Somebody's Daughter

by Jessome, Phonse;

  Stacey still carried the scars of her troubled childhood, although not physically. Slim-waisted, five-foot-four, with long, curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes, she was a pretty girl who had been asked out on dates as often as many of the popular girls at school. She had always felt awkward though, and lacked confidence, especially around boys. Roger was different simply because she had known him since she was ten years old; their physical relationship had grown out of adolescent curiosity rather than deep passion. Stacey’s insecurity was a feeling her mother understood—only after years of loneliness had the forty-three-year old Debbie Jackson finally met Gordon Howard, a man with whom she could finally have a rewarding relationship. She hoped that her own positive experience would influence her daughter to get out a bit more—enjoy dating some nice boys her own age—but it seemed Stacey preferred her rather insular life. Little did Debbie Howard realize how far Stacey would go when she finally did “get out,” and what it would take to bring her back.

  Stacey’s desire to get out came through her relationship with her new neighbour and friend, Rachel. Rachel was eighteen but to Stacey she was a woman of the world. The two became friends before Stacey had even finished unpacking her things in the new apartment. The two teenage girls very quickly developed their afternoon routine, and it became the highlight of each day for Stacey. It was Rachel who introduced Stacey to a world that would change her life for ever. Rachel was a prostitute and she told Stacey how she’d started working the streets of Halifax at age thirteen and how she had travelled to Montreal and Toronto with her pimp. Stacey was fascinated by the life Rachel led and every day asked her about the activities on the Hollis Street stroll the night before. Rachel lived with another teenage prostitute in an apartment paid for by their pimp, but before long Rachel moved in with Stacey so the two could spend more time together. That was how Stacey met Kenny Sims, the younger more attractive cousin of Rachel’s pimp, Terrance.

  Kenny told Stacey to call him K-bar, the street name he’d chosen for himself. He picked K-bar because Terrance had been given the name T-bar. Terrance liked that name because it linked him to his pride and joy; his black Pontiac Trans Am sports car with its smoked glass T-bar removable roof panels. Kenny also told Stacey she should always refer to him and his cousin as “players.” They did not like the term “pimp.”

  They were players, he insisted—and Stacey had no idea that she was destined to be the latest object of their game. The Game, as they called it, as if there could be no other.

  In the evenings, when Terrance came to pick up Rachel, Kenny would always take time to talk with Stacey or play with Michael. Terrance tended to stay quiet around her; he was polite, but never initiated a conversation. Kenny paid a lot of attention to Stacey and sometimes stayed behind with her after the others had gone downtown. Kenny had a serious interest in Stacey and it shocked her. The seventeen-year-old pimp often told her how pretty she was, even suggesting she dye her hair an even brighter blonde to bring out the blue of her beautiful eyes. Stacey was a little embarrassed by all of this; but she told Rachel it was a nice sort of embarrassment. One afternoon, the two girls decided to dye Stacey’s hair to see what Kenny would say. Rachel had become somewhat of an expert in hair care having changed her own colour and style on more occasions than she could remember. With the new colour added, a curling iron and some gel tamed the wild curls, and when the two pimps arrived, they were both impressed.

  “Whoa, look at you, girl,” Kenny commented, running his hands over her hair. “You look fine tonight. T, man, doesn’t this girl look fine?” Stacey blushed at the men’s obvious approval. Even the taciturn T-bar agreed, laughing: “Stacey, I might just make Kenny take the girls down, so I can stay here with you.” Stacey had rarely heard her father compliment her mother on her appearance; it gave her an odd feeling to hear such open approval, especially from men she liked, but she also felt she could easily get used to the attention. She never thought there was anything other than honesty behind the remarks made by the young pimps.

  “Listen, Stacey, I got some work to do,” Kenny said. “Mind if I come back in an hour?” Stacey didn’t mind at all, and she told Kenny she’d see him soon. On the way down to the car, Kenny asked Rachel what size blue jeans Stacey wore, then asked Terrance to drive him to the mall. Terrance covered the distance to the mall in minutes and Kenny ran in to a designer blue jeans shop just before the clerk closed the doors. He quickly picked out a pair of pre-faded jeans and a bright red shirt.

