by C. Stecko
BROOKLYN
Brothel
BY C. STECKO
ebook ISBN: 978-1-93423-002-2
distributed by
M P Publishing Limited
12 Strathallan Crescent
Douglas
Isle of Man
IM2 4NR
British Isles
Telephone: +44 (0)1624 618672
email: [email protected]
Life Changing Books in conjunction with Power Play Media
Published by Life Changing Books
P.O. Box 423 Brandywine, MD 20613
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Other names, characters, and incidents occurring in the work are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, as are those fictionalized events and incidents that involve real persons. Any character that happens to share the name of a person who is an acquaintance of the author, past or present, is purely coincidental and is no way intended to be an actual accountant involving that person.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data;
www.lifechangingbooks.net
ISBN- (10) 1-934230782 (13) 978-1934230787
Copyright ® 2009
All rights reserved, including the rights to reproduce this book or portions therof in any form whatsoever.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I’d like to thank my Higher Power, God. You’ve walked me through many life lessons and experiences, only to equate to one thing-a strong-willed woman. I’ve always kept the faith that you’d see me through the darkest days and now my days are bright.
Thanks to my one and only true love, my son Anthony. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to watch you grow into the fine young man you’ve become. You’ve always been a part of my life and your love has kept me alive all these years. You’re my reason for being. You can conquer the world. You have endured so much pain, and somehow managed to overcome it all. I love you my solider, more than all the stars in the sky.
To my sister, Tammy. Your strength and encouragement was always there on time. You never turned your back on me, ever! Please forget my past and move on as I have. Soon, we’ll be sittin’ on top of the world. It’s our time to shine!!
To my sister by relations, not blood, Atia and Cream, who I met during my state bids. Atia (Tia), I’ve known you for five years and you’ve always been an ear for me. I know what you’re going through, Ma. God has a plan for you! Cream, we just got close last year, and what a ride it’s been. We gonna do big things, Ma! We gonna tear Brooklyn up! I love you girls.
Ron-Ron (Derron), eight years ago I introduced you to the pimp game (you still don’t get it). You’s a hustla baby. I fell in love with you then and nothing has changed. We’ve been through mad drama my damu. Blood in-Blood out!! You my dawg, and I’d die for you, so let’s keep it like dat. Give me unconditional love and I’ll give it right back!! My Ace for Life.
To all my Bed-Stuy bitches. Shiesty, Bootleg, Michelle, Angie, Lorna, Diane, Theresea #1, Theresea #2, Mimi, and all y’all hoes I forgot. Hoe’s Up-Pimps down. Keep gettin’ dat paper baby!
To all my Bed-Stuy Niggas. Rich Porter, C. Lo, Bless, Baby Boy, Tom, Dubbs, Mam-a, L.A., Divine, Light, Twin, Sin, Tony, and Sha. If I forgot anyone, no disrespect. I got luv for my niggas. Shed blood for niggas.
To my state bitches. Vanessa, Janine, Armstrong, Chokell, Jackie, Chocolate, Lomax, Cream and Tia. A special thanks to Lomax. With your help, we found Life Changing Books, so I’m grateful to you. I did it!
To all the people at Bayview who helped me with the typing and copying of my manuscript, thanks a million.
Now, a special, special thanks goes out to Life Changing Books. Without you, this book wouldn’t be possible. Azarel, thanks for taking a chance on me, and putting my story out there. There’s definitely more to come. Thanks to The Director of Operations, Leslie Allen and Natasha Simpson. Also to Nakea Murry and Deshawn Taylor (thanks for the hot cover). To the editors and proofreaders who worked on my project, I thank you guys as well. Also to all the authors on the LCB team, we’re gonna do the damn thing in 09!! To anyone else who worked on my book that I failed to mention, thank you.
Now last but certainly not least to my hero, my Pops, Carl. Daddy, I adore you, love you, and respect you more than I could ever show. I need you to stick around to see me be successful. Take care of yourself. I forgive you for the past, so please remember that. I’ll always, always, always love you my pops (and my mother). That’s why you get a Mother’s Day card! Smile.
