Authors: Amaleka McCall
Secrets Uncovered (4 page)
Chapter 3
Untangling the Past
Junior sat on the leather couch in his upscale SoHo apartment as he stared across the small space at his mother. His mother slept peacefully on a custom-made circular bed, which Junior had imported from Italy a couple of years prior. Betty's Ambien-induced sleep was the norm for her lately.
Junior hadn't been to the apartment recently, but it was the only safe haven he had right now. When he originally rented the place, it served as his creep spot, a refuge from his boys and a place to take his women. Only a select few people knew about the apartment, and Junior was glad that he had heeded one of Easy's many street lessons: always keep a safe haven that nobody but you, and maybe your women, know about.
Junior thought about Easy a lot lately. Junior also wondered what Easy would do in his situationâthe war with Phil and the uptown crew was far from over. Junior knew this, but it wasn't an ideal time to be thinking about killing people. Junior knew he couldn't just lie down and roll overâhe had to fight and declare war, but it was all much easier said than done, especially given that his opponent was laying low and moving in silence and violence.
Junior had a lot of other things on his plate as well. He wondered what Easy would say about his daughter Candy trying to off him. Candy, who Junior had thought was a friend of Shana's, his brother's girlfriend, had threatened Junior's life; then he discovered that his right-hand man, Tuck, was an undercover DEA agent. Most shocking of all the revelations that day, however, was the old dude Rock's deathbed confession that he was, in fact, Junior's biological father.
As he rubbed his goatee, Junior sat and watched his mother sleep. His mind was racing with possibilities. His mind jumped from one thing to another. He was reminded of the many times he had come to his mother's rescue as a child. Junior was the one who helped his mother self-treat her wounds after her boyfriend would whip her ass, leaving her with busted lips and black eyes. Seeing her hurting back then and now made Junior feel helpless and threatened and ready to kill.
Junior kept replaying scenes from his past in his mind, and he grew angrier each time he remembered. Junior thought back to the first murder he'd committed, and the irony that it was Easy who'd taken him under his wing and helped him out of that bad situation. Junior had suddenly been having a lot of memories of his life on the street with Easy.
Wortman Houses, 1988
Thirteen-year-old Junior stealthily walked up behind his mother's boyfriend like a quiet storm. Betty noticed him as she cowered in a corner, her body bent like a pretzel with her raised arms to shield off the next blow. Junior heard her suck in her breath at the sight of him. Sweat dripped down his brow and evil flashed in his eyes like he was of a demonic nature. Junior wore a wife beater, with his bony collarbone jutting out from the top, and a pair of jeans hung so low on his slim pelvis that the elastic band on his boxers was exposed. His eyes were hooded over with ill intent, and his mother could see fire flashing red in his wide pupils.
“Get ya hands off my mother, you punk-ass bitch!” Junior growled, baring his teeth like a hungry animal about to strike. His arms were extended out in front of him shaking fiercely, a combination of nerves and the weight of his newly acquired .22 special gripped tightly in his bony hands. “Slick! I said, get the fuck away from my mother!” Junior hissed again, his words firmer.
Slick was a tall, charcoal-colored man. He had a barrel chest and shoulders so wide that he resembled one of those ill-proportioned superhero action figures. He had been in and out of Betty's home for most of Junior's teenage years. Slick was his mother's current boyfriend who sometimes doubled as his baby brother Broady's father. Junior despised Slick from the first day he'd met him. When Slick started putting his hands on his mother, Junior's hate became palpable.
“Oh, you ain't hear me, bitch! I said, get ya fuckin' hands off my mother!” Junior barked again. This time he clicked his gun for emphasis.
Slick momentarily stopped beating his mother to peer at him, as one would a pestering insect.
“What, little punk? I know you ain't talkin' to me,” Slick replied, turning to face Junior. His eyes went low at the sight of the gun in Junior's hands. “Whatchu gon' do with that?” Slick chortled incredulously. He faced Junior now, standing with his chest stuck out like a rooster about to go to battle over his hen.
