Trap House (25 page)

A twinge of regret overcame Wanda as she watched the young woman. She reminisced as to
what could have been. She had once aspired to be a nurse when she grew up. However, she traded
her future for boys and drugs before she had the chance to grow up.

“Wanda Creedmore?” the assistant called again, breaking Wanda from her spell just as the tears
came.

“Right here, lil mama!” Wanda said, raising a hand. She got up and followed the girl into an
examination room and took a seat.

“You can change into this. The doctor will be in, in a minute,” the assistant said sweetly while
handing Wanda a gown.

“Ms. Creedmore?” the doctor said when he walked in. He appeared to be as young as the
assistant.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Wanda said, hoarse from having been asleep. A glance at the clock told her it
had been almost two hours since the nurse took her blood and urine sample. Wanda was instantly
antsy at the realization that she had been there so long without a blast. “Say, Doc, lemme get a
quick smoke,” she said, visualizing the large rock in her car.

“Huh?” the doctor questioned the strange request. He flashed a brilliant smile as he spoke,
which made Wanda change her mind.

“Nothing, honey. I’m cool,” she said flirtatiously.

The doctor’s smile turned into a grimace as he read the results fro the battery of tests she had
undergone. “How long have you had, uh…the flu?” the doctor asked without looking up.

“Off and on for a couple months. Probably that bird flu or whatever y’all got going ‘round,” she
replied with a chuckle.

“Aches, pains, night sweats?” the doctor asked as he scribbled.

“Mmhmm,” Wanda replied, searching his worried face for answers.

“Ma’am…” the doctor began, then paused. He had given the same grim news more than he
thought possible, yet it never got any easier. “You have several sexually transmitted diseases,” he
said grimly, still avoiding eye contact.

“It ain’t the end of the world, Doc. I’ve been burned before,” Wanda interrupted. Her
embarrassment caused her to cop an attitude. “Just gimme my shot so I can be up out dis bitch,”
she shot.

“Well…um…I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. While we can treat you for the gonorrhea and
Chlamydia, there is, uh…well…there is no cure for the HIV virus,” the doctor said, struggling with
the deadly diagnosis.

“You saying I got HIV!?” Wanda demanded.

“No, ma’am. Judging by your T-cell count, you have full-blown AIDS, I’m afraid,” he said,
finally making eye contact. He went on to explain various treatment options and resources that were
available, but Wanda didn’t hear any of it. The last words she heard were “full-blown AIDS.”

Wanda floated back to her car in a daze, clutching a handful of brochures and pamphlets that
were given to her by the doctor. Once inside her car, she fished out her shooter and loaded a huge
hit on the top. Wanda inhaled furiously, secretly hoping to stop her heart. When the first one didn’t
do the trick, she tried another, followed by another. She sat there in full view of anyone who
happened by, smoking cocaine. It wasn’t until the clinic rent-a-cop threatened to call the real police
that she moved on.

* * *

The same way a cut doesn’t hurt until you see the blood, Wanda went downhill quickly, knowing
that she was sick—that she was dying. The only thing that gave her solace were the drugs. With her
money gone, she sold her car to support her habit.

Wanda’s only possessions were the dirty Coogi dress and a raggedy twenty-five caliber pistol
that had gotten her laughed out of every pawnshop she tried to sell it in.

She knew she shouldn’t be tricking with the deadly disease, but she had burned through the
few ounces at an incredible rate. With no other options or resources available to her, she hit the ho
stroll, along with the other streetwalkers. Steward Avenue was Atlanta’s premier prostitution track.
The name had been changed to Metropolitan Parkway in a failed attempt to clean up the area, but
for those who bought or sold pussy, it would forever be Steward Avenue.

* * *

Tiffany had begun her downward spiral as well. After Mike’s upscale club closed and she’d
burned her bridges at Dimes, she found herself dancing in a sexy club on Steward Avenue.

She was living in a rundown motel near the club so she could be close to the action. Her life was
out of control, but she was powerless to stop it.

Cocaine had totally claimed her soul. She danced, tricked, and occasionally stole to get high.
Every night, she swore it would be her last, but every morning, the vicious cycle repeated itself.

One morning, she headed home and made it only as far as her driveway. She couldn’t get out of
the car. She sat there staring at the house until the demons demanded that she leave.

When Tiffany pulled up at work, she cursed at the heavy police presence. “Oh shit! What
now!?” she lamented as girl after girl was carted out in cuffs. Upset by the loss of easy income,
but grateful to have missed whatever went down, Tiffany pulled off. For once, her tardiness had
paid off.

None of her usual tricks were available, so she was penniless as she headed to P.I.G.’s. She
dreaded what might be in store for her. By now, she had witnessed every sex act known to man
and P.I.G.

