Best Kept Secret

By Trishah Al-Bey

In the Irish working class neighborhood of the Bronx, sixteen-year-old KEVIN SCANLON has the weight of the world on his shoulders. His Trinidadian girlfriend, TRACY is pregnant and his abusive stepfather, MICHAEL, has just returned from a stint in prison.

Kevin’s dysfunctional home life is made worse when his mother allows Michael back into their lives for financial stability. Michael uses his dominating presence to act as ‘man of the house’. Violent confrontations and a near sexual assault administered by Michael's ex-con friends force Kevin onto the streets where he seeks shelter in a sleazy, run-down motel.

Kevin’s best friend, ANTONIO offers him the chance to escape his money problems by taking part in the robbery of a high stakes poker game given by elderly, retired gangsters. Kevin rejects the risky idea. He opts instead to continue working as a supermarket stock-boy by day and a car thief for a chop-shop ring at night.

Gifted, fifteen-year-old Tracy hides her pregnancy with the help of baggy clothes and her mother’s back-to-back work shifts. The illusion is disastrously shattered when she is measured for a new dress to celebrate her grade-skipping academic achievements. Terrified of a forced return to Trinidad and her baby taken away, she runs off with Kevin. Her family hastily dispatches the police and a pair of angry Rastafarian cousins to find them.

Kevin begins to feel the suffocation of his circumstances. Desperation finally takes over and he grudgingly participates in the robbery. It goes horribly wrong. The seniors fight back with blazing guns. Fortunately, Kevin manages to escape with a sizeable haul. Almost immediately a hit man, funded by the gangsters, is unleashed and Kevin’s fellow teen robbers are hunted one-by-one and sadistically murdered in retaliation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trishah Al-Bey
• Release date: Sep 14, 2015
• ISBN: 1313131313130

Trishah Al-Bey

I am a story teller that loves to express myself entirely through the written word. My mind is filled with many scenarios just waiting to be told. Take a trip with me to a place and time rarely seen or explored.

Book preview

BEST KEPT SECRET

By Trishah Al-Bey

Copyright 2001 Trishah Al-Bey

Smashwords Edition

It was quiet and dark, just the way he liked it. Perfect for the task at hand. Unassuming. Rain danced on the metal awning of the closed bodega that shielded him from the onslaught. It was hypnotic as white noise while the stench of wet garbage infiltrated his nose. His eyes were at full attention, shifting from left to right. He waited for the ideal moment. A lone car passed up the street and turned the corner out of sight. With his baseball cap fitted low over his head and a hood adding to the camouflage, sixteen-year-old Kevin Scanlon pulled a tied rag over his nose and mouth. With only his eyes exposed, he narrowed in on his target. Who would be foolish enough to leave something that pretty unattended, he thought? It called to him, begging to be carried away. He took in a deep breath, stepped out of the shadows and began his descent down the row of parked cars. A dog barked in the distance followed by the toot of a car’s horn. The moment electrified his body, his senses on alert. His method was waiting until the third car before he reached over his shoulder and pulled a long, thin jimmy from the backpack that was tied securely behind him. He approached his victim with a calm assurance to the act that was about to take place. He slid the jimmy between the window and its rubber holding and knew exactly the angle in which to release the lock. In mere seconds the lock clicked. Opening the driver's side door would only make the car scream for help, so he took his time as always, leaving it closed until he was ready. His hand slid inside his hoodie pocket where a custom made screwdriver was held. He gave the street another once over making sure he was alone before he started a countdown. His goal was six seconds, but this model was definitely going to be eight. He quickly opened the driver's door and the alarm wailed its siren. Sliding behind the wheel he wasted no time in quieting the screams.

Eight, seven, six.... he whispered to himself as he jammed the screwdriver into the ignition. He kept pressure on the tool and maneuvered it until just the right spot. five, four, three, two....

The car roared to life quickly silencing its protest. Just in case prying eyes were peeking through windows, he waited, reassuring the cars' rightful owner that nothing was happening. He peered through the rain-streaked windows before activating the cars wipers. No suspicion was aroused so he switched on the headlights, shifted into drive and eased out of its supposed comfort zone.

