Stone de la Bru Familia (2 page)

"Will you help him?" 

"Ain't nothing I can do for bruh. If I find out who killed Candi it won't be for him, it'll be for Serena." 

Lillian stood knowingly as Stone passed by her into the low ceilinged alcove. She had no doubt that he would find out who murdered Candi. And maybe Marcus didn't deserve his help anyway for the way he treated the family without favor and disdain. 

Stone slipped on a BRU Capo  t-shirt that went well with his Girbaud  jeans. His feet were cased in a pair of shell-toe Adidas. With the clenched fist afropick tucked into this hair he was ready to begin his day with freshly prepared blueberry pancakes.  

Lillian led the way down the stairwell. Serena's  happy explanation of how snakes shed  their skin met them as they rounded the landing into the kitchen. The sound of her voice made everything worth it for Stone. 

It took a special man to be a boss. A boss attracted the needs and desires of everyone he came in contact with, whether it was financial or simply time. The mental energy necessary to grasp the finer workings of this boss status was given out sparingly. This mental capacity, with vision, had to be in you. It wasn't something that you could wear like a t-shirt. 

Stone smiled with his thoughts. This is what he said to Coretta over a late lunch at the Cheesecake Factory. She'd commented on his t-shirt that read BRU Capo. She'd questioned him about its meaning. This amused him. She was always trying to get deeper into his life than he wanted her. 

 The discourse became predictable. She reminded him that there shouldn't be walls or hidden passages in their relationship. He invariably responded that it was impossible for her to know everything about him. 

“Why? Well, because then you would be responsible for more than you could handle.” 

This last always got a rise from her. What couldn't I handle? she would ask next, her pretty brown eyes looking to him sincerely across the sunlit table spread of shelled oysters, salads, seafood platter of lobster, crab, shrimp and garlic bread. The crystal decanter of cranberry juice caught the sunlight and turned it blood red. 

It was true. There were some things that she just couldn't know about. This is not the first time he'd been loved by a woman for his mysterious ways, only then to be probed to unlock his chamber of secrets. The thing that attracted them was the thing that eventually drove them away. The secrets. The attraction turned into fear of the unknown.  

How do you get so much money? Who are your friends? Why don't you have a job? Why do you still live with your mother? Invariably they would hint at questioning the reason for the love he and his mother shared. 

But Coretta was different in many ways, Stone thought to himself as he made the right on Normandie at Manchester. She was smart enough to back off when she went too far with her wondering inquiries. She was smart enough to know that power had its own special privilege.  

He loved her for this. And for the fact that she was a woman of principle. Every boss needed a woman of principle on his team. She would keep him grounded as a counterweight to his impulsive, savage ways. 

Stone was not aware of the luxury BMW he drove as he neared his destination. It was pedestrian traffic that reminded him that he was in rarefied air. To them it was a 760, but to him it was just a black car. 

He was reminded by his earlier conversation with Nutcracker that he needed to see Keasha. Everyone has a homegirl like Keasha. She is a resident hood chick that serves as the hub of the ghetto network. She knows who buried the bodies and who is doing the most time for the dumbest crimes.  

She knows who the snitches are and who the real bosses are. She holds the dope and guns of the bosses and serves as the nerve center of gossip, holding some and giving some away to manipulate events in favor of those she cares for. She is a skilled hairstylist and on any given day she will have a bevy of women at her house, some as customers, and others as support. 

This is where Stone was headed. This was the destination that Coretta couldn't know about. This was another closet in his secret house. 

This part of Los Angeles struggled for survival. The homes leaned sideways behind black grill gates under the weight of the constant assault of pain and struggle. The rewards were hidden in the laughter of the grown-children who scampered across the street chasing balls or getting away from some threat.  

The streets were lined with new cars while older models took up space in driveways, sitting on crates to signal they were parked for good. Old women sat on porches, their men long dead or invisible due to dire uselessness. 

