Urban Books' popular Girls From da Hood series is back, bringing readers more dramatic tales about the lives of some tough, resourceful women who can hold their own when things get rough on the streets. This time, Redd, Nikki-Michelle, and Erick S. Gray deliver the stories with their trademark flair.
Like a hood-rich Bonnie and Clyde, Candy and Raynail have their hands on all of the drugs that run through the veins of Westwood. When Raynail is set up to take the fall for a crime he didn't commit, Candy goes on a mission to take down everyone involved.
Baby and G.G. should be thinking about high school, but their minds are definitely not on studying. These two are tight like sisters, and they have each other's backs no matter what—until Baby comes up with a plan that involves blackmailing someone to kill G.G.'s man. When these two cousins clash, the shock wave will be felt throughout the hood.
Vix Dixon is an upscale ghetto-girl that no man in his right mind wants to cross. She's a predator who preys on the weak. Her mission? To have any man or woman she wants by any means necessary. Now, she's set her sights on her teacher, Alex Rodriguez, and he bites the apple instead of a bullet. By the time Alex realizes just what he's gotten himself into, hell on earth will have a different meaning for him.
Release date:
June 1, 2012
Publisher:
Urban Books
Print pages:
288
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With more bodies under her belt than a murderer on death row, Candy had an “eye for an eye” attitude that often left kids wondering, “When is Mommy coming home?” and had some of the most feared gangstas pulling their own dicks out of their mouths. She was a former project chick, killing being her sixth sense. When it came to dudes coming up short on her and her husband’s paper, instead of asking questions, she cashed in on their souls.
Candy and her husband, Raynail, had all of Century City in Westwood on lockdown. The drugs that flowed in and out of the city had their names on them. They were the only suppliers willing to risk their freedom transporting both marijuana and cocaine from Colombia to the U.S. by boat, making them Century City’s most sought-after suppliers. They were pulling in as much as two hundred and fifty-two grand a month from the cocaine alone, with the monthly sales from the marijuana being a little less than $20,000. Normally Raynail would make the pickups while Candy counted the cash, but since he was in jail, Candy was left to make sure that everything was on point.
Candy sat in the waiting room of Men’s Central County Jail, also known as the twin towers, searching through the orange jumpsuits for her husband. Each time she saw a tall, dark man with cornrows entering the waiting area from the door leading to their cells, she thought it was him. And when the third-to-last inmate in line walked in with a fade, she was shocked to see that it was her husband.
His signature cornrows were gone and replaced with a fade. Candy didn’t like his new look and had made a mental note to check him on it.
Raynail looked around the visiting area for Candy. His eyes jumped from one teary-eyed visitor to the next, until he spotted his strong queen sitting on a bench in a corner away from the savage-looking guards. Raynail strolled over to the bench and took a seat across the table from Candy.
“I see you cut your hair,” Candy said, raising an eyebrow. She turned up her lip at his boyish look.
Out of habit, Raynail looked around the room at the women and children who were crowded around their father, brother, or uncle. “Yeah, I thought I would roll wit’ this ’cause it’s easier to keep up.” He rubbed waves into the top of his head. “Ain’t no bitches in here to braid my hair.”
“Well, I don’t like it; it makes you look soft.” Candy looked at the guy to the right of her. She then trained her eyes on two rugged-looking inmates who were sitting behind Raynail. All three men had braids that were freshly done. “I guess them dudes in back of you found some bitches?”
Raynail looked behind him, stared his nemeses down, and turned his attention back to Candy. “Them dudes fuck wit’ them he/shes up in here,” he snarled.
Candy looked confused.
“You know what I’m talking ’bout!” Raynail sarcastically said. “Them faggots up in here. They the ones braided them dudes’ head.”
“So, why didn’t you let ’em braid yours?”
“Are you fucking crazy!” Raynail barked. Fire in his tone silenced everyone within earshot, and sent children clinging to their parents. “I don’t fuck around like that. Ain’t no twisted-ass dude ’bout to run his fingers through my shit, and I know about it.”
