Stealing Candy Page 5

  “Out of where?”

  “Uh…college,” he said with a chuckle. “Summer break, y’ah mean? I gotta change of clothes here at my man’s crib. It won’t take me long to change.” Smiling, he traced his finger across her cheek. “Is that okay with you, sweet thing?” he asked, melting her apprehension with his smile.

  Sounds of coughing were heard and then a much older man opened the door, and ushered them in.

  “Hey, how you doin’, Bullet?” the man said between coughs.

  “’Sup, Celly?”

  The house stank of cigarettes and male body odor. She held her breath for a few seconds, and then had no choice but to inhale another whiff of funkiness. She hoped Bullet changed clothes quickly.

  The older man yielded a soft smile toward Gianna, his eyes appraising her. “You got good taste, Bullet.”

  Bullet nodded and then nudged Gianna. “Say hello to my old celly.”

  She controlled a grimace and fixed her lips into a smile. “Hello, Mr. Celly,” Gianna replied as politely as possible.

  The older man laughed, cutting an eye at Bullet. “Mr. Celly! Now that’s one for the books.”

  Both men gave deep belly laughs. Gianna didn’t know what she’d said that was so funny. She really wanted to get out of there. She didn’t even care anymore about seeing Omarion at the club. The urge to get out this stinking house was overwhelming.

  “Where you from? You don’t talk like you from the ’hood,” the older man said, his voice dry and coarse from some infirmity that had him hacking and coughing every few minutes.

  “I’m from northern New Jersey—Cloverhill. Our summer home is here in southern Jersey.”

  “Is that right? Cloverhill is nice. Big, fancy houses. Your peoples must have a lot of money?”

  “Um…I guess so,” she said squirming.

  The old man eyed Bullet, his gaze reproachful.

  Bullet’s jaw tightened. “I ain’t know.”

  “You know better than to pick up somebody with people likely to put a reward out on her head. You was supposed to be scoping out runaways. Doped-up kids who people won’t be scouring the earth, looking for ’em.”

  Apprehension gripped Gianna. “What’s he talking about, Bullet?”

  Bullet ignored her; directed his words to the older man. “Man, I got what I could get. Why you worrying about it? She ain’t yo’ problem.”

  “You made her my problem when you brought her here.”

  Warning bells soared to a siren’s alarm. Bullet wasn’t as nice as he’d seemed. There was no club tucked away in this godforsaken neighborhood. She wouldn’t be smiling and posing with Omarion.

  This was an abduction.

  Gianna bolted toward the door.

  Quick as lightning, Bullet blocked her.

  She tried to push him out of her way, but he was as unmovable as a mountain.

  “Please. Let me leave. My mom’s going to be worried about me.”

  “You ain’t going nowhere. Sit yo’ ass down while I get my thoughts together.”

  “My mother’s going to call the police.”

  “Listen, ho, sit down before I smack yo’ ass down. Choice is yours.” He pointed to a worn couch.

  She obeyed, noticing the coffee table cluttered with an arsenal of prescription meds, a half-pint of cheap whiskey, and an ashtray that was overflowing with cigarette butts. Disgusting.

  The older man shook his head, his expression grave. “You done went out and picked up the wrong one.”

  “I ain’t know,” Bullet snapped.

  “You gon’ have to get her outta Atlantic City before her peoples find out she been snatched.”

  Snatched! The word had an ominous sound. Like she was going to be kept against her will for a long time. Maybe forever.

  “Can I please call my mo—”

  “Can you please shut the fuck up!” Bullet bellowed.

  Gianna shut her mouth.

  Turning his attention back to the old man, he asked, “How am I s’posed to get out of AC? You know I ain’t got no wheels.”

  “You done really messed up. After everything I taught you back when we were locked up together…” He squeezed his eyes closed tight and shook his head grimly, like he was trying to rid himself of the image of Bullet’s grim future.

  “I know you ain’t trying to tell me to let this hooker go?”

  “This is the kind of problem I don’t need. All I’m saying is, you take that trouble away from around my front door.” He nodded toward Gianna.

  “You gotta finish schooling me,” Bullet said.

  “You don’t listen.”

