Trap House

by Sa'id Salaam

  “Who dat?” Mike demanded, not bothering to hide his interest nor needing to.

  “That’s my little get-high partner,” Wanda said, pressing her body against his.

  “She dance?” he asked, still staring down the empty hall.

  “Not yet, but gimme a sec. You know how I do,” Wanda boasted.

  “You know dem tricks love dem some young broads,” Mike said, finally looking at Wanda.

  “Dem niggas, huh?” Wanda teased, grabbing his manhood through his pants.

  “Oh, Ima keep it 100 percent real. I wanna hit dat too,” Mike admitted eagerly.

  “Shit, me too, but we gotta go slow. Shawty green,” Wanda said, still stroking him.

  Tiffany returned a short time later, fully dressed and partially embarrassed.

  Wanda made the introduction, giving Tiffany the opportunity to get a good look at Mike.

  Mike stood a hair over six-two and had the solid build of an athlete. His smooth, bald head was an interesting contrast to the neatly trimmed full beard adorning his face. He looked, dressed, and smelled like money. To Tiffany, he resembled a darker version of Suge Knight, minus the gut.

  “Wanda tells me you’re looking for a job,” Mike said, staring into Tiffany’s eyes—in fact, past her eyes and straight into her soul.

  “Um, yeah, but I don’t dance. We was just playing,” she said, feeling the need to explain herself.

  “That’s fine. I got plenty of dancers. What I need is a good hostess,” Mike offered.

  “What I gotta do?” Tiffany asked cautiously, as she was unfamiliar with the term.

  “Check ID, take admission fees. You may have to help serve erry now and then, but you get tips when you do,” he explained. “It pays $200 a night,” Mike said, sealing the deal.

  “I’ll take it!” Tiffany practically shouted at her good fortune. “When can I start?”

  “I’ll bring her tomorrow,” Wanda interjected, cozying back up to Mike.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Mike. Ima leave you guys alone now,” Tiffany said before retreating.

  “Okay. Nice meeting you. See you tomorrow,” Mike replied, watching her backside as she left. “Lil mama is a goldmine!” Mike exclaimed. “I can’t wait to smash that.”

  “Well, until then, you need to come and smash this,” Wanda said, placing his hand on her ass.

  Tiffany instantly missed her showerhead as the sounds of lovemaking drifted through the thin walls. She lit what was left of the blunt she’d started at home as she listened. The couple stopped making love and began to straight-out fuck. Not only could she hear Wanda’s moans and Mike’s growls as he pounded in and out of her, but the rhythmic sound of the headboard slamming into the wall as their bodies collided. The sound of skin slapping together echoed in the silent room. She wasn’t even aware that her hand slipped into her panties until she felt a tingle shoot through her body. It wasn’t much longer before the three of them all came together.

  CHAPTER 11

  Marcus sat behind the wheel of another stolen car with Pony riding shotgun. Big Zo and another fellow junkie called Smokey took up the rear. The car was completely silent, each man consumed with his own thoughts. Getting high was the common theme, and just how to do it was what each man was pondering separately. Every once in a while, one of them would share his harebrained plan to get some money.

  “Fuck it! I say we just run up in Walmart and run out with flat-screens,” Smokey announced desperately.

  “That’s the dumbest shit I heard all day,” Marcus spat, even though it had crossed his mind as well.

  “We can hit ShopBrite. Red’ll pay for meat,” Big Zo pleaded eagerly.

  “That’s some ol’ crackhead shit,” Marcus said, his voice dripping with disgust.

  “We crackheads!” Smokey said seriously.

  “I ain’t no crackhead,” Pony shot angrily as the realization that he was indeed a junkie finally sank in. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He smoked a primo here and there with his best friend, and now he sat with that same friend scheming about what to steal. Pony looked over at Marcus in utter disgust. He instantly transferred all the blame to him. Fuckin’ wit’ dis nigga, he thought inwardly.

  “What?” Marcus demanded, catching Pony’s glare. “You got a better idea?”

  “Naw, nigga, and I ain’t robbing nobody,” Pony shot back, rejecting the only idea Marcus suggested.

  “Y’all fuck niggas is scared,” Marcus fumed.

