Stealing Candy

by Allison Hobbs

  Gianna crept up to the flier and read the description. Portia Hathaway, last seen getting into a white Cadillac on June fifteenth.

  Bullet had told Flashy that nobody was looking for Bubbles. If Flashy had known about this reward, he probably would have snitched.

  Feeling like a thief, Gianna looked around and then tugged the flier away from the pole.

  CHAPTER 48

  A fifteen thousand-dollar reward was being offered for Bubbles’ safe return. Fifteen stacks! With that kind of money, she and Bullet could make a deal with Flashy, buy the baby back, and she could convince Bullet to move far away from the Philadelphia area.

  If she got him away from that crackhead, Sizzle, she could get him cleaned up and back to his normal self. They could get married. She’d be sixteen in a few months. She wondered if it was legal to get married at sixteen in certain states.

  She needed access to a computer to do that research.

  She’d seen a public library near the McDonald’s. Looking around, she immediately spotted it: Lucien E. Blackwell West Philadelphia Regional Library.

  She trotted across the street, dragging Skittles along. Inside the library, however, she was told she needed a library card to use a computer. And she needed ID and a parent’s signature to get a library card. Fuck!

  Back out in the baking sun, she took notice that Bubbles aka Portia Hathaway was posted up on every visible telephone poll. This is crazy. Who would do all this work to get Bubbles?

  Sooner or later, someone was bound to discover Bubbles was right in the vicinity. For all the trouble the sloppy girl had brought into her life, Gianna would be glad to be rid of her. That reward money would secure her future with Bullet.

  She tore off the tip line number at the bottom and discarded the information about Portia.

  If the ballers hadn’t disconnected their cells, she could be calling the tip line right now.

  But first things first. She had to get some cash for the cell phones, bring home some food and a lighter. Bullet would whip her ass if she didn’t. Ever since he started messing with Sizzle and smoking cocaine, he was getting crankier by the minute.

  “Do you want to buy two iPhones?” she asked the African vendor.

  “Let me see what you have.”

  She showed him the two handsets.

  “Very nice. I’ll give you twenty dollars apiece.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I don’t buy cell phones, but those are a good quality.”

  “They’re worth way more than forty dollars.”

  “That’s my final offer,” he said politely.

  After grudgingly accepting his offer, Gianna and Skittles headed straight for the McDonald’s. She’d get Bullet’s lighter from the corner store near Sizzle’s crib.

  It was blessedly cool inside the fast-food restaurant. The smell of burgers and fries made her mouth water.

  Gianna winced when her total came to thirteen dollars, but then she reminded herself that she’d be filling her clutch bag with fifteen stacks in a day or two.

  Before Gianna could sit down good or even arrange the food on Skittles’ tray, the hungry, frail girl began shoveling fries in her mouth, using both hands.

  A man seated nearby was yelling loudly in his cell. Having a dispute with his wife…or his girlfriend. She opened her clutch and looked at the tip line number.

  The moment the man finished his argument, Gianna asked if she could make an emergency phone call.

  “I don’t need no more problems at home. Don’t need no strange numbers popping up on my shawty’s phone bill. Nah.” He shook his head.

  A woman with gray streaks in her hair offered Gianna her phone, stating, “I have unlimited minutes. Go ahead and make your emergency call.”

  “Thank you. This is a private call. Do you mind if I take your cell inside the restroom?”

  The woman looked doubtful.

  “Please. And can you watch my…uh…sister? She’s retarded. She might get up and try to walk away.”

  “Alright, I’ll look after her, but don’t take too long,” the nice lady said.

  “I won’t. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  Inside the public restroom, Gianna’s palms were sweating as she placed the call.

  “Good afternoon. HelpfindPortia Tip Line. Can I help you?” said a woman’s voice.

  “Hi. Um…I know where she’s at.”

  “Is Portia alright? Is she alive?” The woman sounded like she was going to start crying. Gianna couldn’t imagine why anyone would want Bubbles back that bad.

