Secrets Uncovered Page 3

  “Can’t believe I have to sleep in this stuff too,” she whispered to herself. She stared at her image in the large vanity mirror hanging over the hotel bathroom’s sink. She hardly recognized herself anymore. The wet and wavy lace front wig she wore was cut into a short, high-low bob; it was also at least five shades lighter than her normal dark brown hair. She adjusted the wig a few times and secured it by applying the lace front glue, like the little Asian lady in the store had told her to do. Candice shook her head left to right to make sure her wig wouldn’t go flying off at random. Candice was so accustomed to having long hair; the change seemed drastic. But that was exactly the look she was going for. She leaned in close to the mirror to examine her new eye color—gray. These new cat eyes were courtesy of a brand-new pair of light-reflecting colored contacts that accented her natural color with just rims of gray. Candice turned to the side to examine the most drastic change in her identity shift. She touched her midsection, lifting her new overhang gut. Candice had to laugh at the sixty extra pounds around her stomach and sides, thanks to the fat suit she’d purchased from a costume store. She looked like an overweight Spanish woman as she pulled up the thigh pads that made her usually long, slender legs look grossly misshapen and riddled with cellulite.

  Walking back out into the hotel room, Candice couldn’t help but take another look at the collage she had created on the far left wall. With her hands on her hips, she stood in front of what she considered her new target board. She had taped a bunch of photographs, names and maps together in perfect pattern—a masterpiece in her mind.

  Moving her eyes across each face, she studied each name and each place, making sure she would not forget the real individuals responsible for the massacre of her family.

  “Rolando DeSosa ... sons Arellio and Guillermo,” Candice read aloud, for probably the one hundredth time. “You, Guillermo, are not that bad-looking, still not my type,” she said with a tsk. “I guess it really doesn’t matter, though, now... does it?” she continued as if the man in the photo could somehow hear her. She rolled her new eyes and smiled. “We will meet soon; and when we do, your ass is mine,” she murmured.

  It had been easier than she’d thought to find information on the Internet about DeSosa and his family. Candice had to doubt what her Uncle Rock had told her before his suicide about DeSosa working for the CIA. In her assessment there was just way too much information out there about the supposedly notorious man. Candice had found information on several of DeSosa’s past arrests, his current and past real estate listings, his legitimate business holdings, court documents from past indictments containing his whereabouts, his children’s names and even some of the names of his many mistresses. The fact that this information was so readily available made her skeptical about Rock’s claims—after all, the government was quite capable of planting information if it suited their needs.

  Candice clicked on her laptop and inserted her Rosetta Stone CD. She needed to get her accent down pat. Uncle Rock had taught her basic Spanish while he had homeschooled her, but she wanted to be great before she set out on her new mission. Once she infiltrated DeSosa’s circle, she needed to be able to keep up with every conversation within her earshot.

  Picking up her laptop, Candice walked over to the bed and settled her back against the headboard, with the laptop on her thighs. As she focused on the computer screen, the photograph of her family on the nightstand fell silently to the floor. The air in the room seemed to become lead heavy. Keeping her emotions in check was no easy feat. Now that Rock was gone, the only link to her past was this solitary 3x5 family photo.

  Candice flopped down on the side of the bed and picked up the portrait. On the one hand, she wanted to turn it on its face so that all of the smiling faces would stop taunting her; but on the other hand, she needed to see them like she had for the past four and a half years. She looked at each face and the anger she had previously felt in the years since their deaths finally eased into real sorrow—pure mourning. The photo had been her talisman for many years, keeping the kindling lit under her seething anger and need for revenge.

  Candice would often look to the picture, promising her family members that she would get revenge—no matter what it cost her. In her mind she had played, over and over, the gruesome murder scene that she’d stumbled upon at fourteen: Her mother’s open, vacant eyes, dead and unforgiving, as they gazed back at her. Her baby sister’s naked, badly beaten body sprawled before her. Both of her brothers laying on the floor-one with a slit throat, and the other with his head almost decapitated. But the most crushing image was that of her father, who was facedown, with the entire back of his head blown off.