  The men were all highly offended by the slanderous remark, but none felt like having Marcus point his gun at them, so they let it pass.

  “Fuck it. We gonna hit the Walmart,” Marcus commanded. “Big Zo, you make a commotion while Smokey hit up the DVDs. That should get us started.”

  No one made mention of the fact that Marcus had shot down this same plan minutes before. They knew the proceeds from the petty theft wouldn’t quench the thirst of four heavy smokers, but desperation was sitting in.

  * * *

  Alonzo was recognized immediately upon entering the store. The manager instructed security to follow him while he called the police. They had enough surveillance footage of Big Zo ripping them off to put him away for a minute.

  Smokey, with his classic junkie swagger and attire, was watched as well. Security cameras rolled as he loaded his clothes with loot. His description was passed along to the police officers who were en route to the location of the crime.

  “Uh oh,” Pony said as a cruiser pulled to an abrupt stop at the store entrance. “Let’s push!” he said, nearly panicked.

  “Be easy, nigga. It may not even be ‘bout them,” Marcus said, disgusted with the display of cowardice.

  The words were barely out of his mouth when Smokey and Zo came bolting out of the store in a full run. Smokey was throwing the DVDs from his clothes at the pursuing guards. He was so focused on the guards behind him that he slammed head-on into the police officer responding to the call. The force of the impact sent them both sprawling on the ground, knocking the officer’s weapon from his hand.

  The officer scrambled for his gun, but Big Zo scooped it up before he could reach it. A second officer pulled to a stop just as Zo came up with the gun. For reasons no one will ever know, Zo pointed the weapon at its former owner and pulled the trigger. The heavy forty-caliber slug knocked the officer’s hat off when it came out the back of his head. Alonzo then turned toward the second officer, closed his eyes, and began firing wildly.

  When the shooting stopped, both Zo and Smokey, along with the cop, lay dead. The stray bullets that missed their mark killed a soccer mom who was there buying cleats for her boys.

  “Go! Let’s go!!” Pony shrieked, sounding more like an eight-year-old girl than a man.

  This time, he got no argument from Marcus. “Man, did you see that shit!?” Marcus exclaimed excitedly. “Them niggas is dead.”

  “That’s fucked up,” Pony said, genuinely saddened by the loss of life.

  “For real tho’,” Marcus agreed, pissed because he wanted to kill something. “Man, how we s’pose to get high now?” Marcus said, getting back to more pressing matters. “Oh, I know!” he said, making a quick turn onto I-20. He was headed to P.I.G.’s with a plan to get credit. Everyone knew P.I.G. was addicted to drama, and having the inside scoop on what was sure to be make national news would be enough to gain entry. At the very least, Marcus was sure they’d be able to smoke as they recounted the night’s events. Hell, with a little acting, it might even warrant a little credit. Truth be told, Marcus was thirsty enough to sweep up if he had to.

  * * *

  When P.I.G. took the call, his first instinct was to turn Marcus away, but since he’d just hung up from Tiffany, he changed his mind. Being the drama king he was, he decided to stage a little production of his own. “Hey, fellas,” P.I.G. said so genially that everyone looked up curiously.

  “Oh, man! Did you hear?” Marcus began animatedly.

  “Zo dem dead!” Pony jumped in, as rehearsed.
>
  “Yeah, and dey kilt a po-lice. We had to shoot our way out of there,” Marcus said.

  “Wit’ like ten cops,” Pony embellished.

  “Ten, huh? Sho nuff?” P.I.G. asked dubiously.

  “They dead, man. They dead,” Marcus said sadly, plopping down next to Mojo, who just happened to be loading his shooter.

  Pony thought the display of remorse was a good look and adopted it as he laid out the fictionalized version of what went down.

  “Damn. Sorry to hear that, fellas,” P.I.G. said plainly.

  “Worst part is dem niggas had the money we was gon’ spend with you,” Marcus said, setting the stage.

  “Yeah. We had like ten stacks,” Pony said, grossly overdoing it.

  Marcus cringed at the obvious lie, but since it was in the air, he ran with it. “Yeah, so look…we gon’ need you to hook us up with something on the face. Ima get it to you tomorrow,” he asked confidently.