Stone pulled to the curb behind Keasha’s black Maxima with 35% tint, sitting on chrome 20” Davin rims. Her eight unit apartment building faced away from the street as if to protect its inhabitants from stray bullets. It was fronted by a dirt patch of lawn littered with assorted bikes and toys meant to occupy the minds of otherwise troublesome children. 

The sun was beginning to make its decline from the sky. Stone didn't want to be pulling away from the curb in the dead of night; not out of fear but of security. There were plenty of hungry men on the streets in the night looking for a chance to be killed. 

Stone slipped on his black leather jacket with BRU Capo embossed across the back. This jacket was not for sale and only given to family members. He tucked his Glock .45 into a reinforced inside pocket meant for this purpose. 

Keasha's door faced the concrete walkway. It was open. Through the gray screen he could see the silhouettes of several shapely women moving about. The smell of fried chicken met him as he stepped up the three steps. 

"Is that my baby daddy?" came the high-pitched voice of Paradise. Stone smiled despite himself as the screen door opened, her long fingernails bright in the waning light as they clutched a handle. 

"What's up, Stone! We heard you were getting married… How you gon’ cheat on me like that?" she asked, smiling with new braces on her teeth. Her shapely body was sheathed in a sleeve of cotton that dropped to her ankles from the top of bubbly brown breasts. Her long dark weave nearly obscured the view of those heavenly mounds. 

"What's up baby girl," he replied with a soft kiss on her warm, sweet smelling cheek. 

"I shoulda made you kiss me on the lips," she whispered after him as he walked into the small apartment.  

In true ghetto fabulous fashion it was appointed with the finest leather couches (upon which attentive, smiling women sat watching videos and gossiping), plasma screen television (where music videos play), glass tables and the smell of cronic smoke. 

"Hey, Stone. How you doing?” Keasha said from beyond the living room.  

She stood at the dining room table tending to a head of wild hair seated before her. Gold and diamonds jangled from her wrists and sparkled on her tapered fingers. She was as cool as a man and twice as deadly simply because she was beautiful in a hood way. Her big, dark eyes studied him as he made his way to her. 

"Straight like a pair of eights," Stone said as he walked under the bright light of the dining/kitchen area where the smell of fried chicken was strongest. 

"That's not very straight at all" she replied with a small smile. Keasha never expected a square answer from him. "Pooky called earlier. He asked about you." 

"Where he at?" 

"They just move him to New Folsom." 

"Wasn't he at Soledad?" 

"Yeah… Why?" she asked, her interest piqued, always a fan of new information. 

"No reason." There was something familiar about the woman sitting in the chair before Keasha. He caught her glance as she looked up from the magazine she was reading. He was initially drawn to her because she seemed very poised and professional, then there were the dark, round eyes that he'd seen before. 

"Excuse me miss…" he ventured, pulling her eyes back up from the magazine. "Do I know you?" 

The pretty woman with smooth, dark, shiny skin and wavy long hair said, "Not that I can remember." 

Keasha looked on with slight amusement. Stone studied her for a moment. "Naw… I never forget a face." 

"You don't know him Ebony?" Keasha asked, causing the uninterested woman to give it more thought. She looked to Stone with renewed interest. 

"You do look a little familiar…" 

"This is Stone Sweetwater," Keasha offered. Stone didn't see how this would mean anything to Ebony, but when her eyes widened in surprise he knew that there was something to the name. 

"Are you any relation to Marcus Sweetwater?" Ebony wanted to know. Stone let out a loud chuckle that drew the attention of the women lounging on the sofa, throwing his head to the ceiling. 

"OH SNAP!” he bellowed, "you worked with my brother! I remember seeing you that day when they arrested him." Her dire predicament was occurring to him in stages as Paradise sidled up next to him and placed her arm over his shoulder. 

"She lucky she ain’t in jail,” Paradise offered. 

"Mind your own business, Paradise," Keasha warned, her eyes directing the would-be instigator back into the living room. She rolled her neck hard before following Keasha's silent instruction. 

"You got caught up in a real way, hunh?" Stone asked, remembering that the feds tried to implicate her in the fraud of the Century 21 office. "You really didn't know about the secret office with the Irish dude?" 

