Stealing Candy (2 page)

“’Spose D’wan come through?”

“Man, fuck D’wan. I know he’s your uncle and everything, but making us work this dry-ass block is messed up.”

“You right. Ain’t no money out here. So…um, you gon’ cover for me or what?”

“Yeah. If D’wan rolls up, I’ll tell him you had to go take a leak or something. But don’t try to impress shawty. Ten minutes is all you got. I’ma take my turn with shawty after you finish.”

“What? Y’all just gon’ leave me out?” Hazel Eyes appraised Gianna. “She all jacked-up with that swollen eye, but I still wanna chop it down,” he said, scowling. “But I ain’t tryna be at the end of no damn train. It’s not going down like that.”

“Yo, Money, you gotta get in where you fit in,” the short boy asserted.

“You don’t get no special treatment.”

Hazel Eyes made a grunting sound of disagreement. “Why don’t you let shawty decide who she wants to hit it first,” he said with confidence. “Y’all know the deal. Once I stretch her out, she gon’ be too loose for both of y’all lil’-dick niggas.”

Gianna was appalled by the crude verbal exchanges. Like Bullet, these boys regarded her as nothing more than an inanimate object.
Glancing around, she was ready to make a run for it. Then her eyes locked on a cell phone that was sticking out of Hazel Eyes’ pocket.

It was a thrilling sight. Now jubilant, she disregarded his vile intentions. “May I borrow your phone? I have to call the police.”

Hazel Eyes gawked at her and then at his boys. “Shawty got jokes…tryna use my phone to call po-po.”

“I was kidnapped.” She took a breath. “And raped,” she admitted. Shame caused her voice to crack.

“I’m not getting involved in no rape case,” Hazel Eyes spewed. His two cohorts erupted in spiteful laughter.

 
 CHAPTER 2

The approaching sound of feet slapping pavement cut off their taunting laughter. Gianna and the three youths whirled around in surprise.

Bullet! He was wearing only a loose pair of nylon shorts, and was barefoot and racing toward her. The muscles on his arms and his bare chest glistened with water beads. His curls were topped with the white lather from shampoo, while a stream of sudsy water trickled down his face.

Gianna screamed.

The short boy reflexively reached for his weapon.

“Whoa, whoa. Go easy, young bull,” Bullet placated, slowing his approach.

Keeping a safe distance from the boy with the gun, Bullet held up both hands. “I ain’t got no beef with y’all. But that lil’ ho robbed me.”

Shielding herself from Bullet, Gianna tried to hide behind the three drug boys. She clutched the back of Hazel Eyes’ shirt. “He’s lying,” she murmured. Her breath came out in terrified, shaky gasps.

“Get off me!” Hazel Eyes yanked away from her clingy grasp.

“Put your piece away before you end up with a body,” Bullet said to the short boy. “I know you don’t wanna do no long time over that skank ho.”

He fixed a surly gaze on Gianna. His face was slick with sudsy water and sweat.

Following Bullet’s suggestion, the short boy returned the gun to his waistband, but kept his hand resting on the butt.

It was a small victory; Bullet cracked a smile. He ran a hand through soapy curls, a gesture Gianna recognized as a precursor to a big lie. “Do y’all really think I’d jump out the shower and chase down this hooker for the fun of it? If y’all don’t believe me, search her,” Bullet recommended. “She got at least five hunnit-dollar bills rolled up and stashed inside her pussy.”

Snarling, the boys turned on Gianna like she was raw meat.

Hazel Eyes grabbed Gianna by the waist with one hand. Quick as a snake, he thrust his other hand up her skirt, his fingers scratching and poking at the tender lips of her vagina.

Wanting the money for themselves, Cargo Pants and the short boy double-teamed Hazel Eyes, delivering vicious jabs and brutal blows to his face.

The squealing tires of a gold Escalade brought the action to a halt. Hazel Eyes loosened his grip on Gianna as the tinted window of the driver’s side slid down. The driver glared at the young thugs.

“Whassup, D’wan?” the short boy mumbled sheepishly as he fixed his clothes.

“What y’all doing? I know y’all dumb asses ain’t out here bullshitting. I saw y’all scuffling with each other…not even making an effort to get money.”

“We was on it, but this block is dead,” Cargo Pants explained, his palm sliding across his face, checking for bruises and lumps from the sudden fracas with his partners.

“Why y’all out here swinging on each other, instead of being about my business?”

Bullet stepped forward. “Yo, Dawg, I can explain…”

The driver frowned up at Bullet like he stank. “Who the fuck is you?”

His manhood challenged, Bullet flinched. Holding his temper in check, he wisely clammed up.

“I swear…y’all worthless-ass Negroes about to be flippin’ burgers again. Get the fuck in the truck,” he ordered the trio.

The boys mumbled apologies and began moving toward the Escalade. Gianna scurried to the back of the SUV. Getting her bearings, trying to figure out which way to run, she gripped the bumper.

She could tell that Bullet had respect for the hustler named D’wan. He wouldn’t tussle with her while she held on to the man’s shiny Escalade.

“I’ma fuck you up, bitch,” Bullet roared, stomping toward the back of the SUV.

The Escalade moved forward and Gianna lost her grip. The truck made a wide U-turn, leaving Gianna exposed and vulnerable.

He stalked toward her, frowning. “I see that I’ma have to teach you a lesson, ho.” His threat was spoken through lips tightly twisted to contain an explosion of rage.

“I got something for yo’ ass when we get back home.”

Home? I don’t live in that nasty dump!

She couldn’t endure any more of his lessons. Arms flailing, she ran aimlessly, the soles of her sandals pounding loudly against bumpy concrete.

