into his car but made it just in time to catch him pulling out. Candice followed the car, and when it pulled into the big car wash on Pennsylvania Avenue where all the high-level hustlers went to have their shit shined up, she did, too.

The door to the Escalade swung open, and a beautiful raven-haired female emerged.

Candice felt deflated but decided to stick around, get her car washed, and watch the girl. She followed the girl inside the long glass tube where patrons lined up to watch their vehicles go through the brushless wash. The girl was a few people ahead of Candice and was talking very loudly on her cell phone. Candice could hear the girl complaining about some nigga.

When the girl went to pay in the store, Candice followed. Then fate intervened.

“Oh my God! Girl, I have to call you back!” the girl shrieked as she frantically fished around in her purse. “I fuckin' forgot my wallet in my other bag! I cannot believe this shit! I have no fuckin' money on me!” she cried to the counter clerk.

The clerk was unfazed and looked at the girl like she had heard this story a million times before.

The girl whirled around in a panic.

“The car was already washed. You need to pay,” the clerk said dryly.

“What the hell am I supposed to do? I was arguing with my boyfriend and forgot my wallet at home. I swear I will come back and pay!” The girl placed both of her hands up to either side of her head.

“I will be forced to call the police if you do not pay,” the clerk said in her heavy Indian accent.

Candice's heart quickened in her chest. She made a snap decision and stepped up to the counter. “I'll pay for hers,” she said, placing enough cash on the counter for both cars. Candice knew Uncle Rock would've chastised her for revealing her identity to someone close to one of her marks.

The frantic girl looked at Candice with big, round doe eyes. “Oh my goodness! Thank you so much! I have money, trust me. I walked out with a new bag and forgot my wallet right there on my leather sofa. I live in a big house. You see the car I drive. I have money. This is a Gucci bag, not a knockoff. I have plenty of money. I'm not a slouch. My man has money too. I can definitely pay you back. I swear, I'm not broke. Oh my goodness! I cannot believe I forgot my wallet. What if it was a real emergency? What if you weren't here? I'm so embarrassed.” The girl moved her hands nervously as she rambled on and on, the heat of embarrassment evident on her face.

“It's okay,” Candice said. “I believe you have money. We all have these kinds of days.”

“Well, I'm gonna pay you back. I swear! My name is Shana. Here, take my number down. I will meet you right after we leave here and give you your money back.” Shana made Candice jot down the numbers she was calling out.

“It's all good. I'm Candy. Here is my number as well.” Candice recited her cell number, and Shana punched the numbers into her cell phone.

* * *

Tonight, Candice sauntered down the crowded Manhattan block to meet up with Shana. If she'd planned correctly, she would be meeting some real important pawns in her game tonight. Candice had made the decision that she didn't want to be like Uncle Rock, secretive and furtive, when she took her revenge. She wanted her marks to know who she was, wanted them to look into her eyes before she took them out. Risky or not, she was hell-bent on revealing herself and letting them know just why they were getting theirs.

Candice noticed Shana waving and smiling from up the block.

Shana bounced anxiously like a starstruck fan spotting her favorite celebrity. “Hurry up, girl! I can't wait to get inside! Broady's friend that I was telling you about is anxious to meet you. I'm so excited that you're here!” Shana squealed, flashing her cosmetically perfect smile.

I'm anxious to meet his ass, too
. Candice smirked to herself as she got closer. “I'm here. I'm sure he can wait.”

The one thing Candice couldn't stand about Shana was all of the excited talking and high-pitched shrieking. After all, she'd lived with a recluse for the past four years.

She plastered a fake smile to her face and made herself grin and bear Shana's overly bubbly personality.

Candice surveyed the crowd outside of the club and, as she'd been taught, made mental notes to herself about faces and features. She could feel more than one set of eyes on her, but she didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable. She knew she could probably beat half the men out there in a fight, and the entire club in a gun battle.

“Owwww!” Shana screamed as Candice finally got close enough for Shana to examine her closely.

Candice smiled, still slightly annoyed by her boisterous friend.

“Bitch, you is doin' it up in those fuckin' leggings, that shirt, and those hot-ass pumps! And that clutch is fire. Bitch, you gettin' it in t'night!”

Candice blushed. She wasn't used to having girlfriends or the playful derogatory name-calling and banter that came with them.

“Stop it! You're the one looking hot as ever. That dress is poppin', and those stilettos are the shit! I know they cost at least a grip!” Candice said, returning the compliment.

Shana smiled and nodded her head in the affirmative. She wanted to impress Candice; that much was clear.

