Trap House (26 page)

After writing down the information, the officer thanked Carlos for his cooperation and left.
Armed with this new lead, they set off across town to scour the strip clubs.

* * *

Tiffany awoke in a strange bed with a stranger behind her. She scanned the room in an attempt
to figure out where she was and with whom. It took several minutes for a few of the details that led
her to the strange man’s bed to come back.

Remembering that she had agreed to $300 to spend the night, she quietly checked her purse.
After counting the three new $100 bills, she began looking for her panties.

“Oww!” Tiffany winced from pain as she sat down. “Nasty bastard.” She frowned as the source
of the pain came to mind. It was beyond her why some men wanted anal sex with a vagina an inch
away. She tried to get dressed and leave, but her stirring woke the sleeping man.

“Mawnin’,” he said in a heavy Southern drawl.

A wave of shame swept over Tiffany as a view of the man’s face brought back more memories
of the night she’d spent with him. He had definitely gotten his money’s worth…and then some.
“Hey,” Tiffany replied, still rushing to dress. “Thank you for last night. I gotta go.”

“Hol’ up for a sec’, lil mama,” said the man, who looked to be the same age as her parents. He
pulled back the sheets to reveal his morning erection.

“I gotta go!” Tiffany whined. She had enough money to get high for the day and definitely
enough of this freak.

The man reached in his wallet and produced two more crisp $100 bills.

An hour later, she emerged from the hotel room with $500 and a serious pain in the ass. “Nasty
bastard!” Tiffany cursed as she sat in her car.

* * *

Again, she thought about going home. But again, the monkey on her back demanded to be
fed.

As she wrestled with the conflicting emotions, she watched curiously as an emaciated crackhead
scurried away from P.I.G.’s house. “A knit dress in this heat?” Tiffany said, incredulous. It wasn’t
until the junkie made a sideways glance before darting into traffic that she realized the horrid sight
was her one-time friend and roommate and mentor, Wanda. The only thing in worse shape than
Wanda herself was the Coogi dress she wore.

The enmity and malice Tiffany harbored toward the woman vanished in an instant. In that same
instant, Tiffany saw what lay ahead of her on her own path if she didn’t pull it together. “What the
hell am I doing?” she asked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She now noticed the changes in
her appearance that she had ignored for months. “I’m going home!” Tiffany said adamantly. “Ima
get me a few blasts, then I’m going home,” she said, her resolve vanishing.

When Tiffany walked into P.I.G.’s place, she was greeted by the usual suspects. They were all
glued to the plasma screen, laughing as they smoked. She returned their greeting, then turned to see
what had everyone so captivated. They were watching the just-shot footage of Wanda performing
oral sex on everyone in the room, including the women. P.I.G. could be heard barking lewd orders
that were immediately carried out. Wanda had the expressionless face of someone already dead.
Her ribs and vertebrae could be counted through her ashy skin.

Tiffany felt the urge to drop everything and run home, but the urge to stay was stronger.

“You wanna be a star too?” P.I.G. asked with a chuckle.

“Excuse me!?” the old Tiffany asked, unsure if she had heard the fat man correctly. “You’ll
never make me go out bad like that, you fat piece of shit!” she yelled as she approached him.

P.I.G. looked toward Earl for help, but Earl just turned his head.

If Tiffany had wanted to harm the man, she could have. Instead, she pummeled him verbally
until her anger abated.

All of the occupants were in shock, knowing it was the kinda talk that got somebody either
banned or degraded, the exact kind of insolence that had Wanda crawling on the floor performing
for crumbs on the large screen that everyone was laughing at.

“Take it easy, sweetheart,” P.I.G. said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was just joking.”
His fear calmed as Tiffany did. “Blast, make sure you hook our girl up,” P.I.G. ordered as Tiffany
took a seat.

Blast had a disgruntled air about her, sucking her teeth loudly as she set out to carry out her
task. While she was gone, Tiffany saw the cause of her dismay. There Blast was on the screen with
Wanda’s head stuck between her legs as P.I.G. barked sickening orders.

When Blast returned, she pressed the package into Tiffany’s hand and gave a discreet wink.

Tiffany glanced curiously into her hand and saw that Blast had slipped her an ounce instead of
the eight ball she’d paid for. She quickly closed her hand, praying no one caught the exchange.
They didn’t; they were too engrossed in Wanda, now blowing a reluctant Earl on the screen.
Tiffany stood up and made her way to the door without bothering to seek permission.

Earl said nothing about the breach of protocol and opened the door for her.

When Tiffany sat in her car and stared at the large amount of dope, she swore it would be her
last. The hotel room was paid up for a couple of days, and with that much crack, she wouldn’t have
much use for food. The plan was simple: get high and then go home. But as was par for the course,
when the drugs were gone, so was the plan.

