Trap House (19 page)

Tiffany longed for a blast, but this would have to do.

He popped a pill and swallowed it with a large shot.

“What’s that? X?” Tiffany inquired giddily between snorting lines.

“Uh-uh. Viagra,” Mike replied with a wicked grin. He almost felt sorry for the young girl,
knowing what was in store for her.

When Mike began to feel the effects of the Viagra and the liquor, he stripped Tiffany and then
himself, and everything was underway.

* * *

The next morning, Tiffany’s vagina was so battered and swollen she couldn’t even put her
panties back on.

Mike got a kick out of watching her limp around his apartment. “You a’ight? Sprain yo’ ankle
or something?” Mike giggled as they made their way to the elevator.

“Ha ha,” Tiffany replied, poking out her lip.

“How much did you make last night?” Mike inquired, sounding businesslike.

“Um…almost $2,000,” Tiffany answered, a little taken aback by the change in his demeanor.

“I know you was in a hurry last night, so make sure you bring your 10 percent when you come
tonight. You’ll do a lot better once we get you a few table dances,” Mike rambled on with dollar
signs in his eyes.

Tiffany chided herself internally for allowing herself to think last night meant something. “Yeah,
I guess so,” she said sadly.

Mike wasn’t new to the game. He heard her tone and knew she needed to feel special right then.
The young ones were like that. He’d been turning girls out on some level since third grade. “This
is just the beginning for us,” Mike said, pulling her close. “I have much bigger things in store for
us.” Mike planted a soft kiss on her forehead to punctuate the word “us.” The girls liked that word;
it made them feel included.

“Mmm. Bigger than this?” Tiffany asked, playfully grabbing his manhood.

“Don’t start nothing you can’t finish,” Mike warned, reacting to her touch.

Tiffany felt a stab of pain in her crotch when Mike began to stiffen in her hand. She quickly
pulled away, fearful of dealing with that monster again so soon.

Mike got a good laugh out of the horrified look on her face and teased her about it.

They were so caught up in their playful banter that they walked right past Marcus, who was
slumped down in a stolen car. He’d followed them from the club the night before and spent the night
smoking in the parking lot. Marcus smoked and plotted, plotted and smoked. He fully intended to
make good on his promise. Tiffany had just been added to his list.

CHAPTER 16

“W
hy they won’t just deliver it like they used to? Why you gotta go way up there?” Blast
grumbled as she re-counted the money.

“They say they need to talk to me,” P.I.G. said more confidently than he felt. He’d been wondering
the same thing. P.I.G. knew his New York connection was salty when he abruptly changed suppliers.
The Mexicans had the same grade of cocaine at a better price than the Dominicans he dealt with in
New York. Once Atlanta was established as a major distribution city, New York felt the pinch.

“One fifty,” Blast announced as she neatly stacked the cash inside a tote bag.

P.I.G. traded the raggedy sweatpants he generally wore around the house for a tailored suit.
The Dominicans, although ruthless drug dealers, were very formal. Blast had selected a charcoal-
gray suit and set it off with black gators and a matching belt. A gray brim covered the intricately
designed braids Blast had just completed.

“Get Gina ready. I’m taking her along for the ride,” P.I.G. demanded as he admired himself in
the mirror.

“Don’t bring her back!” Blast demanded in a tone she rarely used. She had begun to despise the
young girl since her husband seemed to prefer Gina’s mouth to hers.

P.I.G. heard the bitterness in her tone and knew Gina’s time had come. “Maybe I can sell her,”
P.I.G. offered, hating to let her go. She was, after all, payment for a debt. He started to argue that
point, but then he thought better of it.

Being as large as P.I.G. was, a plane was out of the question—not that he would have flown
anyway because he was afraid of flying. Earl pulled his boss’s custom SUV in front of the house and
waited. Besides the custom paint and rims, the truck also boasted a state-of-the-art entertainment
system including a thirty-two-inch plasma TV, satellite dish, and over twenty speakers. All of the
middle and rear seats were removed and replaced by a large loveseat, custom-made to accommodate
P.I.G.’s vast size.

P.I.G. checked the street carefully before making his way to his vehicle. He clutched the bag
containing $150,000 closely to his side.

Gina, in one of her seductive outfits, ambled behind him, looking like Nicki Minaj.

Once everyone was settled inside, Earl and P.I.G. prepared themselves for the long ride. For
Earl, that meant having his shooter and an ample supply of rocks close at hand.

Meanwhile, P.I.G. pulled out his penis and summoned Gina. He had to call her again to break
the trance the outside world engulfed her in. As soon as she saw his exposed penis, she made her
way to it, just as she was trained.

“Let me know if you want some of this,” P.I.G. snorted, offering Gina to Earl for the hundredth
time.

“Naw, I’m cool,” Earl said, declining for the hundredth time as well.

“Don’t let me find out you don’t like women no mo’,” P.I.G. said, roaring with laughter.

