Secrets Uncovered (18 page)
Authors: Amaleka McCall
One after the other, they each took their turns with her. They performed sordid acts, violating her in the most sickening ways. After an eternity the violence on her body came to an end. By then, Corine had wrapped herself in a cocoon of disbelief and denial. Oddly enough, she thought of her father and how much she missed him.
In broken English a new voice cautioned, “Not too much'a bruises.”
Why this man was saving her from bruises, when the men clearly planned to kill her, was beyond her understanding? The man called an end to their sick little party; for that, she was grateful. His voice was raspy, and his cologne smelled familiar, but she couldn't place the fragrance.
“Tell your husband what we did to you. Tell him, we know he is talking to the police and he'd better stop. Tell him, we said there's only one way out,” the older gentleman had whispered, close to her face. She tried to turn her head toward him, but they pushed her face away.
Her attackers had been instructed to clean her up and drop her off back at her car.
When Corine was deposited back in the parking garage, she tried to make out their faces. But this time they were smart enough to wear disguises. Corine didn't know whether to start screaming for help or thank them for not killing her. Her head was all messed up.
When she put the key in the ignition, she didn't know what to do or where to go. Every car that drove by made her jump. She'd sat there for almost an hour, crying off and on. Her body ached so bad; she didn't think she could grip her steering wheel.
Corine wanted to call somebody, but they hadn't returned her pocketbook or her cell phoneâshe was given just a lone car key.
She couldn't ask for help from strangers. She didn't trust anyone right now. Worst of all, she didn't know how she could possibly tell Easy about what had happened to her during these last few hours. The news would devastate her husband, giving her attackers twice the satisfaction.
Corine decided she would take her lumps on this one. She would be strong and come up with a plausible story to explain the bruises that were already darkening her face. She needed to stick as close to the truth as possibleâshe would tell Easy she had been robbed. Yes! That would work. That would explain her black eye and busted lips. And her missing cell phone and purse.
Corine considered that Easy might not believe the story, since most of Brooklyn knew she was his wife and wouldn't dare fuck with her. She would simply have to stress to her husband that she believed her attack to be a random act of violence, as opposed to a calculated act.
She planned to put the trauma behind her and move forward with her life. She would hold her head up high and never let those bastards see her falling apart. Corine knew the risks she'd accepted when she agreed to become a hustler's wife. She knew that one day she would have to make the ultimate sacrifice; today, unfortunately, was that day.
Corine pulled her car over to the side of the road about five times before she arrived at the hospital. She stumbled into the emergency room and requested a female doctor. Corine was examined by the doctor. The doctor immediately ordered a rape kit and told Corine she'd have to wait for the results of the STD tests. That had unnerved Corine. She hadn't even considered the consequences of her rape. Aside from the STD, the men could have impregnated her as well. Her womb shuddered in revulsion. She snatched the Plan B pill from the doctor and swallowed it in a single gulp.
“Please ... you can't tell my husband about this. You can't mention it around him,” Corine pleaded, holding on tightly to the white lab coat.
The doctor looked at her like she had lost her mind.
“He won't ever look at me the same. I couldn't handle that on top of this,” Corine half lied.
The doctor consented to her wishes, although very reluctantly. She recommended that if Corine was not going to share the truth with her husband that she at least join a support group for victims of rape. Corine agreed to give it careful consideration.
When Corine finally called Easy from the hospital, he sounded very close to near panic. He told her he had been worried sick about her and had about a hundred dudes scouring the streets looking for his wife.
Easy made it to Long Island College Hospital in record time. When he saw Corine's face, his anger erupted like Mount Vesuvius. He seemed to buy the robbery story; for that, Corine was deeply relieved. Of course, he had about 50 million questions for her to answer, but his concern was mostly for her well-being as opposed to grilling her about her attack. He could get those details later, when she was able to think more objectively about the incident.
Easy knew that a nigga in Brooklyn bold enough to touch his wife had to be on a suicide mission. Easy didn't waste any time. He went on a rampage. He was on the phone for hours at a time, trying to track down leads on who might have attacked his wife. Easy couldn't sleep or eat. He had to find the fuckers responsible for robbing his wife. He had his workers all over the streets, fanned out looking for a ghost. After a while the manhunt died down.
Easy remained calm but cautious. Corine was practically under house arrest for the next two months after the incident occurred. She had new locks put on the house, and a more enhanced security system installed. She was paranoid that the men who had hurt her would return. Corine fought through her nightmares and continued to put on a brave face in front of her husband and children.
