Stealing Candy (36 page)

Outside, there wasn’t a car in sight. Luckily, they were on a deserted street. No one had called the cops.

“Where the fuck did Flashy take my hoes?” Bullet asked Gianna.

“They probably got a ride from one of the tricks,” Gianna suggested. “He left his car parked in front of the house. The trick probably drove him to pick up his car.”

“I’ma whip Flashy’s ass for moving my bitches without permission. Plus the fact, that punk knows I gotta stay low-key. Why he showing muthafuckers where I rest my head?”

“That was real dumb of Flashy to take a trick to your crib.”

“I might have to shoot Flashy in the head.” Bullet gave his words more thought. “Nah, I’ma let that punk live a little while longer. He got a buyer for Skittles’ baby. I’m expecting a big windfall in another week or two.”

“For real?” Gianna was overtaken with joy that Samantha was still alive. She didn’t care about the windfall. She wanted to see the baby…make sure she was being cared for properly. Maybe if she told Bullet how much she loved children, he’d change his mind about selling the sweet little girl.

Skittles wasn’t in her right mind anymore; it was only right that they take responsibility and raise Samantha as their own.

“Do you see that shit?” Bullet blurted. As they neared Second and Parker Streets, they saw Skittles meandering aimlessly, her gait wobbly in her high heels.

“What the fuck is wrong with Flashy? How that punk gon’ leave this bitch to wander the streets like she’s homeless?”

“Skittles!” Gianna yelled out the window. Skittles continued staggering.

Bullet shot ahead and hit the brakes. “I’m not playing with this bitch.” He jumped out the car, snatched up Skittles, and roughly threw her in the back seat of the car.

“Where’s Bubblicious?” he asked. Skittles murmured some long-winded nonsense.

“Where’s Bubbles?” Gianna asked firmly, helping Bullet resolve the problem, though she didn’t expect a coherent response.

“Running,” Skittles replied to Gianna’s and Bullet’s surprise.

“Which way she go?” Bullet was infuriated. “I’ma go upside Flashy’s head with the butt of my gun. That faggot know better than to turn my bitches loose like they a pair of worthless stray dogs. These hoes is valuable. I don’t appreciate that punk disrespecting my property like this.”

Breathing fire, Bullet pulled his cell phone out and called Flashy’s number. “What the fuck’s wrong with your punk ass? How you gon’ drive off and leave my bitches to run loose in the streets?”

Gianna could hear Flashy’s high-pitched voice, but couldn’t make out his words.

“Who called the cops?” Bullet sounded distressed.

Gianna shot a worried glance at Bullet. Visibly upset, he started sniffing and swiping at his nose.

“My allergies kicking up,” he told her. She quickly rustled through the glove box, searching for his medicine.

“Why’d you let a trick drive y’all to my crib? Why didn’t you take them back to your crib? You knew I’d be sliding through to grip ’em up. Oh, your man wouldn’t like that! I bet your man don’t mind spending that money you make off my hoes.”

There was a burst of ear-splitting yelling coming from Flashy’s side of the conversation.

“I don’t owe you shit,” Bullet barked. “I only made a coupla dollars off that auction. You can blame yourself for that. Ain’t nobody tell you to let all them paying customers run out the door.”

Flashy yelled something indecipherable.

“Fake-ass Big Ballin’ ain’t get nothing but a flesh wound. His right-hand man was only grazed a lil’ bit ’round his shoulder area. Them niggas ain’t dead. You could have doctored them up while I kept the bidding going.”

In a clear, loud voice, Flashy yelled, “Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, too, punk-ass!” Bullet exploded and then disconnected the call.

He briefly stared into space and then shot Gianna a dirty look. “Did you find my medicine yet, bitch?”

Her heartbeat thumped in fear of being smacked and, once again, demoted to being treated like dirt. She couldn’t bear to fall out of grace again. “It’s not in the car. I think it’s home…in the bathroom.”

Visibly trying to calm himself, Bullet took a deep breath and released a sigh. “It’s not your fault, baby. We gotta find Bubbles. Then we gotta get out of town. Chester is hot.”

“Can we stop and pick up some clothes?”

“No. That punk-ass Flashy done fucked the game up.”

