Trap House (5 page)

“Ain’t shit wrong with me,” he shot back defensively, as if she were the problem. “Let a nigga
get a little head,” Marcus demanded.

“Boy, stop.” Tiffany chuckled. They’d only had sex a handful of times since she’d finally given
it up on prom night a few months prior. She’d made it clear that oral sex either way was out of the
question.

Nevertheless, Marcus persisted, and an argument ensued. After getting thoroughly cursed out,
Tiffany left in a huff. No sooner than she did, Marcus paid a junkie for a blow job. As of late, that
was the only sex he was getting.

Marcus stroked himself until he released onto his own stomach. He used a nearby T-shirt to
clean himself off and then tossed it on the floor. He was still shuddering from the climax when he
reached for his phone. “What it do, shawty?” he said gruffly into it. His voice was still strained, as
they were the first words he’d uttered for the day.

“Who dis?” Tiffany replied, groggy herself from just waking up.

“Fuck you mean, ‘Who dis’?” Marcus snapped. “Bitch, how many niggas be calling you?”

“Bitch!?” Tiffany exclaimed in disbelief, reeling as if she’d been slapped.

Marcus knew he’d gone too far and was about to try and straighten it out, but there was no one
on the line to apologize to. “Shit,” he cursed to himself as he hit the redial button. He expected the
call to go directly to voicemail, but to his surprise, Tiffany answered on the first ring, flying into
a tirade.

“First of all, nigga, I ain’t nobody’s bitch,” Tiffany began.

Knowing it would be prudent to let her blow off some steam, Marcus sat with the phone on
his chest while she vented. “I love you,” he said sweetly once the vibrations on his chest slowed,
signaling the end of her rant.

“I can’t tell,” Tiffany responded calmly as the magic word instantly took effect.

“I heard P.I.G. broke you off real nice last night. I know you saved some fo’ ya man,” Marcus
said, smiling through the phone line.

“I ain’t got nothing left,” Tiffany lied as her eyes instinctively shot to her purse, where the
remnants of last night’s package were.

“Come on now, lil mama,” Marcus urged. “My nigga Pony told me P.I.G. threw you in an extra
eight ball.”

Tiffany wondered silently if nosey-ass Pony told him he’d asked for some pussy. P.I.G. did
indeed break her off after she watched another of his sordid shows. A wannabe local rapper called
Chieva let Julian suck him off for some coke. P.I.G. taped it, demanding that he
meow
like a kitten
as he got his salad tossed. The dude had the audacity to try and holla at Tiffany once they were
done.

“Ain’t none left. Me and Wanda snorted it all,” Tiffany said.

“Wanda!? Bitch, fuck you doing with that bitch?” Marcus spat as his anger began to build. He
didn’t like Wanda either, especially after she laughed in his face when he hit on her. More than
anything, he was pissed to have to start his quest to get high from ground zero.

“Bitch? Really? Again?” Tiffany asked as if she hadn’t heard correctly.

“Yeah, I said ‘bitch’, bitch,” Marcus answered. “Dumb-ass bitch, ho bitch, stupid-ass bitch…”
was all he could get out before the line went dead. He called back and called her a few more bitch
names on her voicemail—every kind of bitch known to man, plus two he made up on his own.

Marcus looked around his room and cursed its sparseness. It looked like he’d been robbed. In
fact, he had been; he’d robbed himself for drug money. Gone was his TV, DVD player, and his
stereo. His Xbox, his PlayStation, and hundreds of games were up in smoke. The jewelry he once
wore had long been smoked away.

Hearing his older sister Debbie finally order her son to stop playing ball in the house, Marcus
decided to try his luck with her. He realized it was futile to ask his sister for money, but he was
a crackhead, and his entire existence was an exercise in futility anyway.
At least ten dollars,
he
reasoned to himself as he slid into the filthy jeans he had peeled off only hours before. Then he
picked up the disgusting wadded T-shirt, complete with drying semen, and put it on as well.

“Hey, Uncle Marcus,” his six-year-old nephew greeted cheerfully as he passed him in the
hallway.

Marcus grunted a reply and patted the child on his head.

His other nephew, five-year-old Dontavious, just sneered at him. He wasn’t feeling him one bit
after their Nintendo mysteriously walked up out the house.

“I don’t fuck with you either, lil nigga,” Marcus grumbled as he passed the glaring child.

“Uh oh, Mama, hide yo’ purse. There go that junkie,” Debbie chided as Marcus entered the
kitchen.

“The village whore speaks,” Marcus chuckled as he hugged his mother and kissed her face.

Only unconditional mother’s love prevented her from being repulsed by the smell of filth and
semen emanating from Marcus. “I know y’all better watch y’all mouth in my house,” their mother
warned.

“But, Mama, he really is a junkie.”

“But, Mama, she really is a ho,” Marcus replied, mocking his sister’s tone.

“I swear y’all gon’ be the death of me,” their mother said solemnly.

“We just playin’, Mama. See?” Marcus said, hugging his sister and attempting to kiss her face.

