Trap House

by Sa'id Salaam

  It was at that moment she decided she was through with Marcus. Mentally, she quit him on the spot. After she got her half of the money, it would be over. Her thoughts were shattered by the blaring of the car horn.

  “Bitch, come da fuck on!” Marcus screamed wildly.

  Pony, who was riding shotgun, laughed hysterically. “Pimp! Get that nigga, pimp!” he yelled in support.

  Tiffany ducked her head in embarrassment and rushed to the car.

  Pony leaned forward to allow her to ride in the back of her own car.

  She felt some kind of way about it, but she decided to comply. She wasn’t in the mood to get cursed out again. She was just thankful none of her co-workers was around to see her get humiliated.

  “You got my money?” Marcus demanded before both cheeks even touched the seat.

  “Your money?” she replied in confusion. “You said we was gonna split it.”

  “Bitch, I put this shit together. Me! You get what the fuck I give you,” Marcus spat angrily.

  “Yeah, pimping.” Pony chuckled in support.

  Too afraid not to, Tiffany reached into her bra and retrieved the money. “Where we going?” Tiffany asked as Marcus bypassed 20 West, which would have been the quickest route to P.I.G.’s house.

  Marcus sucked his teeth as a reply, which caused another round of laughter from his assistant pimp.

  Pony shot a sideways glance at Marcus before reaching back to rub Tiffany’s thigh. “We got a new connect we finna try,” he said, reaching for her crotch.

  Tiffany let him cop a feel to spite Marcus, but she squeezed her legs together to prevent him from going too far. Like I really want another damn junkie, she thought to herself as she pushed his hand away.

  Marcus zipped up Candler Road recklessly. He swung a hard left at Krystals, then a quick right onto Hooper Street.

  Tiffany knew this was where the bootlegger’s house was, and she assumed Marcus intended to buy them some beer. Since they were underage, it was one of the few places where they could buy alcohol. She was always amazed at how an illegal establishment could operate at full blast the way the bootleggers did. One would think they would make some effort at discretion, since they were breaking the law and all.

  Marcus pulled to a hard stop a few houses before the bootleggers and jumped out. Pony was close behind like a junkie Tonto. They entered through a side door, returning the same way minutes later. On the way back to the car, Pony stopped and bought a sack of weed from a dude they all went to school with.

  “Are we going to P.I.G.’s now?” Tiffany asked, disturbed by the pleading she heard in her own voice.

  Marcus, who was obviously above speaking with her, only sucked his teeth. It was one of the many habits Tiffany looked forward to not having to deal with after this night was done.

  “We got straight here,” Pony replied, growing tired of the attitude himself.

  Marcus made a couple of turns and emerged onto Glenwood. After crossing over Candler, he turned into the parking lot of a shabby motel a few blocks later. “Come on,” Marcus demanded as he exited the vehicle.

  Pony and Tiffany got out and followed him to a room on the second floor. He produced a key and led the way inside. Tiffany almost gagged from the strong odor emanating from within. It smelled like ass and cigarettes, topped off with stale beer.

  Once inside, the men huddled at the small table as Tiffany sat gingerly on the bed. “Shit look straight,” Marcus announced as he produced a large bag of crack.

  “Fuck what it look like. What it hit like?” Pony exclaimed greedily, with pipe in hand.

  “Did y’all get some soft for me?” Tiffany pleaded as the men loaded their shooters.

  “All they had was hard,” Marcus said without bothering to look back at her.

  “Here. Roll you a blunt,” Pony said, handing her the weed and a wrap.

  “I wanted me a bump too,” Tiffany whined desperately.

  “Here. Roll yaself a primo,” Marcus said, handing a few crumbs her direction.

  Tiffany hesitated only for a second before accepting the drugs. She repeated the process she’d seen Wanda perform many times.

  Marcus and Pony were engaged in the Crack Olympics, trying to out-smoke each other, so it took a minute for Tiffany to get a light. When she was able to get a lighter from Pony, he quickly snatched it back, trying to catch up with Marcus, who had taken a slight lead in the race to get high.

