Trap House Read online

  A skinny crack whore darted in front of them, flagging down cars.

  Tiffany sucked her pretty white teeth loudly when Marcus pulled to a stop in front of P.I.G.’s house.

  “Don’t start,” he warned, dropping his high-pitched voice down a few octaves for effect.

  “Start what?” Tiffany whined. “We come here every day now.”

  “Just give me the money, boo,” he said sweetly, flashing that dazzling smile.

  It did the trick, and Tiffany dug into her purse to pay for her boyfriend’s drugs.

  Marcus was short in stature and long in good looks. His chestnut-colored skin was offset by hazel eyes with flecks of gold in them. He had “good hair” that was wavy when short and curly when long. Although he only stood five-five, he made his clothes look damn good.

  Tiffany was short as well, standing just under five feet. She possessed the smoothest black skin, and it seemed to glow. Her dark eyes were slightly slanted, giving her an exotic look. God had also given her a beautiful set of full lips that she kept highly shined with Mac lip gloss. She hated them, but most men got a semi just looking at them. Her headful of thick, healthy hair extended past her shoulders, but that didn’t prevent her from gluing weaves in anyway. Like most dark-skinned women, she was conditioned to believe that beauty required a light complexion, green eyes, and straight hair. Since she possessed none of those traits, her self-esteem would not allow her to appreciate just how lovely she really was. That was a big part of why she was hanging on to Marcus for dear life. They had been together since seventh grade, no matter what shit he dragged her through.

  “Boo, this is my last fifty bucks. It’s got to last me until I get paid,” Tiffany whined as she hand over her hard-earned money.

  “I told you Ima give it back later. I got some money coming,” Marcus replied, snatching the cash from her hands.

  Tiffany mused to herself, He always has money coming in “later.” Only problem is, that “later” never comes. She realized that besides filling her car up on payday and buying a pack of gum, Marcus got everything else…or actually, P.I.G. did.

  “Come on, now. I ain’t got all day,” Marcus called behind him as he leapt from the car.

  “I ain’t ‘bout to go up there wit’ that nasty man,” she said forcefully.

  Marcus knew P.I.G. dug his girl, and he knew he was a little more generous in her presence. “Come on, baby. Ima get some soft for you,” he said, leading the way.

  She recognized the statement as a command and meekly complied. Besides, she did like the feeling a couple of lines gave her.

  P.I.G. was posted up in his custom-made recliner that was situated next to the front window, where he could monitor the comings and goings of the neighborhood. He was nosey like that. He almost squealed with delight as he watched Tiffany approach the house. He quickly ordered that the sofa nearest him be cleared so she would have to sit close to him. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” P.I.G. sang as Earl let the young couple in.

  Tiffany fought a wave of nausea that swept through her small body as P.I.G. ran his reptilian eyes all over her. She self-consciously tugged at her short skirt in a feeble attempt to shield herself from his lustful glare.

  “Have a seat,” P.I.G. offered, pointing to the recently abandoned loveseat directly across from him. “What can I do for you, my boy Marcus?” he said genially. A stranger would have thought them to be the best of friends.

  “I need a little hard for myself and a gram of soft for my ol’ lady,” Marcus replied, patting Tiffany’s exposed thigh as he spoke. “I ain’t got but fifty on me right now,” he added, giving her firm thigh a squeeze, “but I got more coming later.”

  “Of course you do,” P.I.G. said with a chuckle. “Not a question, ‘specially since you brought this lovely thing with you.” He was literally drooling as he stared at Tiffany’s dark thighs, making her even more uncomfortable.

  Blast had had enough, and she sucked her teeth as she stormed off. She couldn’t take any more of her man ogling the young girl and pretending to like Marcus. Truth be told, the only reason Marcus was allowed to come around was because of P.I.G.’s loyalty to his uncle, who got caught with three of P.I.G.’s kilos and took it like a man—all twenty years.

  “Earl, go on and serve them up,” P.I.G. said, never averting his gaze from Tiffany’s legs, not even to blink. He began rocking back and forth as a massive erection grew in his pants. P.I.G. was a pedophile on the low, but he hadn’t been able to get a hold of a child as of yet. It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying, but no matter how much money he offered, nobody seemed to be able to find one for him to have his way with. Tiffany’s small frame, although shapely, reminded him of a child and drove him wild. P.I.G.’s rocking increased, and if Earl hadn’t come back when he did, he would have let one go in his pants.

