by Sa'id Salaam
Earl opened the door for Marcus and stepped aside as he’d done a hundred times before. “What up?” he said, not caring for a reply.
Marcus didn’t give him one. Instead, he whipped out his pistol and shot Earl in the leg. He almost liked Earl, and that prevented him from aiming at his head.
Earl went down hard, screaming in pain as the other occupants screamed in fear.
“You!” Marcus yelled, pointing the weapon at Blast. “Bring me the money and the dope.”
Instead of complying, Blast ignored him and ran to tend to Earl. Despite the intense fear, P.I.G. caught the affection his wife showed Earl.
“Get up, you fat bastard,” Marcus said, turning his attention to P.I.G.
P.I.G. was frozen with fear, unable to move until the pistol collided with his forehead. He jumped from his chair and waddled down the hall with Marcus in tow.
The crackheads saw the opportunity to flee and took it. The frightened crowd passed Tiffany on the walk as they fled.
Tiffany’s instinct to flee the obvious danger was betrayed by her thirst for drugs. Common sense told her to run, but the gorilla told her to stay, leaving her stuck in her place.
Before she could decide which way to move, Marcus came running out, bags in hand. When they came face to face, a scowl spread across his face as he raised the pistol to hers.
Tiffany felt no fear. Instead, a smile spread across her face. No more pain, she thought and closed her eyes. She felt no pain when the shot rang out. The next shot caused her to open her eyes, and she could see that the bullets were coming from two of Red’s sons, who had just pulled up.
Instead of running away, Marcus pulled a second forty-caliber and ran toward them, with both guns blazing. He caught a round to his torso that didn’t even slow him down. By the time he reached the curb, his guns were empty and his attackers deceased.
Two police officers who were patting down a shoplifter across the street watched the entire gunfight in shock. They abandoned the petty collar and rushed to join the fray.
Marcus pointed his guns at the approaching officers, who instinctively ducked for cover. Marcus repeatedly pulled the triggers of the empty weapons.
When the officers realized that he was out of ammo, they moved in. The young white cop, looking for his first kill, raised his gun to fire. He had been anticipating killing a suspect since the academy, and now he had the chance. If his partner had not hit him first with a TASER, Marcus would have been dead. The 50,000 volts of electricity dropped him to the pavement, shaking and slobbering.
Miraculously, Tiffany, who hadn’t budged during the entire shootout, was unharmed. When the shooting stopped, she came out of her trance and made a move toward her car.
The first of what would eventually be dozens of police cars pulled up, blocking her car. She aborted that plan and walked up the street. A bus pulled to a stop, and Tiffany quickly fell in line to board it. When she settled back into her seat, she realized she was headed in the direction of her parents’ house. Tiffany was headed home.
* * *
“Oh my God! Thank you, Jesus!” Mrs. Williams screamed at the sight of her daughter standing at the door. She squeezed Tiffany so tightly that all the air rushed from her lungs. “Let me see you!” she said, pulling away to inspect her child. The drastic changes she saw brought tears to her eyes. Tiffany had lost a great deal of weight and looked ashen. However, she could not see the majority of the damage because it was internal. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing,” Mrs. Williams said, embracing her child again. “Mama got you now.”
The show of affection caused Tiffany to begin crying as well. The two women stood there at the front door, hugging and crying, until Mrs. Williams pulled her inside.
“First, let me fix you something to eat,” Tiffany’s mother said, dragging her toward the kitchen. “Me and your daddy gon’ help you. Everything gon’ be all right,” her mother rattled on. She was pulling out half of the refrigerator to heat up for her child as she spoke.
“Noooo!” Tiffany screamed, startling her busy mother.
“What? What’s wrong, baby?” her mother asked, unaware that she was talking to Tiffany’s demons and not Tiffany herself.
“Huh? Oh, nothing, Mama. I’m sorry,” Tiffany said, embarrassed by the outburst.
“Do it! Take it!” the demon demanded as the monkey on her back began squealing in her ears. The combination of the two destructive forces caused Tiffany to close her eyes in a futile attempt to block them out.