  “Damn, man. I feel ya pain, but you know I don’t do no credit,” P.I.G. said as the opportunity to set his own plan in motion unfolded. Tiffany and Wanda would be arriving soon, so he had to move fast. “Tell you what I can do…” P.I.G. said, pausing for effect. “Y’all put on a little show, and I’ll break ya off once you’re done.”

  Marcus looked over at Stephanie, known to give the best head in three states, and agreed eagerly. He couldn’t believe his good fortune: head and some getting’ high! “That’s what’s up!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He was tugging at his zipper as he headed over to where Stephanie was sitting.

  Stephanie, who would suck a dead man’s dick for a hit, sat up in anticipation.

  “Uh, that’s not quite what I had in mind,” P.I.G. spoke up. “I want you to suck his dick,” he said, motioning toward Pony.

  Marcus looked at Pony, then down to his crotch as if he was actually considering it.

  “I ain’t with no gay shit!” Pony spoke up angrily.

  P.I.G. was pressed for time, knowing Tiffany would be there momentarily, so he enacted Plan B. “Gina!” he yelled loud enough to be heard in the rear.

  A few seconds later, the handicapped girl appeared in one of the skimpy outfits P.I.G. kept her in to showcase her well-developed body.

  “Go on and knock her off,” P.I.G. demanded to Marcus, who wasted no time complying.

  Pony felt sick to his stomach as he watch his friend slam himself into the expressionless girl.

  Marcus was so enthralled in the act that he didn’t hear the knock on the door or Earl opening it.

  “Hey, Tiff.” P.I.G. chuckled. “There go Marcus.”

  It took Marcus a few more strokes for his mind to process what he’d just heard. He turned just in time to see Tiffany’s back as she ran from the house.

  “You a real piece of shit, P.I.G. You knew we was coming,” Wanda spat at the obvious setup.

  Meanwhile, Marcus went right back to humping the girl as if nothing had happened.

  P.I.G. was immensely pleased with himself. No way she’ll go back with him now, he thought to himself.

  * * *

  Back at the filthy hotel, Marcus and Pony frowned at the eight ball on the table.

  “I should smoke this by myself since I did all the work.” Marcus laughed, only half-joking.

  “Man, something gotta give. We can’t keep going out like dis.” Pony sighed. The events of the night weighed heavily on his mind. People died. A child got molested. His best friend was ready to blow him. And for what? The eight ball on the table.

  “All we need is one good lick, and we good,” Marcus coaxed, sliding a chunk of the drug to Pony as an incentive.

  “We could get a pack and do our thang, huh?” Pony asked as he loaded his shooter.

  “Shit, nigga. We could get money, hoes, everything,” Marcus said enthusiastically. Marcus wasn’t sure if he heard his friend’s reply properly and asked him to repeat himself.

  “I said I’m down!” Pony repeated emphatically.

  * * *

  Marcus pulled the car in front of their intended victim’s house and cut the engine. “You ready?” he asked.

  Pony nodded his head in agreement.

  “Nigga, I said, is you ready?” Marcus repeated, seeking a verbal commitment.

  Instead, Pony pulled his ski mask down and got out of the car.

  Marcus got out and followed him up the walk.

  Red wasn’t expecting anyone but rushed to the door nonetheless. Ever the businessman, he loathed the chance to miss a deal. He’d grown so comfortable with his personal rep and that of his sons that he thought no one would try him. It was that hubris that made him pull his door open without bothering to check and see who it was. Red realized his error immediately as the two masked men pushed their way inside, guns drawn. “You boys sure you want to do this? You do know who I am, right?” he asked warily.

  “Shut up ol’ man!” Marcus said forcefully as he shoved the man backwards.

  “Yeah. You know what this is,” Pony said, his voice strained with fear.

  Red let out a heavy sigh as he reached into his pocket. “Here ya go,” he said, producing a huge wad of cash that satisfied Pony instantly.

  “I got it. Let’s go!” Pony shouted excitedly after snatching the cash.

  “Fuck dat. I want it all. Where da rest at, ol’ man?” Marcus growled menacingly.

  “Man…I know you!” Red announced, his face contorted by the recognition.

  “You don’t know me, nigga,” Marcus stammered, attempting to drop his voice a few octaves.

