Snapped
Snapped
Also by Tracy Brown
Dime Piece
Black
Criminal Minded
White Lines
Twisted
Snapped
Tracy Brown
St. Martin’s Griffin
New York
This book is dedicated to the memory of my father, my best friend, my rock—William Brown, Jr. Whenever I see a little girl with her daddy—the way he plays with her and makes her eyes light up, how he acts silly with her but still makes her feel protected and special—I think of my own father and how he loved me, never wavering. He was always on my side, always in my corner and forever proud of me. They say a father is his daughter’s first love. I’m a living testament to that fact. Seems like only yesterday I watched him strolling up Broad Street—slacks perfectly creased, shirt well pressed, pea-coat draping his frame, cologne lightly scenting the air around him as he breezed down the block with his signature Kangol cocked to the side. I never stopped being his little girl and I am so proud that he was my daddy. Long before my career as an author, he was my number-one fan. Shortly after I began writing Snapped, we talked about it one Saturday night as the summer faded into fall. His eyes lit up and he nodded his head and said, “Now that’s the one!” He never got the chance to read it. But his approval will always be more special to me than any other review or critique that my work could ever warrant. He was one of a kind and I will miss him always.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SNAPPED. Copyright © 2009 by Tracy Brown. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
ISBN 978-0-312-55521-4
First Edition: January 2010
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Title
Copyright
Acknowledgments
No More Mrs. Nice Bitch
The Early Days
Special Occasion
Too Much, Too Little, Too Late
Family Matters
Fed Up
Food for Thought
Ice Queen
Manhunt
Great Expectations
Brotherly Love
Secret Society
Crash
Reasons
Temptations
Ladies’ Night
Stepping-stone
The Fabulous Life
On the Prowl
Stripped
The Beginning of the End
Deep Inside
Blinded
Thankful
Daddy’s Girl
Love and War
Friends with Benefits
Reckoning
Casualties
Steal Away
Misled
Love Is a Losing Game
One Way or Another
Just Call My Name
In Cold Blood
Acknowledgments
Monique Patterson, Holly Blanck, Talia Ross, and the entire SMP staff, thank you so much for your patience as I took longer than usual to complete this novel. Thank you for helping me through the grieving process with your wonderful cards, flowers, and prayers. Your kindness has touched me deeply and I am forever grateful for your compassion and your understanding.
Monique, you are the absolute best there is. Over the years we’ve worked together, we’ve formed more than a business relationship. I don’t toss this word around loosely, but I truly consider you a friend who “gets” me and encourages me, and cheers me on as I face each project. Sometimes people are not aware of the effect they have on others. Perhaps without realizing it, during those days when I was holding vigil at the hospital, you were a breath of fresh air to me and gave me comfort by helping me to remember that I was not alone. Thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. Love ya!
And to the readers across the world who reached out to me to express sympathy or to share your own experiences, I am so indebted to all of you. I’m just as much a fan of yours as you are of me, and I thank you for holding me up when I felt like falling down. You are wonderful and I appreciate you all greatly.
No More Mrs. Nice Bitch
The large house was still and dark, except for the flickering glimmer of a lone candle at the center of the dining room table. The linen tablecloth was spotless, decked out with Waterford crystal stemware and fresh flowers. The ornate table seemed only to highlight the enormity of the room and the scale of the silence within it.
Moonlight spilled through the venetian blinds, spotlighting her perfectly manicured nails and her diamond ring and bracelets. She was in a daze, staring at the wall, trying to make sense of what had happened. She had been sitting there for hours this way, replaying the events of the past twenty-four hours over and over in her mind. And it still didn’t make any sense. Not even a little bit.
Everything had fallen apart. It had all come crumbling down. One day she was on top of the world. The next thing she knew, it was over. She stared blankly at the wall, oblivious of all the blood spattered across it. She was looking through that wall—looking into the recesses of her mind to see where it all started. How had she let this happen? she wondered. And what the hell was she supposed to do now?
The phone rang and snapped her out of her trance. She wondered who was calling, but didn’t dare answer it. The house was empty except for her and the body lying still on the floor. The phone seemed to ring forever, each ring sounding louder than the last. Soon all she could hear was the shrill volume of the ringing in her ears. She knew she couldn’t hide forever, but she wasn’t ready to face what she had done. Not until she made sense of it herself. All she could think about was what she had done. And the only thing she felt was numbness.
The ringing finally stopped. It was over, she reassured herself. All the bullshit was over.
But actually, it was just the beginning.
The Early Days
Special Occasion
July 14, 2007
“Surprise!” the crowd shouted in unison.
Camille covered her mouth with her hands as she stood in the doorway in shock. Before her was a room full of everyone she loved. Her mother was there, her sister, her cousins and all of her friends. Balloons were everywhere, and there was a huge cake in the shape of the number 30 sitting on top of a long table. Camille felt like crying from sheer happiness, and she looked at her husband in wide-eyed amazement. “You did this for me?”