A quarter to five in the morning and traffic was non-existent on the Brooklyn/Queens Expressway. With one hand on the wheel he pulled off his backpack with the other and placed it on the passengers seat. He tugged the rag down from his face. He searched his pants pocket for the marijuana stuffed cigar he brought along as a treat for another job well done. He pushed in the car’s cigarette lighter and gripped the blunt between his lips. The rain slowed to a drizzle allowing him to drive a little faster but still obeying the speed limits to avoid highway patrol. The lighter popped out and he placed the fire orange glow to the end of the blunt and inhaled. The sweet tasting smoke rolled around his mouth before it entered his lungs. The driver's side window was lowered just a crack to let fresh air circulate within. Turning on the radio filled the car with the latest news until he scanned the stations and stopped on the heavy base of hip-hop. It was the kind of beat that deserved to be pumped. So he did just that, increasing the volume until the windows vibrated. Before he reached the toll collector, he exited the expressway and took a side street.

He was still high but clear minded when he got to the industrial section of Jackson Heights, Queens. Dirty, graffiti covered factory buildings inhabited most of the area illuminated by only two street lamps. Scantily clad prostitutes scurried around like mice, trying to attract the odd customer. He pulled the car into an inconspicuous spot behind a large shipping truck and shut off the engine. He kept the burned out blunt trapped between his teeth as he searched his backpack for a penlight. The tiny light scanned the cars' interior for valuables. There were a few dollar bills and some coins in the box behind the gearshift that he stuffed into his pocket. Under the seats were the usual food wrappers and dust. Opening the glove compartment granted him a smile, a black IPOD with tiny white ear buds attached. He shoved the unit into his bag, zipped it up then leaned back to enjoy the rest of his high. The show was about to start. Inebriated men stumbled around corners as prostitutes committed sex acts between parked trucks and cars. Minutes passed before there was a tap on the front passenger window. He looked and smirked to himself at the sight of a young hooker he knew. He turned on the car’s battery and rolled down the window a few inches. At about eighteen years of age she tried her best to stay balanced on the plastic high-heeled stilettos.

Yeah? he inquired.

I knew that was you, baby K. How 'bout lettin' me ride for a minute? she slurred, her overly painted face peering inside.

A stringy blonde wig was tilted unevenly on her head and her large, watery blue eyes struggled to stay open. A fake brown fur jacket was zipped up to her chin.

Can't. Yards about to open. he answered gesturing with a nod of his head toward DelMonico's Scrap Metal yard across the street.

Come on, I just need to fly a little bit. That shit don't open for a while. You know me, baby K, I'm in and out.

I do know you and the last time I let you in, you fucked up the car.

That was an accident. I ain't fucked with that killa shit since then.

The tattered umbrella she was holding did nothing but allow the raindrops to smear her made-up face into a grotesque clown.

He shook his head in sympathy as her need to get high made her body tremble.

All right. You got five minutes. After that I'm puttin' your ass out. I don't want the car smelling like used wet pussy. he joked.

Fuck you, baby K.

He laughed while opening the lock for the rear passenger door. She quickly dropped her umbrella on the sidewalk and hopped inside.

You got five minutes starting now. he announced.

She smelled of sex, alcohol and something else that was hard to describe.

You ain't got no heart. she said.

Her shaky fingers unraveled a small, square piece of cellophane that held a white powder. Carefully, she emptied it into a waiting metal bottle cap balanced on her slim bare knee. From her jacket pocket, she pulled out a small red lighter and held the flame under the bottom of the cap, liquefying its contents. A thin syringe drew in the dope. She hiked up her skirt exposing new and old needle tracks surrounded by black and blue bruises.

Kevin glanced at her in the rear view mirror as she tapped at her leg in search of a vein. Although his window was cracked open, her strong odor made it hard for him to breath and he wanted her out as soon as possible.

Three minutes. he announced.

She kept her eyes on the difficult task of finding a vein.

A tiny, high-pitched sigh passed her lips when the needle finally hit its mark.

Two minutes. he said.

I'm almost there, baby K. she slurred then leaned back. Her eyes closed revealing green frosted shadow.

Kevin shook his head again then looked out the window to see a man emerge from around a corner holding a large, black umbrella.

I think Piper's looking for ya'.