“Iâmafuckin'shoot you, if you don't stop puttin'your hands on my mother!” Junior spat out, waving the gun in front of him.
“Oh yeah, go 'head and shoot me,” Slick challenged, cracking the knuckles on his gorilla hands.
Betty scrambled to her feet and threw herself in front of Slick. “Stop it before somebody gets hurt! Junior, where did you get that thing? Put that gun down right now!” she demanded. Her voice had reached a high keening note.
“Move out the way, Ma. I'm not playin' with this bum-ass dude no more! I'm not sittin'in here, letting him punch on you no more!” Junior growled as sweat dripped into his left eye.
“I said put that thing down and get it out of my house!” Betty screeched unrelentingly.
“You gon' take up for him against your own son? I can't believe you! This no-good nigga be beating your ass! He don't give you no money! We starving around here! If I don't bring in food, we don't eat!” Junior screamed. His voice was cracking with hurt. The gun shook fiercely in his hands as his nerves got the better of him. Junior felt a sharp pain in his stomach; it was the gut punch of hurt feelings. His mother had chosen sides... again.
“Boy, you better listen to your mother before you end up in the Kings County morgue,” Slick threatened, taking a stance behind Betty in case he needed a body shield.
“You'a punk-ass bastard hiding behind a woman,” Junior spat. He looked at his mother with pure disdain and shook his head. “Stupid,” he mumbled as he lowered his gun and turned on his heels and stomped into his room. Junior grabbed his newly purchased Polo leather-armed jacket and slid his feet into his newly purchased sneakersâall courtesy of his new job.
“Where you going?” Betty hollered at Junior's back, but all she heard in response was the slamming of a door.
Junior walked so fast down his blockâhe almost came out of his untied sneakers. His breath came out of his nose and mouth in strong, labored puffs, and his adrenaline coursed hot in his veins. Heading back to his spot on the block, Junior dared any crackhead or competing corner boy to try to test him today.
Just when he reached his usual post, he noticed Easy's car. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath. Junior wasn't much in the mood for talking; and anytime he was around Easy, since the first day he'd started working for him, all Easy did was lecture Junior about the things he needed to be “smart” about.
Easy, of course, spotted him right away.
Easy was hanging with the old black dude again. “Ay! Why you lookin'like you wanna kill somebody?” Easy hollered out as he noticed Junior's high-yellow face flushed with anger.
The old dude eyed Junior up and down, sending an uncomfortable feeling over him.
“I almost just did!” Junior barked, sticking out his chicken chest like he was a big man.
“What? W'sup, kid?” Easy asked, placing his shoulder on Junior, steering him toward his car and away from the other corner boys in hearing distance.
Junior's chest was still rising and falling rapidly. He used his hand to swipe at the tears on his face and the snot running out of his nose.
“Who fucked with you kid?” Easy asked, his tone more serious. “You tell me if somebody is messing with you on these streets.”
Junior looked into Easy's face and then over at the old dude, who was still standing a little ways away, acting like he wasn't listening. Something about the old dude seemed familiar to Junior, but he just couldn't place it.
“Nah, it's my mom's boyfriend. That dude be hittin' on her and I was gon'bust my piece in his ass just now, but she took up for his sorry ass, so I left,” Junior explained.
Easy could relate. After all, he was Junior's age when he got fed up with an abusive male figure himself.
“What's his name?” Easy asked calmly, looking off into the distance.
“Slick, but his real name is Broady too, like my li'l brother.”
“Where he be at?” Easy inquired, leaning back on the hood of his car, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist concocting a diabolical plan.
“At that gambling spot behind Poppy's store. He be in there all day gambling away my mother's welfare check and his little piece of paycheck and any money we get in the house. That's why you seen me stealing the food that day you bought me the stuff from the store... . We don't have shit because of that nigga Slick. And my momz just keeps on taking him back in, like she dumb or sumthin',” Junior whined, jerking his head and shoulders with feeling.