“Oh, where is my phone? Let me call your daddy,” Tiffany’s mother said, looking around. “I’ll be right back, baby,” she said, remembering that she had left it on her dresser. She rushed off to retrieve it.
“That’s right,” the demon said, comforting Tiffany as she lifted her mother’s purse from the kitchen counter. She grabbed the wallet and key before slipping into the garage as her mother descended the stairs.
“Baby?” Mrs. Williams called out curiously, looking around the empty kitchen. Her eyes focused on her open purse when she heard the garage door begin to open and her car start.
“Tiffany!” she asked, opening the door to the garage. Mrs. Williams grabbed the door handle of the car and made eye contact with her daughter. She realized she was looking into the eyes of a stranger. She was slow releasing the handle and got dragged out of the garage. Mrs. Williams lost her grip and tumbled down the driveway as her daughter sped off in her car.
CHAPTER 26
Marcus spent over a month in Grady Hospital recuperating from the gunshot wound that had almost killed him. To his dismay, he pulled through. His only consolation was that the state was seeking the death penalty. He was tired of his life and ready to go. Neighboring Dekalb County had linked his guns to two murders and was in line to prosecute him as well.
It was pure coincidence that his first court date fell on the same day in front of the same judge as P.I.G.’s, who had been arrested and charged with the drugs found in his yard. P.I.G.’s lawyers assured him that the charges would be dropped. After all, the drugs and money were found outside, on Marcus. They knew he’d robbed P.I.G., but they also knew no one could prove it. Of course, P.I.G. wasn’t gonna tell them he’d gotten robbed for the four kilos.
Marcus’s mother, along with his sister and her kids, unknowingly sat right behind P.I.G. and Blast in the courtroom. The time in the hospital and off the street had been kind to Marcus. He had put on some weight and got his color back.
His court-appointed lawyer begged him to cop out and avoid a death penalty. The public defender fully intended to sell him out, but he didn’t want his death on his conscience.
Marcus initially refused, preferring death to life imprisonment. It took his mother’s tearful appeals to finally agree to take a deal. Marcus accepted life without parole on the two murders and planned to do the same in the next county as well.
When P.I.G. saw Marcus in the courtroom, he openly glared at him. He felt a sense of security since the man was cuffed and flanked by two deputies. Still, Marcus was pissed when their eyes met. “Oh, you hard now?” Marcus demanded with a demented chuckle. “I shoulda kilt yo’ fat ass!”
P.I.G. shuddered in fear and unconsciously reached up and felt the scar left by Marcus’s gun. He was embarrassed at the memory of his bladder releasing when Marcus put the gun in his mouth. He could still taste metal and hear the sound of the barrel clicking against his teeth.
To P.I.G.’s relief, the outburst caused the deputies to quickly remove Marcus from the courtroom. When his mother began wailing, she was also removed, followed by his sister and her kids. After the murder of a judge and a court reporter in the same room a few years back, there was zero tolerance.
When P.I.G.’s case was called, one of the high-priced lawyers got up and did his song and dance. At the end of the spiel, the judge had to agree that there wasn’t enough evidence to go forward. He then admonished the overzealous prosecutor about bringing undeveloped cases in front of him, wasting the city�
��s time and money.
The police department was embarrassed about P.I.G. getting off and resorted to harassment. P.I.G.’s main house was thirty-eight hot. They would post up in front of his house in an effort to shut him down.
Since P.I.G.’s other traphouses did the majority of his business, the boycott was in vain. His main house still served to entertain him, so he kept a small amount of drugs on hand to sustain Blast and his jesters. He had moved Earl to run out of the traphouses in an attempt to keep him and Blast apart. He didn’t miss the affection she showed him during the robbery, and he made her pay for it every day.
Every night, P.I.G. staged drug-fueled orgies to add to his porno collection. By far, his favorite footage was Tiffany’s masturbation scene. He played it daily, forcing Blast to blow him while he watched.