Love Always,
Christina Stecko
Chapter 1
The 1988 Buick with a cream-colored rag top bounced from side to side rhythmically, while Bo jabbed at my body like a fuckin’ punchin’ bag. The car sat idlin’ at the Pittsburgh Port Authority, four feet away from the Greyhound bus that I shoulda been on by now. Bo had already punched me in my gut three times, and now had me gripped tightly by the shoulders, shoutin’ in the process.
“You betta learn ta listen woman!” he ranted, just before slappin’ me again with an open hand.
The side of my face stung, just above my permanent mole, but I still told myself not to fight back. Bo was a good dude. He had just fallen into a bad financial situation, and couldn’t handle the pressure. He’d always carried a temper since the day I met’em, but lately he really had me terrified of ’em. I guess the no money syndrome had changed him drastically. I sniffled a bit and pressed my back into the tan, sheepskin seat covers.
“I’m just scared,” I cried hesitantly, “I neva been to New York before. And I sure as hell ain’t neva sold my body!”
I glanced at myself in the side mirror. My mascara had smeared from all the cryin’, and my blonde wig looked like it had actually gone through a panic attack. I patted my long tresses into place, and used my hand to wipe the remainin’ tears from my cocoa colored skin. Bo always bragged to his boys about how smooth my skin seemed, and how it reminded him of a cup of hot chocolate with a dab of two percent milk. I shook my head at the fact that he had just slapped my smooth skin into a deep reddish complexion.
“Look’a’here, Chantel. I scrounged up my last fiftyyyy-eight dollarsssss to pay for dis bus fare. Now if that bus pulls off wit’out ya, it’s gon’ be hell ta pay.”
He jerked my way with his fist balled up, pretendin’ to land the punch. I tugged my head to the right, hopin’ he wasn’t gonna hit me for real. I stopped to gaze into my man’s set of piercin’ eyes before speakin’. They always looked like they had powers to kill. “I’m tryin’ to get up the nerve, Bo,” I yelled. “Just give me a minute. I’m doin’ this for you…and you actin’ all crazy.”
“Oh, don’t try ta pull that bullshit ova on a playa.”
I hated the way Bo always paused between each word when he wanted to make a point; and the fact that he dragged out the endin’ of his words with a hissin’ sound, almost like he was singin’ a song. It irritated the hell outta me. But I think he thought it made him sound cool. “Pull, what, Bo?” I responded.
“You doin’ this for yoself too, biaaaatch. We both need dis money to get back on our feet. You know… keep our place, so we can get your lil’ cry-baby-ass son back.”
I shot him the evil eye. I loved Bo, but talkin’ ’bout my son Carlton, wouldn’t be tolerated. If anything would get me on that bus, the thought of gettin’ my son back had my feet movin’ beneath me, searchin’ for my Payless slip-ons.
“Alright, I’m goin’,” I said to Bo in a miserable tone.
His eyes darted ova to the passenger seat. He tried to remain cool, but couldn’t. “That’s my girl,” he responded w
ith enthusiasm. Bo threw his arms around me allowin’ me to smell the wretched stench of his stank-ass Old Spice cologne.
“You gon’ be straight gurrrrrrl. Think about it, you just came off a five year bid. You’s a strong black woman,” he applauded. “Remember, dis only fa one week. While ya gone, I’ma find us some reliable hoes to work fa us. Now get on dat bus and make us some damn money.”
He grabbed me by the chin and moved in close to nibble at my lips. I didn’t resist ’cause although Bo resembled Antonio Fargas’ pimp character, Flyguy, from the movie, I’m Gonna Get You Sucka, I had a thing for him. He was the only man who truly eva loved me. He took me from my depressed state and helped me adjust from my prison release seven months ago, to the mean streets. I kissed him back, smearin’ my cheap red lipstick all ova the sides of his mouth. He gave me a puppy dog face in return.
“You know your man strugglin’, right?”
“I know,” I sniffled, gettin’ all emotional.
“Right now our survival depends on youuuu,” he lectured. “You wanna bring yo son to live with us, right?”
I nodded.
“Then, let’s go.”