  The blunt sizzled loudly as Tiffany inhaled. The effect was instant and intense. She literally felt her life change at that moment, and she knew her days of snorting cocaine were over. “Pass me a beer,” she said giddily between pulls. The blunt was still well above the halfway mark when Tiffany discreetly put it out and hid it in her purse.

  “Let’s go on and split the rest so I can hit this pussy,” Marcus suddenly announced.

  Tiffany was disgusted by the crassness of the remark, but she was horny enough to let it pass. She was actually amazed how horny she was. One last time, she reasoned. One for the road.

  “You want me to stay and help?” Pony asked as he gathered his supplies.

  Marcus shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care one way or the other.

  “Hell, naw, he can’t stay,” Tiffany said forcefully, looking at the stranger she once loved.

  “A’ight, I’m gone. Don’t beat it up too bad.” Pony laughed on his way out the door.

  “Get dem drawers off,” Marcus demanded, peeling off his dirty uniform.

  Tiffany was surprised he was still insisting on being an asshole with his company gone. He usually only showed his ass when people were around. This was a first…and a last. If she hadn’t been so horny, she would have told him right then and there to go fuck himself and then gone home and done the same. But Tiffany removed her clothes as directed and lay back on the bed.

  Marcus took one last sizzling blast before climbing on top of her. He blew the smoke in her face, causing her to wince from the tartness of his breath. Still, she inhaled. Marcus grinded himself between her legs as he sucked on her breast.

  Far too horny for foreplay, Tiffany reached down to put him inside of her. “Eww!” she screamed at the feel of his limp penis. “Not again!” she cried in disgust, sending Marcus into a rage.

  “Fuck you mean, ‘not again’?” he growled.

  “Nothing, baby,” Tiffany said, trying to soothe him by kissing his neck. But that only made matters worse, as the sweaty taste caused her to wretch.

  “Sorry-ass bitch can’t even get a nigga dick hard,” he berated. He climbed up her body and pushed his penis in her face. “Open your mouth,” he demanded, trying to force his way inside.

  “Mmm…mmm,” Tiffany mumbled, shaking her head furiously. The smell of his crotch overwhelmed her, causing her to gag.

  Marcus took advantage of that and pushed himself inside of her mouth. Tiffany was in shock as he began humping her face. As soon as he got an erection, he rushed down to put it inside of her, but it was limp again by the time he got there. “Sorry-ass bitch!” Marcus said, climbing off of her. “’Bout to take me a shit,” he announced, grabbing his pipe and a rock.

  Tiffany had been in shock, but she sprang into action as soon as he left the room. She quickly dressed and grabbed her keys. She spied the pile of crack on the table and debated as to whether or not to take some. The debate lasted two seconds, and then the question became, How much? Her hand answered that question by sweeping it all into her purse. “Fuck you, too, bastard,” she whispered, easing out the door.

  “Say, bitch?” Marcus yelled, thinking he’d heard the door. When he didn’t get a reply, he pinched off the turd he was working on and ran out into the room. His eyes first shot to where his drugs were and then darted around the rest of the room. Marcus snatched the door open just as Tiffany opened her car door. “My dope!” he yelled in horror as he took off in pursuit.

  Tiffany laughed at the sight of the naked junkie as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Goodbye…and
good riddance,” she mused as she moved on to the next chapter of her life.

  CHAPTER 8

  Marcus was in a foul mood as he sat behind the wheel of the stolen car he and Pony were using for the day. It was just setting in that Tiffany was really gone. It had been almost a month since she had run out on him at the hotel and—as he put it—stolen his drugs. She’d refused his repeated calls for a week before changing her number. He realized he had gone too far that last time, disrespected her one too many times. “Damn!” Marcus yelled in disgust, pounding his fist against the wheel.

  Pony was initially startled by the outburst, but he knew what was eating his friend. “You gotta let that shit go, shawty. She gone,” he offered, genuinely concerned.

  Marcus wanted to lash out at him and tell him to stay the fuck out of his business, but he knew Pony was right. He decided to take his wrath out on Alonzo instead. “Come on, ol’ duck-ass nigga!” he yelled while laying on the car horn.