She snapped to a semi conscious attention and looked passed him to see her pimp scanning the street.

Shit. she muttered and quickly got out of the car.

She straightened her clothes, adjusted her wig then snatched up her umbrella to make her way over to him.

Kevin watched her stumble across the street where her pimp grabbed her by the arm and dragged her around the corner.

DelMonico's finally opened the iron security gates. A middle-aged man in a blue workers jumpsuit walked out and looked around. He waited a few minutes then waved a hand, which was a signal to enter. Kevin started the car. He kept the headlights off and slowly drove inside the lot.

He stopped at the seven-car garage located at the rear of the yard. It was a family business where brothers and cousins stripped down various luxury cars. The parts were then sold overseas. The smell of gasoline and burning metal filled the air. Grabbing his backpack, Kevin got out of the car. An old man who went by the name of Peter routinely performed the same antics whenever he got a delivery.

Kevin shoved his hands in his pants pocket, leaned against a worktable and waited.

Peter rubbed at his chin as he sat in the drivers’ side, turned on the overhead lights and inspected the interior. Wrinkled hands massaged the leather of the passenger's seat.

You no want the stereo? he asked with a raspy European accented voice.

Nope. Kevin replied with a roll of his eyes.

I ask that of you all the time and you always say 'nope'.

Then why ask me?

Peter laughed and continued with his detailed examination. He got out of the car, opened the backseat and peered inside slowly nodding his head in approval. Closing the door he moved slowly around the car touching it occasionally.

Very nice, very nice. he said. What did I say, one hundred fifty?

Two twenty-five and anything I want out the trunk. Kevin stated.

Peter looked at him and grinned exposing a few missing teeth surrounded by yellowing ones. Only because your work very good.

He picked up a tool on the table behind Kevin and popped open the trunk.

Kevin peered inside to see children's toys, some paperback novels and a small red plastic cooler containing juice boxes. Peter took one of the juices and offered it to him.

You thirsty? he asked laughing.

Can I just get paid, I got things to do.

Hey, why I tell joke and you no laugh?

Cause you no funny. Kevin replied.

Peter dug in his pocket, pulled out some cash and counted it out. You too young to be so serious all the time.

He handed Kevin the cash. He quickly recounted it.

Hey, maybe next time you bring Toyota from mid 90's. Before they change over to computer boards.

We'll see. Kevin said before stuffing the money in his pocket and turning to exit.

Honda, too. Peter called out.

It had been a long night and fatigue was sneaking up on Kevin's body and mind. On the elevated number four train to the Norwood section of the Bronx, he sat near the window and watched the city just waking up with the sunrise. With each stop the train started to fill with morning commuters on their way to work. An older woman sat in the seat next to him eating an aromatic sandwich wrapped in tin foil. The spiciness made his stomach growl. The conductor called the next stop. He rose from his seat and made his way through the crowd to the door.

Exiting onto the platform, the air was cool and damp indicating the fall season of mid October. He looked through the wrought iron bars down onto the street to see his favorite Dominican deli just opening the gates to hungry customers. At this time, a line started to form. It was a small store with a fruit and veggie stand in the front. Inside was divided into three sections. The rear held glass refrigerators filled with beverages, the middle was the deli section for ordering hot and cold foods and the front held can goods, snacks and other basic staples of a working class neighborhood. Bachata played on tiny speakers hung in the corners of the store next to security cameras. He entered and headed to the back to grab a quart of apple juice. He stopped at the deli section and sighed that he had to wait behind a construction worker ordering multiple sandwiches for a crew.

Kevin's apartment building was an old fashioned, five-story brick walk-up. His tired feet made the wooden stairs creek beneath his weight as he passed gray chipped cinder-blocked walls. There were five apartments on each floor and music, crying children and loud televisions can be heard coming from them. Unlocking the door to his place, he was greeted with darkness and silence. He breathed a sigh of relief that the chain was off the door and his mother wasn't waiting up to give him a lecture about the hours he kept. Softly holding his deli bag, he tried to be as quiet as possible, tiptoeing toward his room. His mother's room was adjacent to his own and as he got closer he could hear a deep snore coming from behind it. He frowned at the sight of a large pair of work boots sitting lazily by her partially opened door. Using the tips of his fingers he opened the door a little more and saw the naked back of a male figure draped over his mother's body. He stared at them for a moment as his mind raced with what it meant. This was the third time his supposedly estranged stepfather, Michael stayed over and he wondered was it going to be permanent. She didn't even bother to mention he was coming. His head ached along with the pangs in his stomach. He ran his hand down the door to the knob, got a good grip and slammed it shut. They stirred slightly, but remained in slumber. He went to his own room and closed the door. The early morning sun brightened the room with an orange glow through the thin curtains.