  “Yes. She’s alive. I can’t talk long because I’m using some lady’s cell phone, but I really need to get that money. How long is this going to take?”

  “What’s your name, honey? You sound like a kid.”

  “I’m sixteen,” Gianna lied. She cracked open the restroom door to check on Skittles. Looking impatient, the lady motioned for Gianna to return her cell.

  “I gotta go.”

  “Wait! Where’s Portia? Can you give me an address? Can I get back in touch with you on this number?”

  “No, this isn’t my phone. I borrowed it. I can see if somebody will let me hold their phone.”

  “No. I’ll come to you. Where are you right now?” the woman asked desperately.

  “I’m at a McDonald’s on Fifty-second and Chestnut. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes, of course. Is Portia with you?”

  “No, but I know where she is. We live at the same spot.”

  “Are you sure it’s Portia Hathaway?”

  “Uh-huh. We call her Bubblicious, though.”

  “Bubba what?”

  “Bubblicious. Bubbles for short. Anyway, I was in the white Cadillac the night Bullet spotted her and that Puerto Rican girl.”

  “Oh my God,” the woman uttered. “Is she being held against her will?”

  “Not really.”

  “What do mean, not really?”

  “At first she was. But she digs Bullet. We both do. He manages Bubbles’ career. But it’s not just business with me and him. We’re in a relationship, but you know how they say…it’s complicated.”

  “I see. What’s your name?”

  “Gian—Um, Lollipop.”

  “What’s your real name, sweetie? I need a real name in order to give you the money. You have to sign for it.”

  “But the flier said it was an anonymous tip line. I can’t give out my real name. Bullet will kill me.”

  “You don’t mean that literally, do you?”

  “Well…he loves me, but he would kill Bubbles before he’d let you take her from him. Bullet has two guns and I’ve seen him shoot people. We have to do this on the low. You give me the money and I’ll get Bubbles out of the house.”

  “Listen to me, Lollipop. If you want this money, do not leave that McDonald’s. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Okay. Me and Skittles will be waiting near the door. You’ll recognize Skittles because her hair is blue and a couple of other colors.”

  “Got it. My name is Saleema. I’ll see you soon.”

  She was going about this all wrong. Following her heart instead of her head. But Portia was in the hands of some trigger-happy pimp, and if she told Khalil, he’d want to call the police. That could be disastrous.

  Saleema had only been a little girl when the police dropped a bomb on the MOVE members’ home on Osage Avenue, killing men, women, and kids, and destroying an entire neighborhood. To this day, she could still see the billowing smoke and the stench that lingered for weeks in her Southwest Philly neighborhood. The city had taken forever to repair the homes, and that was the beginning of Saleema being schlepped around from house to house.

  She didn’t know hardly anything about Khalil’s background, but she doubted if he’d seen or experienced half of the horrors that she’d survived in her life.

  Saleema had no love for cops. She knew they would eagerly engage in a shootout with a trigger-happy pimp. Portia was disposabl
e. She could end up dead, and the police would issue a half-ass apology and move on without another thought.

  Saleema couldn’t allow that to happen.

  The two girls were standing outside the McDonald’s, sipping on beverages. The one with the multi-colored hair was as thin as a rail. Anorexic? She looked to be about sixteen. The other girl appeared to be even younger; fourteen or fifteen at the most. But Saleema could tell she was the one in charge.

  Saleema parked in the rear lot and walked around to the entrance.

  “Hey, Lollipop; I’m Saleema,” she said in a friendly, non-threatening voice.

  “You got the money?” the girl said, trying to sound a lot tougher than she looked.

  “Yeah, some of it.”

  “Some!”

  “I have four hundred, for now.” Saleema cracked open her purse, letting the girl see the stack of twenties. The girl seemed hungry for money.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “A house on Delancy Street. Near Fifty-fourth.”