  “Here ya go,” Earl said, tossing the drugs to Marcus.

  Marcus wasted no time in breaking off a piece and loading it into his shooter.

  Tiffany was amazed and slightly repulsed at how quickly he moved. She watched as he became mesmerized as he twisted and turned the pipe, sucking feverishly. She wondered again if Marcus was becoming a junkie as the drug sizzled under the flame.

  “Go on, precious. That stuff ain’t gonna snort itself,” P.I.G. urged teasingly.

  “Sure ain’t,” the drug seemed to say, causing Tiffany to do a double-take.

  I’m tripping. She laughed inwardly as she opened the package. She made two small, neat lines on the glass table and bent forward to inhale them.

  P.I.G. bent forward as well to peek down the top of her shirt as she snorted the drug.

  She saw him but disregarded it as the powerful drug invaded her senses. Look all ya want. You’ll never get close enough to even smell this coochie, she laughed to herself as she leaned back to enjoy the rush.

  P.I.G. misunderstood, thinking she was smiling at him, and began rocking in his chair again, but Tiffany was again spared the gruesome sights and sounds of P.I.G. cumming on himself by a knock on the door.

  “It’s ya girl,” Earl chuckled as he peered through the peephole in the door. He removed a set of two-by-fours that served as a barrier against the jackers and the crackers and opened the door.

  “This bitch,” P.I.G. muttered in disgust as Wanda walked in.

  “Fuck you, too, nigga,” Wanda spat in P.I.G.’s direction. “Gimme a couple eight balls, sweetie,” she said to Earl, handing him a hundred-dollar bill.

  Earl shot P.I.G. a quick questioning glance before taking the money. When P.I.G. gave a slight nod of his head, he made the sale.

  “Go on and take that shit with you,” P.I.G. barked when Earl returned with Wanda’s package.

  “What!? You means I’s can take this merchandise off the premises?” Wanda exclaimed sarcastically.

  “Yeah, yeah. Take it and get the fuck out,” P.I.G. barked.

  Marcus, seeing an opportunity to get away and commandeer Tiffany’s coke before she had a chance to snort it all, spoke up next. “Say, P.I.G., you mind if we push too? My girl gotta go to work,” he asked wistfully.

  “Yeah, go on!” P.I.G. barked, grunting as he hoisted his huge frame from his perch. “Matter fact, everybody get the fuck out!” he said, waddling his way to the back room.

  Back in the car, Marcus demanded the rest of Tiffany’s blow before she could close her door.

  “Nooo, baybeee!” Tiffany whined in protest. They both had plans for the paltry amount, and Tiffany made a mock protest, even though she’d already split it in half as soon as she got it. She knew Marcus well enough to know he would make a play for her dope as well, and as usual, Marcus won her over.

  CHAPTER 4

  Tiffany was hard at work behind her register in the large department store located in the South Dekalb Mall. Even though it had been a relatively slow day, Tiffany simply could not concentrate. The small amount of cocaine in her purse kept her distracted, as if it was calling her name. Several times during her shift
, she’d turned sharply, swearing she heard her name whispered.

  “Okay, you win,” she finally said to her purse as she picked it up. “You want me to snort you, Ima short you,” she told the blow reassuringly as she headed to the restroom.

  Relieved to see the employee break room empty, she rushed into a stall to retrieve her stash. Using a manicured pinky nail, she quickly shoveled a scoop in each nostril. She intended to only take a light one on one and save the rest for later, but she was powerless to stop herself as she inhaled the rest. Before she knew it, she was licking the empty tinfoil. Then Tiffany felt a sense of urgency as she stared down into the empty package. She only had two hours left on her shift, but she was far too anxious to stand around with no blow.

  Having no choice in the matter, she headed to Mrs. Lovejoy’s office to inform her boss she’d be leaving early for the day. She attempted to concoct a plausible story for her urgent departure, but her mind was still blank as she knocked on the door. Tiffany entered when prompted and stood in front of Mrs. Lovejoy’s large desk.

