Trap House (3 page)

“Boo, this is my last fifty bucks. It’s got to last me until I get paid,” Tiffany whined as she hand
over her hard-earned money.

“I told you Ima give it back later. I got some money coming,” Marcus replied, snatching the
cash from her hands.

Tiffany mused to herself,
He always has money coming in “later.” Only problem is, that “later” never
comes.
She realized that besides filling her car up on payday and buying a pack of gum, Marcus got
everything else…or actually, P.I.G. did.

“Come on, now. I ain’t got all day,” Marcus called behind him as he leapt from the car.

“I ain’t ‘bout to go up there wit’ that nasty man,” she said forcefully.

Marcus knew P.I.G. dug his girl, and he knew he was a little more generous in her presence.
“Come on, baby. Ima get some soft for you,” he said, leading the way.

She recognized the statement as a command and meekly complied. Besides, she did like the
feeling a couple of lines gave her.

P.I.G. was posted up in his custom-made recliner that was situated next to the front window,
where he could monitor the comings and goings of the neighborhood. He was nosey like that. He
almost squealed with delight as he watched Tiffany approach the house. He quickly ordered that
the sofa nearest him be cleared so she would have to sit close to him. “Well, well, well. What do
we have here?” P.I.G. sang as Earl let the young couple in.

Tiffany fought a wave of nausea that swept through her small body as P.I.G. ran his reptilian
eyes all over her. She self-consciously tugged at her short skirt in a feeble attempt to shield herself
from his lustful glare.

“Have a seat,” P.I.G. offered, pointing to the recently abandoned loveseat directly across from
him. “What can I do for you, my boy Marcus?” he said genially. A stranger would have thought
them to be the best of friends.

“I need a little hard for myself and a gram of soft for my ol’ lady,” Marcus replied, patting
Tiffany’s exposed thigh as he spoke. “I ain’t got but fifty on me right now,” he added, giving her
firm thigh a squeeze, “but I got more coming later.”

“Of course you do,” P.I.G. said with a chuckle. “Not a question, ‘specially since you brought
this lovely thing with you.” He was literally drooling as he stared at Tiffany’s dark thighs, making
her even more uncomfortable.

Blast had had enough, and she sucked her teeth as she stormed off. She couldn’t take any more
of her man ogling the young girl and pretending to like Marcus. Truth be told, the only reason
Marcus was allowed to come around was because of P.I.G.’s loyalty to his uncle, who got caught
with three of P.I.G.’s kilos and took it like a man—all twenty years.

“Earl, go on and serve them up,” P.I.G. said, never averting his gaze from Tiffany’s legs, not
even to blink. He began rocking back and forth as a massive erection grew in his pants. P.I.G. was
a pedophile on the low, but he hadn’t been able to get a hold of a child as of yet. It wasn’t like he
wasn’t trying, but no matter how much money he offered, nobody seemed to be able to find one
for him to have his way with. Tiffany’s small frame, although shapely, reminded him of a child and
drove him wild. P.I.G.’s rocking increased, and if Earl hadn’t come back when he did, he would
have let one go in his pants.

“Here ya go,” Earl said, tossing the drugs to Marcus.

Marcus wasted no time in breaking off a piece and loading it into his shooter.

Tiffany was amazed and slightly repulsed at how quickly he moved. She watched as he became
mesmerized as he twisted and turned the pipe, sucking feverishly. She wondered again if Marcus
was becoming a junkie as the drug sizzled under the flame.

“Go on, precious. That stuff ain’t gonna snort itself,” P.I.G. urged teasingly.

“Sure ain’t,”
the drug seemed to say, causing Tiffany to do a double-take.

I’m tripping.
She laughed inwardly as she opened the package. She made two small, neat lines
on the glass table and bent forward to inhale them.

P.I.G. bent forward as well to peek down the top of her shirt as she snorted the drug.

She saw him but disregarded it as the powerful drug invaded her senses.
Look all ya want. You’ll
never get close enough to even smell this coochie,
she laughed to herself as she leaned back to enjoy
the rush.

P.I.G. misunderstood, thinking she was smiling at him, and began rocking in his chair again,
but Tiffany was again spared the gruesome sights and sounds of P.I.G. cumming on himself by a
knock on the door.

“It’s ya girl,” Earl chuckled as he peered through the peephole in the door. He removed a set of
two-by-fours that served as a barrier against the jackers and the crackers and opened the door.

“This bitch,” P.I.G. muttered in disgust as Wanda walked in.

“Fuck you, too, nigga,” Wanda spat in P.I.G.’s direction. “Gimme a couple eight balls, sweetie,”
she said to Earl, handing him a hundred-dollar bill.

Earl shot P.I.G. a quick questioning glance before taking the money. When P.I.G. gave a slight
nod of his head, he made the sale.

“Go on and take that shit with you,” P.I.G. barked when Earl returned with Wanda’s package.