  From Saleema’s memory, Fifty-fourth and Delancy used to be a high-crime area. Helicopters flying around constantly. Street blocked off with yellow tape, bodies outlined in chalk was a weekly occurrence. A women in a wheelchair had been killed in her own home by her husband…a crack addict who shot her for her disability check and claimed that he’d found her robbed and dead when he came home. Police had found bloody footprints leading out of the door and down the pavement. The bottoms of the husband’s shoes were stained with blood.

  So much death and destruction on this one block, Saleema was surprised everyone hadn’t picked up and moved.

  As they cruised close to the intersection, Saleema gazed down Delancy Street. As suspected, practically every house was boarded up.

  “I’m going to park on Pine Street. I need you to go get Bubbles. Meet me on Pine.”

  “Aiight. But you have to give me something I can give to Bullet. I can get back out when I tell him I forgot to get him a new lighter.”

  Saleema didn’t like the idea. She looked at the quiet, skinny girl who was staring into space. “What’s her name, again?”

  “Skittles.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. She used to be normal, but she went crazy a few months ago.”

  “What happened?” Saleema had seen that vacant look in the eyes of her best friend, Terelle. After experiencing an emotional break.

  “I don’t have time to tell you her whole history. I need that paper.” The girl stuck out her hand.

  Saleema peeled off ten twenties. “Half now, and the other half when you bring Portia out.”

  “What about the big reward?”

  “You need an adult to sign for it,” Saleema lied. “You’re going to have to trust me, okay?”

  The girl sighed. “I guess.” She got out the car. “Come on, Skittles.”

  “No, leave her here,” Saleema demanded.

  “Why? My Daddy gon’ wanna know where she’s at.”

  “Make up an excuse.”

  “I can’t. He’ll get suspicious if I don’t bring Skittles home.”

  Against her better judgment, Saleema watched nervously as Skittles climbed out of the back seat of the car. She watched the two girls through her rearview mirror and then pulled off. She prayed to God like never before that Portia would soon be safe inside her car.

  CHAPTER 49

  Time ticked by slowly. Five minutes…ten…fifteen minutes elapsed. The girl had lied. She wasn’t coming back. Saleema was going to have to get the police involved. There was no other way she could get Portia out of that house. But the police and a coked-up, crazy pimp did not point to a happy ending.

  What should she do?

  Aggrieved, she lowered her head on the steering wheel.

  The sounds of footsteps made her lift her head.

  Saleema’s eyes became misty, clouding her vision as she gazed at an unbelievable sight. Portia! She seemed spaced out and smaller than she’d ever been, but it was Portia—in the flesh!

  Saleema jumped out of her Camry, gave Portia a quick hug, and then tried to help her into the back of the car. Portia dropped limply into the back seat and immediately closed her eyes.

  “Hi, Portia. It’s me…Miss Saleema. Are you okay?” Saleema gently touched Portia’s face. She winced at the scar on Portia’s face, but was grateful that the teen was alive.

  Frowning, Portia swatted away the hand that caressed her face. Portia turned away and balled up into a comfortable position.

  “She’s always sleeping like that after she goes through a drug binge with Sizzle and Bullet.”

  “Sizzle? That name sounds familiar,” Saleema commented as she returned to the driver’s seat.

  “She’s a crack ho,” Gianna informed.

  Saleema pulled away, and then it dawned on her that someone was missing. “Where’s the other girl?”

  “She wasn’t allowed to come back out. Bullet doesn’t let all three of us go out together at the same time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Can you hurry up and take me to the place where you can sign for that money?” The girl was antsy.

  “Sure.” Saleema headed in the direction of her home. Portia was drugged up and scarred, but at least she was alive. God is good, Saleema whispered to herself. She tried to concentrate on traffic, but couldn’t stop staring at Portia through the rearview mirror. It was a miracle. Saleema couldn’t control her smile.

  Next to her, Lollipop sat in brooding silence.

  “We’ll go back to my place and then I’ll call the agency that’s handling the reward. It will be really helpful if you give me your name.”

  “Damn, it’s Gianna. Okay!”

