It's Like Candy (17 page)

But Big Red had other plans, though. He hated Eric the most of
all the victims they'd robbed. Eric had managed to have River go soft on him, and he knew that River actually liked Eric.

Big Red glared at Eric. The gun was still gripped in his right hand and the bag containing the money was slung over his shoulder.

“Yo, let's go,” Twinkie called out, happy with what they'd come for.

“You like her, right?” Big Red asked, looking Eric in his eyes, searching for fear or some kind of raw emotion in Eric. “You wanted to fuck her, huh?”

River became confused and worried. “Can we go?” she demanded, fearing Red might do something to Eric out of jealousy and rage.

“This your boyfriend, right, River? He actually thought y'all were a couple. Damn, you stupid.” Red chuckled. “Niggah, that's my bitch. She ain't got nuthin' to do wit' you. You got played, niggah!”

Eric stood there, not replying, not budging. He knew Red was in control. He had the gun. He had the manpower. Eric just glared back at Big Red, hoping to run into the fat, greasy bastard again one day. Even though Big Red's face was masked, Eric knew that if he came across this niggah again he would recognize him and it would be on.

“Twinkie—catch,” Red said, tossing Twinkie the bag of money and jewelry. Twinkie seized the bag in his arms, and continued to look over at Big Red, wondering about his partner's next move.

“Fuck you lookin' at, niggah?” Big Red scolded. “Say sumthin' muthafucka. Go ‘head, you gangsta, right? Talk, niggah!”

Eric remained quiet. Now he feared that he wouldn't make it out of the room alive. He saw the look in Red's eyes, and knew Big Red wouldn't hesitate to shoot him.

Unexpectedly, Big Red's large arm swung around, and struck Eric in the head with the gun, knocking him down on his knees. Eric cried out, holding his face, hunched over, and staring down at the floor. Red didn't even give him a chance to breathe or recover from the sudden
blow as he began raining down on Eric blows from his fists and feet.

“Noooo . . . Red, stop it—please!” River shouted, running up to Red and grabbing hold of his arm. “No—please, don't do this!” River pleaded.

“River, you feelin' this niggah?” Red shouted. He pointed the Glock down at Eric's abused body, lying sprawled out across the bedroom floor. “Go ahead, tell me you feelin' this niggah!”

By the tone of his voice, River knew not to answer what her heart was telling her. She looked down at Eric, who looked as if he'd definitely had enough of the abuse, and then turned her eyes back to Red.

“Let him go—please! We got what we came for,” River said, her eyes glossy, looking as if she wanted to cry. “Please, he's not worth it.”

Eric moaned in pain, sprawled on his stomach. Twinkie wanted to leave quickly; he didn't want death on his hands. He gripped the bag of money as though his soul was in it and peered at Red, knowing not to interfere when Big Red became enraged like this.

“You disappoint me, River. I know you got better taste than this . . . liking this clown-ass niggah,” Red said.

“I don't, Red.”

“Say you love me, River,” Big Red said.

River didn't hesitate. “I love you, Red.” She would tell Red anything to keep him from putting a bullet in Eric's back.

“Yo, you know I love you, right, River? I'll do anything for you. Don't fuck this up for us. We gettin' money, River, I'm lookin' out for you, baby. This niggah here, he ain't worth your time. River, I know niggahs like him. They spit that game, and when they fuck you, then it's bye-bye, you don't hear from him again.”

“I know, Red. I'm good, right. I never liked him. He was the plan, and we got that money, so let's be out and spend his money,” River said, trying to sound convincing.

“C'mon, Red, she's right. We got that money. Let's go,” Twinkie chimed in.

Big Red finally came to his senses, and fell back from Eric.
“Fuckin' clown-ass niggah!” he said before giving him one more swift kick in the ribs.

Eric lay still, almost passing out from the beating and the pain. His eyes were swollen shut and his breathing ragged.

He heard the culprits exiting his bedroom and felt a sense of relief that he was still alive.

River turned around and gave Eric one last look, wishing she could run over to help him. But Big Red pushed her out of the bedroom and warned her not to look back at him.