* * *
Tiffany was too hot for the clubs with deputies in search of her. She tricked exclusively with older white men. They came quick and paid well, although some had rather weird fetishes. For an additional fee, she would spank or even piss on a john. For a slightly higher fee, the john could spank or piss on her.
She was still driving her mother’s Cadillac until one night a bored patrol officer decided to run all the plates at the hotel. When the car came back as stolen, a wrecker was called to tow it away. Tiffany sneaked out the back window of her room just before the police came knocking.
Scoring good coke was an everyday challenge. The few penitentiary-bound renegades who were foolish enough to play the motels strictly sold bullshit. Tiffany was forced to smoke whipped cocaine for days before running down some glass.
After the shootout at P.I.G.’s, she was too afraid to return, especially since her car was towed away, full of drug paraphernalia—not to mention she had witnessed men die. It was just more baggage for her heavily burdened soul to carry.
A chance meeting with a former acquaintance would change her fate.
“Hey, um…” Tiffany said, desperately trying to recall the name belonging to the familiar face.
“Rico,” the man replied with a furrowed brow as he recognized what was left of Tiffany. He was a regular at Club Chocolate and remembered when she first started working at the door. He remembered how, a few months later, Mike charged him $1,500 to trick with her.
Tiffany remembered he had good coke, and she wanted some. Since she had already tricked with him before and she knew he enjoyed it and paid well, she decided to offer him herself and save her money for later. “You still be holding?” Tiffany asked seductively.
“No doubt,” Rico responded, feeling himself stiffen at the memory of their hour together. “What you tryina do?”
“Shit. Come on and get your dick sucked,” Tiffany said cheerfully.
Rico broke her off a few grams after she did the deed, then gave her his number. “Say, shawty, my people having a bachelor party tonight. You should come through and dance,” he said as Tiffany exited his car.
“I don’t know,” Tiffany replied, leery of doing private parties. She preferred to stick to her white client base, even though it was dwindling, along with her weight.
“Come on, lil mama. It’s only a couple guys, and they all ballers,” Rico urged.
“Just dance?” Tiffany asked dubiously.
“Yeah, just dance…and you ain’t gon’ be the only girl,” Rico added.
When Tiffany finally acquiesced, Rico gave her the name of the motel and some money for a cab.
Tiffany rushed off to smoke the first decent blow she’d had in weeks. As soon as she exhaled her first pull, she called the number Rico had given her. “I’m there!” she said excitedly.
When Rico finished that call, he quickly made another. “What up, shawty?” he said when the call was answered. “Man, I got us a sho nuff freak for the night. Bitch must be part anaconda, straight eat a dick,” he said animatedly. With that call, a gangbang was set in motion, as call after call was made.
* * *
Tiffany knew she was in trouble as soon as she walked into the hotel room. There were twenty young, rowdy black men, all drinking and smoking heavily. All her instincts told her to leave, but she stayed anyway. “I thought you said it was only a few people?” she whispered through clenched teeth as Rico let her in. “And where are the other girls?” she asked when she noticed she was the only female in the room.
“They coming, so you may as well get some money before they do,” Rico reasoned.
Tiffany knew having the lone pussy in a room full of dudes wasn’t a good look, but the lure of easy money and good coke propelled her. After dancing a couple of songs in a thong set, Tiffany was handed a drink. Parched from her movements, she downed it without hesitation.
Rico smiled knowingly as he watched her swallow the drink in a couple of gulps.
Tiffany couldn’t taste the date rape drug that laced her drink but felt its effects midway through the next song. Time and space slowed to a crawl as the chemicals invaded her senses. By the end of the song, she was dead on her feet. The powerful drug incapacitated her movements, but she could see and hear everything around her. So, when the plan to run a train on her was announced, there was nothing she could do or say.
She could hear them arguing about who was first as they laid her out on the floor. Her skimpy underwear was peeled off, and Rico climbed inside of her. Tiffany tried to scream, but nothing came out. Instead, her open mouth was taken as an invitation and quickly filled. She watched helplessly as the two men pounded away, grinning wildly. When they finished, they were replaced by two more, followed by two more.