  Candice didn’t even realize she was gnawing on her bottom lip as her eyes carefully gazed upon each face. The picture had an entirely new look now. Everyone looked different in her eyes. Gone was the innocence of a family of victims. Now, with the information shared with Candy by Uncle Rock prior to his death, she saw them with fresh eyes. Each one, with the exception of her baby sister, harbored secrets that were now being uncovered.

  “Your father made a deal with the government, and there was no turning back. Rolando DeSosa, the man who supplied your father with all of the drugs, worked for the CIA, and so did I.” Those had been Uncle Rock’s final words before he took his own life.

  Candice’s temples throbbed as she searched the recesses of her mind, digging into her memory for some clue, some inkling, that would help her understand her father’s double life. Why had her father treaded such dangerous territory, putting his own family into the fray? Tears fell on the shattered glass that covered the picture. Candice used her trembling thumb to swipe the glass clean. Her sweet baby sister stared back at her with a toothy grin. Candice’s chest felt tight. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, racking her brain for memories that would bring her sister back to life.

  Hardaway. Home, 1998

  Candice was six when her baby sister, Brianna, came home from the hospital. She had waited patiently at the front window of their new home for what seemed like an eternity. Her knees burned and she had to pee, but she refused to move until she laid eyes on the newest member of the Hardaway clan.

  It had only been two weeks since her father, Eric “Easy” Hardaway, had moved his family into a beautiful, new brownstone in the heart of Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. Although their home address frequently changed, this was only the second move Candice could remember. The house was bigger and better than their last place. Even though Candice was young, she was fully aware that the new house and new car her father drove was more expensive than the last.

  With her fists propped under her cheeks, Candice waited by the window until she spotted her father’s sleek, large-bodied black Mercedes-Benz ease up to the curb in front of the house. Candice’s mouth curled into a smile like someone had pulled up the corners with a crane—her dad affectionately referred to it as her “Joker” smile.

  When her mother stepped out of the car, holding the tightly wrapped pink bundle in her arms, Candice felt her heart jerk in her chest. It was a mixture of excitement and fear. Until now, Candice had been the baby of the family, spoiled rotten by her father and overly protected by her brothers.

  “Eric Junior! Errol! The baby is here!” Candice screeched, jumping off her knees, which were tattooed with an imprint of the couch’s seams.

  Her twin brothers were front and center in a matter of minutes.

  The babysitter whom Easy had hired, a raven-haired girl named Lutisha, pulled back the door and Candice bolted outside.

  “Let me see! Let me see the baby!” she panted, jumping into her father’s arms so she could get a better look at the small body.

  “Whoa, whoa, Candy Cane, let’s get inside,” Easy chuckled, his tone similar to a cowboy corralling an unruly horse.

  Candice’s mother, Corine, carried the baby up to the newly decorated nursery. Candice was hot on her heels.

  “You’re excited, huh?” Corine smiled softly at her daughter.
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  Candice nodded her head as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  Finally baby Brianna, who was wrapped up like a burrito, was unwrapped and introduced to Candice. Candice stood in awe. The baby’s smell—a soft mixture of baby powder and Similac—made Candice want to never let her go. She loved the baby the minute she laid eyes on her. Brianna stared back, mutually infatuated.

  The fanfare surrounding Brianna’s birth didn’t stop with Candice’s obsessive attention, begging to hold her sister nearly every minute of the day. A week after coming home from the hospital, Easy and Corine planned the biggest welcome-to-the-world party for their newest addition. There was a huge pink-and-white cake, enough helium balloons to fill a small party hall and beautiful, poster-sized professional portraits of Brianna’s first couple of days at home. Candice especially liked the picture with her holding Brianna alone.

