Stealing Candy (39 page)

“Go ’head and try it, but if you don’t get nothing off of ’em, then you and Skittles need to get out there and do whatchu gotta do.”

“I don’t know where to go.”

“Take yo’ ass to the closest strip…the ho stroll, dumb bitch,” Bullet berated her.

Gianna had no idea how to find the nearest ho stroll, nor did she know how to work one. At first, Bullet had always supplied the willing customers. Later, Flashy had handled that part of the game. Gianna didn’t know how to get out there and ho on her own.

“Pick up a lighter from the store.” He clicked his red lighter and frowned at the low flame.

“Are you gon’ drive me?” she asked worriedly, not really knowing her way around Philly.

“Hell no. Don’t you see me gettin’ high? Walk, bitch.”

“Okay,” she complied. “Daddy, you want me to run some bath water for you before I go out?” Gianna asked, hoping that if he cleaned himself up, he’d come to his senses and act like a pimp again.

The bedroom stank to high heaven. Bullet, Bubbles, and Sizzle were funky, seeming to forget that there was soap and water in the house.

“Nah, I’m good. While you at the pawn shop, ask dude how much he’ll give you for a fiddy-two-inch plasma jawn.”

Sizzle frowned. “No! That TV is the last thing my cousin bought with the money she made off telling her story.”

“You got a famous cousin?”

“My cousin’s a hooker, too.”

“Damn! You come from a long line of hoes?”

“Uh-huh. My grandma and her mom…shit…all the women in my family are hoes,” Sizzle said proudly.

Bullet laughed. “Sounds like some Lifetime movie shit. Where yo’ cousin at?”

“She locked up right now. She’ll be getting out soon. Prolly gon’ try to move back in here.”

“Yo’ cousin better keep it moving and find herself another crash spot.”

“I know that’s right, Daddy.”

Bullet and Sizzle were caught up in a conversation that sounded like sheer nonsense. Frustrated and disillusioned, Gianna grabbed one of Sizzle’s large shoulder bags. She needed something with some depth, in case she got enough money off the iPhones to buy some badly needed groceries.

With Bullet and Sizzle distracted, Gianna slipped another item inside the shoulder bag, telling herself that in order to keep food on the table, she had the right to steal anything that wasn’t nailed down.

“Come on, Skittles,” she said. “We’re going for a walk.”

Trying to remember the route to the pawn shop, Gianna kept her eyes on street signs. She walked to the end of Delancy Street
and turned left on Fifty-fourth. After many long blocks, tugging Skittles along, she ended up on Fifty-second Street—a busy street with lots of foot traffic, boutiques, and restaurants featuring foods from different cultures. There were so many vendors peddling their wares, she was reminded of being on vacation in Nassau in the Bahamas. Interspersed between the many establishments were numerous pawn shops, a delight to her eyes.

It was the end of August and it was hot as a bitch. Eager to get out of the burning heat, she pulled the door handle of the first pawn shop she encountered. The door wouldn’t open. The salesmen shook their heads, refusing to buzz her in. She yanked on the door again. They pointed to a sign near the door:
Identification Required.

She didn’t have ID, and she was too young to pawn anything. Disappointed, she turned around. Maybe she should ask one of the vendors if they wanted to buy the two expensive iPhones.

She scanned the many vending tables that were filled with pocketbooks, T-shirts, sunglasses, socks…everything imaginable. When her eyes landed on a table that had an assortment of phone chargers, headsets, pouches, and other cell accessories, she felt like she’d hit the jackpot.

Pulling Skittles along, she weaved through the crowd, crossing a small street where an open back truck that sold fruit and vegetables impeded foot traffic. Working herself and Skittles around the big truck and heading for the vendor with the phone accessories, she suddenly stopped.

Eyes wide, mouth gaped open…as though she’d seen a ghost.

Smiling at her from a telephone pole was none other than Bubbles. The word
MISSING
was centered over her head.

Gianna crept up to the flier and read the description.
Portia Hathaway, last seen getting into a white Cadillac on June fifteenth.

Bullet had told Flashy that nobody was looking for Bubbles. If Flashy had known about this reward, he probably would have snitched.

Feeling like a thief, Gianna looked around and then tugged the flier away from the pole.

 
 CHAPTER 48

A fifteen thousand-dollar reward was being offered for Bubbles’ safe return.
Fifteen stacks!
With that kind of money, she and Bullet could make a deal with Flashy, buy the baby back, and she could convince Bullet to move far away from the Philadelphia area.

If she got him away from that crackhead, Sizzle, she could get him cleaned up and back to his normal self. They could get married. She’d be sixteen in a few months. She wondered if it was legal to get married at sixteen in certain states.

She needed access to a computer to do that research.

She’d seen a public library near the McDonald’s. Looking around, she immediately spotted it: Lucien E. Blackwell West Philadelphia Regional Library.

She trotted across the street, dragging Skittles along. Inside the library, however, she was told she needed a library card to use a computer. And she needed ID and a parent’s signature to get a library card.
Fuck!

Back out in the baking sun, she took notice that Bubbles aka Portia Hathaway was posted up on every visible telephone poll.
This is crazy. Who would do all this work to get Bubbles?

Sooner or later, someone was bound to discover Bubbles was right in the vicinity. For all the trouble the sloppy girl had brought into her life, Gianna would be glad to be rid of her. That reward money would secure her future with Bullet.

She tore off the tip line number at the bottom and discarded the information about Portia.

If the ballers hadn’t disconnected their cells, she could be calling the tip line right now.