  “It’s one thing hearing shit when you behind bars, but now that I got me a ho, I need you to run it all down for me again. Come on, Big Pimpin’, you got a lifetime worth of experience with training hoes. I need to be hanging around here so you can help me school her…teach her how to work the track. I’ll give you part of the proceeds.”

  “Man, you crazy. Can’t no two niggas pimp a ho.”

  “I don’t expect you to raise yo’ pimp hand or nothing. I can handle all that.”

  “I’m sick,” the older man complained. “Terminal!” He coughed as if to prove it. “My pimpin’ days are long gone. That type of thing don’t bring me no kind of excitement or enjoyment. I’m too sick to be beating bitches.”

  “I’ll do all the beating. Just help school her for me. Come on, man…she green.”

  Bullet was planning to force her into the sex trade. Gianna had heard about human trafficking; it was something that happened to poor girls from broken homes. Not to girls like her.

  Suddenly her mind was flooded with images: the moving van that had hauled away her father’s personal possessions, depositing him and his belongings into his mistress’s home—a stone estate in the same neighborhood where he’d lived for sixteen years with his wife and daughter. She saw her mother, wild and borderline crazy, as she trashed the kitchen of the beach home.

  Seemingly overnight, Gianna had become a girl from a broken home. The perfect victim to land in Bullet’s hands.

  “Come up with a plan, Bullet. You can’t keep yo’ ho in Atlantic City.”

  “When we was locked up, you told me the ho stroll in AC was poppin’.”

  “It ain’t poppin’ for no young bitch with her mug posted up on milk cartons and billboards and whatnot. Nah, you gon’ have to work her underground.”

  “This is fucked up.” Bullet glared at Gianna as though she had caused the situation.

  Thinking hard, the older man ran his hand down his sagging face. “Go in the kitchen, Bullet,” he said, coming up with an idea. “Jimmy’s number is posted on the wall over the telephone.”

  “Jimmy who?”

  “He’s the hack I use to take me to my doctor’s appointment. Call him and see if he can carry you and this ho to the bus station. It ain’t safe to keep her here in Atlantic City. Her peoples live too close.”

  “What I’ma pay the hack man with? My good looks?”

  “You a pimp or ain’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’ma pimp.”

  “Well then, let yo’ ho work off the fare. Jimmy ain’t gon’ turn down a piece of ass. Make sure you charge him enough for that bus ticket and for miscellaneous expenses.”

  “Where me and my lil’ shawty gon’ stay after the bus drops us off?”

  “Figure it out!” the older man yelled, working himself into a fit of coughing.

  “Don’t move, shawty.” Bullet stormed past the couch where Gianna sat rubbing her trembling hands together.

  “Stop calling her shawty,” the pimp complained. “That sounds too sweet and endearing. All your hoes should go by one of two names: bitch or ho.”

  “Oh, aiight. I gotchu.”

  Gianna shuddered as the old pimp stared her down, keeping his evil eyes on her while Bullet was out of the room. The scowl on his wrinkled face was as intimidating and mean as the devil. Mean or not, he was in poor health. The man was dying. She would be crazy
not to take advantage of the situation.

  Using a technique that her track coach had taught her, she envisioned herself hurtling over the coffee table and zipping past the infirmed old pimp, using elbow jabs and a hard kneecap to the groin if he tried to subdue her.

  It all happened in a blur. One minute, she was sitting on the edge of the creaking couch, trying to get the courage to make her move. The next moment, she was in motion, imagining the feeling of the smooth knob as she pulled open the front door.

  Showing surprising cunning and agility, the sickly pimp quickly stuck out a thin leg, tripping her. Gianna landed on her side.

  “Get out here and get some control over yo’ bitch!” the old pimp yelled.

  She gulped down a knot of fear as she heard Bullet slam the phone into its base.

  “Bitch, has you done lost yo’ damn mind?” He stood over her, glowering.

  “Catching a young ho is easy…like stealing candy,” the old man said, sounding winded. “Keepin’ a crazy ho in line is an entirely different story.”

  “Trust. I’ma keep my ho in line.”

  Bullet snatched Gianna up by the arm, lifted her, and then tossed her across the room as if she were a lifeless rag doll. She didn’t feel a thing when her body hit the wall; the impact causing her world to fade to black.