  Over seventy people attended the house party in honor of her baby sister. This made Candice feel somewhat envious; but even worse than that, there were no kids to play with. All of the attendees were adults and mostly friends of her father, along with their spouses or girlfriends. Candice found herself utterly bored.

  Her father found her sitting in a corner with her arms folded. He walked over, his white teeth gleaming against his Hershey’s chocolate-colored skin. “What’s the long face for, Candy Cane?”

  Candice ignored the questions and continued to pout.

  “C’mon, Candy Cane, tell your favorite guy what’s going on.” Her father smiled.

  “I don’t want these people to touch my baby,” Candice huffed, pushing her lip farther out.

  Her father threw back his head, laughing. “Aw, Candy Cane, when everybody leaves, she’ll be all yours again. I tell you what, why don’t you go count all of the gifts in the front and I will make sure you get double the number of gifts for your birthday.” He smiled and rumpled the top of her head.

  Candice’s eyes lit up. She knew her father always kept his promises.

  “Okay! I’m going to stay there all night and count every gift!” she exclaimed, and ran toward the front foyer.

  The gifts stacked on the floor near the front door were both large and small. Some were wrapped in pink paper, and some in pale green and yellow. Candice was careful and diligent in her job of counting the gifts as they arrived. She planned to remind her father of the deal he had made when her birthday came around.

  As she stood at the front door, collecting and counting the gifts like a hired hostess/butler would, she noticed a man enter through the door without ringing the bell. He was a tall man with skin that made him look like a figure from the wax museum. The man’s eyes resembled two black lumps of coal, and his hair was so dark and shiny that she couldn’t help but stare at it.

  “Hola, mamasita. Are you the hostess?” the man sang, bending down in front of her face.

  He smiled and the shiny gold front left tooth nearly blinded her. Candice stared, mesmerized by the sparkly diamond skull and crossbones that was encrusted on the man’s gold tooth. He looked like a dark pirate. Her mouth hung open and was filled with unladylike saliva.

  “Is your Papa home?” the man asked her.

  Before Candice could get her brain to connect with her tongue, she heard her father’s voice interrupt her thoughts.

  “Ayyy! I didn’t expect to see you, boss,” Easy said, his voice snapping her out of her trance.

  Easy rushed toward the man and extended his hand; his face was plastered with feigned enthusiasm. Candice took note that her father seemed nervous; his speech was quicker and higher-pitched than usual. His normally relaxed mannerisms appeared tense. And no one made her father nervous.

  “Easy, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. We always take care of our own, and now you are one of our own,” the man replied, inviting himself into the party room.

  The way he spoke told Candice that he was like the man who owned the bodega at the corner of her block. The man who her mother always said was “Spanish,” when Candice and her brothers laughed at the funny way the man spoke.

  “But how did you know where I lived?” Easy asked, letting out a nervous chuckle.

  “I know everything, amigo. Not for you to worry, right? Now let me come in and see that new bundle of joy,” the man replied, slapping Easy on the shoulder and shaking his hand roughly.

  Three men followed him inside the house. Candice was struck by the fact that, despite the warm and muggy weather outside, the men wore long leather trench coats, which were shiny and black like their hair. They all shared similar skin tones and eyes—like they weren’t black, but they weren’t white either. Candice did not like the way they looked or the way they talked. And she definitely didn’t want anyone with a black leather coat or shiny gold tooth looking at or talking to her baby sister.

  Still, she warily collected the boss’s gifts and added it to her count. Candice lost interest in counting gifts after the “bad men” arrived. Candice couldn’t stop sneaking a peek at the man and his three shadows.

  Her mother also seemed not to be thrilled with the new party guests.

  “Eric, I thought you told me you didn’t get into the deal with the Dominicans. I don’t like him... . He seems...very dangerous. Why would they come to something like this? To see a baby? How did they find where you live? They are trying to send a message, Eric. I don’t like it.” Her mother’s tone was worried and on the verge of panic.

  Candice watched as her father kissed her mother on the forehead.