CHAPTER 25

“G
urrl, the po-lice was by here looking for you!” a dark-skinned Hispanic dancer announced
to Tiffany as soon as she walked in the club.

“For me? For what?” Tiffany frowned, scanning her frazzled memory for a reason the police
would be looking for her.

Before Sangria could make up a reason she thought the police were hunting her, the club
manager appeared. “Come with me,” the large woman said, wagging a thick finger.

Tiffany ran through a variety of excuses as they walked, but try as she did, she couldn’t come
up with a good lie, as she had no clue what they wanted with her.

“Have a seat, dear,” the manager directed, taking a seat behind her desk.

“There must be some kinda misunderstanding,” Tiffany said, figuring that would cover a range
of scenarios.

“Look, I don’t know why the cops are looking for you, and I don’t care,” the manager began.

Tiffany started to say something but was cut off by a wave of the woman’s chubby hand.

“They been here every day for the last few days, but of course you wouldn’t know that,” the
manager said.

Tiffany tried to speak again, but again she was silenced by the puffy hand.

“You know I can’t have the folks in here like that. It’s bad for business. Once you handle your
business, you can come back,” she said plainly.

“Well, whatcha gon’ do now?” Tiffany questioned herself as she walked back to her car. She’d
smoked the last of the dope Blast gave her that morning. The rent was due, and she was dead broke.
To top it all off, that monkey on her back would be squealing soon, demanding to be fed. It was
beginning to stir already.

Tiffany pulled out on Metropolitan but had to slam on the brakes to avoid being hit by a car that
cut across all lanes of traffic. “Where the fuck are you tryina go!?” she yelled as the reckless driver
pulled a dangerous U-turn.

The driver pulled up to a skinny prostitute just before another car could. The woman jumped
in, and the driver pulled off as carelessly as he’d pulled up. The second driver pounded his wheel,
frustrated at missing out.

As distasteful as it was, Tiffany now knew where her next buck was coming from. It beat her
first thought, which was to go perform for P.I.G. and his camera. The thought of Wanda crawling
around on the floor unnerved her. She knew if she kept asking P.I.G. for handouts, he would try
her too. In her drug-induced reasoning, turning tricks would allow her to keep her dignity. There
would be no roomful of people, no camera, and no P.I.G.

Tiffany stood out among the skinny crack whores on the block. She only stood on the block for
thirty seconds before a car came to a screeching halt in front of her. Once it was parked, it took her
less than a minute relieve the middle-aged white man of his tension and money. She got out of the
car, simultaneously spitting his semen on the ground and stuffing his money in her bra. “Not bad
for a couple minutes’ work,” Tiffany said with a chuckle as she hit the block again.

In a couple of hours, she decided to close up shop with a little over $600 for her efforts. She
wanted to stay a little longer, but the monkey wouldn’t have it.

* * *

P.I.G. was ecstatic about the impending drama. Once again, both Tiffany and Marcus had called
minutes apart, saying they were on the way. Just to put more shit in the mix, he called Red’s son to
claim the bounty. He sat back smugly and awaited the fireworks.

And fireworks were exactly what Marcus had in store for P.I.G. He parked in front and tucked
the forty-caliber pistol in his pants. He had fucked up all the dope money from robbing Pony and
turned exclusively to robbery. In his previous armed robberies, Marcus committed two murders.
He heard about the price on his head and knew his days were numbered. The realization that his
time on Earth had run its course only fueled his mayhem. He brazenly refused to wear a mask, not
caring who recognized him. Besides Red’s sons, half of Atlanta was gunning for him.

Earl opened the door for Marcus and stepped aside as he’d done a hundred times before. “What
up?” he said, not caring for a reply.

Marcus didn’t give him one. Instead, he whipped out his pistol and shot Earl in the leg. He
almost liked Earl, and that prevented him from aiming at his head.

Earl went down hard, screaming in pain as the other occupants screamed in fear.

“You!” Marcus yelled, pointing the weapon at Blast. “Bring me the money and the dope.”

Instead of complying, Blast ignored him and ran to tend to Earl. Despite the intense fear, P.I.G.
caught the affection his wife showed Earl.

“Get up, you fat bastard,” Marcus said, turning his attention to P.I.G.

P.I.G. was frozen with fear, unable to move until the pistol collided with his forehead. He
jumped from his chair and waddled down the hall with Marcus in tow.

The crackheads saw the opportunity to flee and took it. The frightened crowd passed Tiffany on
the walk as they fled.

Tiffany’s instinct to flee the obvious danger was betrayed by her thirst for drugs. Common sense
told her to run, but the gorilla told her to stay, leaving her stuck in her place.

Before she could decide which way to move, Marcus came running out, bags in hand. When
they came face to face, a scowl spread across his face as he raised the pistol to hers.