“Go clean this shit up and lemme see how nice it shines.”
She trekked to the bathroom down the hall and cleaned the jewelry, shined it up with a hand towel.
When she returned, Bullet had clicked on the TV that was mounted on the wall. It was the only thing that wasn’t covered with clutter in the messy room.
Bullet kept his eyes on the screen for a few moments, and then he lit a blunt. Blowing out smoke, he picked up and admired the shine of Mookie’s diamond and gold jewelry. “This is good money. We gon’ hit a pawn shop first thing tomorrow.”
He returned the cash and jewelry into the clutch bag and handed it to Gianna. “Sleep with that tucked under you. I told you that hooker who owns this crib got light fingers.”
By the time Gianna found a comfortable position, Bullet was snoring, with his back to her. Unable to find a way back into his arms, she snuggled against his back, inhaling his male scent. Running her fingers up and down his toned back, his neck, and through his tumbles of curly hair.
Gianna awoke to hammering! Pounding! Drumming! What the hell?
Bullet threw the sheet off of his body. Instantly alert, he grabbed his jeans and hopped into them. He pulled his gun from beneath the mattress and tucked it in his waistband.
“Open the fucking door!” a woman’s voice called from outside.
Gianna hugged her nude body. “What’s going on, Daddy?”
“That ho outside tryna cause a commotion cuz I ain’t go pick her up after work.”
Bullet stormed out of the bedroom and ran down the stairs. Gianna heard him unlocking the door.
“Bitch, is you outta your mind? Who you think you is? Bangin’ on this muthafuckin’ door like you own the place? You want me to put my foot up yo’ ass?” His menacing tone humbled the feisty prostitute.
“I’m sorry,” she said meekly. “I had to get a cab and um…I was scared something happened to you. That’s all.”
Gianna felt proud of Bullet. He didn’t back down to anyone. Well…he had back in the beginning, when that big baller driving the Escalade had come to pick up his soldiers off the corners. But Bullet had manned up since then. He didn’t take no shit off of anyone. Gianna liked that about him. He handled shit like a real man.
One of the things he’d instilled in her was that her father didn’t have any balls. “A real man would have found his only daughter by now. Do you think I’d let a muthafucka steal you away from me?” he’d asked. “Man, I’d blast my way through concrete walls if somebody took you. Your pops should be ashamed of hisself for lettin’ you be gone all this long. I told you he done forgot yo’ ass. He got a new family. Ain’t it obvious your peoples don’t want you no more? Huh, dumb ass? What does it take for you to understand that I’m all you got in this world?”
Gianna wondered if Bullet was going to make her move into the spare bedroom. She didn’t think she could bear hearing Bullet sexing up another ho. She’d put up with him and Bubbles, but that was in the past.
Bullet and a light-skinned, wig-wearing woman entered the bedroom.
The woman looked horrified at the sight. “Why you got that young bitch in my bed?”
Bullet slapped her. “Watch yo’ mouth, bitch. Get yo’ belongings and go rest yo’ head in that spare room.”
“But—”
Bullet glared at her. “You hard of hearing? Don’t make me break yo’ jaw. You know I will.”
The woman raced around the room, gathering stuff, her route illuminated by the dim light that was cast from the TV screen.
On her way out of the bedroom, Bullet hollered, “Ain’t you forgetting something?”
She stopped and rustled around in her purse, and then pulled out a clump of crumpled bills. “It was slow,” she said, looking embarrassed.
Bullet counted the money. “A hunnit and twenty dollars? That’s how much you think it cost to ride this dick?”
“Wasn’t no money out there, tonight,” she said apologetically. She averted her gaze from Gianna’s face, too ashamed to look directly in the young girl’s eyes.
“Man, I oughta whoop that ass for insulting me like this.” He handed Gianna the crinkled bills. “Here, baby, put that in the clutch.”
“You see this fine young thing right here?” Bullet asked the hooker. “She wouldn’t nevah come home with less than a stack.” He looked at Gianna. “Am I right, baby?”