  “Corine, you worry too much. They just wanted to welcome the baby into the world,” Easy said, but the creases in his forehead and the strain around his eyes told a different story.

  Candice snapped out of her reverie and clicked play on her language CD. It was time to put things into motion. Step one was to embrace her new identity. The face of the man with the diamond-encrusted gold tooth was still plastered in her mind. Especially now, since the man seemed to be central to uncovering her father’s secrets. Candice would never forget the man’s face, but she just hoped he had forgotten hers.

  Chapter 3

  Untangling the Past

  Junior sat on the leather couch in his upscale SoHo apartment as he stared across the small space at his mother. His mother slept peacefully on a custom-made circular bed, which Junior had imported from Italy a couple of years prior. Betty’s Ambien-induced sleep was the norm for her lately.

  Junior hadn’t been to the apartment recently, but it was the only safe haven he had right now. When he originally rented the place, it served as his creep spot, a refuge from his boys and a place to take his women. Only a select few people knew about the apartment, and Junior was glad that he had heeded one of Easy’s many street lessons: always keep a safe haven that nobody but you, and maybe your women, know about.

  Junior thought about Easy a lot lately. Junior also wondered what Easy would do in his situation—the war with Phil and the uptown crew was far from over. Junior knew this, but it wasn’t an ideal time to be thinking about killing people. Junior knew he couldn’t just lie down and roll over—he had to fight and declare war, but it was all much easier said than done, especially given that his opponent was laying low and moving in silence and violence.

  Junior had a lot of other things on his plate as well. He wondered what Easy would say about his daughter Candy trying to off him. Candy, who Junior had thought was a friend of Shana’s, his brother’s girlfriend, had threatened Junior’s life; then he discovered that his right-hand man, Tuck, was an undercover DEA agent. Most shocking of all the revelations that day, however, was the old dude Rock’s deathbed confession that he was, in fact, Junior’s biological father.

  As he rubbed his goatee, Junior sat and watched his mother sleep. His mind was racing with possibilities. His mind jumped from one thing to another. He was reminded of the many times he had come to his mother’s rescue as a child. Junior was the one who helped his mother self-treat her wounds after her boyfriend would whip her ass
, leaving her with busted lips and black eyes. Seeing her hurting back then and now made Junior feel helpless and threatened and ready to kill.

  Junior kept replaying scenes from his past in his mind, and he grew angrier each time he remembered. Junior thought back to the first murder he’d committed, and the irony that it was Easy who’d taken him under his wing and helped him out of that bad situation. Junior had suddenly been having a lot of memories of his life on the street with Easy.

  Wortman Houses, 1988

  Thirteen-year-old Junior stealthily walked up behind his mother’s boyfriend like a quiet storm. Betty noticed him as she cowered in a corner, her body bent like a pretzel with her raised arms to shield off the next blow. Junior heard her suck in her breath at the sight of him. Sweat dripped down his brow and evil flashed in his eyes like he was of a demonic nature. Junior wore a wife beater, with his bony collarbone jutting out from the top, and a pair of jeans hung so low on his slim pelvis that the elastic band on his boxers was exposed. His eyes were hooded over with ill intent, and his mother could see fire flashing red in his wide pupils.

  “Get ya hands off my mother, you punk-ass bitch!” Junior growled, baring his teeth like a hungry animal about to strike. His arms were extended out in front of him shaking fiercely, a combination of nerves and the weight of his newly acquired .22 special gripped tightly in his bony hands. “Slick! I said, get the fuck away from my mother!” Junior hissed again, his words firmer.

  Slick was a tall, charcoal-colored man. He had a barrel chest and shoulders so wide that he resembled one of those ill-proportioned superhero action figures. He had been in and out of Betty’s home for most of Junior’s teenage years. Slick was his mother’s current boyfriend who sometimes doubled as his baby brother Broady’s father. Junior despised Slick from the first day he’d met him. When Slick started putting his hands on his mother, Junior’s hate became palpable.