  She had no idea how long she’d been out, but obviously she’d been unconscious long enough for Bullet to blindfold her and bind her hands together. And he’d had ample time to transact business with Jimmy.

  “Take her upstairs, Jimmy.” The ex pimp made a gesture toward the stairs.

  Jimmy didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go!” He clenched Gianna’s shoulder, trying to guide her toward the flight of stairs.

  She couldn’t move. Every muscle in her body locked, defensively.

  “Come on, lil’ mama,” Jimmy persuaded, gently pulling the frightened young girl.

  “Bullet, tell that bitch to pick her feet up. She wasting time,” the old pimp complained.

  “Get yo’ ass up them steps and handle that business before I use both my feet to loosen up yo’ tight ass.”

  Though light-headed, disoriented, and terrified, she realized that she’d better do as she was told or suffer unfathomable consequences. Blindfolded and bound, she was slightly off-balance, lifting her feet hesitantly as she anticipated each step.

  Bullet seemed barely human. He was the worst person that she’d ever encountered. She was furious with herself for being so naïve and placing her life in the hands of a brutal ex-con turned pimp.

  On second thought, Bullet wasn’t even a real pimp. He was taking cues from the man who was his former cellmate. From what she could discern, Bullet was a sort of pimp in training…an apprentice who was being taught the ropes by a coughing and terminally ill ex-pimp.

  Numb, Gianna allowed herself to be led to a bedroom. The room reeked of stale cigarette smoke. Jimmy untied her hands. “I want to feel your fingernails clawing up my back when I get between your legs.”

  Before she could utter a sound of distress, he pushed her on the bed. Jimmy didn’t waste any time climbing on top of her, grunting like an animal as he dry humped her and squeezed her small breasts.

  Jimmy slid his tongue inside her mouth. Deprived of sight, her remaining four senses were sharp. She could taste chili peppers and ground beef. Tacos? Oh, God. She wanted to puke.

  He yanked up the tight skirt; snatched her panties off. The dick he stuck between her legs forced her to switch her focus from his nasty, taco-flavored tongue to the fiery pain of penetration.

  She cried out. Motivated by pain, she struggled out of the wrist restraints. She tried to shove him off of her; her palms pushing against a stubble-covered shaved head.

  “Don’t fight the feeling. Come on, now. Work with me, mama,” Jimmy crooned.

  She gritted her teeth as Jimmy plunged inside her, and then gyrated lewdly as he violated her.

  “I ain’t nevah been with a tight-pussy ho. Uh-huh, yeah, baby. You like the way I’m making you feel?”

  “No, stop. Please,” she whimpered.

  He yanked the blindfold off. Gianna grimaced at the scruffy man grinning down at her. “Maybe if you could see whatchu doing, we could make some beautiful love. I opened you up. Ain’t no reason for you not to enjoy all these long strokes I’m giving you.”

  “Hurry up, muthafucka!” Bullet yelled from downstairs.

  “Gimme a few more minutes!” Jimmy hollered.

  He started working on Gianna again, penetrating so deeply, her insides felt on fire.

  “You ready to cum with me, sweet thing?”

  He kept on humping. Talking dirty. Gyrating. Thrusting. Panting and moaning.

  Downstairs, an exasperated Bullet hurled curses at both Gianna and Jimmy.

  Gianna squeezed her eyes tight, shutting out the repulsive sight of the sweaty man on top of her. An eternity seemed to pass by.

  Finally, Jimmy bucked and grunted, “Ahh. Oh, hell yeah!” He shuddered and groaned loudly.

  The dirty deed was finally over. Jimmy retied her hand. “I think I’ll keep these bloody drawers. As a trophy,” he explained, nodding his head and smiling with pride. He stepped inside his pants and stuffed her blood-smeared panties inside his back pocket.

  “Put the rest of your clothes on. Here…” He handed her the blindfold. “Tie that back on before your pimp tries to start some shit.” Then he winked at her, as though they were in cahoots together.