  “Oh my God!” the supervisor exclaimed at the sight of Tiffany. “Please sit down, Tiffany. Are you ill?”

  “Huh?” Tiffany asked in confusion. “Oh, yeah…ill,” she said as her mind caught up. “Must be something I ate,” she added, taking a seat.

  “You look a mess, child. Do you want me to call your mama?” she asked, concerned.

  “No!!!” Tiffany shouted, startling the elderly woman. “I mean, uh…no. I’ll be okay. I can drive myself,” she said.

  “Okay, dear, take the rest of the day,” Mrs. Lovejoy said before going into her home remedies for upset stomach.

  Tiffany didn’t hear a word after “…rest of the day,” for as soon as it was uttered, she sprang from the chair and hustled out the door.

  She cursed to herself as she walked through the parking lot, past where her car should be parked and headed for the bus stop. “Bet if it was payday, that nigga would have his ass here,” she fumed. Since it was Wednesday and her paycheck was long gone, Marcus would be hard to find.

  Tiffany cursed again as she scrambled to find correct change as the bus neared. She hated taking public transportation. The buses were always full of weirdoes. She scanned the bus for an empty seat as she paid the fare. She was relieved to find one in the middle of the bus, away from the loudmouthed young goons in the back seats. She could never understand why, after Ms. Parks’s noble struggle and all the boycotts and demands to be allowed to sit wherever a person wanted regardless of color, some blacks still flocked to the rear. Dumb niggas probably think Rosa Parks has swings, she thought.

  Marcus’s phone went straight to voicemail again, indicating it was still turned off. Tiffany fought to keep her composure as she prepared to leave yet another message. “Hey, boo. I’m off. I need you to come get me please,” she said sweetly, in complete contradiction to what she was really feeling. She felt like screaming, “Nigga, bring me my fucking car!” but she knew better. As of late, Marcus had gotten more and more aggressive, to the point of yelling and grabbing on her when he got mad. She wondered if it would escalate to him actually hitting her. “Humph. My daddy didn’t even put his hands on me,” she said indignantly at the thought.

  Without any prompting from her brain, Tiffany’s hand reached up and pulled the cord as the bus approached the intersection of Glenwood and Candler Roads. She was on full autopilot as she boarded the 107 bus toward Moreland Avenue…toward P.I.G.’s place.

  Tiffany ignored the cat calls from the thugs on the back of the bus. However, the total lack of attention didn’t’ deter one of the wannabe players from approaching her.

  “What it do, shawty?” he slurred, then made a grimace intended to showcase his mouthful of gold teeth.

  For a reply, Tiffany frowned and turned back to watch as the depressing ghetto landscape passed by.

  “You ain’t all dat lil bitch,” the dejected mack spat before heading back to his jeering comrades. “Bitch a dyke, y’all!” he said loudly in an attempt to explain why she wasn’t interested in him.

  Again, she pulled the cord, signaling her stop, and she got off the bus when it came to a hissing stop.

  She felt a confusing mix of emotion as she neared P.I.G.’s house. Girl, what are you doing? she asked herself as she marched up the sidewalk. She half-hoped Marcus would pull up, but at the same time, she hoped he wouldn’t.

  P.I.G. blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing correctly. “Get the door!” he shouted excitedly when he realized he wasn’t tripping. Tiffany was there…alone!

  His sudden outburst caused everyone to look expectantly at the door. When Tiffany walked in, all the smokers went back to smoking—all except Blast. She sucked her teeth, gathered up her work, and headed to the rear.

  “Keep it up, you gon’ suck one of them teeth right out ya gums!” P.I.G. teased after her. He loved the fact that she was jealous over him. He turned to Tiffany. “Hey, pretty lil thang! What brings you around?” he asked, even though he knew full well why she was there. He saw how much she enjoyed snorting her little lines. He saw her cuff a little of the drug each time she and Marcus came by. Marcus was far too busy sucking on that pipe of his to realize his girl was getting hooked…and fast.

  “I was…um…looking for Marcus,” she stammered, scanning the room as if she may have missed him.

  “I ain’t seen him since last night, but I’ll tell ‘im ya came by,” P.I.G. said, nodding to Earl.

  On cue, Earl began to reach for the door, causing a slight panic in Tiffany.

