Hard Candy Saga (29 page)

 

Candice crept around Rolando DeSosa's living space. It smelled of liniment and hospital disinfectant—not exactly a smell she would expect to find in the lodgings of a self-proclaimed “Scarface” type of kingpin.

Candice felt anxious as she walked through the man's private rooms. She glanced at the bed and wished she could just place a poisonous snake under DeSosa's covers and be done with it. But she had some digging to do first. She quickly headed to the small makeshift office. A cherry wood desk with pictures of his sons and grandkids sat atop the desk. The bookshelves were also sprinkled with family photos, much like Candice's father's own office. She rifled through the drawers of the desk, looking for any important documents. What she came across was mostly hospital bills, utility bills and random notes. Frustrated, Candice tossed the papers back into the drawer.

In the long drawer in the center of the desk, where one usually stored pens, pencils and other small desk essentials, she found a single photograph. Candice felt a chill come over her, like someone had pumped ice water into her veins. She swallowed the golf ball–sized lump of fear at the back of her throat and willed herself to calm down. Reaching out tentatively, she picked up the photograph. She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming at the image of herself. DeSosa had some handwritten notes on the top:
Easy Hardaway's living daughter. Find and turn over to Stokes for reward.

Candice gripped her chest, trying to keep her heart from beating too fast. Uncle Rock had told her the government would be looking for her, but she didn't realize how close she was to being found. Candice dropped the picture back into the drawer. She decided it was time for her to step up her game; it was do or die for her. She rushed blindly out of DeSosa's living quarters and headed back to her room.

A lone figure stood at the end of the hall and watched the new nanny furtively exit DeSosa's private quarters.

* * *

“Tucker, you can't just assume that these people are bluffing,” Dana Carlisle said as she watched Tuck pace the floor of her apartment for the fifteenth time.

“They're not going to fuck with my family,” he huffed, hoping that his speaking the words would make them somehow true. The truth was he didn't know what to expect from Grayson Stokes or the DEA for that matter. They were all corrupt in his eyes.

“Well, now she's out there killing off their people. Getting closer and closer to DeSosa,” Carlisle recounted.

He had told Carlisle all about his call with Grayson Stokes after the Baile Caliente shootings. Everyone just assumed it was Candy; that had been Tucker's first assumption as well. But now he was plagued with doubt. He had come back to Carlisle's house because he needed help reading through the Hardaway books. If they worked together, the puzzle pieces would start falling into place a lot faster, and they could finally see the big picture. At this point Carlisle was his best and only option.

“You really think it's her? I'm not sure I believe that anymore,” Tuck countered. He knew Candy. He had spent almost two months with her. Though she was trained well, he didn't think she was capable of cold-blooded murder.

“That's exactly what she wants you to think . . . that she isn't capable of killing. She wants everyone to think that. But the government ain't buying it,” Carlisle said pointedly.

Tucker roughly wiped his hands over his face and let out a deep breath. He walked over to the piles of books scattered on the floor and dining table.

“I guess we better keep reading for now. We don't have that much time, and I need to be armed with the truth this time,” he said in a resigned voice. He lifted the cover of the next set of books and flopped down on the couch. Dana Carlisle perched herself on the back of the couch and began reading over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I'm hoping somewhere beneath all of this conspiracy theory bullshit is the truth,” she said, scanning the paper for relevant information.

 

 

 

Junior pulled up to the DeSosa home, like he'd done every three days for the past several weeks. He rushed inside and was frisked at the door—the normal routine. Junior was nervous for some reason; he had a strong premonition that today wasn't going to be a good day.

DeSosa was sitting with his back turned toward the door, but he felt Junior's presence. A long, awkward silence ensued.

Junior opened his mouth to fill the choking silence, but he wasn't able to get a word out.

“So what do you have for me?” DeSosa asked without turning around. Cigar smoke danced around his head and colored the air a hazy gray.

Junior cleared his throat. He had been dreading this meeting, since he had nothing substantive to report. He balled up his toes in his shoes, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“DeSosa, man . . . I'm—I'm . . . sorry,” Junior stammered. He cleared his throat again. He wondered if DeSosa, like Junior's mother, would be able to tell he was lying just from the shaking in his voice. “No new updates. I been to the apartment she used to stay in and it was trashed, but she wasn't there. I don't know where else to look . . . I mean . . .” Junior continued, glad to have gotten his lie out without pause.

He had no intention of trying to find Candy; and if he did, it wouldn't be to turn her over to DeSosa. Junior needed DeSosa's help getting at Phil.

“For some reason, Junior, I don't believe you,” DeSosa snapped. His face was drawn into a scowl; the look sent chills down Junior's spine.

“Well, I'm telling you the truth. I have no idea where she is or where to find her,” Junior said, false frustration lacing his words. He had to make it look and sound believable. His sheer frustration with trying to find Candy, the gotdamn assassin, had consumed his days and nights.

“Well, then, Junior, our business is finished. We have no more to discuss until you bring me what I want. I can't give you Phil without assurance that I will get what I want. Looks like our deal is off. You can go,” DeSosa rasped dismissively.