Bo grabbed his hat from the back seat, raised himself to open his door, and strutted quickly around to open mine. I hated that our lil’ quality time was ova. At twenty-three, I was still somewhat a teenager at heart. I still needed guidance and certainly tender love and care; somethin’ I neva got from my mother. If I had eva met my father, maybe I coulda gotten it from him. For now, Bo was my Daddy, and I was doin’ whateva he told me to do.
Bo popped the trunk and grabbed my rollin’ black suitcase. I followed him like a lost puppy toward the bus driver standin’ directly outside the bus. As usual, Bo pranced, and people gawked at him checkin’ out his out-dated, dark purple suit. Even though his clothes were custom made, I often wondered if he knew it was 2008, ’cause he dressed like someone from the 70’s. His suede, wide-rimmed hat was titled to the side, accompanied by the feather I hated most.
I didn’t understand why he wore it so much. Maybe to help him live up to the name Bo Rich, the newest pimp to the ugly streets of Pittsburgh. For me, I preferred his legendary ponytail, which stayed slicked down to his head, and brushed into a cropped, short ponytail. Although Bo had only been a pimp for six months, he walked like he had been in the game for six years. But Me and Bo had a secret. He wasn’t too good at the pimp business, ’cause if he was on his game, the only two girls he had under him wouldn’t have run off with his doe. His bad pimp techniques all fell on me, ’cause now I was on my way to New York to make money for my pimp, my lover, my everything.
“You getting on?” the driver asked me, shiftin’ his gaze from me to Bo.
I swung my blue duffle bag from my right side to my left. “Yeah, I’m goin’.” I handed him the ticket slowly.
He extended his hand informin’ me with gestures it was time to go. Immediately, he grabbed my suitcase, pushed it under the buses’ luggage compartment, and closed the hatch. I stepped onto the first step when Bo stopped me.
“Wait! One mo’ thing.”
He pulled me by the arm and moved our bodies off to the side. He made sure his back was positioned toward the driver.
“Don’t faget when ya get to the Port Authority in NY, wait outside by the McDonalds on 42nd Street,” he told me. “And be smart, damn it. There’ll be pimps and hoes walkin’ ‘round like roaches. They gon’ try ta trap ya, but stay quiet and wait for Mike.”
I shook my head up and down takin’ it all in. I remembered before he told me somebody from the in-house named Mike would pick me up. I wanted to ask right then why the hell it was called an in-house. All I knew was that people went there to fuck, and get paid for sex. I started to ask Bo if I could get locked up for it, but the sound of the driver clearin’ his throat startled me.
“Umm…if you’re headed to New York, I suggest you hurry. I’m pulling out.”
The driver stepped up on the bus with an expression that told me he would definitely leave me. As soon as his evil-ass disappeared onto the bus, I gave Bo a speedy kiss and took off runnin’. All I could hear from behind was Bo’s last command, “Chantel, you need a name. Call yourself, Co-Co. Co-Co,” he repeated. “You hear me? And make sure you keep that coochie smellin’ good!”
I ran up the few short steps and onto the bus completely out of breath. Quickly, I found myself a seat near the back, next to the window, and plopped down into the seat. People were still eye-ballin’ me, but I didn’t give a damn. It could’ve been the short spandex black skirt and sexy cropped shirt I wore, or they could’ve seen me with Bo, which always attracted attention.
Either way, I shot back disapprovin’ stares and reflected on my own life. I couldn’t believe I really ended up with Bo. I just smiled watchin’ him zoom off in his raggedy Buick, and waved out the window as we pulled off right behind’em.
I thought back to when we first met in the visitin’ room at Alderson Federal Penitentiary in West Virginia. He was there to see his sister when my ex and my son were leavin’ from my visit. I remember being real down in the dumps that day ’cause my ex-boyfriend had just told me he was takin’ me to court, and would request full-custody of my son.
I remember bein’ all teary eyed when they left. One, I was servin’ a five year bid for a no-good drug dealer who had me transportin’ his shit across the state line. I had already served four of my five, and still had another year to go. Two, I felt unwanted, and not much like a lady in my manly lookin’ tan khakis.