  Alonzo, or “Big Zo” as he was referred to, was another junkie Marcus and Pony had recruited to pull their little capers. They were so hot in all the stores that it was impossible to even shop anywhere on the East Side of I-20. Being the masters of strategy that they were, they devised a new plan. Knowing that all eyes would be on them as soon as they walked in, Alonzo would be free to tear them a new one.

  “We need to hit us a real lick,” Marcus suggested, fingering the small pistol in his lap.

  “I already told you like nine times that I ain’t with that shit,” Pony replied emphatically.

  Lately, Marcus had been stressing committing an armed robbery, something Pony wanted no part of. Marcus was becoming more aggressive by the day. He’d been pulling his pistol on people at the slightest provocation. He was dying to get his gun off, and it was only a matter of time before he shot someone.

  “You know that fat bastard ain’t gon’ let us cop nothing under a half,” Marcus fumed.

  Lately, P.I.G. had refused him entry unless he spent $500 or better, figuring he had set the bar high enough to keep the garbage out. Since Tiffany was coming by herself almost daily, Marcus served him no purpose. It was only out of loyalty to his uncle that he wasn’t barred flat out.

  “I know, shawty, but for one, P.I.G. got that glass. Ain’t shit out here touching it. Two, if we get a half, we can get high and get our money back,” Pony reasoned.

  “Man, it’s gonna take all day tryina boost $500,” Marcus complained.

  “If we a little short, maybe P.I.G. will let you sweep up.” Pony chuckled.

  Marcus shot him a dangerous glance, but the thought was too funny to get mad. “Nigga, you gon’ be the one sweeping up,” he said, cracking up.

  At long last, Big Zo emerged from his house, dressed to steal. He sported a baggy pair of chinos that could hold a good amount of loot. The button-down shirt would allow him to easily stuff merchandise in there as well. A tie and glasses completed the look.

  “Fuck took you so long?” Marcus demanded to know as Alonzo slid into the back seat.

  “Say, how much Red pay for DVDs?” Big Zo asked Pony, totally ignoring Marcus.

  Marcus fought the urge to turn around and shoot him in the head for trying him. Instead, he put the car in drive and pulled off.

  “Shit, we can’t get but five bucks a pop. We tryina strike bigger than that,” Pony replied.

  “We need more than a hundred DVDs your way,” Marcus spat. “I’m tryina hit a real lick and rob me a nigga.”

  “I’m down for whatever, my nigga,” Big Zo said enthusiastically.

  “Well, I ain’t down,” Pony said forcefully, having grown tired of hearing about it.

  “Scared! Say you scared, nigga,” Big Zo chuckled from the rear.

  “Scared…buy a dog or call the cops,” Marcus laughed, now glad he hadn’t shot Alonzo.

  * * *

  Big Zo waited several minutes after Marcus and Pony walked into Walmart before making his own entrance.

  As predicted, security immediately flocked to the known thieves. They could have easily made them leave, but they wanted to catch them in the act and have them locked up. Plainclothes agents trailed the men as the security cameras followed them from above. To amuse themselves, Marcus and Pony abruptly split up. The surveillance split up as well, trailing the men.

  With all the security busy, Big Zo made a beeline to the Electronics Department. He began loading his bag with the newest releases. He couldn’t believe his eyes or his luck when a careless clerk walked away from an open display case filled with expensive electronics. “Shut my mouth,” Alonzo mumbled as he moved on the merchandise. He grabbed ten of the most expensive digital cameras and put them in the bag. A good thief knows when to quit, and Big Zo was a good thief. He fought the urge to grab more and walked away just as the salesclerk returned.

  On the way out, Big Zo gave Marcus a slight nod, indicating that the deed was done. On cue, Marcus took off running, with security in pursuit. The commotion signaled Pony to do the same. The agents following him were sure he hadn’t lifted anything, but he was running so they chased him anyway.

  All hell broke loose as the guards chased the crackheads through the aisles. They were both tackled near the exit as Alonzo calmly walked out with his stash.

  The silly crackheads giggled hysterically as the guards searched them.

  “We got you red-handed,” an overzealous, overweight guard wheezed as their pockets were searched.

  “You got shit!” Pony laughed as the frisk came up empty.

  They were warned, photographed, threatened, and told not to ender the store ever again.