When Tiffany told P.I.G. that she didn’t have any money but had just come to watch a show and
hang out, he knew it was time to push the issue. “Well, ain’t no show tonight,” P.I.G. said to the
relief of Dondi, who was still sore from the show he’d just done with the Omen. “Tell you what…”
P.I.G. said, grabbing his camera. “Lemme see this show you got that I’ve been hearing so much
about.”

Tiffany was so grateful that she wouldn’t have to do anything more than masturbate. She
instantly spread her legs and went at it.

The room was enveloped in silence as Tiffany worked her fingers. The only sounds to be heard
were her moans and P.I.G.’s heavy breathing. He was drooling down the front of his shirt as he
filmed the episode.

P.I.G. called for Blast so he could get a blow job while he watched. Blast came out and sucked
her teeth at Tiffany, then headed back to her room. As it turned out, he really didn’t need her,
because when Tiffany came, P.I.G. did too.

“Just about there,” P.I.G. surmised as he watched Tiffany suck her earnings through her shooter.
“Almost ripe,” he said, feeling another erection growing at the thought.

“I gotta go,” Tiffany announced, wrapping up her shooter and drugs. She had smoked just
enough to quiet the monkey on her back. The rest, she intended to smoke in the solitude of her
room.

“Okay, lil mama,” P.I.G. said warmly. “We gotta do this again soon.”

“That’s what’s up,” Tiffany mumbled on her way out the door.

* * *

As soon as she left, P.I.G. forced Blast to blow him as he replayed the footage of Tiffany
masturbating. Even though he was deep in his wife’s throat, P.I.G. took the call on his vibrating
phone. After all, business was business. “Yeah?” P.I.G. barked into the phone after checking the
ID screen.

“’Bout to come shop witcha,” Marcus said enthusiastically.

P.I.G. could hear his mouth twitching through the line. “Come on!” P.I.G. replied and flipped
the phone closed. Like everyone, P.I.G. assumed Marcus was at least involved in Pony’s murder.
All of the sudden, he was selling ounces and buying half-kilos. He also knew there was a $10,000
bounty on Marcus’s head. P.I.G. was waiting until Marcus fucked up all his money before turning
him in. Since his re-ups were steadily declining from half-kilos to the couple of ounces he was
now coming for, it was almost time to claim the reward.
Timing is everything
, P.I.G. mused as he
let go in his wife’s mouth.

CHAPTER 24

M
rs. Williams felt her heart literally stop as she watched two sheriff’s deputies approach
her door. “Will!” she yelled out, summoning her husband.

Hearing the distress in his wife’s voice, Tiffany’s father bolted from the den to her aid. “What’s
wrong?” he asked urgently when he reached her side.

Far too rattled for words, Mrs. Williams could only point toward the front door just as the
officers reached it.

“Is this about my daughter?” Mr. Williams asked plainly as his wife held her breath, expecting
the worst but praying for the best. It had been almost a year since Tiffany had left home, and they
hadn’t heard a word from her since.

“Sir, we are here with an arrest warrant for a Tiffany Williams, for failure to appear,” the younger
of the two deputies announced. The two deputies were polar opposites: one young, white, and
overzealous; and the other an older, laidback black man.

Mrs. Williams finally exhaled as her husband explained that their daughter no longer lived
there.

“We have not seen or heard from her in months,” Mr. Williams said strictly.

“We will need to have a look around to confirm that Tiffany Williams is not in the residence,”
the young, red-faced deputy said sternly. He was neither moved nor concerned with the pained
expression on the couple’s faces.

“Um, actually that won’t be necessary,” the older deputy interjected, looking at his partner as he
spoke. “Have her turn herself over to the jail or give us a call if she comes home,” he said, handing
Mr. Williams a business card.

When the Williamses agreed to do one or the other, the deputies left to head to their car. They
exchanged a terse glance that signaled an impending discussion on proper protocol.

Carlos had seen the sheriffs pull up and watched curiously from his window. When he saw them
turn from the door, he went down to investigate. “Is everything okay over here?” he asked, making
his way across the street. He hadn’t seen Tiffany since that night at the club but had been hearing
all kinds of rumors.

“And you are?” the gung-ho young cop asked, reaching for his pad.

“I’m a friend of the family,” Carlos told the older deputy. “Is Tiffany okay?”

“That’s what we are trying to find out,” the black officer replied. “Do you know where we might
locate her?”

Carlos’s hesitation was obvious to the veteran deputy. He was clearly reluctant to deal with law
enforcement on any level.

“Please. If you have any information, you need to be forthcoming. We want to help the girl,” the
young officer said with sentiment his partner didn’t know he was capable of.

“Dimes,” Carlos said loudly. “I heard she’s dancing at Dimes.”