“What did he do?”

“That sucka claims he told Bubbles and Skittles to run cuz the trick was threatening to report a double murder.”

“You didn’t murder anyone!” Gianna sounded pissed.

“I know. But that’s just what the fuck I get for letting a fruit loop handle pimpin’ business.”

“Whatchu gon’ do, Daddy?”

“Soon as I find Bubbles, we gon’ head to Atlantic City. I’ma call that old dude…you remember my old celly?” Bullet said in a chipper tone, as if he expected Gianna to have fond memories of her time spent with the malicious, sickly ex-pimp. “I’ma call my man and find out if we can crash at his crib ’til I get back on my feet.” Bullet scowled. “But I gotta find that bitch, Bubbles, first.”

Gianna felt nauseous at the thought of having to stay in the cruel old pimp’s tobacco-reeking house. She dreaded having to hear him fuss at Bullet for not being hard enough on his hoes. He probably would think that Bullet should have beat Bubbles with a wire hanger instead of a belt. And…he would taunt Bullet for cutting off only the tip of Gianna’s finger instead of the entire thing.

Bullet was a good pimp. He was still learning. He sure didn’t need that crusty old man to be putting torturous ideas in his head.

There had to be somewhere else they could go besides Atlantic City. Then she thought of Samantha and her heart leapt.

“What about the baby?” Gianna whispered. “You gon’ let Flashy collect that money and keep it?” she asked, pretending to be interested in selling the baby.

“Fuck that baby. That’s the last thing on my mind. The buyer is from Wisconsin or somewhere real far. He’s still negotiating the deal with Flashy.”

“But Flashy’s got shady ways. After what he did tonight, I don’t think you can trust him to be on the up and up.” She wanted Bullet to go get the baby and take her with them.

“I ain’t going back to jail. Ya dig? I gotta get out of Chester. I’ll deal with that baby situation when I can think straight.”

“Okay.” Gianna rubbed his hand comfortingly, while her mind raced to come up with an idea that would keep them from having to move in with that cranky, old pimp.

“Roll me a blunt. Nah, never mind. You can’t roll for shit.” He stared through the windshield. “Where the hell could that fat bitch be at? After she roll me a blunt, I’ma fuck her up for making me drive around while the Chester po-po is looking for my ass.”

Continuing on Second Street, Bullet stopped near some construction work at Edwards Street.

“There she is!” Gianna shouted, pointing.

Barefoot, Bubbles was fast-walking down Edwards Street, heading toward Third Street. Her tight skirt, obviously put on in a hurry, was inside out and twisted around backward.

Bullet accelerated. The roaring motor and screeching tires startled Bubbles, causing her to jump back and shriek in fear.

Bullet jumped out the Cadillac, and began forcefully beating Bubbles about the head and face. He dragged her to the idling car, shoving her inside the back seat with Skittles.

“You know what happens to runaway hoes, don’tchu?”

“I wasn’t running from you. I wouldn’t do that, Daddy. Flashy told me the cops was looking for all of us. He said you killed them ballers. He told me to run somewhere and hide. But I don’t know my way around Chester. I ain’t know where to go.” Her voice was defensive.

“First of all, I ain’t kilt nobody. Second, if I do end up with a murder rap, it’s gon’ be cuz I put a bullet in Flashy’s dome. That punk need to stop spreading rumors all the time.”

He tossed a bag of weed and a cigar in the back. “Roll me a blunt.” He rubbed his nose. “Damn, I wish I had my medication.”

“You wanna take a chance and drive by that convenience store on Ninth and Kerlin?” Gianna asked.

“Nah, we gotta bounce outta this town. I’ll be aiight when Bubbles hand me that blunt.”

 
 CHAPTER 44

Lost in her own thoughts, Gianna wasn’t paying any attention to the phone conversation Bullet was having with the ex-pimp.

Preoccupied with trying to come up with ideas to prevent Samantha from being sold, she didn’t notice that Bullet had hung up and was cursing in anger and frustration.

Intellectually, she knew she was too young to be a mom, but her naïve heart told her that together, she and Bullet could give Samantha a good life. Well, maybe not a traditional life…but being with them would be better than being sold to a sick pedophile who would do awful things to the infant for the rest of her life.