Bo neva knew he made my world when he blew me a kiss across the visitin’ room floor. That attention meant everything to me. I knew his sister well, so when she got back to the tier, she said her brother wanted to come visit me. I smiled and told’er to lemme call him a few times first.
Before I knew it, we were talkin’ day after day like old friends. At the time, Bo claimed he had a good job workin’ at some fancy strip club. He said he did marketin’, and played host to the frequent ballers in town. His sister told me he was into some otha shit, too. I asked him on one of our many phone conversations if he sold drugs. He told me, “Hell no. I’m too pretty for that.” I laughed it off, but made sure he knew I had been caught up because of a drug dealer and was doin’ time for conspiracy, after transportin’ six kilos for him.
Before long, Bo started visitin’ me every weekend. He was charmin’, funny, and gave me the attention I needed at the time. His sister told me not to fall for his hypnotic personality, and that the sweet shit would wear off. I just didn’t listen, especially when he started puttin’ money in my commissary account.
That did it for me, ’cause I had no one else on the outside who would look out for me financially. I didn’t have any siblings, no idea who my father was, no aunts or uncles who would even speak to me because of their bad relationship with my mother, and no one who would claim themselves as my family. From what I’d been told, my mother was alive and well, still shiesty as ever, but I hadn’t seen her. Bo was all I had to hang onto.
We both knew once I got out, we would be together. I just didn’t know he would change professions and become a pimp. As soon as I got released, Bo was there to scoop me into his lovin’ arms. Within days, he’d gotten us a place, and promised to help me get custody of my son, Carlton. A part of my release requirements was to enroll into a drug program on the outside. I confessed to snortin’ coke occasionally when I was transportin’ cocaine, but also managed to do a lil’ somethin’ even on the inside. Bo knew all of this, so he kept me grounded.
Things were good in the beginnin’ until his money got low. He hooked up with Sugar G, an old high-school friend who’d become a pimp, and before the month was out, he had decided to join his boy in the life of a pimp.
I was devastated and totally against it. The first thing I thought about was my probation officer. I still had another three months on paper, so shit needed to remain legit at our place. But Bo assured me it wouldn’t affect our life at all. He alre
ady had two girls on call who wanted to make money prostitutin’. They just needed protection, and Bo was the man. His hard-core talk game, and deeply-rooted, irate temper was perfect. Little did he know, five months later, they’d run out on him, and I would have to save the day.
We’d gone two months with little to no money, just tryna make ends meet. Bo had tricked this new girl last week to start workin’ for him, which paid our back rent, but he said she wasn’t trustworthy enough to send outta town to his new jackpot connection.
All I kept sayin’ to myself was, “I need stability to get my son. And Bo is that stability.” All of a sudden I caught the lady from across the aisle starin’ at me. “Can I help you?” I snapped.
She turned her head. I thought to myself, hater!
I got tired of thinkin’. My brain seemed to be fried, and my migraine hurt like crazy. I leaned my head onto the cold window watchin’ the cars go by, and comin’ to the realization, I was headed to become a whore.
Chapter 2
When my eyes opened, I realized I had arrived in the Big Bad Apple. The darkness had me shook, and instantly nervousness took ova my body. The bright lights and blinkin’ signs which shone off the tall buildings made me feel like I was headed to something big; bigger than Chantel could handle. My background in travelin’ was shallow so I took in the sights with oohs and aahs. Outside of Pittsburgh and Alderson, I had been no where, so I had no idea what to expect. Back at home, unfortunately, I was considered trailer trash by all Bo’s associates. Bo promised me all these luxurious vacations when I was locked down, but up until now…nothing! No where!
When the bus turned onto 42nd Street, my mind went berserk. I had my face plastered against the window, checkin’ out the tall billboards, people ridin’ bikes in the streets, and the tons of yellow cabs zoomin’ by. All kinds of thoughts played ping pong in my head. What if the guy, Mike, didn’t show up? What if this wasn’t the right stop? What if I got robbed? What if someone was watchin’ me? I even started thinkin’ about all the stories Bo recited to me, after being told by his friend, Sugar G. None of those stories made me feel at ease.