Frankie smiled at her and nodded, proud that he’d been able to pull this off without Camille getting wind of it. His wife was a hard woman to surprise, and he had gone to great lengths to make this happen. Camille beamed with joy and threw her arms around her handsome husband’s neck in an ecstatic embrace. “Happy birthday,” he said, hugging her tightly. Cameras flashed all around as if the couple were being swarmed by paparazzi.
Camille swirled around and faced the crowd of partygoers, a permanent smile plastered on her face. They began to rush her, planting kisses on her cheeks, hugging her and wishing her a happy birthday. Soon, Frankie got lost in the crowd, but Camille spotted him standing across the room with his cohort Gillian. Camille smiled. God, she loved him!
When they had gotten married seven years prior, Camille had been a twenty-three-year-old aspiring model/actress and Frankie had been a low-level hustler. He wasn’t making any real money in those days, just enough to be hood rich and finance a ghetto-fabulous lifestyle. Today, the name Frankie Bingham (Frankie B, as he was known in the hood) was synonymous with respect, extreme wealth, and clout. He made major moves and major money,
diversifying his criminal enterprise by investing in other ventures. Frankie made money not just from drug distribution, but from a myriad of businesses that ranged from a barber shop to a bar and grill. He always used the various connections he’d made over the years to keep himself plugged in to the newest get-money capers. It had been a rough road to the top. Through all the ups and downs, Camille had loved him.
Even in the early days, she could tell that Frankie was destined for greatness. He was a very handsome man, tall, brown, and sexy as hell. He was rough around the edges, yet more charming than anyone she’d ever known. He had broad shoulders and his toned physique made everything he wore look amazing. But most of all, he was focused. He was a risk taker, and he chased paper like few others. Frankie lived big. When he came around, heads turned. Camille herself was a five-foot-ten beauty with smooth chocolate brown skin, full lips, and flawless style. She complemented Frankie, and the two became fixtures in the circles of the ghetto-fabulous elite. They met at a nightclub in Manhattan and fell in love almost instantly. They got married after dating for less than a year and had lived together in a cramped studio apartment in the early days—Camille working hard to break into modeling and Frankie working his way up the ladder of one of New York City’s most notorious criminal organizations. That seemed like a lifetime ago. A lot had changed since then.
Frankie had worked for Doug Nobles, one of the city’s original drug kingpins. Nobles (as he was known in the streets) and his crew controlled the dope trade in Brooklyn in the eighties and nineties, and Frankie had been a bold young hustler who made a lot of money for them. Frankie had been hungrier than ever back then, eager for the lifestyle of the movers and shakers that he saw doing big business before his eyes. He wanted to impress Nobles and even the low-level street hustlers he dealt with day to day. So he had put in work, flying below the radar and never getting bagged, but bringing back double their investment at times. He gained the trust and respect of the men at the top—the ones who really had the power. Nobles took a particular interest in the young man and took him under his wing. And then Nobles got sent away for twelve years on a murder charge.
That was 1992. While Nobles did his time, his children corresponded with him via weekly letters. So did Frankie. And Frankie went along with Baron and Gillian when they visited Nobles up north. In some ways, Frankie became like a son to him. Nobles admired his work ethic and valued his loyalty. He schooled the young man on the ins and outs of the game, and he spoke from experience. Frankie grew to love Doug like a father. Though Doug loved and was proud of his own son, Baron, Doug felt especially close to Frankie.
In the years since his release, Nobles had wisely continued to play the background. He let his son take the lead while he pulled the strings from behind the scenes. Nobles had been quietly grooming his daughter for the business as well. He didn’t want her settling for a role as the wife of some hustler. If she was going to be affiliated with the game at all (which was likely, considering the fact that she had been surrounded by gangsters, killers, and hustlers from the moment she was born), Nobles wanted his baby girl to be the one calling the shots.
By the time Nobles came home from prison, Frankie had used his close relationship with Nobles to gain leverage in the game for himself. Frankie eventually became the main distributor for all of the Nobles family operations, and over the years he had become a real part of the family. It wasn’t unusual to find him seated at the family Thanksgiving feast or standing as a pallbearer at a family funeral. These days, he ran a distribution empire that dealt in everything from cocaine and heroin to prescription drugs. And he also owned several legitimate businesses where he only made cameo appearances on occasion. He and Camille enjoyed a life of luxury, and to her the only thing missing was the pitter-patter of little feet.
Frankie had never really yearned for children, feeling that parenthood would dampen their lifestyle. They wouldn’t be able to travel as often or move around as freely, he always said. Frankie told Camille that he wasn’t ready to change his lifestyle to accommodate fatherhood. Plus, he felt that in his line of work, having children could be a liability. He’d seen his share of ruthless practices in his business, and families weren’t always off-limits when there was beef. But the truth was that the idea of having children scared him. It reminded him of the misery he’d endured in his own childhood. He reasoned that someday he’d be ready for fatherhood—just not now.