  She tied the bandana round her head, loosely. She tried to stand but her legs gave out. Jimmy carried her downstairs. “I wore that ass out. She can’t even walk right,” he boasted to Bullet and the old pimp.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Bullet said scornfully. “Put her down. That bitch ain’t crippled.” He gripped her by the shoulder and guided her toward the back door. “Walk, bitch!” Taking wobbly steps, Gianna complied.

  The night air hit her face. Bullet pushed her into the back seat of a car. “Let’s get this ho out of Atlantic City.”

  She heard a screech of tires. She struggled to sit up.

  “Bitch, is you crazy?” Bullet snarled. “Lay the fuck down before somebody discovers yo’ dumb ass.”

  She dropped down. Lying uncomfortably in the back seat of the car, Gianna was transported across the state line.

  CHAPTER 8

  Inside the visitor’s room of the youth detention center, Saleema sat across from Portia. With her face scrubbed clean… no lip gloss or eyeliner, Portia hardly resembled the hot-headed, tough teen who routinely fought and intimidated her peers. She looked ten or eleven years old.

  “I like your new look. Cute.”

  Portia tsked in disagreement. “These lame asses…” Portia caught herself. “I mean these dang renta-cops who work here. Those jokers made me take my weave out.” Frowning, she tugged on her short ponytail.

  Despite her continual bad behavior, Portia was one of Saleema’s favorites. Portia reminded Saleema of herself at that age. Saleema understood her anger at the world, her short fuse. Like the old Saleema, Portia was always looking for a reason to lash out. Hurting people before they got a chance to hurt her.

  Saleema reached across the table, rested her hands on top of Portia’s balled fists, massaging until the young teen’s fists unfurled. “Getting to see you wasn’t easy. I had to meet with the detention supervisor and practically beg him to authorize this visit. Only family members are allowed visitation, but I was able to persuade him to bend the rules a little.”

  “Thanks for taking the time to come see me, Miss Saleema. I don’t know what got into me. I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Portia said in a pained voice. “When I seen you go down, I thought you was hurt real bad. Or dead. I got scared. That’s why I ran.”

  “As you can see, I’m fine. Had the wind knocked out me when I hit the floor, but I’m okay. But, you…” Saleema squeezed both Portia’s hands. “I’ve warned you about that temper of yours.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Portia frown
ed. “Man, I ain’t even seen the judge yet.”

  “Why not? You’ve been here for two days.”

  “My mom was supposed to come down here for my detention hearing, but ain’t nobody seen her.”

  “Have you spoken to your aunt or any other relatives?” Saleema asked, but she knew that girls like Portia didn’t have much family support.

  “Yeah, I talked to my aunt LaRue. I told her what time my hearing was, but I already know she ain’t gon’ show up.

  “You brought this on yourself, Portia. You have to accept accountability. You’re not a first-time offender. You knew there would be consequences.”

  “I know!” Portia snapped, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m wrong, but I ain’t ever gon’ get out of the system if my mom don’t speak to the judge. I could wind up on lockdown ’til I’m eighteen years old.”

  Portia’s mother was an addict who spent days, sometimes weeks, away from the home. “What about your aunt? Can’t she stand in as your guardian?”

  “My guardian!” Portia made a disdainful sound. “She ain’t gon’ do nothing that involves signing her name on a piece of paper.”

  Saleema arched a brow, waiting for Portia to elaborate.

  “Aunt LaRue is too fat to work a job, so she gets a disability check. She don’t leave the house, except late at night to prowl the supermarket aisles at the all-night Pathmark. Oh, yeah, and she be making her sneaky food runs to take-out spots after dark. My aunt LaRue is as bad as my mom, but her addiction is food.”

  “Maybe I could convince her.”

  Portia rolled her eyes. “She just gon’ tell you she can’t get involved cuz it’ll mess up her disability check.”

  “How would making a court appearance—”

  “That’s her excuse for everything.” Portia made a snorting sound. “In order for her to come down here and stand in as my guardian, she’d have to go file some emergency custody papers and she ain’t about to get involved with all that.”

  Saleema tried to process the information. Portia knew a lot about the system. Probably most of the kids in here knew all the ins and outs of what was necessary to obtain their freedom. If they’d spent half as much of their brain power on their studies and making better decisions, they wouldn’t have gotten incarcerated in the first place.