River held back her tears for Eric, knowing she had wronged him. Of all the many men had she set up and robbed in months, Eric was the one hit that she wished she could turn back from and prevent. She tried not to think about it. She climbed into the Pontiac and held back her tears, knowing not to let Red see her cry. For once she didn't give a fuck about the money. She'd actually found someone she liked and who held her interest.

When Twinkie pulled away, River glanced back at the building and wondered,
Would he try to kill her if they met again?

THE PAST IS THE ONLY DEAD THING
THAT SMELLS SWEET

Man, I told you
you not to trust that bitch,” Critter scolded, mocking Eric in his own apartment as he peered at the wide-screen television.

“Yo, Critter, I ain't in the mood right now,” Eric replied, not bothering to look over at Critter, who was slouched down in the leather chair, holding a bottle of E&J in his hand. Critter was mad that his friend got set up by some pretty snake bitch. He wanted to go after the niggahs that jacked his boy, but Eric lay around, being nonchalant about the situation.

“So what you gonna do about it, niggah? They came at you, bashed your fuckin' face in, stole thirty grand from you, and you sitting around actin' like you a scared niggah. What you say, the niggah go by the name Red?”

Eric finally turned and looked over at Critter. “Yo, let me think on it,” was Eric's only response.

“Think on what? You got the three-eighty under the bed; you should be lookin' for these niggahs. Niggah, you know I'm down,” Critter said.

“Man, they probably long gone by now, Critter. Plus, they both wore masks,” Eric stated.

“So find the bitch. You know her face.”

Eric sighed, redirecting his attention back to the TV.

“I don't know about you, E,” Critter said, then took another swig from the E&J. “Yo, your fuckin' cousin getting out next week.”

“And?”

“You still thro win' him that party wit' the strippers? Shit, you ain't worrying about the niggahs that got you, so you need to be focus on sumthin,” Critter said, rising from his chair and about to walk to the kitchen.

“Yeah, the shit still on, I ain't gonna let this beef stop me from thro win' a welcome-home party for Russell.”

Critter smiled, thinking about all the strippers that were going to show up. He couldn't wait. Critter smirked down at Eric, and then smartly said, “Niggah, did you at least fuck the bitch before her chubby boyfriend played tennis wit' your face?”

“Fuck you, niggah.”

Eric was trying to forget about the ordeal with River, and Critter was throwing the robbery in his face. Eric knew he should have been more careful, but beauty and pussy made him slip, and he promised himself never to make that same mistake again.

He couldn't get mad at Critter, though, for teasing him. While Eric lay beaten and bleeding on his bedroom floor, he managed to call Critter from his cell phone and Critter rushed over and took him to the hospital to get checked out. Eric suffered nothing serious, just some cuts requiring a few stitches across his bruised eyelid, and his wounded pride. He couldn't believe that he was set up so easily. He wondered if he'd ever come across River again, and if so what his reaction should be toward her. He admitted to himself that she did save his life; she kept Red from shooting him. But it was because of her that he had been robbed in the first place.

He told Critter that he didn't want a word of this getting out, especially
to his cousin. He didn't want it to look as if he couldn't handle himself out on the streets. If anything, he would say to anyone that asked about the bruised eye and stitches that he got into a dispute over some money with a client and the man sucker-punched him with a blunt object and ran off. Critter promised he wouldn't tell anyone what had happened, and they both left it at that.

The remainder of the day, Critter and Eric lounged around the apartment, drinking beer, smoking, and slowly passing the day away.

 

The private club
on Hempstead Turnpike had been jumping off since nine in the evening on a beautiful spring night. It was the spot for Russell's coming-home party. The turnpike was lined with sumptuous foreign coupes, trucks, and SUVs that decorated the strip as dozens of high-end cars with blaring audio systems were literally stopping traffic. Hustlers, pimps, thugs, dons, and even wannabes stood outside the Long Island club profiling with their high-priced jewelry gleaming and knots of money clutched in their hands. The ladies and hoochies—dressed scantily in miniskirts, weaves, and tight jeans—were craving the bailers' attention and hordes of folks were waiting to enter the place.