Skittles was crazy, but there was a chance that she might make a recovery and return to her normal frame of mind, if she could see her daughter. Holding and kissing Samantha might give her a new lease on life. Skittles could make Bullet a lot more money if she wasn’t such a loony tune.

She turned to Bullet and noticed that they were approaching a sign that read
WELCOME TO DELAWARE.

Good!
She didn’t question where they were going, but was relieved that it was the opposite direction of Atlantic City and the irate ex-pimp. Her parents were in New Jersey, too. But they were the last people she wanted to see. Because of their apathy, she’d lost part of her finger. If they really wanted to find her, they could have, Bullet had finally convinced her.

“Your peoples got money. They could have hired a private detective,
if they really wanted to find you. They living their own lives. Glad to have you out of the way,” Bullet had told her repeatedly.

The way she felt about it…her mother and father could both kiss her ass. She despised both of them. Bullet was the only family she needed.

“Why this muthafucka ridin’ my ass?” Bullet muttered.

Gianna and Bubbles both looked out the back window.

A dark compact car was tailing them…too close for comfort.

“Damn, Daddy, that little-ass car behind us ’bout to ram your bumper,” Bubbles complained.

“What the fuck? Reckless sonabitch driving that lil’ squatter must be smokin’ crack!” Bullet sped up, putting distance between his Cadillac and the dark economy car.

The dark car picked up speed and pulled up in the left-hand lane.

“They young bulls. And they throwing up signs,” Bubbles informed.

“What kind of signs?”

“I don’t know. I aint never seen those signs in Philly.”

“Don’t fuck with the Farms!” a voice hollered from the small car.

“TF!” another harsh voice rang.

“You fuck with Mookie; you fuck with Toby Farms, muthafucka!” the driver of the hooptie yelled. He looked no older than Gianna and Bubbles. Probably about fifteen or sixteen.

Then a shot rang out. Bullet ducked his head. Gianna scooted down to the floor mat, her arms covering her head.

“Oh, Lord. Somebody’s tryna kill us!” Bubbles screamed.

Bullet did a quick, screeching turn. Cars skidded. Horns honked as cars slammed into each other. During the traffic pileup, Bullet drove bumpily over the island that separated north and southbound traffic and maneuvered into northbound traffic and pushed the pedal to the floor. He looked back with murderous fury in his
eyes, but then laughed when he saw the little squatter was in the pileup, too.

“That must’ve been Big Ballin’s peoples. That clown couldn’t handle the situation man to man. Nah, that punk ass had to send a car fulla strapped kids after me.”

Gianna slowly rose up and eased into her seat. “What’s Toby Farms, Daddy?”

“A section of Chester,” Bullet explained. “Lil’ young chumps tryna be gangsta.”

“They shot a hole in the back door, Daddy,” Bubbles informed, examining the door while sitting on a tilt. Her buttocks still too sore to sit straight.

“They fucked up my whip?” Bullet looked over his shoulder real fast and then returned his angry gaze on the road.

“I’ma squash them Toby Farms niggas like they roaches,” Bullet fumed.

“I can see the bullet!” Bubbles hollered in an excited voice. “It’s lodged in the door. If it woulda came through, Skittles woulda got hit. I’m dead up, y’all.”

“Fuck Skittles.” Bullet growled. “Damn, don’t I have enough problems? Now I gotta worry about getting that hole patched up and my door painted.”

“You gon’ have to get the interior fixed up, too. Cotton and shit is hanging out that bullethole.”

“Goddamn! Always gotta be spending money on some bullshit.” Bullet blew out a stream of frustration and then fired up the blunt that was resting in the ashtray. “Damn, I can’t believe them niggas was on my ass like that. Bronco sure picked a bad time to try to get new.”

“Who’s Bronco?” Gianna asked.

“You know, Bronco! My man. You know…my old cellmate. Dude you met in AC. That ol’ pimpin’ muthafucka who got me into this hustle in the first place.” Bullet frowned.

He got me into it, too,
she thought with a mixture of sorrow and acceptance. She’d never thought of the mean, coughing from too many cigarettes man by name. Ol’ Ex-pimp, was his name as far as she was concerned.