“Eww! Get off me, boy. I don’t know where your lips been,” Debbie squealed, trying to fend
off her brother’s kisses. She loved her little brother with her whole heart—the same heart that was
breaking as she watched him destroy himself, powerless to stop him. Debbie had already witnessed
drugs destroy her first two baby daddies. The first smoked himself into a fatal cardiac arrest. The
second got himself murdered trying to sell on a block that wasn’t his to sell on.

As much as Debbie loved Marcus, he loved her more. It pained him when she earned a bad
reputation back in school. Always a pretty girl, her pudgy frame killed her self-esteem. Once word
got out that she put out, the guys flocked around, the girls gossiped, and her name was sullied.
Debbie had always been a big girl, and then she kept an extra twenty pounds after each of her sons
was born. Since even good pussy has its limits, guys stopped coming around once she tilted the
scales at 250.

Debbie and Marcus’s mother, Sister Jones, was a hardworking, hard-praying, deeply religious
woman. Again, unconditional mother’s love caused her to ignore her children’s shortcomings. She
knew Marcus was an addict, just like his father was. She knew her daughter was promiscuous, just
like she herself was back in the day. Now Jesus was the only man in her life. She knew He had
saved her and could save her wayward children if she could only get them to darken the door and
warm the pews of the church.

As soon as their mother went to the dining room and was safely out of earshot, Marcus cracked
on his sister for money. “Say, shawty, let a nigga hol’ something till later?” he asked with a chuckle,
even though he was dead serious. The laugh was a self-defense mechanism in case he got shot
down. That way, he could claim he was just playing without looking like a fool.

“Nigga, you must already be high if you think Ima give you some money,” Debbie said and
laughed loudly.

“Come on, sis. Just ten bucks?” he pleaded desperately.

“Just like you gon’ replace the boys’ game that walked up outta here?” Debbie said loudly.

“I done told you I ain’t take that, but I got some money coming—”

“Yeah, I know. ‘Later’!” Debbie laughed. “Nigga, I wouldn’t give you ten cent to put cheese on
a Checkers burger, so you know I ain’t ‘bout to give you ten dollars to give to the dope man,” she
added, becoming indignant.

“What y’all fussing about now?” their mother asked as she entered the kitchen.

“He beggin’ for money again,” Debbie snitched.

“Money!?” Sister Jones said in mock surprise. “Boy, if you want some money, then go back to
work.”

“Soon, Mama, soon. Things a little slow right now,” Marcus lied. Truth be told, Marcus couldn’t
handle both working and getting high, so the job had to go. Besides, Tiffany had a job to support
him and his habit.

His mother shook her head as her mind flashed to all the ongoing construction projects she
passed every day on her commute to and from work. “Well, come to the church with me sometime,
and things will turn around,” she said wistfully.

“Come on, Debbie. Just ten bucks?” Marcus begged, ignoring his mother’s comment.

“Nigga…oops, sorry, Mama. Boy, I gotta spend at least thirty dollars on taxis taking these kids
to Walmart, then DFCS, then ShopBrite,” Debbie said.

Jackpot
! Marcus screamed inside his head. He had Tiffany’s car outside, and he was sure he could
get all that money. “Give me the money, and I’ll run you wherever you gotta go,” he announced
with his hand extended.

Debbie tried to decline, but Mama wasn’t hearing it. “Let your brother drive you, and give him
twenty dollars,” she demanded, knowing it would prevent someone’s property from being stolen…
or at least delay it.

As Marcus loaded his niece and carseat into the car, his mind was racing. He was desperately
trying to formulate a plot to get the money first, so he cold get a blast. “You gotta pay me first,”
Marcus demanded once they were all inside.

“Yeah, right.” Debbie laughed. “You ain’t getting a dime until me and my kids are safely back
home.”

Marcus set off for their first stop, ignoring the low fuel light. Even when it began beeping, he
intended to ignore the warning.

“Boy, you ain’t got no gas!” Debbie exclaimed once she noticed it.

“We straight,” Marcus said, forging ahead.

“Straight…hell, boy, pull over ahead and get some gas,” she demanded.

“Uh-uh. I ain’t spending my money on no gas fo’ this car,” Marcus said plainly.

“Man, I’ll pay for it,” Debbie said ruefully.

Marcus was calculating how to make the most of the twenty bucks he had coming. He didn’t
want any of the bullshit he might find on the street, and he knew he couldn’t see P.I.G. with that
paltry amount unless he was planning on sucking dick, which he wasn’t.
That nigga will have you
sweeping up
. He laughed at himself as he pumped the gas.
I’ll figure something out
, he vowed.

Three hours later, Marcus was following his sister through the aisle of Walmart, pushing a cart.
While she picked out cheap outfits and shoes for her kids, Marcus scanned the store for something
to steal. Inspiration struck him when the Electronics Department came into view. “Here, lil man,”
Marcus said, giving control of the shopping cart to his nephew. He paced the section, scoping out
DVDs and iPods. The busy clerk paid him no attention as he began to load up. It got so good that
Marcus snatched the tags off a small tote bag and filled it with loot. He actually got an erection as
he stuffed the bag with merchandise. The high-ticket items were locked in a display case, but he
still had hundreds of dollars worth of items. “Be easy,” he told himself as he made his way to the
front. “Almost there,” he said reassuringly as the exit door came into view. He held his breath as
he walked past the sensors. To his relief, there were no alarms, no guards, no problems.