Gianna nodded. There’d been many nights when she’d come home with less than five hundred, but she went along with Bullet’s charade.
“You tryna choose up with this lil’ bit of cash?”
The hooker held her head down.
“How many pretty muthafuckers you know who would give a broke-down ho like you a chance?”
“None,” she murmured.
“I know that’s right. That’s why you ain’t got no man.”
“I’ma do better.”
“I know good goddamn well you gon’ do better than this. I wouldn’t let you give me a hand job for this amount of money. You coming in here like gangbusters; like you holding something worthwhile. Man, get the fuck outta here.”
“I can make it up to you.”
“How? You got some more tricks lined up for tonight?”
“No, but I got some blow for you. Maybe we could party. All three of us.”
“Gimme the blow.”
Smiling, the hooker tossed Bullet a plastic bag. She approached the bed.
“Back up, bitch. Lemme test this shit.” Using the long nail of his smallest finger, he scooped up some cocaine and snorted. After a few seconds, he nodded his head and smiled. He brushed off the odds and ends that littered the table next to the bed. Then he shook some cocaine into a pile.
Using his shank, he cut up and separated the narcotic into uneven lines.
“Aiight, now we can party. Start off by eating my baby’s box out. If you make her cum, I’ma let you suck on this here pipe.” Lewdly, he grabbed his dick.
“I don’t want that lady licking between my legs!” Gianna yelled, repelled by the idea.
Bullet laughed and glanced at the hooker. “Lollipop’s green when it comes to getting that cat licked by another female. But I’ma let you be the one to bust that cherry.”
“No!” Grimacing, Gianna twisted away from the woman who was already crouched in position, her puckered lips aiming for her crotch.
“I was forced to witness yo’ lil’ ass all wiggling and moaning while that big ballin’ nigga was snacking on yo’ goods. So lemme see how much pleasure you get from another female tonguing you out.”
“Please, Daddy.”
With a heavy sigh, Bullet motioned for the prostitute. “Come snort a coupla lines.”
She sank down on the side of the bed. “I like mine cooked.”
“Nah, it ain’t that type of party.”
Looking pitiful, the hooker snorted a couple of the lines that Bullet had created on a jagged mirror.
“It’s like this, Lollipop. I can make you do anything I want. You know that, right?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to do this willingly. You know. Show me that you’re really feeling yo’ man.”
“I am.”
“Aiight. So…You turned your first trick for me. I sold your virginity to Jimmy. My jawn was the first dick you sucked. Now I wanna be the first one to witness you bust a nut from a woman sucking on your stuff. After that…it’s gon’ be like we married.”
Married! That was the magic word. It was as though Bullet had been reading her mind.
“That’s what I want, Daddy. I want to us to be married.”
“I know, baby. We gon’ take that walk down the aisle one of these days…after we retire. Now be a good girl. Lay back, close your eyes, and open up your legs real wide. I’ma be right here beside you, stroking my dick, while you cum like crazy.”
CHAPTER 46
Music blared from gigantic speakers. According to the kids, the block party was poppin’, but Saleema had a pounding headac
he and wanted to go home. “Have some more cake,” Ms. Hill, the block captain offered. “Better get you a piece before these little rugrats eat every last crumb.”
“No thanks,” Saleema said, shaking her head, looking at the outrageous spread that was displayed on six fold-up tables. There was every kind of meat, side dishes, and desserts imaginable. It would take an army to eat all of the food at the first block party the neighborhood had hosted in over ten years.
People were eating, drinking, chatting, and joking with each other. Teens were dancing up and down the street that was blocked off from traffic. Morale was high now that the community had banded together.
Saleema didn’t feel their joy. Despite the neighborhood unity, Portia was still missing. She could be dead while everyone is out here partying. Saleema realized that her agitation was irrational and she was feeling frustration toward the wrong people.
Her anger was really directed at Portia’s mother and aunt, who were not in attendance.
They were definitely keeping it real. Portia’s family would look so fake if they came out and tried to pretend that they were remotely interested in Portia’s whereabouts.