Over the next few hours, Tiffany was repeatedly raped by the men. Some took her over and over, taking smoke breaks in between. She was ravaged vaginally, orally, and anally. The laughter of her attackers rang in her ears hours after they left her alone on the hotel room floor.
* * *
The next morning, when the hotel maid entered the room, she thought she had come across a dead body. The terrified Hispanic woman ran screaming from the room.
When EMS workers arrived, they found Tiffany covered in semen, urine, and filth from her bowels’ release, but she was alive.
When she finally came around, she found herself handcuffed to a hospital bed at Grady Memorial. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings before the events surrounding her being in a hospital overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes tightly, attempting to flee from the memories with sleep. “Thank God it’s over,” Tiffany said, embracing the much-needed rest. She knew full well she would not be on the streets for some time to come. “It’s finally over. Thank you, God,” she rejoiced loudly before drifting off.
“Amen,” her mother said quietly, unseen on the other side of the room.
* * *
A week and a hundred tests later, Tiffany was released to the sheriff’s deputies and taken to the jail to await trial on felony theft charges.
A sympathetic judge accepted her lawyer’s and the DA recommendations that she be treated as a first-time offender. She would have to complete a twelve-month lockdown rehabilitation program, followed by twelve months of probation. If she did, she would have a clean slate.
Her supportive parents agreed to make restitution to her employer and drop the charges for stealing the car.
The judge admonished her sternly and warned that this was her second chance and that she would not get a third. “Consider yourself lucky,” he barked gruffly before bringing his gavel down.
Tiffany knew she was lucky at the very least. Even after all her time on the street, she was still disease and pregnancy free. Luck didn’t seem to quite sum it up for her now. She was sure there had to be more to it than mere chance…divine intervention.
* * *
Wanda wasn’t quite as lucky. Life on the streets, combined with a serious drug habit and full-blown AIDS, was taking its toll on the woman. Her body was so deteriorated that even the horniest of tricks turned their noses up at her and drove by. Only the most desperate or cheapest johns picked her up. They ended
up paying twice for a romp with Wanda: once in cash and later with their health.
“You sure, boss?” P.I.G.’s new doorman asked curiously when he as ordered to let the sorry sight in.
“Hey, Wanda. How’s my girl today?” P.I.G. said warmly as she entered. The hospitable greeting would be the only humanity she had coming. It was, in fact, a prelude to whatever licentious act P.I.G. could come up with.
Wanda had lost all shame many years earlier, yet humbling herself to P.I.G. still ate at her. She loathed the man to the core of her soul, but with no money or other options, she subjected herself to his whims.
The junkies in the room had only recently put their clothes back on from performing a particularly odious scene. At P.I.G.’s direction, the men had sex with the men and the girls with the girls. To add insult, he now replayed the footage while they smoked their recompense. As a result, they were feeling dejected and didn’t care to freak with Wanda.
“I guess you’ll just have to sweep up,” P.I.G. said with a chuckle. This would be his crowning moment.
“Uh-uh! Don’t do her like that!” Blast pleaded.
“Don’t do her like what?” P.I.G. snapped. “She ain’t gotta do nothing she don’t wanna do.”
“Ima do it,” Wanda said meekly. She had accepted defeat, and P.I.G. was the winner.
Everyone in the room looked at each other curiously, wondering what the big deal about sweeping up could be. They were all too new to have witnessed the degrading act before.
Wanda knew what she was in for. She made her way over to P.I.G. and let the filthy Coogi dress fall to the floor. When she turned around and bent over, Blast gathered up her pipe and rocks and left the room. Wanda winced with pain when P.I.G. shoved the toy broom in her rectum.
“Get busy,” P.I.G. demanded, setting her in motion.
Wanda squatted and swayed her hips to work the broom. She began to sweep up.
Although no one found it the least bit amusing, they roared with laughter when P.I.G. did. They knew to laugh on command when P.I.G. said something was funny, whether it was entertaining or not. Their highs and their lives depended on it.