“Well, start letting your hair grow out. By the time it grows out, you’ll be back in the streets.” Candy’s insides churned at the site of the fade.
“Oh yeah, that reminds me.” Raynail clasped his hands together. His eyes moved slowly around the room, like a gangsta sizing up his enemy. Raynail slipped two fingers into the wrists of his long-sleeved white thermal shirt and pulled out a kite. He made eye contact with Candy. And after making sure that no one was watching them, he slid the kite over to her.
Candy put her hand over the kite, and slipped her thumb beneath it. She held it against the palm of her hand while eyeing the guards. She then folded her fingers over her thumb, and, coughing, quickly slipped the kite into her purse.
Candy pulled a napkin from her purse to entertain the eyes that may have been watching them.
“There’s five names on that paper, Feo’s included. All them niggas set me up, so you know what has to happen?”
“But, what exactly happened, Raynail?” Candy wanted to know. “I mean, how did they set you up?”
Raynail got up and walked around the table. He sat next to Candy, and leaned in her ear. “I was chillin’ at Feo’s house wit’ him and the rest of them cats, right. So, we all decide we want some Henney and Coke. I volunteer to go to the liquor store on the corner to get the shit. Since the spot was right on the corner, I’m like, I’ma walk. Now, Candy, you know I don’t usually go nowhere if I’m not strapped.”
Candy nodded in agreement.
“But, that day, I left my Glock at the crib ’cause, other than Feo’s house, I really wasn’t going nowhere. Anyway, so I’m going to the store and Feo pass me a nine. I look up, and I’ll be damned. As soon as I get to the store, the cops rolled up on me.
“They fuckin’ patted my ass down, and pulled out the nine. Threw on the cuffs and forced me into the back seat ... Hold up!” Raynail leaned back, rubbed the thighs of his pants, and shook his head. He was tired of talking about it. He had told the same story to the police, then his lawyer, then his mother, and now Candy. “To make a long story short, the gun was reported stolen a year ago and the bitch had six bodies on it wit’ one of them being a cop.”
“And what made them stop you in the first place?” Candy asked.
“Oh, that’s the best part,” Raynail said, rubbing his chin. “They got a tip from somebody.” He nodded his head. “Yeah, after I left Feo’s house, somebody called ’em and gave ’em my description and everything. Told ’em what I was wearing ... the whole nine. And get this: whoever the bitch was lied and said I was responsible for that cop getting murdered on 108th and Hoover last year!
“Man, I can’t believe my boy that I been knowing since third grade would set me up like that.” Raynail noticed a guard passing back and forth by their table.
“Okay, Raynail.” Candy unzipped her purse. She moved her wallet and makeup kit to the side, searching for her keys. “I’ma send RayRay to your mom’s house until all of this is over with. Have you heard from your lawyer?”
“Yeah, and it’s all bad,” Raynail replied. “Ken told me that Feo and them gonna testify against me in court. Said that they supposed to be the prosecutor’s star witnesses. But the good part about it is that all they got is Feo and them word. They ain’t got no real evidence showing that I’m the one responsible for them bodies on the gun. And, peep game. When that cop was murdered, I was already in jail for a traffic violation. Remember that time I went to court after they put that warrant out on me? That time I told the judge that I’d rather do the time than to pay the fine?” Candy nodded. “Well, I went to jail that Friday and didn’t get out until Monday. That cop was killed that Saturday night.
“Once they realize that Feo and the rest of them sorry-ass niggas lied about my paws being on that cop’s murder, maybe they’ll drop all charges against me. From the looks of things, even if they don’t charge me for that cop’s murder, they can still charge me for the other bodies on the gun. Right now, they still searching through the police records for the file showing that I was in jail that weekend. They claim they having a hard time finding it in the computer. I don’t believe that shit for one minute! Shit, sounds like they tryin’a set me up, just so they can find somebody to take the rap for their ‘comrade’s’ death!”