Junior felt like a kid who'd just been suspended from school. He looked around the room, then back at DeSosa. He knew DeSosa too well; it would never be over that easily.

“C'mon, DeSosa! I'm sayin', how the fuck do you expect me to find this bitch? I don't know where she is! I hardly even know her! I find out this punk-ass old man who raised her is my own fuckin' father, but that don't mean I know where to find this bitch! I told you everything.... I gave you every fuckin' thing I could!” Junior forcefully detailed. He was on the brink of tears. “You, of all people, should understand why I want Phil! If somebody did something to your family, you would be the first one out for blood!” Junior whined now, pleading his case.

DeSosa's henchmen closed in on him, but he didn't care. He was coming apart right now. His business had dried up. DeSosa was no longer supplying him because he thought he might still be a target of the DEA. And now he'd never be able to get his hands on Phil.

“DeSosa! You can't do this to me now!” Junior pleaded.

DeSosa didn't flinch or blink. He didn't have any respect for a man who couldn't stand his ground. That was the one thing that had set Easy apart in DeSosa's mind. Although he ultimately viewed Easy as a traitor, which was the most detestable form of human being, at least he could respect Easy for sticking to his decision about turning his back on the game.

“You can leave now. When you find out any information, you are welcome to come back. Maybe by then you'll grow some balls and find some loyalty,” DeSosa spat out in Junior's direction. His words cut like small carving knives.

“Fuck you, DeSosa! Fuck you and your little game!” Junior boomed. His newfound courage wrapped around him like a dark cloak.

DeSosa let out a snort, followed by a maniacal laugh. His goons surrounded Junior now. Junior wrestled his arm away from the big gorilla-shaped goon who roughly helped him to the door.

He straightened out his rumpled jacket sleeve and followed their lead to the door. Before he got there, he stopped in his tracks to address DeSosa. His action garnered glares from the goons.

“You really fucked up for this one. You just gonna leave me out there like that after I murked Phil's right-hand man at your request? Those niggas are looking for me and you just gonna leave me open out there with no help and no protection? I'm tellin' you, what goes around comes around.... You better sleep with one eye open.” Junior issued his warning; his voice was quaking—filled with one part anger, one part fear.

His words got him grabbed by the neck by a goon.

“You are weak! You can't find one girl who tried to fuckin' kill you! I have nothing to say to you! Get the fuck out of my presence!” DeSosa barked at Junior's back.

Junior was tossed outside the house like yesterday's trash. His ego was bruised, and so were both of his knees.

“I want him followed. I think he knows something and he is just not letting on.” DeSosa snapped his orders, flicking his hand in the direction of the door. He needed some time to regroup and rethink this whole situation with the girl.

Outside, Junior picked himself up off the concrete ground and shouted for DeSosa and the world to hear. “Y'all ain't seen the last of me! You muthafuckas fucked with the wrong nigga!”

He stepped backward out of the gate, when he spotted a woman out of the corner of his eye. She was herding two little kids in the opposite direction of the commotion. He was angry, but for some reason he took particular notice of her. Maybe it was because she watched the scene a bit too closely.

“Mind yo' fuckin' business, bitch!” Junior yelled at the unsuspecting nanny.

The woman scampered into the house with the children in tow like he was a pedophile on the sex offender registry. Something about the fat, frumpy nanny made Junior pissed. She had the nerve to be watching
him
get embarrassed.

Junior waited outside the gate for DeSosa's thugs to bring his car around. He needed to get far away from this place and come up with a new strategy for finding Phil and catching that cunt, Candy.

* * *

Tuck slumped down farther into his seat as he watched Junior get tossed out of DeSosa's estate. Then Tuck noticed the woman who watched from the sidelines, much like himself. Something inside his chest jumped; her face was disguised but familiar.

“Candy,” he whispered, his breath catching. Tuck forgot everything: the danger, his cover, her cover, everything. He was up in his seat now, with his dark glasses far down on his nose. He needed to see her in natural light. He needed to know if it was really Candy or if his mind had conjured up her image.

Candice glanced in his direction as she hefted a baby girl onto her hip and grabbed the little boy's hand. Tuck watched her rush away—her body not the same, but her eyes telling a different story.

Tuck was brought back to reality when Junior revved his car engine. With his heart sitting in the back of his throat, Tuck shrank back down into his seat. He would sit outside all night if he had to until Candy emerged.

Tuck's mind was too preoccupied to realize that he was being followed as well.

One of DeSosa's henchmen picked up his cell phone to call in his report. “
Sí,
tell the boss he was right. Junior is being followed by the DEA agent. I have my eye on him right now. He is watching the house.” The man relayed his visuals into the phone.

He could hear DeSosa's booming voice in the background. He cursed Junior's name and condemned him to hell for being a traitor. The man listened, knowing that Junior had sealed his fate.

The one thing DeSosa couldn't stand was a traitor. He viewed them as low-down, dirty scum of the earth. It was the same reason Easy Hardaway had suffered the fate that he did. DeSosa finished his tirade with specific instructions.