Ebony shook her head seriously. "I didn’t know nothing about that. Like I told the feds… All I did was follow instructions. Whatever your brother told me to put on the paper that's what I did. He handled the rest." 

"Is that what they want you to say in court?" he asked, looking to her with a chilling stare that seemed to quiet the small apartment. All eyes were on her, awaiting her answer. 

"I don't know anything," she replied, the threat of tears evident in her voice. 

"She's good Stone. She wouldn't be in my house if she wasn't. Marcus got more to worry about than what she got to say," Keasha said as she lay her comb on the table and walked to where he stood. 

"Sorry my brother got you mixed up in this drama, but let me ask you a question. Are you charged with anything right now?" Keasha was looking into his eyes with a silent plea as he asked this of Ebony. 

"Yeah. Conspiracy to commit fraud." 

"Have they offered you a deal in exchange for your testimony against Marcus?" Keasha placed her hand inside his elbow and gently pressed. 

"There's nothing I can say Stone. Honestly." There was fear in her voice. 

"Stop it Stone. This is not the time or the place. She didn't play no part in that. She ain't got no power." This last statement turned Stone’s eyes to Keasha. What he saw there was a private communication directing him to leave it alone for her sake. 

Ebony looked on with slight apprehension. She'd heard of Stone through her friend Misty. She didn't want to be on the wrong side of him or his friends. She had no clue that Marcus was his brother; they were nothing alike. The women in the room waited with baited breath while Stone decided what he was going to do next. When he smiled at Ebony all sound seemed to return to the air. 

"You got the bad end of the stick," he said with a point of his finger to Ebony. "I'm sorry about that." 

Keasha smiled proudly at him before turning to Ebony. "I'll be right back girl. We need to handle some quick business." 

"Nice meeting you," Ebony said with some relief. 

Keasha led the way from the kitchen and into the hallway. "Why was you so mean to her?" she asked as they entered the last bedroom on the right. A large round bed stood in the center of the floor surrounded by mirrored walls. To the left was a small open armoire that looked to be a shrine to her husband Pooky, who was locked up. 

"She's tough," he replied absently as she moved to a low table near the closet. 

"Here's the stuff you needed. Brock and Traci need two good birth certificates and Social Security cards," she said as she handed him a blue folder with BRU stenciled across the middle. 

Inside the folder were surveillance pictures of the social worker who was trying to take Serena from him and place her in a foster home. The photos showed the stern black woman entering a sex shop with a tall white man. 

"Who is this?" he asked Keasha, holding the photo up. 

"Info is on the back." 

Stone flipped through the photos and quickly learned that she was having an affair with a white man, her supervisor, while married to a black man who worked construction. There was further evidence that she owed nearly half a million dollars in taxes. 

"Damn, how we know this and the feds don't?" he wanted to know. 

Keasha shrugged. "You gotta ask the higher ups that question. I'm just a lowly foot soldier." She said this sadly. "But I'm proud of you though. I knew that you were going to be made." 

"How'd you know?" 

"Because I recommended you." 

"Why?" he asked, wondering how she got the power to recommend. 

"To tell you the truth… I told Brock James about you and he said he would talk to Milo. I don't know what happened from there… Next thing I know Brock told me that you were made." She looked at him thoughtfully before asking, "Was there some type of blood ritual or something?" 

Stone looked to her sharply while he digested the social worker’s credit history and residences she owned. She had way more assets than her paycheck would allow. "The formal ceremony was in Milo's office. I just took an oath and…" 

"What kind of oath?" she asked excitedly, nearly jumping from the bed. 

“You know I can’t tell you that… But I'm supposed to meet everybody Friday. At least the BRU Capos of their region." 

"Brock and Traci are going to be there to pick up the documents." Keasha said this in a low voice. 

It was incredible to Stone that he was now helping the notorious Brock James get new identification. He was a hood legend who'd been on the run for years for drug trafficking, racketeering and murder. As a BRU lieutenant he was given top priority. Stone felt as if this was his first test.