“Well, maybe Ken can find out about that, too.” Candy let out a long sigh.
“And, I meant to ask you about that nigga. Dude got teardrops under his right eye. You got me a lawyer that done killed before?” A look of confusion spread across Raynail’s face. “But, how the hell is he a lawyer if he done killed before?”
“It’s a long story, Raynail. But he ain’t never served time in jail, believe that. He just good at what he do, and he gonna get you outta here.”
“And what about you?” Raynail took Candy by the hand. “You gonna be able to handle Feo and them other niggas, or are you scared?” Raynail was testing Candy to see where her head was. She was a killer with her own instincts.
“Come on now,” Candy said with a sour look on her face. “You know I ain’t no punk. Feo and his buddies ’bout to bathe in a bloodbath.”
“My queen!” A devilish grin formed across Raynail’s face. “And the funny part about the whole thing is Feo is more afraid of you than he is me. Ha! Ha! That nigga is dumb. He forgot about the fact that me and you is one. I’m glad my baby ain’t no punk!” Raynail smiled and licked his lips.
“Far from that shit!” Candy’s thoughts trailed off to the first six bodies on her hands. It was a memory that she had fought so hard to forget but found herself reliving every time she collected a new body.
Her family’s death hit her like a ton of bricks. And each time she thought about it, she found herself shedding a tear. It was something that she had always believed that she had to do in order to shield her innocence from her uncle’s abuse.
When Raynail first met Candy, he had heard rumors about her killing her family but didn’t know how to approach her with it. He figured that, when the time was right, she would come out and tell him herself. Raynail was right, but it took two years for his revelation to come to pass. In the middle of an argument in front of Feo, Candy angrily shared her story.
“Candy, I wouldn’t be asking you to do it if I didn’t think you could,” Raynail said. “What’s the big deal? Damn! Don’t act like you ain’t never killed before. I know you killed yo’ family ’cause I heard you crying and talking ’bout it in yo’ sleep!”
The room grew silent. Candy glanced in the living room at Feo. The intense look on his face suggested that he too had heard the story behind her family’s death. She would satisfy the curiosity of both.
Candy stood up from one of the dining room chairs, and walked over to Raynail, who was sitting two seats away from her at the dining room table. She stood in front of him with her back to Feo. And with her eyes fixed on Raynail’s pupils, she spoke to Feo.
“Yes, Feo, I killed before. I killed a lot of people. People who didn’t deserve to live. People who thought they could hurt me and get away with it. I was a cold-ass bitch at one time. My heart was made of stone and if a nigga, his mama, or his kids tried to fuck over me, I was gunning down everybody.
“My uncle raped me while my aunt watched. My cousin stole from me, and blamed it on one of his homies. I ran to my mother and father for help, but they told me that I was lying. They’re the ones who sent me to live with my aunt and uncle so, yes, I blamed them for all the shit I was going through.” Candy walked into the living room and stood between Raynail’s and Feo’s gazes. “My moms sent me to a psychiatrist because my aunt had managed to convince her that I was crazy. I was only sixteen: too young to have sex, but not too young to get raped. Then, to top it off, the bitch-ass psychiatrist didn’t believe me when I told her what I was going through at my aunt and uncle’s house.”
Raynail looked at Candy and lowered his head. When he met Candy, it took a long time for her to completely open up to him. After getting hurt by her family and the person she dated before him, it took her a long time to believe that anyone would ever truly love her. Each time Raynail tried to show her some type of affection, she would pull away. “Candy, don’t ...” Raynail got up and walked toward his queen with open arms.
“Get back!” Candy snapped. “You opened up my old wounds, might as well let ’em finish bleeding ... right?” Candy turned and looked at Feo with a cold stare. “I killed them all, including the psychiatrist. I killed my family first. It was Christmas Eve and everybody was at my aunt’s house, opening up gifts and singing Christmas carols. They were all in the living room singing s-i-l-e-n-t night, h-o-l-y night.” Wearing a crazed look on her face, Candy sang the song. “A holy night, that hours later turned into a deadly night. While everybody was in the living room, I was in the laundry room, putting together the perfect murder.” She turned to Raynail. “Raynail, come have a seat next to Feo; this is the good part. You overheard me talking in my sleep, well, let me give you the full details of how I did it.”