  Alonzo, a junkie through and through, fought the urge to run off with his plunder, ultimately deciding against it. He knew he would eventually cross them, but it wasn’t going to be today. He ducked down in the back seat of the car to prevent being seen with the known thief. The guard followed Marcus and Pony to the stolen car and wrote down the plate number.

  “You can get up now, ol’ hide-and-seek-ass nigga,” Marcus laughed as he pulled onto Panola Road.

  “What’d ya get?” Pony inquired anxiously.

  “A little something-something,” he bragged, producing one of the cameras.

  “Damn! These shit’s nice,” Pony exclaimed.

  Marcus swerved the car, trying to get a look for himself.

  “Three dollars a pop,” Big Zo said proudly, “and I got ten of dem, guys.”

  “Red cheap ass ain’t gon’ give us but a buck a piece,” Marcus complained.

  “Shit, that put us where we need to be,” Pony said.

  Alonzo decided his co-conspirators didn’t need to know about the DVDs and assorted knickknacks stuffed in his clothes. A little something for a rainy day, he thought to himself.

  * * *

  Most of the older homes on Red’s street had been bought, razed, and replaced with McManions built in their place. He was one of the few holdouts when the developers came through offering peanuts. As a result, the small home he paid $30,000 for twenty years ago was now worth a small fortune.

  Red had cake already. He was one of the major fences in the city. He bought and sold anything that could be bought or sold. His house was a virtual warehouse of goods. The walls were lined with flat-screen TVs all hooked up to showcase picture quality. There were several complete living room suites for sale as well. The kitchen was stocked with every appliance and gadget known to man. “From Picasso to pussy” was Red’s mantra, and he had it all for sale. The police knew who and what he was, but they only came through to shop or to be paid off.

  Red was well into his fifties, but he dressed in the latest fashions that kids wore. His salt-and-pepper hair was kept freshly braided by one of the young girls he kept around the house. He wasn’t just a sugar daddy; he was a baby daddy knocking young girls up on the regular. Besides the ten grown sons he had with his first wife, he had another forty or fifty kids on the side. Two of his current girlfriends were pregnant now, neither of them even twenty y
ears old.

  Red greeted the trio of Marcus, Pony, and Big Zo warmly as he let them in. He had no security to speak of; if a person knew him, he knew them, and that was good enough. Besides, he had ten grown sons and nephews who were well-known goons. Anybody would be a fool to try and rob Red. “Let me see what ya got,” he asked the men eagerly.

  “We came up on some cameras,” Marcus, the unofficial spokesman, said, handing one to Red for inspection.

  “Dese nice rat here,” Red announced, showcasing his third-grade education.

  As he checked out the cameras, Marcus scanned the room with larceny in his eyes.

  Pony read his mind and gave him a terse headshake when their eyes met. He knew a man would have to be a fool to try Red, and Marcus was a fool.

  “My neighbors gon’ love dese,” Red said, referring to the young white professionals who now inhabited his street. His law-abiding neighbors loved a good deal, stolen goods or not—“hot shit for a cool price,” as one put it. “How many you got? I’ll take ‘em all,” Red announced, looking to corner the stolen camera market.

  “We got ten. Give us a stack,” Big Zo blurted, out of turn.

  “A stack, huh?” Red pondered, even though he was prepared to go to $1,200. “A’ight,” he sad reluctantly. “For y’all, I’ll do a grand.”

  Marcus gasped audibly when Red produced a huge wad of cash and began peeling hundreds off of it. Pony saw a deadly glint in his friend’s eye as he watched him count the money.

  Just as Red was handing over the cash, the front door swung open. “Hey, Daddy,” two of Red’s sons said in unison, heading to the rear of the house. They returned immediately with guns in both hands.

  “We ‘bout to take dese to mark dem,” one son said, holding up one of the H&K MP5 submachine guns.

  “A’ight. Y’all be careful now,” Red warned as they left.

  Pony gave Marcus a raised brow look that said, “See?” Marcus nodded in agreement, knowing he’d have to find an easier lick.

  “If y’all got some mo’ of dese, holla,” Red said as he escorted the men to the door. “Laptops too!” he added.