  “Come on, Marcus. We got the money,” Pony said, nearly panicked.

  “Marcus?” Red chuckled. “Boy, I thought that was you.”

  Marcus pulled the now-useless ski mask up and raised his gun. “Gimme da rest of dat dough,” he demanded.

  “What the hell you doing?” Pony asked desperately.

  “Don’t matter now. We might as well go all da way,” Marcus said, inching closer.

  It was at that instant that Red understood that Marcus intended to kill him. Being the A-Town vet that he was, Red sprang into action. He knew Pony was the weak link, so he went for his gun. Pony screamed as he and the older man wrestled for the weapon. Red was bigger and stronger than Pony and almost had him subdued until Marcus intervened. He calmly walked up to Red and literally blew his brains out the side of his head.

  Pony screamed even louder as blood, bone, and brain matter splashed on his face and shirt. He felt his knees buckle and struggled to stay conscious.

  “Come on! Let’s find dis money!” Marcus demanded.

  Pony followed Marcus into the master bedroom and began to search. Marcus dove into the large chest of drawers, while Pony hit the nightstand. They were tossing out the contents of the drawers, ransacking the room. It only took a couple of minutes before they hit pay dirt.

  “Come on! I got it!” Marcus yelled, holding up another large wad of cash.

  Pony abandoned his search inches short of where Red had over $100,000 tucked away. The $10,000 Marcus found plus the $3,500 from Red’s pocket was more than the junkies expected to find in the first place.

  In a flash, they fled the house and pulled away from the murder scene.

  Pony vacillated between rage and remorse, crying and cursing as they sped away.

  Marcus, on the other hand, was eerily calm. The demons in his head were satisfied. They had been urging him to kill for months, and now he had. “You acting like a real bitch right now,” Marcus said calmly. “Nigga, we ‘bout to come up.”

  * * *

  P.I.G. gave them the choice of buying a half a key of whipped cocaine for seven, or the same amount of the glass for eleven. They chose the latter. Most young cats would have gotten the whip even though the smokers didn’t really like it. Being junkies themselves, they opted for the better product.

  “Good choice,” Earl said, congratulating their business decision. “Y’all ‘bout to get rich with this,” Earl said, completing the transaction. He knew that o
nce the high-quality coke hit the streets, they would bubble quickly. He also knew they would fuck up just as quickly.

  “Wonder who they robbed,” P.I.G. said once they left.

  “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. They better never try us though,” Earl replied.

  “They know not to try me!” P.I.G. said smugly, confident in the fact that Earl would protect him, just like he always had.

  CHAPTER 12

  Both women were in their respective rooms, preparing to go to work at the club. For Tiffany, that entailed selecting an outfit suitable for her first night in a strip club. Several outfits later, she settled on a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a matching shirt. After much debate, a pair of two-inch heels were given the honor of completing the ensemble. “You go, girl,” Tiffany told the reflection in the full-length mirror. She took a hearty pull from her cocaine-laced blunt as she studied her figure. She did a little dance as she thought about how Wanda kept urging her to strip. “Uh-uh.” She giggled shyly at the thought.

  Wanda was preparing for the night as well. After a shower and a douche, she applied a high-priced fruity concoction from Victoria’s Secret. She inhaled deeply, savoring the mango-peach aroma. Now that Tiffany would be bringing in some extra money, she planned to get strawberry-watermelon next.

  She intended to squeeze the young girl for everything she could. Once she got her to dance, she would be open for anything. Then she and Mike could seduce her, easing the way for her to turn a few tricks. “Just a matter of time,” Wanda told her reflection. “Just a matter of time.”

  She took a break from applying her make-up to load her straight shooter. The blunts just weren’t doing it for her anymore. Wanda knew she had to be discreet about it because Mike would lose his mind if he found out she was on the pipe. He hated her smoking primos, even though he was the one who introduced her to cocaine and still snorted himself. He had lost too many girls to the pipe as it was. “What he don’t know won’t hurt him.” Wanda shrugged before lighting her pipe. Her eyes grew large in the mirror as she twisted and turned the pipe under the flame. She held the smoke as long as she could before exhaling a putrid plume, then continued embellishing her pretty face.