  After driving Rachel and her former roommate to the Hollis Street stroll, the two pimps headed back to Dartmouth, stopping just before the bridge to buy burgers, fries, and milkshakes at a fast-food drive-through restaurant.

  Stacey had just put the baby to bed for the night when she heard the knock on the apartment door. Her heart raced a little; she was excited and happy that Kenny had returned, and her strong emotions surprised her. “Hey pretty lady, I brought us some food—hope you’re hungry,” and Kenny thrust the bag of burgers into her hands. “I’ve got a little something else here for you too, but let’s eat first.” Stacey was intrigued at the thought of a gift from Kenny, but she was too shy to tell him she wanted to see what was in the shopping bag and didn’t care about the food. Kenny ate his burger and fries, then picked up the bag from the floor beside his chair. “Here,” he said. “This is to celebrate your new look.”

  When she opened the bag and saw the expensive clothes, Stacey flushed. “Kenny, what did you do?” “Nothing. I just figured a pretty girl should have pretty clothes. Besides, I have money and you don’t so try ’em on for me and let’s see how you look.” Stacey grabbed the bag and headed into the bedroom. At the sight of the new outfit, she started blushing again—the jeans were much tighter than the pants she usually wore, and the bright shirt made the pants seem loose. She was still looking in the mirror when the bedroom door opened. “Sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer,” Kenny said, then took in the picture. “Hey, that looks good, Stacey. Really good.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little tight?”

  “Hell no, girl. You got the curves; you should show ’em.” With that, he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her close, and kissed her; she felt a thrill of excitement and anticipation she had never experienced before. Within moments, the T-shirt was on the floor and Kenny was kissing her chest. Later, in bed, Stacey ran her hands along Kenny’s body, marvelling at how white her skin looked against his. Then she began to giggle. “What are you laughing at, girl?” “Well, now I know why my mother is so happy all the time,” she said, explaining that Gordon Howard, her mother’s husband, was an attractive, muscular black man who treated his wife very well.

  Kenny came back to the apartment at about two o’clock the next afternoon; he was taking Stacey to the mall he announced, and rather peremptorily told Rachel to stay and watch Michael. Stacey didn’t seem to find it strange that Kenny simply instructed Rachel to look after the baby, instead of asking her—or that Rachel simply complied. She was too caught up in the thrill of her new “relationship” to notice the subtle changes in the behavior of those around her. At the mall, Kenny insisted on buying Stacey a denim jacket to go with her outfit. “I want my girl looking good,” he said, looking her over with satisfaction. “You know, we should get outta here and go to Toronto to do some real shopping sometime.” Stacey’s eyes lit up at the very idea. “God, Kenny, that would be great! I’ve never been to Toronto—what’s it like?” From the glowing picture painted by K-bar, the naive teenager got the impression that all people in Toronto did was shop and have a good time. She was still daydreaming about the trip when they returned to the apartment to find that Stacey’s mother had shown up for a visit.

  Debbie Howard immediately noticed the tight clothes and the new hairstyle, but she didn’t comment. She just introduced herself to Kenny, who mumbled hello and walked into the living-room to sit with Rachel and the baby. The reaction surprised Stacey, but she thought Kenny might be a little nervous about mee
ting her mother. Mrs. Howard didn’t mind the mumbled greeting she was more concerned that the young man seemed so ill at ease, even avoiding her gaze when they met. She was impressed with two things she noticed about this young man. Stacey’s new boyfriend was a good-looking fellow and, judging by his expensive clothes and jewelry, he had a good job.

  Kenny quickly became part of Stacey’s life, dropping by most afternoons and evenings. The new clothes and the bright-gold hair were just the beginning—with Rachel’s help, Stacey began using more make-up before going out; her bearing and even the way she walked became more provocative and she actually began to think of herself as sexy. The subject of prostitution often arose, and Kenny openly promoted The Game as a plausible alternative for any woman considering her career options. Better than collecting welfare, he said—and it would provide a solid financial foundation for other goals she might pursue later in life. It all sounded so practical, so serious. Stacey, thought she might like to become a lawyer someday and began to think prostitution might be the best way to earn the money that kind of education would require. Kenny enjoyed hearing Stacey talk about her dreams, her plans. Like most pimps he was a very good listener. He wanted to know everything there was to know about what made Stacey tick.

