Hard Candy Saga (10 page)

“Okay, okay. You're right, Candy. If I left, that nigga would be all on my ass when he got home.”

Candice looked at Shana's obviously expensive black
Nicole Miller
fitted sheath dress and her black
Brian Atwood
pumps and shook her head.
An expensive little black dress still ain't worth the matching black eye that comes with it.
Shana still donned her dark Jackie O shades, which now seemed to suit the occasion.

As Candice and Shana slid onto one of the benches, Candice glanced toward the front of the dimly lit room, at the closed casket. An 8x10 portrait of Razor stood atop the sealed body box.
Razor's condition must have been too bad to allow for an open casket
. Candice felt the urge to inspect the picture more closely.

Shana noticed Candice staring at the photo. “You wanna walk up there and see it before it gets mad crowded in here?” Shana asked, breaking Candice's trancelike gaze.

“All right,” Candice replied hesitantly. She hated funerals, funeral homes, and anything related to death. She'd had enough of it to last her a lifetime.

Candice and Shana ambled slowly toward the front of the stuffy room. The scent of embalming fluid mixed with the sickly sweet aroma from the arrangements of flowers assailed Candice's senses and threatened to make her lose her last meal.

Razor's family members were stuffed together, shoulder to shoulder, directly in front of the casket. His baby's mother clutched the sleeping baby daughter up against her chest as if she expected someone to bust in and grab the baby out of her hands. An older lady, who Candice just assumed was Razor's mother, had her face covered with a small black net, and every so often she stuck a wad of tissue under it and swiped away falling tears.

“That's his family.” Shana whispered the obvious as they passed the first row of pews.

When they stopped in front of the casket, Candice examined the photograph. It was apparent that the picture had been taken some time ago. In the photograph, Razor looked studious, with a collared shirt and tie, and holding what appeared to be a small diploma case. He was smiling, with no diamond-encrusted fronts on his teeth.

A cold feeling washed over Candice, like someone had pumped ice water into her veins. She realized then that she only knew Razor, not Corey Jackson. If she had to depict the Razor in a photograph, he'd have long dreads, his lips would be visibly darker than the rest of his face from smoking so much weed, and he would be wearing some sort of expensive T-shirt with the name of a designer splashed across the front, and the obligatory chunky chain hanging in the middle of his chest.

Staring at the picture, Candice felt an overwhelming sense of sadness for Razor's family. Corey Jackson had been someone's son, father, and friend. His family was now experiencing the same grief she felt when her family was murdered in cold blood.

“You ready to go sit back down?” Shana asked, noticing how long and hard Candice was staring at the picture. She just figured that Candice had liked Razor more than she let on.

“Yeah, c'mon,” Candice replied, ready to return to her seat. As she turned, she noticed a flower delivery guy placing a bouquet of red roses fashioned into a bleeding heart near Razor's casket.

“Wow! That is a beautiful flower arrangement,” Shana commented, impressed. She walked over to the flowers and looked at the small envelope attached to a piece of white ribbon. “Oh my God! These flowers are from Phil. The guy . . . the one Broady said—”

“Broady said what?” a voice boomed from behind Shana and Candice.

Broady was hovering over them. Too close for Candice's comfort.

Shana's legs immediately seemed to buckle a little bit at the accusatory tone. Her heart thumped wildly, and her mind raced for an answer to his question. Thinking quickly, she surreptitiously passed the small card from the bleeding heart to Candice.

Catching on just as quickly, Candice secreted the card between her palm and the back of her black leather clutch.

“I was just telling Candy how you said that this place was gonna be packed 'cuz Razor was so cool with e'erybody,” Shana fabricated on the spot.

Candice noticed that Shana spoke way more broken English when she talked to Broady.
She can't even be herself around him.

“Yeah, mad motherfuckers gon' be up in this camp. So make sure you keep your eyes peeled for any suspicious niggas and keep me posted 'n shit,” Broady grumbled. He pushed past Candice without saying a word to her.

Candice felt a spark of heat in her chest. She never knew her hate to take on such physical manifestations.
That's what you get when you dance with the Devil.

“I'll be right back, Candy,” Shana said, her tone shaky as she rushed out of the room.

Candice sat in a far corner in the back of the room. She checked her surroundings and pulled the small card from the envelope. She read the inscription:

 

Candice furrowed her eyebrows, perplexed. She thought Shana had told her that Phil and the uptown crew were believed to be responsible for Razor's murder. If that was the case, why would they send such a nice card and flowers? Candice knew Broady was convinced it was Phil who had commissioned Razor's brutal murder.

Inspiration seemed to strike Candice at that moment. A wondrous plan began to take shape in her mind, but first she needed to find a card and something to write with.

Frantic, she rushed around the lobby of the funeral home trying to find these items before Shana came back to look for her. She walked over to what appeared to be the funeral director's office and knocked hesitantly. When no one answered, she let herself inside. The lobby was beginning to get filled up with people fast, and she needed to accomplish this task before anyone noticed her absence.

A tall, slender older woman approached Candice from the side, scaring her out of her wits. “Can I help you?”

Candice's heart hammered, and her eyes darted around the room for Broady or Shana. She took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down. “Uh, yes. I sent flowers, and the florist forgot my card. Would you happen to have a small piece of paper I could write my note on?”

“I can do you one better,” the lady offered kindly. “I have blank floral arrangement cards in all colors. This happens all of the time. Those daggone florists are so forgetful sometimes.”

“Great! I am embarrassed to let anyone see that I have to put my card on after the fact. It's starting to get crowded in there,” Candice said, rushing behind the woman as she fished around for the cards in the desk drawer.

“I knew they were hiding in there somewhere. Here you go,” the woman sang cheerfully. She retrieved a rubber-banded stack of small, blank cards. “What color?” the woman asked Candice.