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Strand.” Gianna jerked her shoulder as if giving her real name was killing her.

  “Here we are, Gianna.” Saleema parked her car inside her garage, something she seldom did. But today it seemed like a wise choice. In case the pimp had somehow seen her vehicle, she didn’t want him to be able to spot it sitting directly in front of her home.

  It was a struggle getting Portia out of the car and up the stairs that led from the entryway from the garage to her basement. Portia was dead weight, so Saleema decided to let her crash on a sofa in the basement.

  “Let’s go upstairs and talk,” Saleema said to Gianna.

  “Excuse me, Miss. But I’m not tryna be smart or nothing. But it seems like you tryna scam me. I don’t wanna be here. I just want the money. Could you call those reward people, please?”

  “Sure. Okay,” Saleema said, still stalling. She’d been counseling troubled girls for two years now. Why was it so hard to deal with this girl?

  As they paced through the kitchen, Saleema offered Gianna something to eat.

  “I just ate. At McDonald’s, remember.” She folded her arms stubbornly.

  “I want to be straight with you, Gianna. You seem like an intelligent girl—”

  Gianna dropped her arms at her sides in frustration. “I don’t want to talk.”

  That’s when Saleema noticed her finger. Her mouth dropped open in silent horror.

  “What happened to your finger?”

  Gianna folded her arms again, hiding her deformed finger. “Nothing.”

  “Something happened. Let me see your finger.”

  “No!”

  “Did that pimp do that to you?”

  “Yeah, but I deserved it,” Gianna snapped defensively. “He had to teach me a lesson. So he cut off part of my finger.”

  Saleema squirmed visibly. Enraged, she realized that the pimp was also responsible for the cut on Portia’s face.

  Gianna did a defiant head move. “Don’t worry about my finger. It’s healed now. It’s all good.”

  Oh my God! Gianna’s crazy. She’s been mesmerized by a deviant pimp, and she views him as some sort of hero. She’d heard of Stockholm Syndrome, but never expected to meet anyone suffe
ring from the mental condition.

  All of her instincts told Saleema that this situation was beyond her control, but she didn’t want to send Portia back to the detention center without talking to her. Who knew where they’d ship Portia. No doubt, there’d be lots of red tape to weed through in order to get a visit. That could take months, and Portia would be under the impression that she was worthless and unwanted…and that simply wasn’t true.

  Needing desperately to make sure the pimp hadn’t amputated any of Portia’s fingers, Saleema excused herself and raced to the basement.

  She scrutinized Portia’s face, telling herself that the scar wasn’t that noticeable. Other than being about fifteen pounds lighter and in terrible need of a bath, Portia seemed physically intact. Mentally? Good question. She was addicted to crack and had spent an entire summer in the hands of a merciless pimp.

  Going back upstairs, she made a decision. She couldn’t leave that other defenseless girl overnight with the pimp. She had to get her out of that house.

  Saleema shook her head. She couldn’t call the police. But how could she live with herself if she got that innocent girl killed? There had to be another way.

  She was able to distract Gianna from questioning her about the reward by taking her to the lavender room and parking her in front of the TV.

  Saleema flicked through a zillion channels that she thought might interest the girl.

  Finally, Gianna settled for a BET reality show. She was entranced for hours, watching marathon reruns.

  Saleema felt guilty for leaving Khalil out of the loop, but she had to handle this by herself. She’d talk to him tomorrow. Right now, she wanted to converse with Portia…to let her know that she would be there for her. She’d help her get though the rest of this ordeal. She also wanted her to know that there was an entire community ready to embrace her.

  Though she’d always cared about Portia, Saleema now realized that she loved the brash girl like she were the pesky little sister she’d never had.

  And Saleema couldn’t wait to tell Portia that she intended to file the necessary paperwork to become her legal guardian.

  “Oh, my God!” Gianna screamed from the recreation room. Saleema rushed to the room.

  Mouth opened in stunned silence, Gianna pointed to the TV screen.