  “Damn. He got my car,” she whined, “and I wanted to get a little something.”

  “You know your money is good here, lil mama. What you tryina spend?” P.I.G. inquired sweetly.

  In the same whiney voice, Tiffany explained that Marcus had her money as well.

  “Okay. Well, y’all come back once you catch up with him,” P.I.G. said, nodding at Earl again.

  “That could be all night. He said he was gonna come here,” Tiffany whined.

  P.I.G. knew the ball was in his court, but he still had to move slow. He didn’t want to scare her off, but he had to get her acclimated to this part of the game. “Well…I was gonna set something out after the show,” he said haltingly. “You can stay and get you a few lines if you want.”

  Tiffany sat down on the nearest sofa as a reply. This time, when she saw P.I.G. gawking at her exposed thighs, she didn’t mind. She looked at the two well-dressed men in the room and wondered what kind of show could be forthcoming.

  “Well, y’all get into it, Julian,” P.I.G. ordered, grabbing his camera.

  Julian was a married man with four kids and a nice home in one of Atlanta’s outlying counties. Maintaining his family took all of his income, so to maintain his drug habit, he would put on shows for P.I.G. from time to time.

  The other man, Tracy, also had a family, but he was such a slave to his sexual desires that there was almost anything he wouldn’t do. For him, it was completely sexual, and the drugs were just extra fringe benefits. He was in it to get off.

  When both men began to undress, a look of horror spread across Tiffany’s face. She understood what was about to go down.

  P.I.G. noticed her unease and had to think quick so he wouldn’t lose her. “Earl, bring our guest some of that soft,” P.I.G. ordered, setting the large man in obedient motion.

  Earl rushed from the room, as he himself did not want to see the show either. He returned to drop off the blow and then went back to hang out with Blast in the rear.

  Tiffany gasped and turned her head when Julian began performing oral sex on Tracy, but the image was displayed across P.I.G.’s huge screen. Although mortified, she couldn’t take her eyes off them. It was like passing a bad car accident; she really didn’t want to see the carnage, but she couldn’t help but look. Even with the pile of cocaine in front of her, Tiffany’s eyes were glued to the men.

  They took turns giving each other blow jobs until P.I.G. ordered t
hem to fuck.

  Luckily for Tiffany, the blow whispered her name and broke the trance. “Hey, you!”

  Tiffany smiled at the white powder before she divided it into snortable lines.

  She and the men finished about the same time. They dressed and sat back on the sofa like nothing happened.

  P.I.G. called for Earl and ordered him to set out an eight ball of crack as payment. “And bring a couple grams for our guest,” he added, much to Tiffany’s delight. “You can take that with you, lil mama. No telling when you’re gonna catch up with that little man of yours,” P.I.G. said sweetly.

  Just as Tiffany stood to leave, there was a knock on the door.

  Earl chuckled as he peeked through the hole, then began the process of opening the door.

  “Hey, Earl! Hey, girl!” Wanda sang cheerfully as she walked in. She and Tiffany had spoken briefly over the past few weeks, whenever they happened to be there at the same time. They talked about girls’ stuff like hair and nails…over hits of cocaine. “Bring me a couple of eight balls, sweetie,” Wanda told Earl, making a big show of ignoring P.I.G. “So, what are you doing over here, girl?” Wanda asked Tiffany.

  “Looking for my man and my car,” Tiffany replied in sista gurl mode, with her hand on her hip, her head moving, and her eyes rolling.

  “You need a ride?” Wanda offered.

  “Y’all know I don’t like nobody taking my shit up outta here,” P.I.G. interjected. As much as he hated Wanda speaking to him, her ignoring him bothered him even more.

  “Nigga, ain’t nobody tryina hear that fuck shit you talking!” Wanda spat. “Much business my man bring yo’ fat ass,” she threw in for good measure.

  That did the trick and humbled P.I.G., because Wanda was right. Mike was an important man who was feared and respected. P.I.G. hated Wanda with his whole black, overworked heart, but business was business.

  After Earl served her, Wanda left with young Tiffany in tow.

  P.I.G. was in a foul mood and needed to take it out on someone. “Get over here, Julian!” P.I.G. ordered, pulling out his huge penis.