Somebody's Daughter

by Jessome, Phonse;

  Dave Perry of the Metro Toronto Juvenile Task Force. [Print from ATV video tape]

  The myth of Manning Greer infuriated Brad Sullivan but every time he tried to revive his proposal, he got the same response: great idea, but no money to implement it.

  Elliott and Sullivan kept in contact with the prostitutes they had met during Operation Heart, and helped when they could. They couldn’t do a thing unless a girl knew enough to approach them—and Stacey Jackson hadn’t spoken with the teenager they’d rescued from the house in North Preston. If she had, she might just have decided to call, and she might have avoided the nightmare that was just beginning.

  As for Stacey, she was sinking in deeper and deeper every day. Toddy Anderson was nowhere near as patient as his cousin Kenny had been about playing Stacey as a way to trick her into loyalty; when she protested against working the Hollis Street stroll—someone might recognize her, she said—the less-than-sympathetic young pimp told her to buy sunglasses and get ready for work that night. His only concession, and it was less consideration than practicality, was to allow Stacey to work only three hours a night so that she could pick up Michael and go home without touching off her mother’s suspicions. Stacey called her mother and asked if she could drop the baby of for a few hours, while she went for a job interview at the mall; Debbie Howard was so eager to see her daughter start taking responsibility for her life that she pushed away her doubts—what kind of company conducts interviews at ten o’clock in the evening?—and went along with Stacey’s explanation.

  If Stacey thought she was going to earn eight hundred dollars in a few hours and walk away from prostitution just like that, she had a lot to learn. Prices in Halifax were much lower than in Toronto—only fifty dollars for a blow job, eighty for straight sex, or one hundred dollars for both—and it seemed there were more girls and fewer customers. As Stacey looked north from a corner near the Hotel Nova Scotia, a choice spot near the end of the Hollis strip, she could see more than twenty prostitutes, some even younger than she. The girls congregated at the intersections, leaning on almost every power pole or storefront in sight. That hot August night gave Stacey her first real sense of the extensive sex trade in Halifax, and she realized there was no way for her to buy back her freedom in one night. She would have to make up another story to tell her mother—oh, well. It wouldn’t take long.… Oh, there was Annie Mae! Stacey was delighted to see her friend, and Annie Mae stayed close by, providing a running account of the personalities, the cars carrying the pimps and their friends who came and went in a steady rhythm. It never even occurred to the two girls that Annie Mae’s man, Peanut, might consider telling his young pal Smit that the girl he’d tried to recruit, all the way home from Toronto, had been turned out by a seventeen-year-old bubble-gummer.

  Smit was playing cards in an apartment in the north end when Peanut arrived to tell him the news. Smit was furious; he would never get any respect if he let that happen, and he promptly dealt himself out of the game and went downtown to see for himself. Stacey had just left with Toddy, and the enraged Smit uttered a string of obscenities before driving off, to a cacophony of revving engine and protesting brakes. Tomorrow he’d find her for sure, Smit told himself, already starting to work out a plan. Back in Highfield Park, Stacey too was doing some quick planning: she called her mother and asked her once again to mind Michael; once again she said she was going to look for work in the mall; and once again Debbie Howard agreed without question. The following evening, Annie Mae came with Stacey to drop off Michael; the older girl had made arrangements for Peanut to pick her up nearby, and Stacey who had told Toddy she would be at work on time. The inexperienced young pimp had yet to develop the habit of exercising total control over his girl. He would learn the reason behind that pimping habit that night. Mrs. Howard liked Annie Mae, but was fairly sure she was a prostitute; she wanted to ask Stacey, but told herself there was no reason her daughter shouldn’t befriend these girls. No reason to start an argument—as long as those pimps didn’t show their faces. She had no idea how close those pimps were to her home: as Stacey and Annie Mae walked through a schoolyard on their way back to the Howards’ from the pharmacy—Stacey had bought a few things for the baby—Peanut pulled into the parking lot.