Saleema sighed. She was ready to say her goodbyes and leave. She’d stayed long enough, hadn’t she?
Standing up, she was almost knocked down by a troop of little kids who were running around and chasing each other and squealing like crazy. They must be on a sugar high, Saleema decided.
“You leaving, already?” Ms. Hill inquired.
Already? She’d been there for three hours, smiling all those hours, despite feeling deeply depressed. She couldn’t take another second of performing this charade, when in her heart, she felt like crying.
After so much effort…hanging fliers, canvassing neighborhoods, manning the tip line, monitoring the chat room, organizing meetings, raising money…
So much work and nothing to show for it. It was so depressing that no one had called the tip line with any information that could help locate Portia.
Saleema said her goodbyes, shook hands, gave out hugs and then drove home, feeling that everyone involved in finding Portia had found an inner peace. Everyone except her.
A few minutes after she got home, Khalil called.
“How was the block party?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“The neighborhood’s first block party in ten years was just okay?”
“Everyone had a good time.”
“Except you.”
“Yeah. I felt like I was in mourning while everyone else was celebrating. It seems like I’m the only person who really wants to find Portia.”
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“You’re right, Khalil. I’m in a bitchy mood and I’m depressed. I just want to know she’s alright.” Saleema wiped tears.
“We all do.”
“But I’m taking it personal. I sincerely feel the loss. And I’m scared. Sometimes I have nightmares about her. In my dreams, she’s being tortured and she’s screaming for help, but I can’t find her. Then she suddenly stops screaming and I wake up with the knowledge that she’s dead.”
“Saleema,” he said gently. “You have to hope for the best.”
A lump in her throat made it hard to speak. “I know,” she whispered. “But I’m starting to give up hope. Portia’s a fighter. She would have found a way to call me if she were still alive.” Saleema swallowed.
“You still there?”
“Yeah,” she murmured softly. “Portia’s been gone all summer, Khalil. The odds aren’t looking good. In my heart, I believe she’s dead.” Saleema broke down and cried.
“I’m on my way over, baby,” Khalil soothed. “If you need me to hold you all night, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Okay.” Her voice was tiny, like a child’s.
A few hours later, Saleema finally found peace when she fell asleep, enfolded in Khalil’s loving arms.
CHAPTER 47
Two weeks had passed and Bullet couldn’t get in touch with the old pimp. His voice lowered to a tone suitable for mourning, Bullet said that old Bronco had probably passed away from throat cancer.
That was a relief! But Gianna put on her game face and acted sad over the pimp’s possible death, for Bullet’s sake.
Still, she had other problems.
Bullet had gotten entirely too comfortable at the hooker’s house. Most of the houses on the street were boarded up and Bullet didn’t have to worry about prying eyes witnessing the coming and goings of him and his young hoes.
The hooker’s name was Sizzle and she was having a terrible influence on Bullet. Along with Bubbles, they snorted cocaine night and day. When they weren’t snorting, they were sleeping. Or eating.
Gianna was constantly running to the corner store, but she couldn’t keep food in the house.
Sometimes Gianna used Bullet’s cell to call Flashy, pretending to be calling on Bullet’s behalf. “Did the buyer slide through yet?” she’d ask, her insides trembling with dread.
Flashy usually banged on her, stating that Bullet wasn’t getting a penny from the baby sale. “You can tell Bullet that since he left me to have to deal with the wrath of Mookie and his crew, I’m keeping all the profits from the baby sale.”
Other days, Flashy was agreeable. “No, that hook-up in Wisconsin fell through.”
Gianna’s relief didn’t alter her jealousy over Bullet, Sizzle, and Bubbles…new partners in crime. To Gianna’s shock, Bubbles didn’t even protest when Bullet told her and Sizzle to get into a sixty-nine.
Money was running low. Bullet didn’t have his head into his pimp game at all.
She recalled that Bullet still had possession of the two ballers’ high-tech cell phones.
“Hey, Bullet, do pawn shops buy cell phones?”
“Prolly so.”
“Can I take those two iPhones and try to sell ’em?”
“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, Gi
anna 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.
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