A few local cops were on hand, hoping their mere presence would guarantee a peaceful night with no gunshots and no fights.

The owner wasn't expecting the turnout to be so large, but he had over a dozen bouncers present and had notified the police department just in case. He was a middle-aged white man who'd catered to urban parties before and definitely knew that without the right security and cops present, things can go bad really quickly. But he couldn't turn down the money that Eric and his crew gave him to throw the party at his club.

Rock-Rock, the owner, was dressed casually in khakis and a T-shirt, wearing a pair of loafers. He approved of the strippers that were going to be in his place, and allowed Eric to collect from the door, though he still profited from the bar all night. It was a fair exchange,
since Eric was charging the guys thirty dollars to get inside the place. If you purchased tickets in advance, then it was twenty-five.

It was Russell's night, and Eric went all out for his cousin's party. He had VIP set up for Russell and his boys, with their own personal servants and a handful of strippers to please Russell, knowing it had been a long time since Russell had had sex. And for after the party, Eric had earlier rented three suites at the Marriott, where they would continue the after party.

Around midnight, the place was almost jam-packed, and if you weren't inside, then you were definitely going to be locked out. Capacity was one thousand revelers, and the club was about to reach that in another forty minutes, with five-hundred-plus people still waiting outside to get in.

The 2000 S-type Jaguar twelve-passenger limo Eric rented pulled up to the club just a few minutes before midnight. Eric eyed the madness that the driver had to navigate through, the sea of cars and people that flooded the block. He had Critter, Donald, and his cousin—the big man himself, Russell—with him. The limo finally moved its way through the dense traffic, parked around in the back parking lot, and out stepped Eric and his peoples dressed like bailers.

Eric was nicely clad in a navy blue-and-white pinstriped leather suit by Shadez; he had a long white-gold chain adorning his neck and looked like a major figure as he strutted up to the club flanked by his cousin and his boys.

Donald was wearing denim Phat Farm shorts that came down to his knees and a plain white-T, wearing massive jewelry.

Critter, who looked decent for once, wore a gray-and-blue button-down by Sean John, baggy Polo jeans, and sported beige construction Timberlands. He wore white gold also.

Russell, the man of the night, walked beside his cousin sporting a full denim suit, with a navy blue button-down by Akademiks underneath. He also wore beige-and-white construction Timberlands fresh
out of the box. A thick long chain hung from around his neck with a colossal diamond pendant of Jesus' face hanging low by his abs.

Russell was six feet two and well built—seven years in prison, and he was cut like an action figure. He held a strong presence, with his braids extending down to his back and his thick black beard trimmed. He was dark-skinned, with diamond earrings embedded in both ears, and he personified a real thug image. One look at the man and you knew he was not to be trifled with. He turned heads with his demeanor and definitely attracted women. One look into his dark onyx eyes and they showed something that intrigued most women and made his enemies wary of him.

Previous to their arrival at the club, Eric had hooked up with his cousin at Sherry's place, Russell's longtime girlfriend. Sherry rented a two-bedroom apartment on Farmers, where Russell fronted her some money to keep her bills in order. When the two finally met, Eric and Russell, coming face-to-face after seven years of separation, Eric embraced Russell and shouted, “Damn, I missed you, cuz. It's been a long time. It ain't been the same without you.”

“I know. I'm glad to be home, yo,” Russell returned. He rarely showed emotions, but this was family. Eric was jovial about his cousin being home, and so was Sherry. But Sherry wanted him home alone for a few hours, so she could stretch out on that dick she'd been missing for years. Sherry peered at Russell, and stated, “Baby, you look good.”

Russell smiled, admiring Sherry's goods, and replied, “You know what time it is.”

Russell looked over at his cousin, and he had to excuse himself. “E, you know, it's been a minute . . . I ain't had none of this in a long time,” he said, hugging Sherry and grabbing her firm backside with his strong hands.

“Yeah, I know. Do you, Russ. I'll be back around tonight to scoop you up for the party,” Eric told him.

“That's what's up.”

Eric gave Russell another hug, once again saying to him how
good it was to have him back home. He then left the apartment, leaving Russell with Sherry to handle his business.