But first things first. She had to get some cash for the cell phones, bring home some food and a lighter. Bullet would whip her ass if she didn’t. Ever since he started messing with Sizzle and smoking cocaine, he was getting crankier by the minute.

“Do you want to buy two iPhones?” she asked the African vendor.

“Let me see what you have.”

She showed him the two handsets.

“Very nice. I’ll give you twenty dollars apiece.”

“That’s all?”

“I don’t buy cell phones, but those are a good quality.”

“They’re worth way more than forty dollars.”

“That’s my final offer,” he said politely.

After grudgingly accepting his offer, Gianna and Skittles headed straight for the McDonald’s. She’d get Bullet’s lighter from the corner store near Sizzle’s crib.

It was blessedly cool inside the fast-food restaurant. The smell of burgers and fries made her mouth water.

Gianna winced when her total came to thirteen dollars, but then she reminded herself that she’d be filling her clutch bag with fifteen stacks in a day or two.

Before Gianna could sit down good or even arrange the food on Skittles’ tray, the hungry, frail girl began shoveling fries in her mouth, using both hands.

A man seated nearby was yelling loudly in his cell. Having a dispute with his wife…or his girlfriend. She opened her clutch and looked at the tip line number.

The moment the man finished his argument, Gianna asked if she could make an emergency phone call.

“I don’t need no more problems at home. Don’t need no strange numbers popping up on my shawty’s phone bill. Nah.” He shook his head.

A woman with gray streaks in her hair offered Gianna her phone, stating, “I have unlimited minutes. Go ahead and make your emergency call.”

“Thank you. This is a private call. Do you mind if I take your cell inside the restroom?”

The woman looked doubtful.

“Please. And can you watch my…uh…sister? She’s retarded. She might get up and try to walk away.”

“Alright, I’ll look after her, but don’t take too long,” the nice lady said.

“I won’t. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Inside the public restroom, Gianna’s palms were sweating as she placed the call.

“Good afternoon. HelpfindPortia Tip Line. Can I help you?” said a woman’s voice.

“Hi. Um…I know where she’s at.”

“Is Portia alright? Is she alive?” The woman sounded like she was going to start crying. Gianna couldn’t imagine why anyone would want Bubbles back that bad.

“Yes. She’s alive. I can’t talk long because I’m using some lady’s cell phone, but I really need to get that money. How long is this going to take?”

“What’s your name, honey? You sound like a kid.”

“I’m sixteen,” Gianna lied. She cracked open the restroom door to check on Skittles. Looking impatient, the lady motioned for Gianna to return her cell.

“I gotta go.”

“Wait! Where’s Portia? Can you give me an address? Can I get back in touch with you on this number?”

“No, this isn’t my phone. I borrowed it. I can see if somebody will let me hold their phone.”

“No. I’ll come to you. Where are you right now?” the woman asked desperately.

“I’m at a McDonald’s on Fifty-second and Chestnut. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, of course. Is Portia with you?”

“No, but I know where she is. We live at the same spot.”

“Are you sure it’s Portia Hathaway?”

“Uh-huh. We call her Bubblicious, though.”

“Bubba what?”

“Bubblicious. Bubbles for short. Anyway, I was in the white Cadillac the night Bullet spotted her and that Puerto Rican girl.”

“Oh my God,” the woman uttered. “Is she being held against her will?”

“Not really.”

“What do mean, not really?”

“At first she was. But she digs Bullet. We both do. He manages Bubbles’ career. But it’s not just business with me and him. We’re in a relationship, but you know how they say…it’s complicated.”

“I see. What’s your name?”

“Gian—Um, Lollipop.”

“What’s your real name, sweetie? I need a real name in order to give you the money. You have to sign for it.”

“But the flier said it was an anonymous tip line. I can’t give out my real name. Bullet will kill me.”

“You don’t mean that literally, do you?”

“Well…he loves me, but he would kill Bubbles before he’d let you take her from him. Bullet has two guns and I’ve seen him shoot people. We have to do this on the low. You give me the money and I’ll get Bubbles out of the house.”

“Listen to me, Lollipop. If you want this money, do not leave that McDonald’s. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay. Me and Skittles will be waiting near the door. You’ll recognize Skittles because her hair is blue and a couple of other colors.”

“Got it. My name is Saleema. I’ll see you soon.”

She was going about this all wrong. Following her heart instead of her head. But Portia was in the hands of some trigger-happy pimp, and if she told Khalil, he’d want to call the police. That could be disastrous.

Saleema had only been a little girl when the police dropped a bomb on the MOVE members’ home on Osage Avenue, killing men, women, and kids, and destroying an entire neighborhood. To this day, she could still see the billowing smoke and the stench that lingered for weeks in her Southwest Philly neighborhood. The city had taken forever to repair the homes, and that was the beginning of Saleema being schlepped around from house to house.

She didn’t know hardly anything about Khalil’s background, but she doubted if he’d seen or experienced half of the horrors that she’d survived in her life.

Saleema had no love for cops. She knew they would eagerly engage in a shootout with a trigger-happy pimp. Portia was disposable. She could end up dead, and the police would issue a half-ass apology and move on without another thought.

Saleema couldn’t allow that to happen.

The two girls were standing outside the McDonald’s, sipping on beverages. The one with the multi-colored hair was as thin as a rail. Anorexic? She looked to be about sixteen. The other girl
appeared to be even younger; fourteen or fifteen at the most. But Saleema could tell she was the one in charge.