Candice's compliment was genuine. The flowered silk kimono-style dress with big pink, royal blue, and yellow flowers on it flattered Shana's caramel skin. Shana was a pretty “around-the-way” kind of girl. Candice could tell that fast money had changed her from a hood rat to a hood superstar. She was rocking a new weave, different from the one she wore the last time Candice saw her. This time it was a straw set number with very fine, tight curls that bounced around her face. Shana seemed to change hairstyles like she changed her drawers—every day it was something new. In true haute couture style, Shana wore a large colorful tropical flower tucked into the side of her hair. Shana was short, so the heels she always wore made her look taller. Her legs were thick, and her ass sat up, round and firm. Her average face was graced with a perfectly round black mole on her right cheek, lending her an exotic look.

Shana grabbed Candice's arm and dragged her toward the club's doors.

“Where we goin'? You don't see this line?” Candice asked, feigning confusion. She knew damn well they didn't have to stand in the line. She just hoped like hell they didn't ask for her ID. Candice had a driver's license, thanks to Uncle Rock teaching her how to drive by the time she was sixteen, but she wasn't twenty-one yet.

“Candy, do I look like I stand in lines? I told you before, my man and his brother owns this place. I was only outside looking for you,” she explained.

Of course, Candice already knew this. She played stupid as Shana practically dragged her to the door. The big bouncer at the door nodded and stepped aside when he saw Shana. It was like Rihanna and Alicia Keys had showed up all at once.

Shana bragged, “See what I mean?”

Candice had to admit to herself, it felt good to get that type of treatment. She wondered if her father had basked in the deference he received from others.

Shana said a few hellos and gave a few hugs to various club goers as she maneuvered her way through the crowded club with Candice beside her. Shana screamed to Candice over the music, “I told Broady all about you. He is looking forward to meeting the chick that saved his baby from embarrassment at the fuckin' hood car wash and who also has me hanging out, keeping me out of his hair these days.”

Candice nodded.
I already know Broady. This meeting is just a formality.

Shana continued rambling loudly in Candice's ears. “I also told his friend Razor about you, too. I told him you was too cute and that you had bomb legs. I wish I had your legs. Girl, those are killers. Do you work out? I know that's a stupid question.”

Candice had to focus to keep up with Shana's rapid blabbering. She didn't know if she even wanted to meet a dude who called himself Razor, much less date him. But she knew there was little she wouldn't do for her cause.

Candice noticed that Shana was leading her toward the roped-off VIP section of the club.
Typical hood shit
. The one thing she'd found out while doing her research was that Broady and his crew were typical ghetto-ass hustlers. Everything they wore was big, gaudy, and attention-grabbing—the obligatory multicolored diamond Jesus pieces dangling from long chains that hit them in the center of their chests; huge, chunky diamond studs that resembled miniature ice cubes in their ears—and, of course, all of their cars could be seen five blocks away sitting on the biggest rims, with the brightest trims and darkest tints. In other words, all bling and no brains, their flashy lifestyle only making them huge magnets for stickup kids and cops.

Everything Broady and his crew did was outlandish. One day Candice had watched from her hidden perch as Broady embarrassed one of his little teenage workers right on a street corner by making the boy take off all of his jewelry, sneakers, and fitted cap and hand it over to him. A crowd formed as Broady screamed in the boy's face and humiliated him.

So, although it was just another typical night at Club Skyye, nothing was ever typical with Broady. He had the VIP section roped off with thick white velvet ropes, clearly armed bouncers standing guard in front of the VIP entrance, and half-dressed groupies posted up outside, desperate to get inside. A bunch of street dudes posted up around the club, keeping an envious eye on the VIP section.

“Watch me make these wannabe groupie, hood rat-ass bitches mad right now! They all wanna be me so badly!” Shana screamed into Candice's ear.

Candice had already figured out that Shana, although a pretty girl, had low self-esteem and was the type that constantly had to prove to others that Broady was hers. But Candice knew the real deal, having witnessed him with more than one chick on several occasions when Shana was out of the picture.

“What's up, Black!” Shana smiled at a tall, dark-skinned VIP bouncer, cutting her eyes at the groupies.

The bouncer smiled back and stepped aside so Shana and Candice could enter. Candice noticed the bouncers checking out Shana's ass and taking no notice of her.
Fake-ass security. They don't even know my ass is armed.
She smirked as she stepped by the big-for-nothing bouncers.

When Candice and Shana walked beyond the velvet ropes, the first person they encountered was Broady. Candice knew he was a big dude, but seeing him from a distance was nothing like standing in front of him. She had to crane her neck just to look up at him.
This nigga is a monster.