Raynail was afraid to move. At that moment, he feared Candy more than he did God.
Raynail walked around Candy to the couch and sat next to Feo.
“Did the both of you know that you could burn an entire house down using kitty litter?”Candy giggled at the thought.
Neither one of them responded.
“Well, you can. My aunt had a cat ... I hated that cat, and when the cat died in the fire, I was all smiles. I took the kitty litter and poured it out under the pipe in back of the dryer in the laundry room. It took me a long time to unscrew the hose to the gas pipe in back of the dryer, but I did it! I did it!” Candy grew excited all of a sudden.
“The chemical in the kitty litter was the key to it all. I didn’t even need fire. The litter is made with a chemical called sodium bentonite. Once gas tops off that shit ... boom! Everything goes up in smoke.” She laughed hysterically.
“The gas filled the air like evil spirits! I ran out of the back door, smiling as I thought about the gas flowing into the kitchen, where the burners were being used to keep the house warm. The cat litter alone would’a caused the house to explode, but the fire on the stove was a bonus.”
“Yo, Candy, how did you find out about the cat litter shit?” Feo asked.
Raynail punched Feo in the arm. He wanted to change the subject. He never meant to hurt Candy by bringing up something that she obviously never wanted to talk about.
“Forensic Files! I watched Forensic Files a lot as a kid. As a matter of fact, that’s all I watched. Oh, and The First 48. Both of ’em had to do wit’ somebody dying. My life wasn’t happy, so why would I watch happy shit?”
“So, how did you kill yo’ psychiatrist?” Feo was really into Candy’s story.
“Oh, she was easy. You know how white people leave their windows and doors unlocked, thinking that they live in some upper-class, ‘nonviolent neighborhood.’ Well I showed their ass that death lingers everywhere. Not just in my neighborhood, but in theirs too. I crept up to the back of her house, and searched the walls of the house for the power box. Once I found it, I shut off all the lights in the house. I knew that once the lights went out, she would come outside to check the box. The bitch did, too. She walked right into my trap. As soon as she walked out the back door and cut the corner at the side of the house, I pulled out my switch blade and cut her across her neck.
“You should have seen it. Blood gushing from her neck like a water sprinkler feeding the grass. She tried to grab her neck to stop the blood, but once your jugular vein is cut, it’s just a matter of time before you bleed to death.
“I was never caught, never. Not for my family’s murder, or that not-knowing-what-the-fuck-she-talking-’bout psychiatrist’s murder. As you can see, Feo, I’m not afraid to kill.”
Candy looked at Raynail, who, by then, had his head down, and in a whispered tone asked him, “So, who do you want me to kill first?”
Candy was so into her thoughts that she didn’t notice Raynail waving his hands in front of her. “Yo, Candy, what’s up wit’ you?” The sound of Raynail’s voice snapped Candy out of her thoughts.
“Yeah, well,” he said, grabbing his dick, “we gonna cut this visit short ’cause a nigga gotta take a piss.” He stood up, took Candy by an arm, and pulled her up with him. “Give me a hug, girl.”
Candy wrapped her arms around Raynail’s neck and pressed her body firmly against his. “I got a big job worth millions.” She pulled away from him and smiled.
“There you go.” Raynail laughed. “I hope you got a good team going wit’ you.”
“You know I do.” Candy noticed Raynail leaning from one foot to the next. “Go use the bathroom,” she told him. “I’ll be back to see you soon.”
“A’ight!” Raynail headed to the door that led back to his cell. He stopped in front of the door, turned around, and looked back at Candy. “Yo, Candy!” he yelled out to her. Candy spun around to face her husband. “Be safe,” he told her.
Candy gave Raynail a thumbs up, and walked out of the door.