Within seconds, the Escalade roared past her. Hoping the driver might rescue her from Bullet, she waved her arms in the air, trying to flag the driver down. The Escalade didn’t slow down.

One narrow backstreet led to another. Weren’t there any streets populated with something other than stray cats and buzzing insects?

Finally, she caught sight of two men who were sitting outside a vacant garage, sharing a bottle of beer.

The fading red script on a hanging sign read:
Lou’s Auto Body Shop.
Skeletal remains of ancient cars were scattered about. The scene evoked sorrow and loss. The metal frames of the old cars seemed to plead for a proper burial.

“There’s a man chasing me. He’s gonna kill me,” Gianna breathlessly told the men.

Both men, thin as rails and obviously intoxicated, looked at her through dull, bloodshot eyes. They looked too frail to protect her from Bullet.

Frantic thoughts raced through her mind. She needed to get to a phone. “Do you have a phone? I have an important call to make.”

“You say you want a lil’ taste?” Befuddled, one of the men extended his arm, offering Gianna the beer bottle.

This was a waste of time. These men were too drunk to understand the gravity of her situation.

Gianna resumed running. Every few seconds, she risked a glance over her shoulder. Thankfully, Bullet was nowhere in sight. Pumping her legs, she fled down another bleak block.

Then, like a mirage appearing in the desert, she happened upon a busy street.

“Help!” she screamed, running as fast as she could toward people—tax-paying citizens and law-abiding adults who would feel it their civic duty to help her.

Passersby stared at Gianna with curiosity and then quickly moved on. In a hurry, shoppers rushed past her. Mothers pulled their children close, and old folks grimaced and muttered, “Disgraceful,” under their breath.

Gianna’s ripped blouse and blackened eye spelled trouble. No one wanted to get involved.

“I need a phone. I need the police. Somebody help me!” she begged.

Feeling confused and helpless, she craned her neck, checking on Bullet’s location. She expelled a loud gasp. Her worst fear was realized. Bullet was galloping toward her.

The sound of his bare feet smacking the pavement grew louder, announcing that he was gaining on her—narrowing the distance between them.

A city bus came to stop. Commuters began filing in. Gianna squeezed into the throng and wriggled her way to the front of the line, and onto the bus.

“Close the doors,” she pleaded with the driver when she was safely inside the bus. “There’s a man out there; he’s trying to kill me.”

The bus driver exhaled loudly. He rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “You gotta pay the fare.”

“I don’t have any money!” Gianna screamed, looking through the large windshield, scanning the crowd for Bullet.

“Well, get off the damn bus!” yelled an annoyed woman. Impatient, the female passenger reached over Gianna, and paid her fare with the swift swipes of a Trans Pass card. Muttering under her breath, the woman pushed past Gianna, her eyes panning the crowded bus in search of an empty seat.

Through the side window, Gianna could see the top of Bullet’s head. He was at the end of the long line, trying to shove passengers out of his way. The commuters, mainly women, resisted. They jabbed Bullet with elbows and pulled at the waistband of his soggy shorts, trying to prevent him from getting in front of them.

Frustrated, Bullet forced his way forward from the back of the crowd. Objecting commuters grumbled and stiffened their bodies, refusing to allow Bullet to move ahead of them.

Righteously indignant, Bullet worked his way to the front of the line. He hopped on the bus. “You gotta wait your turn,” an indignant woman protested.

“My lil’ sister is trying to run away so she can get with some old dude. Fuck all of y’all. I gotta get my sister off this damn bus.”

Face-to-face with her tormentor, cold terror swept over Gianna. He was so close, she could smell him…his scent a mixture of sweat and shampoo. She wanted to run, but was trapped between passengers who were trying to board the bus and those who stood behind her. She began to sob.

“Don’t try to act all innocent now. Look at you…dressed like a hooker. Get yo’ ass off this bus. Mom is all sick and laid up in the hospital and you tryna run the streets like a straight tramp!”

Wanting to be on their way, passengers glared at Gianna. All eyes held sheer disdain for the wayward young girl.

“She needs Jesus!” a woman near the front of the bus exclaimed.

“Man, get your sister so my passengers can get on this bus,” the driver said disgustedly.

Gianna clamped her hand around the driver’s wrist. “I’m not his sister. He kidnapped me! My name is Gianna Strand. I live in—”

Bullet shut her up with a punch in her back.

“That’s enough, man,” the driver intervened. “Handle your business at home. You and your sister gotta get off my bus.”

“No! He’s gonna hurt me!” Gianna pleaded.

“Damn right, I’m gon’ hurt your lil’ skank ass. Somebody gotta keep you in line,” Bullet exploded as he yanked her away from the driver and pulled her off the bus.

Gianna fought like a wildcat, but couldn’t break free. Bullet held her firmly with one hand while smacking her face with the other.

Concerned only with finding a seat, grumbling passengers pushed past the tussling duo.

Bullet hit Gianna repeatedly, slapping and pummeling her until she crumpled to the ground. She balled into a defensive knot as he furiously kicked her with his bare foot. A hard kick to her behind forced her body to involuntarily uncurl.

She pleaded for help again. Her eyes connected with a woman who was watching from a passenger window of the bus. She searched the woman’s face for compassion, but was met with a cold, disapproving gaze.

The bus eased away from the curb and merged into traffic, leaving Gianna at Bullet’s mercy.

Spewing profanity, Bullet held Gianna’s arm with one hand and punched her with the other, pummeling Gianna all the way back to the dilapidated house where she’d been confined.

 
 CHAPTER 3

Saleema Sparks ripped open the monthly bill from Philadelphia Gas Works. She looked at the total and frowned. Here it was the first week of June and she hadn’t put much of a dent in the past due balance from the cold winter months. Keeping a large home warm was terribly expensive.