  It was Smit, who jumped out, striding past a shocked Annie Mae and grabbing Stacey by the throat. Stacey screamed and Annie Mae protested but Smit would not let her go. He backed her towards the car and pushed up on her chin, lifting her against the door, forcing her head to the side. Then he relaxed his grip, letting Stacey slump against the car as he finally began to speak: “I thought we had an understanding and now you go and make a fool out of me for being kind. What are you thinking? Everyone knows I tried to become your man, but you said no. Now you’re on the street for that clown Toddy. I’m being laughed at, girl, and no one is gonna laugh at me because of you. You understand that?”

  Stacey tried to explain her predicament—how Toddy had forced her to work on Hollis Street to settle her debt to Kenny—but Smit wasn’t interested. Stacey had a bigger debt to him for taking her home from Toronto and letting her go so graciously. “Well, that treatment is over, girl. You are coming to Toronto with me, and you’re payin’ the freight on this trip. You’re going downtown now, to work for me, so everyone here can see whose woman you are. Once Toddy gets the message, we’ll be leaving—and you better have enough money to pay for the gas and the food. Is that clear?” Tears welling in her eyes, Stacey tried to protest, but Smit angrily ordered her to shut up and get in the car. She was surprised when he agreed to allow her and Annie Mae to take the baby supplies to her mother before they went down to the stroll. The car would be parked at the corner of the street where the Howards lived; Smit wasn’t willing to let Stacey get out of his sight for long.

  As the two girls walked, they considered their options. Stacey felt she just couldn’t tell her parents what she’d been doing, and she just couldn’t stay in Halifax until everything with Kenny and Smit was cleared up. Utterly unaware that she was digging herself in even deeper, Stacey made up her mind to return to Toronto, earn the leaving fee that would now have to be paid to Smit, then break away from The Game. Annie Mae promised to help Stacey find another man in Toronto—a man who would not be a threat to Smit and his vision of himself; a man who would accept only a portion of her earnings, so she could save enough to buy her freedom. Annie Mae didn’t tell her friend she had never encountered such a man in five years in The Game, but she needed to persuade Stacey she could find one. That way, Stacey would behave herself—not make waves—until Annie Mae could find a realistic way for them both to get away from Smit. Annie Mae trusted Peanut—she had worked for him enough times to knew she didn’t have to be afraid of him—but she also knew pimps acted differently when they were trying to impress each other. Smit worried her; there was something very dangerous in his eyes. Maybe it was because he was rising so fast. Prostitutes working in the Scotian family believed the really serious players belonged to a secret club of sorts, to which admission was only granted when they had killed a girl; and Annie Mae didn’t want Stacey to be one of them. The pimps did nothing to dispel this belief—whether the club existed or not it was good for the girls to believe in it.

  Back at the Howard house, Stacey’s mother finally had to admit to herself something was seriously wrong. To begin with, there was the red patch on Stacey’s neck and chin; Debbie Howard had been an abused wife, and she knew perfectly well that those marks were—despite Stacey’s assurances that she’d bumped into a wall. In no time, Stacey was accusing her mom of not trusting her, and when Annie Mae told Stacey not to yell at her mother, Mrs. Howard turned on the older girl, shouting that she should mind her own business. That did it; Stacey announced to her mother that she would be going back to Toronto in a few days. Her clothes and some gifts for the baby had been left behind in Toronto. She explained that she had left them when she and Kenny split up, and she wanted to retrieve them. Grabbing Annie Mae’s hand, she storme
d out of the house and they got into the car waiting to take them down to Hollis Street:

  That night on the stroll, Stacey learned for the first time that she had a whole other group of men to fear. She had been so absorbed in the confusion and terror of dealing with pimps that she had overlooked the danger of getting into a car with a strange man and demanding money from him in exchange for sex acts. Ironically, however, it was a lesson that only reinforced the odd excitement she had sensed in The Game—the thrill of its dangerous edge, which she had a sense of the first time she met Rachel, and which was pulling inexorably at her despite the fear. Or maybe because of it. On this busy Thursday night, the girls had so many dates that some of them were making use of the parking lot behind a restaurant off Hollis Street. They ran the risk of being seen by diners returning to their cars, but the location enabled them to service their clients and return to the stroll with very little delay, so they took the chance.