Corine had secretly joined a rape crisis center support group, but that turned out to be too much of a challenge. Corine got tired of trying to get Easy to let her go out alone; she hated lying to him as well, so she eventually quit the center. Instead, she suffered in silence, not giving her victimizers the satisfaction of breaking her spirit.
Corine didn't know what had finally compelled her to tell Easy the truth about the events that had transpired so long ago. Perhaps he had pushed her too far by his selfish claims or by his dismissive attitude about the sacrifices she'd made for her family over the years.
Nonetheless, Corine was relieved to have cleared the air between herself and Easy. Lately they had been growing apart, and a large part of the distance was a result of the dark secrets they had kept from each other.
Easy felt like he had been in a twelve-round boxing match by the time Corine finished reliving her ordeal. He felt like he was there when it all happened; she had relayed it in such detail. Listening to it, he was like a fly on the wall. Easy had collapsed on the floor with his wife and held her close to him, wishing he could squeeze all of the pain out of her. They had both cried together into the night.
Corine could not explain what had come over her, but the confession felt good for her soul, and good for their marriage. If they wanted to make their relationship work, they had to start trusting each other again.
The next morning Corine woke up and felt better than she had in a long time. She didn't want Eric's sympathy, just his love. She was going to keep it together for her family. What she had confessed would never leave the confines of their bedroom walls; Easy had promised her that much.
“Brianna's birthday party still needs to be planned,” Corine announced in a rather husky tone. Her voice was still raw from all of the crying she had done the night before.
Easy gazed at his wife in true amazement; he could not believe that his wife was thinking about throwing a birthday party after all she had been through. She was truly a treasure above all treasures. He walked over to his wife and held her closely.
“I love you, baby. Have I told you that lately?” Eric said in a husky tone.
“No, you haven't, but I won't hold it against you. I'm done with holding grudges, especially against my own husband,” Corine teased.
Eric rewarded her with a passionate kiss that nearly stole her breath away.
“Promise me that whatever you do to get revenge, you'll wait until after Brianna has her party. I know we may have to leave Brooklyn, but we need to make life as normal for our kids as possible,” she said calmly.
Easy had been struck silent. He couldn't make that promise to his wife now.
“You know me so well, baby,” Eric said. “I promise I won't do anything to ruin Brianna's party.” That was the best he could offer her right now.
“I want this party to be huge,” Corine said, too busy with party planning to pick up on the nuances of his promise.
While Corine planned her big celebration, Easy planned his revenge. There was no way he could honor his wife's wishes on this one. He needed to see Rock right away.
Somebody needed to pay for what had happened to his wife. And he was pretty sure he knew exactly who that someone was.
Chapter 14
Justice
Tuck picked up his phone in a huff. He was so annoyed that he almost ran off the road.
“Carlisle, where the hell have you been? Where are Elaina and the kids?” he belted out before he could even stop to listen. He had been trying to reach her all night.
“You lied, Agent Tucker,” a strange male voice filtered through the phone.
“Who is this?” Tuck yelled. His voice surged up a few octaves. He was all over the road again. “Shit!” he cursed as he nearly sideswiped an SUV.
“Who is this?” he screamed as he threw on his hazards and pulled his car over. He looked at his phone screen one more time, just to make sure he had seen it right. CARLISLE, the screen flashed. He was right; it had been her phone that had called him.
“We had a deal, Agent Tucker, but you lied. Did you think we wouldn't be watching you? You said you would bring her to us, but then your lovesick, pussy-whipped ass just let her go.”
Tuck shut his eyes tightly. Regret filled up inside him. He clenched his fists.
“Stokes! Where is Carlisle?” Tuck was out of the car, pacing now. Cars whizzed past him. He looked like a stranded motorist, walking the side of the highway in the rain.
There was laughter on the other end of the phone. “You have the nerve to ask me questions,” the voice said snidely.
“Answer me! Where the fuck is Carlisle? My kids?” Tuck asked, his voice cracking as he nearly lost his grip on his cell phone. He was soaking wet from the pounding rain. He didn't even care.
“I guess you didn't really want to protect your family, Agent Tucker,” the man continued.
It wasn't Stokes. Tuck would've recognized Stokes's voice by now. This man was younger; his voice was stronger.
“Where is my family?” Tuck screeched, feeling like someone had punched him in the solar plexus.
“Daddy! Help us!” Tuck heard his baby girl shout in the background of the call.
“No!” he screamed, falling to his knees. He looked up into the angry sky and pleaded for mercy from above. Only divine intervention could save his family right now.