  The trouble struck one evening, when Debbie and Gordon Howard dropped by to find Kenny, Terrance, Rachel and Stacey listening to music and chatting. For Gordon Howard, the alarm bells started ringing almost as soon as he walked through the door. The first alarm sounded when Terrance and Kenny would not make eye contact or take his hand when it was offered—and then they quickly left the living-room to sit in the kitchen when Debbie and Gordon sat down on the sofa. Ten minutes later, they left, and Howard Gordon walked to the window to watch as they jumped into Terrance’s sporty Trans Am.

  A hard-working man all his life, Gordon was fairly certain he had just seen an example of one of the biggest problems plaguing the black community in the Halifax area. Members of the community were concerned about the number of young men who had abandoned the struggle to find employment and make a decent life for themselves, opting instead to make big bucks—or try—by becoming pimps. Gordon Howard did not want to prejudge Terrance and Kenny: he knew how common it was for white police officers to assume that any well-dressed black man in a fancy car was a pimp. He had faced that kind of prejudice himself. A sharp dresser, he liked to wear gold jewelry and his car was less than conservative—bright yellow, with contrasting stripes and silver rims. One day he was pulled over by a police cruiser, and the officer asked where Howard worked. The question was not all that unusual but Gordon could hear an accusing tone that quickly disappeared when Howard said he was an offshore fisherman.

  Well, maybe he could find out a bit more from Stacey.

  “What do those boys do?” he asked, calmly.

  “Nothing, really. Kenny is a student, and Terrance doesn’t have a job right now.”

  “Really? That’s an awful nice car for someone without work.”

  Stacey blushed and didn’t offer an explanation. Gordon didn’t need to hear more. “Debbie, those boys are pimps.” No dissertation, a simple comment that brought the house down around him, as mother and daughter launched into a heated argument. Stacey became defiant and angry, as was her habit in arguments with her mom, and she bluntly conceded that Terrance and Kenny were pimps, even defending their choice by repeating Kenny’s assertion that prostitution was better than living off “the system.” Her frustration mounting, Debbie Howard demanded to know if Stacey was working as a prostitute. Stacey accused her mother of mistrusting her as her anger grew. She was Kenny’s girlfriend, she insisted; his “working girls” were an entirely different matter. At that point Gordon Howard offered an opinion. “If a pimp is spending that much time with you, he plans to turn you out. Those boys don’t spend time on a girl unless they believe they will get it, and more, back.”

  An infuriated Stacey asked the Howards to leave—probably because Gordon had hit the nail on the head. Earlier in the day, Kenny suggested that the planned shopping trip to Toronto would happen sooner if Stacey could help him raise a little money. She had balked at the idea of working on Hollis Street, where her friends or relatives could see her, but was contemplating his idea that she work at a local escort agency—no-one would see her, and he could arrange everything. Kenny had worked fast: Stacey was really wondering if she could sell her body for money—only a few weeks after meeting Kenny Sims, the pimp who, unbeknownst to her, was only pretending to be her boyfriend. Stacey had hoped her mother would agree to pay for her ticket to Toronto—she didn’t want to ask Kenny—but now Gordon Howard had gone and screwed that one up. How did he figure out what K-bar and T-bar were doing? He even knew the language; “turn you out,” he had said, referring to a prostitute’s first foray onto the stroll after her pimp considers her ready to handle herself. Gordon knew much more about prostitution than Stacey ever imagined. Years earlier he had befriended a local pimp. Gordon didn’t like what the man did, but he didn’t judge him either. The two were only casual acquaintances but the pimp often bragged about The Game when they met at a local bar.