  Heading to work on Hollis. [Print from ATV video tape]

  Stacey was standing nearby, chatting with Annie Mae, when the two girls heard screams from the parking lot. A large blue car sped out of the lot and headed down Hollis past the girls. Annie Mae tried to make out the license plate, but the car was moving too quickly and the street was too dark. A sudden fear filled Stacey as she saw a prostitute stagger out of the lot with her hands up to her face; as Stacey and Annie Mae ran towards the girl, they could see blood pouring out between her fingers. “Oh my God, Viki, what happened?” It was only the night before that Stacey had met Viki, a very funny and pleasant fifteen-year-old with one serious problem: she was trying to hide her crack addiction from her pimp. A piece of tissue pressed to her lips, Viki haltingly told them the story: her date refused to pay her, and when she made a grab for his wallet, he pulled out a hammer and struck her in the mouth. Stacey and Annie Mae tried to stop the bleeding while another girl called her pimp, who arrived in only a few minutes to take her away—to a hospital, Stacey hoped.

  The description of the blue car spread up and down the stroll in a matter of minutes; girls who had been with a client were told there was a bad date out; and everyone got just a little more careful. It was Annie Mae’s view that Viki, an experienced prostitute, should have had the street sense to recognize trouble when she saw it coming—and she would have, except that her drug habit probably addled her judgment. The only problem with developing a street sense—and Annie Mae didn’t mention this part—is that many prostitutes only start paying close attention to their dates after a bad experience. Stacey probably didn’t need to get that message; she had already decided to be much more cautious from then on. If that wasn’t enough education for one night, only a few hours later Stacey watched another bad date unfold before her on the street.

  Watching the cars, hoping to avoid a bad date. [Print from ATV video tape]

  The drunken client was cursing a prostitute who had approached him—she was too ugly to charge that much money, he said, and he should get a discount just for talking to a girl like her. If he hadn’t been so intoxicated, he would have known better than to argue with a prostitute in public, especially with that big black car with the darkened windows parked only a block away. Tiny Simms was leaning on that car, talking to one of his girls.

  One of two Halifax pimps using the street name Tiny, this one was 5′8″ and maybe 145 pounds—Real Tiny—as the girls called him to distinguish him from his namesake, who was a little taller and a lot heavier. Unlike other pimps, Tiny enjoyed hanging out with his girls and spent more time chatting them up on the stroll that he did cruising and watching the action. Some of the other men had asked him to stop the chit-chat lest he scare away customers, but he didn’t care what the others thought of him—another distinguishing characteristic. Tiny did, however, care a great deal about how the girls felt about him; hearing the commotion up the block, he went around to the driver’s side of his car, opened the door, and picked up a baseball bat. Tiny Simms might have been an exception to the rule when it came to some aspects of pimping etiquette, but he was a player and he knew what he had to do in this situation. The girl being hassled was not one of his, but she was a part of the family, so Tiny had to defend her.

  The drunk was getting louder and pushing the girl, and a few other prostitutes had gathered to curse at him. They could see Tiny passing by on the street side of the man’s car, but he only saw what was happening after Tiny had circled around the front of the car and come back towards him. “I suppose you’re gonna hit me with that bat, are ya?” the belligerent drunk demanded. “Why don’t you just fuck off outta here and leave me to my business?” Without a word, Tiny pulled back and swung the bat, striking the man in the side of the face and sending him to his knees. Blood poured from a gash above his cheekbone.