“What!? You means I’s can take this merchandise off the premises?” Wanda exclaimed
sarcastically.

“Yeah, yeah. Take it and get the fuck out,” P.I.G. barked.

Marcus, seeing an opportunity to get away and commandeer Tiffany’s coke before she had a
chance to snort it all, spoke up next. “Say, P.I.G., you mind if we push too? My girl gotta go to
work,” he asked wistfully.

“Yeah, go on!” P.I.G. barked, grunting as he hoisted his huge frame from his perch. “Matter
fact, everybody get the fuck out!” he said, waddling his way to the back room.

Back in the car, Marcus demanded the rest of Tiffany’s blow before she could close her door.

“Nooo, baybeee!” Tiffany whined in protest. They both had plans for the paltry amount, and
Tiffany made a mock protest, even though she’d already split it in half as soon as she got it. She
knew Marcus well enough to know he would make a play for her dope as well, and as usual,
Marcus won her over.

CHAPTER 4

T
iffany was hard at work behind her register in the large department store located in the
South Dekalb Mall. Even though it had been a relatively slow day, Tiffany simply could
not concentrate. The small amount of cocaine in her purse kept her distracted, as if it was calling
her name. Several times during her shift, she’d turned sharply, swearing she heard her name
whispered.

“Okay, you win,” she finally said to her purse as she picked it up. “You want me to snort you,
Ima short you,” she told the blow reassuringly as she headed to the restroom.

Relieved to see the employee break room empty, she rushed into a stall to retrieve her stash.
Using a manicured pinky nail, she quickly shoveled a scoop in each nostril. She intended to only
take a light one on one and save the rest for later, but she was powerless to stop herself as she
inhaled the rest. Before she knew it, she was licking the empty tinfoil. Then Tiffany felt a sense of
urgency as she stared down into the empty package. She only had two hours left on her shift, but
she was far too anxious to stand around with no blow.

Having no choice in the matter, she headed to Mrs. Lovejoy’s office to inform her boss she’d be
leaving early for the day. She attempted to concoct a plausible story for her urgent departure, but
her mind was still blank as she knocked on the door. Tiffany entered when prompted and stood in
front of Mrs. Lovejoy’s large desk.

“Oh my God!” the supervisor exclaimed at the sight of Tiffany. “Please sit down, Tiffany. Are
you ill?”

“Huh?” Tiffany asked in confusion. “Oh, yeah…ill,” she said as her mind caught up. “Must be
something I ate,” she added, taking a seat.

“You look a mess, child. Do you want me to call your mama?” she asked, concerned.

“No!!!” Tiffany shouted, startling the elderly woman. “I mean, uh…no. I’ll be okay. I can drive
myself,” she said.

“Okay, dear, take the rest of the day,” Mrs. Lovejoy said before going into her home remedies
for upset stomach.

Tiffany didn’t hear a word after “…rest of the day,” for as soon as it was uttered, she sprang
from the chair and hustled out the door.

She cursed to herself as she walked through the parking lot, past where her car should be parked
and headed for the bus stop. “Bet if it was payday, that nigga would have his ass here,” she fumed.
Since it was Wednesday and her paycheck was long gone, Marcus would be hard to find.

Tiffany cursed again as she scrambled to find correct change as the bus neared. She hated taking
public transportation. The buses were always full of weirdoes. She scanned the bus for an empty
seat as she paid the fare. She was relieved to find one in the middle of the bus, away from the
loudmouthed young goons in the back seats. She could never understand why, after Ms. Parks’s
noble struggle and all the boycotts and demands to be allowed to sit wherever a person wanted
regardless of color, some blacks still flocked to the rear.
Dumb niggas probably think Rosa Parks has
swings
, she thought.

Marcus’s phone went straight to voicemail again, indicating it was still turned off. Tiffany
fought to keep her composure as she prepared to leave yet another message. “Hey, boo. I’m off.
I need you to come get me please,” she said sweetly, in complete contradiction to what she was
really feeling. She felt like screaming,
“Nigga, bring me my fucking car!”
but she knew better. As
of late, Marcus had gotten more and more aggressive, to the point of yelling and grabbing on her
when he got mad. She wondered if it would escalate to him actually hitting her. “Humph. My
daddy didn’t even put his hands on me,” she said indignantly at the thought.

Without any prompting from her brain, Tiffany’s hand reached up and pulled the cord as the
bus approached the intersection of Glenwood and Candler Roads. She was on full autopilot as she
boarded the 107 bus toward Moreland Avenue…toward P.I.G.’s place.

Tiffany ignored the cat calls from the thugs on the back of the bus. However, the total lack of
attention didn’t’ deter one of the wannabe players from approaching her.

“What it do, shawty?” he slurred, then made a grimace intended to showcase his mouthful of
gold teeth.

For a reply, Tiffany frowned and turned back to watch as the depressing ghetto landscape passed
by.