  Stacey believed Kenny loved her and that he would not let her become a full-time prostitute, but if turning a trick once in a while would help them out.… Besides, these escort agencies were listed in the phone book, as Kenny had shown her; they sounded quite legitimate. She would definitely be able to earn enough for the trip to Toronto, and she’d be doing something positive for her future, and Michael’s. Rachel had made even street prostitution sound like a fascinating life—such a variety of people, the companionship of other girls. It also sounded frightening.… All night the teenager tossed and turned, trying to decide what to do. Debbie Howard had left Stacey when her daughter needed her most. The anger of the moment had driven them apart but the moment was the most important so far in Stacey’s young life. She felt she had to make a decision, and she made it alone. By dawn she was already preparing herself mentally for the first visit to the escort service where she would work.

  Stacey’s reasoning might seem unbelievably naive even for a girl with no exposure to prostitution, but that gullibility was exactly what Kenny was counting on, along with any adolescent’s natural rebelliousness against the adults in her life. Other than the Howards, there was no-one in Stacey’s life who would offer her a warning. Her friends could not help, because they were caught in the same trap: Stacey was spending all her time in the company of young prostitutes and their pimps. Even her son was being tended by a fledging pimp. When she and Kenny went out for the evening, he provided the baby-sitter. The sitter was his fourteen-year-old cousin Vincent; a “bubble-gummer” trying to prove his value to experienced pimps by offering them a variety of services, from baby-sitting the children of young mothers, to running errands and keeping an eye out for possible recruits, preferable teenagers.

  While Vincent looked after Michael, his mom usually accompanied Kenny on one of his outings to a colleague’s apartment for a card game. There would usually be a group of them gathered at the table, cellular phones at the ready so they could keep in touch with the girls on the street. Occasionally, one or more of the men would drive down to Hollis Street to check on their charges and collect some money from them. The other pimps tolerated Stacey’s presence; they were polite and offered her compliments. A few wondered why K-bar was playing this girl for so long when he could be making money from her. The pimps all knew K-bar was in the process of turning this girl though and didn’t interfere. It was his business and they allowed him the freedom to conduct it his way. The more experienced players considered Kenny a minor pimp who spent too much time playing his girls and not enough working them.

  Roman Neville was one of the more experienced players whose place Stacey visited with Kenny. He was the first pimp Stacey had met so far whose street name seemed to fit him perfectly. He stood five foot three and was almost as wide at the shoulders or at least he looked that wide to Stacey. Tank was short, s
tout and as strong as an ox. He was a human tank who had chosen not to work girls in Montreal or Toronto. Even the most successful pimps who had left Halifax for the profitable cities respected Tank. At age thirty he had been flirting with the prostitution game for fifteen years. He began in the mid 1970s as the “eyes” of an older pimp who did not want to drive downtown to check on his girls every night. The older pimp gave his sporty car to Tank who would cruise Hollis street like a player and watch the girls. He even took it on himself to copy down license numbers as girls went on dates. He figured he could use the information if someone tried to rip off or rough up one of the girls.

  The pay phone, the link between the girl in the street and her pimp with his cellular phone. [Print from ATV video tape]

  That protective instinct stayed with Neville long after he struck out on his own, Tank set his own rules: he stayed away from juveniles, often encouraging then to change their minds and leave The Game. Once he informed the police that a thirteen-year-old who had been playing on the edges spending time with local pimps was in Montreal, where a pimp had taken her against her will. Tank even helped find her and get her back to Halifax, and her family—all in all, a dangerous move that could have cost him the respect he had earned from other players and even ended his career. Not to mention that he continued to operate his sideline business—running a small gang of teenage boys who were pulling B&Es for him—breaking into people’s homes and bringing stolen goods back for him to sell. Avoiding any contact with the police should have been his main priority but Tank’s ego would not allow that. He wanted people in square society to respect him as well. He helped the police in the hope they would look up to him. Tank’s unwavering belief that he would not get caught was shared among the Nova Scotian pimps. The men had been playing The Game for more than a decade with little or no interference from police and they felt immune to the laws that govern prostitution. Whenever there was a crackdown on prostitution the girls took the brunt of it as police charged them and not their pimps. Tank was confident but part of him wanted out—maybe his natural protective instinct would make him a good prospect to become a crisis counselor for troubled adolescents.