Kevvy? Lisa sleepily inquired.

Go back to sleep. he replied to his six-year-old half sister.

She complied, turning her head to cuddle into a large stuffed panda. Her bed was on the opposite side of the room and was surrounded by dolls and their houses.

Posters of sports cars covered the walls on his side. Small model cars in various stages of construction were displayed on a table in the corner. He tossed the bag on his bed then stripped down to his boxer shorts. His pale skin highlighted the word 'HOOLIGAN' tattooed in big colorful old English lettering across his upper back. His arms, chest and belly were tatted with Irish, marijuana and gang symbols. The left side of his neck displayed the Notre Dame leprechaun while the other side had 'FIGHTING IRISH' written in script. He scratched at his short dark brown hair, trying to get the image of his mother and Michael out of his mind. He fell into bed and leaned his back against the headboard. Michael staying over wasn't a good sign, he thought as he pulled his sandwich from the bag, unfolded part of the tin foil and took a bite. They hadn't seen each other in years and his mother made promises that he wouldn't return. It was a wait and see moment.

Hours later, Kevin awoke with Lisa's tiny hands rubbing his head.

Kevvy. Kevvy, wake up. she said.

I'm up, I'm up. Whadaya want? he groggily answered.

I can't reach Candyland.

What?

He opened an eye to see his sister pointing at the closet where a row of board games sat on the top shelf. He took a deep breath then slowly got up to retrieve the game.

Daddy likes that one. she announced as he handed her the box.

He's still here?

She nodded. You want to play?

Maybe later. He watched her skip happily out of the room then quickly tried to contemplate his next move. Shit. he quietly mumbled.

The last thing he wanted was a reunion. He went to his dresser that had a large unfinished model car engine sitting on top and pulled out a pair of jeans and a tee shirt.

A television set played cartoons in the corner of the square shaped living room. Lisa, with her legs curled under her watched attentively as her father, Michael, sat on the opposite side and emptied the contents of the game onto the wooden coffee table. The plastic shapes were tiny in his large hands. His arms were thick and covered with prison tattoos. The graphic tee shirt he wore stretched tightly across his hard chest.

Kevin moved toward the door crossing in front of the kitchen where his mother, Gayle, spotted him.

Well, I'm glad you finally managed to get up. Gayle stated with a very faint Irish brogue. She poked her head out the kitchen while wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

I'll be right back. he replied, shooting Michael an uneasy glance.

He held his breath and hoped she wouldn't delay his escape but her expression told him that wasn't about to happen. They were only seventeen years apart so she was aware of most of his tricks.

Don't think you're gonna stay out all night long and sleep all day. Where are you off to now? she demanded standing in the kitchen doorway.

I... he started to say.

Hey! Michael called.

Kevin rolled his eyes.

Don't you see me sitting here? I know your mother raised you better than that while I was away. Come over here.

Kevin looked at him and for a moment thought about just walking out.

I said get over here.

With lowered eyes, he took his time approaching Michael who towered over him when he got up from the couch.

I spend almost four years in the joint and I don't even get a greeting or a hug from my kid. Michael commented.

Michael reached out to embrace Kevin who flinched at the gesture. The hold was uncomfortable and fake at the same time. A few seconds passed before Kevin nudged him away. Their challenging gaze connected and they both silently acknowledged their mutual dislike. Kevin took a graffiti covered dark green baseball cap from his back pants pocket, pulled it low on his head then tilted it to the side.

Oh, you're a man now? Michael inquired with a bit of sarcasm.

Kevin ignored the question and turned to leave unaware of Mike's hard glare on his back. He cut his mother a disappointed frown on his way to the door.

Where are you going? I don't want you coming in all hours of the night. she warned.

"I'm just gonna