An armored truck carrying millions of dollars in cocaine traveled down the I-5 freeway, heading to the desert. It was cocaine that had accumulated in the Beverly Hills Police Department’s evidence room over the years.
Once a year, drugs from various police agencies were taken to the desert and burned. It was a practice that required heavy security because of the danger involved in transporting the drugs.
When Candy found out about the tight security, she contacted an artillery dealer from Switzerland, and ordered dozens of cases of bulletproof vest–piercing bullets, along with vests that even those bullets couldn’t pierce. For the job, she rounded up the majority of the guys from 190 East Coast Crips, along with some of their homies from 30s. Their street knowledge would play an important role in the heist. Many of them had served time in prison for robbing banks, with most of the robberies involving explosives. Vaults were blown right out of the wall, with the money suffering little or no damage.
Candy found out about the time, date, and location of the drop through a gangsta-cop with the Beverly Hills Police Department.
A gangsta-cop was a crooked cop who stole both money and drugs from the evidence room of a police department. It normally involved several officers working the gang unit. The officers would plant “dirty guns” and drugs on drug dealers during police raids, leaving just enough to ensure long prison sentences. One of Candy’s friends from her old neighborhood was a gangsta-cop, giving her the full heads-up on anything that involved a come up.
Ten Suburbans, each carrying eight Beverly Hills SWAT Team members, completely surrounded the armored truck as it traveled down the I-5 freeway at two o’clock in the morning. All freeway transitions that led to the valley had been shut down. Motorists were forced off the freeway by the California Highway Patrol and left to find alternate routes to their destinations.
Dressed in black combat gear that was equipped with hunting knives, gun holsters, a single pair of night-vision goggles, and a belt designed to hold hundreds of rounds of ammunition, Candy and her entourage waited in the desert in their Hummers for the armored truck to arrive.
Thirty Hummer H3s were parked shoulder to shoulder. The line of Hummers would serve as a shield to hide behind during the heist. Other than their trucks, there was nothing in the desert to protect them from flying bullets.
Candy looked at her watch. It was almost four o’clock in the morning. She estimated that the armored truck would be arriving soon. “Everybody ready?” she asked into the two-way radio.
“Copy!” rang out through the radio from all of her men.
“Remember what I told y’all,” Candy said. “When the truck gets here, it’s gonna park to the southeast of us. There should be a compass on the dashboard in front of the passenger seat; use it. If by chance we have to split up into different directions, the compass will lead you back to the freeway. Now, we tryin’a do this before they start unloading the coke. Why? Because we taking the whole truck. It’s just easier to do it that way. We can split the shit when we get back to the warehouse in LA. I’m sure y’all already know that the SWAT Team ain’t no joke. You know what, I ain’t even gotta tell y’all about ’em ’cause many of y’all done had run-ins with ’em.”
“Right ... right,” someone said through the radio. Candy looked over at Murphy, who was sitting in the passenger’s seat. “Truth and Real gonna roll back wit’ me in the armored truck,” she told him. “You gonna be in the Hummer by yo’self.”
“Candy, are you crazy?” Murphy asked her. “I ain’t lettin’ you roll like that. It’s too dangerous, and Raynail would kill me if something happened to you. Naw, me and Real can roll the truck and you and Truth roll the H3.”
“Ol’ boy is right,” someone chimed in through the radio. “I ain’t tryin’a have Raynail on my ass!”
Candy looked down at the radio. Her fingers held down the talk button, allowing everyone in the H3s to hear their conversation.
“Murphy, trust me on this one,” Candy said.
Murphy shook his head. “If something goes foul, Raynail ... Nope! I don’t even want to think about what Raynail would do to me.”
“Ain’t nothing gonna happen!” Candy tried to assure him.
“No, Candy!” Murphy said, standing his ground. “Too risky. It’s bad enough you out here. We in the middle of the desert surrounded by nothing but hills and shit. If one of us gets popped, by the time the medic gets here, the dark angels be done dragged our souls to hell.”