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The throngs of news reporters and policemen lining the outside of the Ponce Funeral Home gave the impression that a celebrity or politician had passed away. Each reporter and their camera crew jockeyed for the perfect spot in front of the doors for the money shot they all desired. They swarmed like angry bees, waiting to grill the former reputed drug kingpin, who was now burying two sons. The reports on the news had varied: Some said his sons had been killed as a result of an ongoing drug war with another borough; others said the crimes were revenge killings for DeSosa's past indiscretions. Police investigators were examining these incidents closely to see if the two murders were related. On the surface the MOs did not match at all.
Candy laughed at the circus that DeSosa was now forced to be a part of. She certainly enjoyed her role as the ringmaster.
The large crowd made the perfect cover and distraction. Candice made up her mind; she'd get in and out like the Grim Reaper. One fast sweep of blackness to finish the deedâthe thought made her feel powerful, yet sad. What would she do when she no longer had revenge to fill her days?
Candice hadn't given that much thought to the future; she was still so consumed with the past and the present. She shook her head. No time to get fucking emotional right now.
Candice checked herself in the small driver's-side visor mirror one last time. An assassin in pink lip gloss; she had to giggle at that. The black wide brim hat, black oyster shell oval shades, black elbow-length gloves and nice fitted black sheath dress made her look very much the part of a high-class mourner. It was a look that suited her well.
Uncle Rock had always worn his black skullcap, black military-style jacket and black gloves as his signature kill-a-nigga wear. Candice thought this funeral get-up might be her signature look. Going to these funerals was starting to give her a rise. She knew it was sick, but it was satisfying, all the same.
Candice picked up the oversized black purse, checked for her weapon of choice and stepped out of the rental car. Her heels clicking on the pavement sounded off like gunshots. She liked that too.
Power. Power. Power.
Power. Power. Power.
Candice looked down the street at the burgeoning crowd. They had no idea that in a few more minutes they'd all be in harm's way; she planned to come at them with a fury. A no-holds-barred display. Her last hit. She checked her little timer.
Hmph, only a few minutes left.
If she had timed everything correctly, DeSosa, Cyndi and the kids would be arriving soon. Candice couldn't miss that now, could she?
As soon as she reached the funeral home entrance, she felt her damn cell phone ringing inside. Only one person had her cell phone number, and that was Tuck. She really wasn't in the mood to speak with him right now. The phone stopped ringing and started back up, almost immediately. She didn't need to draw any extra attention to herself right now. She fished the phone out of her bag and hit the ignore button. Nothing could interrupt this moment.
Candice hadn't even made it to the edge of the crowd when the phone started to vibrate. Fuck! This time she felt a thunderbolt of anger spark in her chest. Candice stopped midstride and whirled around angrily. She was going to pick up that fucking phone and curse out Tuck.
“What do you want?” Candice said gruffly, but low enough as not to attract any undue attention.
“Candy! I need you!” Tuck cried out in pain.
Candice was struck dumb for a second; her body went stiff. Was he really crying?
“Tuck?” she whispered. Her eyebrows folded down onto the bridge of her nose.
“They have my family! They're going to kill my family!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
His words snatched away Candice's breath. She made a hiccup noise and swallowed hard. A cold feeling shot through her body like somebody had pumped ice water into her veins. She gripped the phone tight and whirled around, her emotions on a collision course. She looked around wildly.
It was time.
Tuck was talking incoherently. He needed her to meet him right away. His family was in danger. His words were a confusing jumble in her ears.
Pandemonium broke out near the funeral home. Candice turned toward the commotion. Reporters started rushing in all directions; loud voices erupted from the crowd. Candice felt like someone had kicked her in the chest.
No! No! No!
Rolando DeSosa had arrived at his sons' funeral and Candice had missed her shot.
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A bloodcurdling scream bounced off the walls of the long hotel hallway.
“Help! Help! Help!” the housekeeper screeched, running down the hall, her arms flailing.
Several nosy hotel patrons emerged from their rooms to investigate the noise. The brave ones ventured toward the source of the distress, but they quickly scrambled their asses back behind closed doors like cockroaches in the night. Within ten minutes the police were swarming the hotel.
The first uniformed officer to arrive on the scene had called in what he had observed: “Two DOAs, one white female, one black male, causes of death unknown. Both appear to have been dead for some time.” Then he rushed into the bathroom and threw up. He knew he had probably contaminated something at the crime scene, but he couldn't help it. His stomach couldn't hold up to the smell of death that permeated the room.