“The light blue will do.”

“Here, I'll give you two, just in case you make a mistake.” Candice took the cards, thanked the woman, and rushed through the door of the office. When she stepped into the lobby, she had tunnel vision, wanting to get back inside the room where Razor's casket lay. She scanned for Shana but didn't see her.

Candice started into the room, cards in hand, and once again, she walked smack-dab into someone, and the cards went fluttering out of her hands. “Oh shit!” Candice exclaimed, startled.

“Damn! We bump into each other again. Literally,” Tuck said, his deep baritone massaging Candice's eardrums.

“Maybe you should watch where you're going,” Candice huffed, her words nervous and choppy. She bent down to pick up the cards, but Tuck beat her to it.

“I got it. A lady in a dress shouldn't have to bend over.” Tuck picked up the two small light blue cards and handed them to Candice.

Candice straightened back up. Hands shaking, she accepted them.

“It's real nice seeing you here,” Tuck said honestly. “I thought after the night in the club, Shana wouldn't ever get you to come back around us.”

“I have thicker skin than you think.” Candice was trying so hard to keep up her tough-girl persona.

“That's good. I love women with tough skin.” Tuck licked his lips seductively.

Candice swore she could feel her pussy pulse as she watched his moistened lips. She was stuck on stupid for a moment.

“Now, if you excuse me . . .” Tuck said, touching her shoulder to move her aside. He walked toward a group of men milling around.

Candice felt a flash of heat on her neck and cheeks. She instantly felt rejected. She wanted to be the one to end their interaction.

Candice stomped back into the corner where she and Shana had been sitting earlier. She noticed that Shana had moved up a few rows to join some of the crew's girlfriends. Candice quickly sat in a vacant chair and opened her clutch to retrieve a pen. Everybody in the room was too preoccupied with their grief to pay her any attention. She placed one of the small cards up against her thigh and scribbled down the real message she wanted Broady and Junior to get from Phil and the uptown crew.

* * *

When Razor's casket was lowered into the earth, screams erupted through the cemetery loud enough to wake the dead. Candice felt cold all over her body. She intensely disliked being in the cemetery; it reminded her that she had missed her own family's burial. She wondered if she would've screamed and jumped up and down like Razor's family.

Razor's mother hollered and spread her body atop her son's shiny death box. “Why, Lord? Why my chile?!” the woman screamed.

Candice wondered if she knew what type of life her son had been living before he died, that he had been peddling poison to his own people to make easy money.

Candice kicked at the upturned, rocky red earth with her pumps. She looked around at all of the mourners' faces and decided that she wasn't sorry for Razor or his mother. She did feel a flitting stab of grief for Razor's young daughter, however. Candice knew the love between a father and daughter. Razor's daughter would never know that feeling.

Candice felt partially responsible. Maybe if he hadn't followed her out of the club that night, he'd still be alive.

Scanning the rest of the attendees, Candice caught a glimpse of Broady dabbing at his eyes. She involuntarily smirked at the sight. She couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction that he was in some kind of pain.

When the burial ended, Candice trudged through the gravelly dirt and grass and started toward her car.

“Candy! Hold up!” Shana caught up with her. “You coming back to the house, right?”

“I just think I'm going to go home. It's very late. I have never been to a funeral, in the cemetery this late at night,” Candice told Shana. The truth was, she had never been to a burial, period.

“Well, the one-day service was cheaper, so they decided to just do it all today. If they had waited, Broady woulda had to pay another two or three stacks. You know that nigga funny with his money. As much as he loved Razor, he did foot the entire bill for everything.” Shana gazed off in the distance, a look of admiration in her eyes.

“It is almost ten o'clock. I'm beat.”

“Please, Candy, come back just for a little while.”

Candice refused again, but Shana practically got on her knees and begged Candice to come back to the house for the funeral repast.

Candice had a lot of things on her mind. More importantly, she didn't trust herself around Junior's right-hand man, Tuck. Candice couldn't stop running their last encounter through her mind, no matter how hard she tried to think of something else. She pictured his perfect face, those even white teeth and mesmerizing voice. She imagined herself kissing his plump lips. She had always wanted to be kissed by a man but had been too afraid when the opportunity presented itself. Uncle Rock had warned her repeatedly about the dangers of falling in love. She had avoided that fate simply by steering clear of the male species as a whole.

After a few more minutes of Shana's pleading, Candice accepted Shana's invitation, convincing herself that her friend needed her support. But, deep in her heart, she really wanted another opportunity to exchange words with Tuck.

Candice had sat outside of Broady and Shana's house many times while she conducted research on her mark. The outside of the two-story house, with its plain brick front and ugly black wrought-iron gates, told nothing of what happened on the inside.

When Candice stepped inside, her jaw dropped.

“C'mon, Candy, let me show you around,” Shana said, pulling Candice farther inside the house.

Candice followed Shana through a grand foyer, complete with a small statue and exquisite marble tile. She didn't even think such a foyer could fit inside the house. The house had clearly been gutted and rebuilt based on the owner's or, more probably, Shana's direction.

Shana had accessorized the dining room with just the right amount of vases, mirrors, and candleholders. The rest of the house was just as beautiful. Candice could tell that Shana had poured a lot of money and heart into her home. Now she could see why her friend had been so reluctant to give Broady up, beatings and all. Shana was living hood-rich and better than she'd probably ever live, even if she went the traditional route and worked a full-time job.

“You have a beautiful home,” Candice complimented Shana as she walked through her home. Candice's steps felt lead heavy, and she felt slightly dizzy. She had always just thought of him as a mark, a monster, someone she wanted to kill for revenge, but being inside Broady's home somehow made him more human to her.