“I get a lot more than you think I do,” Earl shot back with enough hostility to make P.I.G. leave
him alone…for now.

* * *

Following the GPS navigation system, Earl pulled in front of the suppliers’ building in just over
thirteen hours. They could have made better time if not for P.I.G.’s addiction to Mickey D’s. Every
time he saw those golden arches, he demanded that Earl pull over.

“We’re here, boss!” Earl repeated again, louder to wake the snoring, slobbering man.

Once P.I.G. was fully awake, they exited the vehicle, leaving Gina behind to chase the incoherent
thoughts through her crippled mind.

A runner greeted P.I.G. and Earl warmly and escorted them into the building.

The Washington Heights section of Harlem was one of the most dangerous places on Earth,
unless you were there to do business with the Dominicans; then it was one of the safest.

“Don Carlos, he is very happy to see you,” the runner smiled as the elevator rose. Once they
reached the third floor, the smile disappeared from the man’s face, and his demeanor changed.
“You stay with me,” he ordered Earl, who looked at P.I.G. for approval.

P.I.G. gave a nod and then went inside.

“
Mi amigo
!” Don Carlos exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He rushed over and shook the large
man’s hand.

“Uh, what’s up?” P.I.G. asked, a little confused. He fully expected to be scolded for jumping
ship the way he did.

“Please sit,” Don Carlos said, pointing to a circa-1970s sofa still wrapped in thick plastic.

A worker came out of a back bedroom and reached for P.I.G.’s bag of cash. P.I.G. was hesitant
until Don Carlos gave a reassuring nod. The worker took the money to be counted as P.I.G. and
Don Carlos made small talk.

“Very sorry to hear about your Mexican friends,” Don Carlos said unsympathetically. In fact, it
was he who fed them to the Feds. It was part of the dirty game they played. Don Carlos considered
himself merciful for turning them in instead of murdering them as his partners suggested.

The men negotiated to have twenty kilos of cocaine shipped once a week, same as before,
except for a $1,000-per-bird penalty. P.I.G.’s disloyalty was going to cost, and the next fee would
be his life.

Once the transaction was complete, Earl was allowed to enter to carry the twenty-three pounds
of coke to the truck.

Don Carlos and P.I.G. exchanged niceties that neither truly meant and then said their
goodbyes.

“Say, you wanna buy a sex slave?” P.I.G. offered at the door.

“Excuse me?” Don Carlos asked in confusion.

“A sex slave. She do anything. She retarded. I got her in the truck right now,” P.I.G. said
proudly.

“I’ll have to pass. I’m afraid my wife would not approve,” Don Carlos replied apologetically.

* * *

Back in the truck, Earl lined up hits of crack on the dashboard for the trip. P.I.G. got another
blow job and was asleep before they hit the George Washington Bridge.

Five hours later, Earl pulled into a Mickey D’s in Washington DC, as instructed.

“Right there! Right there!” P.I.G. squealed as the iconic arches came into view.

“The usual, boss?” Earl inquired as he prepared to exit the truck.

“Yeah, and take Gina inside for a Happy Meal and leave her happy ass,” P.I.G. replied.

“Leave her?” Earl repeated, not sure if he heard correctly. “In there?”

“Yeah, in there, nigga! What? You Captain Save-a-ho now?” P.I.G. barked. “You can stay with
her if you want.”

“Come on, Gina. Eat,” Earl said solemnly. He hated having to do that to the girl. He tried to
comfort himself by pretending someone would take her in, though the chances were that in that
neighborhood, in that outfit, she would almost certainly be victimized further.

It was at that moment that Earl decided to kill P.I.G. He and Blast had talked about it several
times over the last few months—every since he’d forced them to have sex with each other.

Once, on a slow night, he ordered Earl to fuck his wife in her ass.

“This coochie mine, but can have the ass,” P.I.G. said with a sickening chuckle as he taped the
episode. Whenever he felt like humiliating one or both of them, he’d play the tape for the junkies
in the room.

What P.I.G. didn’t count on was that Evil and Blast were catching feelings for each other. He
was far too arrogant to believe that the help could take his wife. They both realized life could be
for the better without P.I.G. in it.

“Your days are numbered,” Earl swore as he led the handicapped girl to be stranded. “Time’s
almost up!”

* * *

When they arrived back in Atlanta, P.I.G. was wide awake…and wide open.

“A’ight. Let’s get this money,” P.I.G. announced to Blast when they entered the house.

“Where’s your retard?” Blast asked when she didn’t see Gina.

“What’s it to you?” P.I.G. snapped, still bitter about having to give her up. “You need to start
cooking and stay out my business. I want y’all to whip a bird for each house, and stick with the
fifties,” P.I.G. ordered, fully intending to milk the drought for all it was worth. “Earl, run over and
check the traps. Bring back the money so we can make another move.