Neither Junior, Tuck nor Candy was safe.

* * *

Candice rushed the children back into the house. Her head was spinning. She'd seen Tuck and she knew that he'd seen her.

He'd definitely recognized her; she was sure of it. She didn't want to believe Tuck was part of the government bastards who were after her. But now he appeared to be spying on her, and she had to reconsider. Could it be that he was just another hired gun after her head?

Candice felt sick to her stomach. His betrayal burned badly. Candice's hand shook and her body was covered with a fine sheen of sweat. The fat suit felt extremely heavy on her body and her legs felt wobbly. Stumbling around like a cow, she could barely carry the baby up the stairs. Candice reached to the wall for support and caused one of the pictures to crash to the floor. Candice jumped, her nerves on edge. She looked down at the shattered glass frame that held a picture of Guillermo. Candice stared at the picture like it was a bad omen. She felt like throwing up.

Cyndi rounded the corner like a bat out of hell in response to the loud noise.

“Dulce, are you all right?” she asked, noticing Candice's pained expression. Cyndi looked down at the shattered frame, then back up at Candice.

“Um . . . I—I'm not feeling good. I need to leave early, if you don't m-mind,” Candice stammered, using the wall to hold herself up now. She couldn't even be bothered with the accent, and she didn't even care if Cyndi noticed.

Cyndi eyed her suspiciously and grabbed her baby before Dulce dropped her.

“I have to go,” Candice panted; her chest felt tight. She was afraid that if she stood in front of Cyndi another minute, she would definitely blow her disguise.

Candice slid down the steps and out of Cyndi's line of vision.

“Okay. Okay, you go ahead. I'll keep the kids tonight,” Cyndi called out from the balcony landing.

All Candice wanted to do was get out of the house and take in a deep gulp of fresh air. She moved fast now, ignoring everyone and everything.

As Candice moved away from her, Cyndi noticed that her nanny's shirt was hiked up slightly in the back. Cyndi squinted; Dulce's skin looked wrinkled and rubbery. Perhaps she had been burned in a fire as a child? Cyndi shook her head. Maybe her eyes were deceiving her, or the lighting was bad, but a nagging, suspicious feeling invaded her mind.

Something about Dulce just didn't sit right with her, and she couldn't put her finger on it. She had a funny feeling about her from day one, but she'd ignored it. With everything that had happened, she had been preoccupied, but the feeling was back. Cyndi hurried up the stairs and put her baby down in the crib. She rushed to her bedroom and retrieved her cell phone.

“Hello, Ms. Sanchez? I need to ask you some questions about the nanny you sent to replace Flora. Yes, I want to know everything,” Cyndi demanded.

* * *

Tuck watched the chubby Hispanic woman rush through the gates of the DeSosa home. He started up his engine as soon as she got in her car; in a matter of seconds he was on her tail.

“You are a bold bitch, Candy,” he said out loud to himself. He could not believe she was inside DeSosa's home, playing with his grandkids. He thought Candy had been bold when she infiltrated Junior's crew to get closer to them, but this took the cake. She was one bad bitch, and he knew he'd have to tread lightly with her.

He followed Candice with every dip, turn and U-turn she made. He had to give it to her—she was slippery as a snake. Rock Barton had obviously trained her well.

Candice pulled her car over abruptly. Tuck had to stop short to keep from rear-ending her.

“Fuck!” Tuck cursed, slamming his palms on the steering wheel. He had been made.

Candy rushed toward his car, digging into her bag at the same time. Tuck went to his waistband as well. She yanked open his passenger door and plopped into the seat. Her gun was under his chin, and his was at her temple.

“Why the fuck are you following me?” Candice growled. Her finger was in the trigger guard, ready to blow Tuck's head off.

“I'm not following you! I was following Junior!” Tuck panted, his nerves on a hair trigger.

“You're a fucking liar! How did you know it was me?”

“I recognized you, even with all of that padding, makeup and fake-ass eyes! What made you think you could disguise your eyes?” Tuck's voice cracked. He still seemed to have a soft spot for her.

“Tell me who the fuck sent you, or you die right here and right now.” Candice couldn't care less about the gun that rested on her temple.

“Put your gun down and I'll put mine down. We need to talk,” Tuck said calmly.

“No! I don't trust you!” she barked, working her jaw and readjusting her grip on her weapon.

“You have no fuckin' choice right now! There are some very dangerous people hunting for your ass, and I'm the only person who can tell you who they are and why they want you dead or alive,” Tuck said seriously. “Now put your fuckin' gun down and I'll put mine down,” he said firmly.

“You first,” Candice said, not buying it. If Tuck tried anything funny, she would take Tuck the fuck apart, limb by limb.

He reluctantly lowered his gun from her head. She took a deep breath and did the same, but she kept it at the ready. Tuck placed his gun back into his waistband as a symbol of trust. He wanted her to know he had no ill intentions toward her.

Candice didn't give a shit what he did. She kept her gun ready, willing and able to blow his skullcap back.

“Now let me explain everything to you,” Tuck began with a sigh.