When Candice prepared to turn onto the block of her hotel, she was stopped by a uniformed police officer. Confused, she rolled down her window like a dutiful citizen.
“Oh my goodness, Officer, what's going on?” She let her eyes dart to the police tape and all of the patrol cars and emergency service unit trucks that were parked haphazardly down the street.
“Ma'am, this street is blocked off... . Crime scene investigation is going on. You're going to have to come back later or use another route,” the officer said perfunctorily.
“May I ask what happened?” She used her throatiest sex kitten voice. She could see the officer's face soften a bit. He looked like he knew better, but he was going to give the beautiful woman with the expensive sunglasses and voluptuous body the information, anyway.
“Two dead bodies in a hotel room is all I know,” he answered, tapping the door of her car. Candice's surprise was genuine. She pushed her glasses back up to cover her wide-stretched eyes.
“I better get out of here then,” she replied.
“Yes, ma'am, I'd say that's a good idea,” the officer agreed.
She skidded away from the crime scene as quickly as possible. Her phone began to vibrate. Tuck was calling her again. “Shit!” she cursed under her breath. Her fucking nerves were really rattled now.
She reached over with one hand and snatched up the phone from the cup holder. He was supposed to meet her downtown, someplace crowded. BBQ's he had offered up as a meeting location. Candice had to change that now. She didn't have time to change her clothes or put on a new disguise. They'd have to come up with someplace that afforded a little more privacy.
“We need a different place to meet. Police are swarming all over my hotel. Your call,” she announced. “Text me the address,” she instructed before hanging up the call.
Candice busted a U-turn and headed in the opposite direction.
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“Police are investigating the discovery of two dead bodies in a Brooklyn hotel room. A hotel housekeeper found the bodies when she went to clean the room earlier today. She reportedly told police, the person renting the room never asked for housekeeping services, and today was the first day the door was missing the Do Not Disturb sign,” the anchorman stated. “When the housekeeper went inside, she found the body of a black male, mid to late thirties, and that of a white female in her early thirties. A police source that has asked not to be identified reported that the woman was wearing some sort of federal law enforcement badge around her neck. Police are not releasing information about the person who rented the room, but they say they have a lead in the case. In other news, the double funeral for the sons of reputed drug kingpin Rolando DeSosa was held in Brooklyn today. DeSosa, who arrived under a shroud of security, is the reported ruthless operator of a drug business that brings tens of millions of dollars' worth of crack cocaine to the streets of New York and L.A. Both of DeSosa's sons were murdered in separate incidents just in the last week. Police would not comment on whether they believe the family was being targeted.”
Tuck sat in his old booth at the back of the small hole-in-the-wall, pub-style greasy spoon restaurant. He could hear the television reports, but he couldn't see the screen from where he sat. When he arrived at his old haunt, he had been sure to check his surroundings before he'd dipped inside. He had grown nostalgic as the smell of Greek food filled his nostrils.
“Ay,” the owner of the restaurant sang when he recognized Tuck sitting in a quiet corner. The greeting made Tuck cringe; he didn't really want to be recognized. He leaned over the counter and told the owner he was waiting for someone and that he didn't want to be disturbed while he waited.
“Lika before, right?” the overweight, greasy-haired man asked in his thick Greek accent.
“Exactly,” Tuck answered. He waited anxiously in the cramped booth for Candy to arrive.
Candy entered the small eatery and slid in across from him in a flurry. Candy looked beautiful, but he could see fear in her eyes.
Tuck looked tired. His eyes were still red-rimmed and puffy from crying. For some reason this did not make Tuck look weak in her eyes; a man who felt that passionate about saving his family was actually a trait worthy of admiration.
“Candy, you're the only person who can help me now. They've got my family, and they killed the DEA agent who tried to help me,” Tuck confessed, his voice cracking again.
“Who are âthey,' Tuck?” Candice whispered.
Tuck hung his head. He knew if he confessed the truth, she might tell him to fuck off and then he'd be screwed.
“The CIA,” he croaked out. He couldn't even look at her.
Candice curled her hands into fists. She leaned into the table. “Why the fuck does the CIA want to hurt your family, Tuck?” she whispered harshly. The wheels of her mind were already turning with ideas.
“Look, I made them believe I would help them find you so that they would leave my family alone. But I never had any intention of helping them. If I did, I would've led them to you yesterday when I gave you the file. I would've turned you over and walked away if I didn't care. I was trying to protect everyone involved, including you. You have to believe me, Candy.” Tuck laid it all out there, not even taking a breath between his words. He didn't want to give her a chance to walk out on him.
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