  Tiny remained silent, and his victim wasn’t saying much either. Calmly, the pimp lifted him by the arm and led him to his car; the man managed to get his keys in the ignition and drive away. Good riddance: Tiny didn’t agree that his own presence on the stroll was a deterrent to customers, but he knew for sure that a bleeding date at the side of the road would not be an incentive to others. Tiny did not talk to the prostitute whom the drunk had been pestering. She could thank him by choosing him, and moving over to stand with his girl; if she didn’t, he had no business talking to her. This was a pimp with his own style, but he was still a pimp; attacking the unruly date was a courtesy to a fellow player, but so much the better if his action gave a girl—or girls, preferably—the message that he was the man to be with. Tiny walked back to his car, tossed the bat inside, lit a cigarette, and returned to the conversation he was having with his now very excited young employee.

  Tiny’s girl was not the only one turned on by what had happened; all the prostitutes began talking and joking about the man who learned the hard way not to mess with them. Stacey felt an adrenaline rush, and she quickly forgot about Viki and her injury. Once again, she began to feel she was involved in something adventurous and wild, and she liked that feeling. She would remember it all the way to Toronto, she promised herself—and maybe she didn’t need to worry about leaving The Game if it was going to be like this.

  Part Three: Taunya and the Big Man

  In the spring of 1992, Manning Greer was out cruising in his yellow Corvette one night, enjoying the sight of Montreal coming to life as winter released its grip. The comfortable warmth in the air meant more to Greer than the sheer pleasure of the season, however. The warmth meant Montrealers were once again venturing from their homes and apartments having survived the cold of another winter. Greer looked around at the pedestrian clogged sidewalks and smiled at what they represented. More people meant more business for his family of pimps. Most of all it meant more money—and that was something to really be happy about. The screech of car tires on pavement as he turned a corner startled pedestrians; a few looked up, but the heavily tinted side and rear windows prevented them from seeing who was making all the ruckus. It wasn’t just the tires, but also the Corvette’s dual exhaust, spitting and crackling with the firing of the engine’s eight cylinders—not to mention the deep bass thud of the powerful stereo, which could be heard half a block away.

  In a way, it was a shame he’d had the windows tinted, because the Big Man presented quite a spectacle behind the wheel of his ’Vette. The gleaming yellow sports car sparkled as he moved along the street. The car came alive as it passed beneath the amber street lights, their warm glow bouncing off the long sleek hood and catching another equally polished array of yellow metal as they danced over the swept back windshield. Seven sparkling, jewel-studded rings adorned his fingers; as he clasped the steering wheel, they seemed to fight for attention in the amber wash of the street lights. As he shifted gears, the flash of an expensive white running shoe could be seen below the car’s dashboard. His powerful, muscular frame was draped in a deep-green, low-necked T-shirt tucked into trendy, baggy jeans secured by a belt with a buckle of real gold. Around his neck, he wore a massive gold chain, belo
w which hung, fittingly enough, a solid-gold dollar sign. The three thousand dollars in his wallet was what the Big Man would call “chump change.”

  Money and power were Greer’s gods: he had utter contempt for most of humanity, and only really cared about one person outside his Scotian family of pimps. That person was his mother, Rose.

  At the age of twenty-seven, the youngest in a family of two boys and three girls, Manning was Rose Greer’s baby boy. The Greers, like many other hard-working families in their North Preston, Nova Scotia neighborhood, had high hopes for the bright, energetic Manning, a natural leader who possessed that special quality—charisma, as it’s sometimes called—of someone who could exert influence over others. Rose Greer believed her baby was working in Montreal as a delivery driver for a large furniture company. Aside from his personality traits, Greer’s size and strength meant he could handle the toughest physical labor and Rose was happy he was not afraid of hard work. Her own husband, Manning’s father, had worked hard all of his life and Rose was happy that very important ethic had been passed on to her son. She was equally happy that Manning had been able to find work in Montreal for his older brother. There simply wasn’t enough work for the boys in Nova Scotia and she was thrilled that they had the sense to move away and make a life for themselves. She did wish the boys would visit more, but they came when they could and she had to be happy with that. That was the life Rosy Greer thought her youngest child was living; hard working delivery man with an eye to the future. It pleased her that the high-school drop out had managed to make it after all. There was a time when she was afraid he would fall under the influence of the wrong crowd: and she spent many a Sunday on her knees in church praying that would not happen.