Camille, on the other hand, loved kids and had always envisioned that she would be a mother soon after marriage. But she acquiesced, figuring that her life with Frankie would be enough to fill the void. And it was. Despite the lack of children, Camille was happy in her relationship with her husband. She had the man she wanted and an enviable lifestyle. She wouldn’t have traded her life with any woman in the world.
As she greeted one person after another, a familiar face made its way through the crowd and Camille’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Toya!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her old friend. Toya and Camille had gone to school together, and once upon a time they’d been inseparable. After high school, Toya had gone off to college in Atlanta while Camille began to pursue acting and modeling in New York City. The two friends had kept in touch at first, calling and sending letters and postcards. Camille landed ad campaigns for retail catalogs as well as print work for a number of high-fashion publications. As she hopscotched from one photo shoot to the next, Toya got acquainted with Atlanta nightlife and began to collect stamps on her passport by traveling from one exotic location to the next. They eventually lost touch with each other. It wasn’t until a Kanye concert six months ago that the two friends had run into each other again. During an intermission at the famed Radio City Music Hall, Toya had spotted Camille, and the rest was history. Toya had just moved back to New York City a year earlier and was living her black Sex and the City dream. Now here she was, looking as lovely as ever in a short black dress. She also had another young lady in tow.
“Camille, this is my friend Dominique Storms,” Toya introduced. “She’s the one I was telling you about.” As they had caught up on each other’s lives during their recent phone conversations, Toya had told Camille all about her new friend.
Camille’s smile broadened. “Hi!” she exclaimed. Dominique looked even more fabulous than she’d expected. She wore a white linen belted safari jacket and matching skirt. Her weave and her makeup were flawless. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Dominique frowned, wondering what they’d discussed. “What did she tell you about me?” Dominique asked Camille while looking suspiciously at Toya.
Camille laughed. “All she told me was that you were an A&R at Def Jam and that you two do a lot of partying together. It was all good things.”
Dominique’s lips twisted into a look of disbelief. She knew Toya well enough to know that that wasn’t all she’d told Camille. Toya was a very matter-of-fact, no-holds-barred type of person. What she’d probably told Camille was that Dominique was a dumb young girl with potential whom Toya had taken under her wing. That sounded more like something Toya would say. Dominique didn’t really mind, though. She loved Toya for her brash and cynical personality. Toya saw the world in black and white with no gray areas, a stark contrast to Dominique’s sunny and optimistic outlook. It was an interesting friendship.
“Yeah, right. I’m sure she said something crazy, but it’s all good. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, too.” She winked at Camille and they all laughed.
The party was in full swing. The deejay played one hit after another until the dance floor vibrated from all the people celebrating. Camille mingled and introduced Toya and Dominique to her friends and family. They danced, ate, drank, and let their hair down. It was a great party.
Soon the deejay announced that everyone should gather around the cake table. Camille and her girls made their way over and found Frankie standing with a microphone in his hand, Gillian by his side. Dominique’s face lit up at the sight of Franki
e, and she pulled Toya closer to her. “Is that her husband?” Toya nodded. “Damn!” Dominique said. “He’s fine!”
“Can I have your attention, please?” Frankie’s baritone voice boomed through the speakers. “I want to pay tribute to my wife.”
“Awwww!” Dominique gave Frankie her full attention.
Toya elbowed her discreetly. “Stop cumming on yourself. He’s already married!”
Dominique shot a wicked glance at her friend and rolled her eyes. She turned her attention back to sexy Frankie.
He held the mic in one hand, the other hand tucked. “I love you, baby,” he said. “I really do. No man could ask for a better wife.” He pulled a large square-shaped box from behind his back, and the crowd got excited, knowing that whatever was inside was bound to make their chins hit the floor. “Happy birthday!” He handed her the box, and Camille opened it to reveal a platinum and diamond spiral necklace. The brilliant carats sparkled in the light, and every woman in the room gasped. Camille jumped up and down and hugged Frankie tightly, kissing him over and over.
“Damn!” Toya said, admiring the stunning piece of jewelry. “That shit must’ve cost a grip!”
Dominique was in awe.
Everyone clapped and crowded around the couple to admire the necklace up close. Frankie helped her slice up her beautiful cake, and the deejay got the party started once again. While Camille attended to her guests, Toya and Dominique found an empty banquette and sat down. They ordered drinks from a passing waitress and watched the party in full swing. It wasn’t long before Camille joined them, feasting on a huge slice of her birthday cake.
“Girl, that necklace is exquisite!” Toya said. “Frankie did a good job picking that out.”