Easy's gaze turned serious as he analyzed the situation.
“He's a fuckin' duck! I just wanna kill his ass!” Junior spat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, itching for action.
“Calm down. Watch ya mouth! I'm still your elder. And stop letting all these jealous eyes out here on these streets see you upset and making threats. Niggas will turn state's witness on you in a New York minute,” Easy warned. He nodded at the old dude, and the dude walked over.
“Seems like our little friend here got a problem he wanna take care of,” Easy said to the old dude.
“This is my friend Rock...Mr. Rock to you, youngun,” Easy introduced.
Junior remembered the man from the first day he met Easy, but he still didn't feel comfortable with the weird old dude, who always seemed to stare at him too long.
“Let's go pay your mom's boyfriend a visit in a bit. Just let me take care of what I came out here to do first. I'll be back to get you in a minute,” Easy assured.
Junior breathed a sigh of relief. Easy seemed to have all the answers to his problems. He felt powerful around Easy, and he wanted to be just like him when he grew up.
Easy found Slick playing deep at one of the back tables in the smoky, underground gambling hole. He effortlessly kicked the legs of the folding chair Slick occupied, sending him toppling to the ground.
“Say sorry to the kid,” Easy hissed, his dark boot pressed against Slick's neck. Slick knew who Easy was, and he wasted no time bitching out to his fear.
“Junior, li'l man...you know I be messing up sometimes, butâ” Slick had started to speak, but his words were short-lived when the butt of Easy's gun landed on his skull, rendering him speechless.
“All I told you to say was sorry,” Easy spat.
Slick's bladder involuntarily emptied on the floor of the basement gambling hole. The rest of the patrons of the illegal gambling spot had cleared out as soon as these intruders had arrived with their guns pointed and raised.
Junior felt powerful, like God right now. He was proud to be associated with Easy, and he loved seeing Slick humiliated.
“Now try it again,” Easy instructed, forcing Slick's head up so he could look at Junior's face.
“Junior...little man,” Slick said.
His words caused Mr. Rock to flinch.
“Don't call me that,” Junior gritted. “I'm not none of your li'l man. You don't be acting all nice when you tryin'a kick my mom's ass, nigga!” Junior spat out.
“IâI'm sorry, man. I love Betty. You gotta believe me. I... can't control it sometimes,” Slick pleaded.
Watching his grown ass start to cry like a bitch was a shameful sight to see.
“You a sorry-ass bitch. You always sayin'sorry, but you go right back to doing it,” Junior accused. Mr. Rock whispered something to Easy.
“This is taking too long, Junior. It's time for you to get your feet wet. You always face your enemies and let them see your eyes before you engage in warfare,” Easy told him.
Junior looked Slick in the eyes. He leveled his gun at his chest and pulled the trigger. Junior's body stumbled backward from the powerful shot. He dropped the gun like it was a piece of hot coal.
Slick's body slumped to the floor.
Junior stood stock-still; his eyes were as wide as saucers, and his body trembling.
Easy grabbed him by the shoulders before he collapsed to the floor.
“Let's go. You a man now,” Easy declared as he led Junior away from the murder scene. Easy stopped him for a minute and looked at him seriously. “You only ever kill people that are a threat to you or your family, and you never get back at a man through his woman or children,” Easy sternly lectured. Junior nodded his agreement. “I learned that from him,” Easy said, nodding toward Rock.
Word on the street the next day was that Slick was killed in a gambling spot over a bad debt.
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Junior was now reminded of just how powerful he felt the day he took a man's life. The thought compelled him into action. Junior picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.
“Hey, it's Junior. I need a meeting. This is fucking life or death,” Junior spat. After hanging up the phone, he walked over and touched his mother's cheek. She moved slightly but was still knocked out.
“I didn't let anyone hurt you then, and I'm damn sure not going to let them do it now,” he promised before leaving the apartment.
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