Truth and Real shifted in their seats at the thought of getting killed. They were well aware of the consequences that accompanied drug and blood money, but had never felt so close to death as they did at that moment. Hiding in the cut, selling coke was one thing, and robbing the law was another.
Their hearts pumped fear, but they would never admit it to Candy.
“Can’t let that happen,” Murphy said. “I’m rolling the truck!”
“Okay, you’re right.” Candy pressed the talk button on the radio. “You’re all right. Me and Truth gonna roll the H3 back, and Murphy and Real gonna roll the armored truck.”
High-beam headlights traveling from the southeast of them caught everybody’s attention.
Candy put the radio to her lips. “All right, fellas, they’re here,” she whispered. Candy was a little nervous. “Put y’all night goggles on,” she instructed.
Candy and her men slid their night goggles from their heads onto their eyes and watched as the SWAT Team prepared to unload the truck.
Ten Suburbans formed a wide circle around the armored truck. A wide space was left between two of the Suburbans for the armored truck to pass out of once the cocaine was unloaded. One by one the SWAT Team jumped out of the Suburbans, with each man holding an assault rifle.
Candy watched from the cut, timing their every move. She looked up from her 9 mm submachine gun long enough to tell Real, Murphy, and Truth to, “Roll down y’all windows and get out.”
Going through several machine guns that she kept in a gun cache in the basement of her house, Candy had searched for a gun that the armor-piercing bullets would fit. In two hours, she had gone through over fifty guns before reaching the M11, with the bullets fitting perfectly. In order to have enough guns to accommodate all of her men, she ordered more guns from the makers themselves. She had made arrangements for the guns to be sent by boat to the Port of Long Beach, where she and several of her men were patiently waiting for their arrival.
“Keep y’all doors open as shields, and don’t nobody start shooting until I say so,” Candy said into the radio. One by one the doors to the Hummers swung open with each man standing with his M11 pointed out of the windows and aimed at the SWAT Team.
The SWAT Team stood with their rifles raised as they scanned the desert. Believing that there was nothing out there, they let their guns hang loose at their sides. They then walked around to the back of the armored truck.
“Now,” Candy whispered into the radio. Candy and the Crips let loose on the SWAT Team. Like a blind man forced to find his way around his home without a guide stick, unable to see what lay ahead of them the SWAT Team dropped to their knees and returned fire.
“Get on the radios and call for a chopper!” one of the men from SWAT yelled as he ran for cover behind one of the Suburbans. “Why the hell don’t we have night goggles?” he screamed.
Candy spotted a man reaching for the radio on his waist. “No, you don’t!” She laughed. Candy raised the M11, and let her finger sleep on the trigger. With his intestines spilling from his stomach, the man flew back on top of a pile of bodies that Candy and her men had already served their death certificates to.
“If you see lips on a radio, blast the head off!” Candy yelled into the radio. She ran from behind the H3 door and dropped to her knees. “Quick! Everybody drop to yo’ stomach and start crawling toward them! Do not let up on the trigger. Think about all the times you been knocked by a pig, and kill they ass!”
Like soldiers under attack, the Crips dropped to the ground, with the butt of their M11s resting on their shoulders. They crawled in different directions and surrounded their enemies.
Round after round of the armor-piercing bullets pierced the SWAT’s bulletproof vests. Their efforts to return fire were useless, being that they couldn’t see who they were shooting at. None of the Crips were hit, leaving the SWAT Team members who had not yet felt their wrath prey to hundreds of rounds of ammo.
The SWAT Team fell to the ground and drowned in their own blood. As the bullets danced above their heads, they looked from left to right, shooting at the unknown. The shooting lasted for less than ten minutes, with every member of the SWAT Team laid out on the ground either dead, or near death.
“Hold your fire!” Candy yelled.
The Crips continued to shoot, even though no one from the SWAT Team was standing.
“I said, hold yo’ fire!” Candy repeated. “Y’all gonna mess around and kill. . .
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