Trap House (28 page)

When Rico finished that call, he quickly made another. “What up, shawty?” he said when the
call was answered. “Man, I got us a sho nuff freak for the night. Bitch must be part anaconda,
straight eat a dick,” he said animatedly. With that call, a gangbang was set in motion, as call after
call was made.

* * *

Tiffany knew she was in trouble as soon as she walked into the hotel room. There were twenty
young, rowdy black men, all drinking and smoking heavily. All her instincts told her to leave, but
she stayed anyway. “I thought you said it was only a few people?” she whispered through clenched
teeth as Rico let her in. “And where are the other girls?” she asked when she noticed she was the
only female in the room.

“They coming, so you may as well get some money before they do,” Rico reasoned.

Tiffany knew having the lone pussy in a room full of dudes wasn’t a good look, but the lure of
easy money and good coke propelled her. After dancing a couple of songs in a thong set, Tiffany
was handed a drink. Parched from her movements, she downed it without hesitation.

Rico smiled knowingly as he watched her swallow the drink in a couple of gulps.

Tiffany couldn’t taste the date rape drug that laced her drink but felt its effects midway through
the next song. Time and space slowed to a crawl as the chemicals invaded her senses. By the end
of the song, she was dead on her feet. The powerful drug incapacitated her movements, but she
could see and hear everything around her. So, when the plan to run a train on her was announced,
there was nothing she could do or say.

She could hear them arguing about who was first as they laid her out on the floor. Her skimpy
underwear was peeled off, and Rico climbed inside of her. Tiffany tried to scream, but nothing
came out. Instead, her open mouth was taken as an invitation and quickly filled. She watched
helplessly as the two men pounded away, grinning wildly. When they finished, they were replaced
by two more, followed by two more.

Over the next few hours, Tiffany was repeatedly raped by the men. Some took her over and
over, taking smoke breaks in between. She was ravaged vaginally, orally, and anally. The laughter
of her attackers rang in her ears hours after they left her alone on the hotel room floor.

* * *

The next morning, when the hotel maid entered the room, she thought she had come across a
dead body. The terrified Hispanic woman ran screaming from the room.

When EMS workers arrived, they found Tiffany covered in semen, urine, and filth from her
bowels’ release, but she was alive.

When she finally came around, she found herself handcuffed to a hospital bed at Grady
Memorial. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings before the events surrounding her being
in a hospital overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes tightly, attempting to flee from the memories
with sleep. “Thank God it’s over,” Tiffany said, embracing the much-needed rest. She knew full
well she would not be on the streets for some time to come. “It’s finally over. Thank you, God,”
she rejoiced loudly before drifting off.

“Amen,” her mother said quietly, unseen on the other side of the room.

* * *

A week and a hundred tests later, Tiffany was released to the sheriff’s deputies and taken to the
jail to await trial on felony theft charges.

A sympathetic judge accepted her lawyer’s and the DA recommendations that she be treated as a
first-time offender. She would have to complete a twelve-month lockdown rehabilitation program,
followed by twelve months of probation. If she did, she would have a clean slate.

Her supportive parents agreed to make restitution to her employer and drop the charges for
stealing the car.

The judge admonished her sternly and warned that this was her second chance and that she
would not get a third. “Consider yourself lucky,” he barked gruffly before bringing his gavel
down.

Tiffany knew she was lucky at the very least. Even after all her time on the street, she was still
disease and pregnancy free. Luck didn’t seem to quite sum it up for her now. She was sure there
had to be more to it than mere chance…divine intervention.

* * *

Wanda wasn’t quite as lucky. Life on the streets, combined with a serious drug habit and full-
blown AIDS, was taking its toll on the woman. Her body was so deteriorated that even the horniest
of tricks turned their noses up at her and drove by. Only the most desperate or cheapest johns
picked her up. They ended up paying twice for a romp with Wanda: once in cash and later with
their health.

“You sure, boss?” P.I.G.’s new doorman asked curiously when he as ordered to let the sorry
sight in.

“Hey, Wanda. How’s my girl today?” P.I.G. said warmly as she entered. The hospitable greeting
would be the only humanity she had coming. It was, in fact, a prelude to whatever licentious act
P.I.G. could come up with.

Wanda had lost all shame many years earlier, yet humbling herself to P.I.G. still ate at her. She
loathed the man to the core of her soul, but with no money or other options, she subjected herself
to his whims.

The junkies in the room had only recently put their clothes back on from performing a particularly
odious scene. At P.I.G.’s direction, the men had sex with the men and the girls with the girls. To add
insult, he now replayed the footage while they smoked their recompense. As a result, they were
feeling dejected and didn’t care to freak with Wanda.

“I guess you’ll just have to sweep up,” P.I.G. said with a chuckle. This would be his crowning
moment.

“Uh-uh! Don’t do her like that!” Blast pleaded.

“Don’t do her like what?” P.I.G. snapped. “She ain’t gotta do nothing she don’t wanna do.”

“Ima do it,” Wanda said meekly. She had accepted defeat, and P.I.G. was the winner.

Everyone in the room looked at each other curiously, wondering what the big deal about
sweeping up could be. They were all too new to have witnessed the degrading act before.

Wanda knew what she was in for. She made her way over to P.I.G. and let the filthy Coogi dress
fall to the floor. When she turned around and bent over, Blast gathered up her pipe and rocks and
left the room. Wanda winced with pain when P.I.G. shoved the toy broom in her rectum.

“Get busy,” P.I.G. demanded, setting her in motion.

Wanda squatted and swayed her hips to work the broom. She began to sweep up.

Although no one found it the least bit amusing, they roared with laughter when P.I.G. did. They
knew to laugh on command when P.I.G. said something was funny, whether it was entertaining or
not. Their highs and their lives depended on it.

“You missed a spot!” P.I.G. said with a laugh, and the crowd joined him.

Tears fell freely from Wanda’s eyes as she swept the room, in total pain and embarrassment.

After what seemed like an eternity, P.I.G. allowed her to stop. “Blast!” P.I.G. yelled as he
stopped the camera. “Get yo’ ass out here.”

Blast came out and glared dangerously at her husband as Wanda pulled the broom out of her ass
and slid her dress on.

“Give this lil bitch something for cleaning up,” P.I.G. said with a chuckle, eliciting more forced
laughter from the spectators.

“Ain’t nothing left,” Blast announced firmly. “I told you to send for Earl.” The only drugs left
were hers, and she wasn’t about to part with them for his bullshit. He ran through several ounces a
day with his freaks, and she’d be damned if she gave up hers.

“Oh well.” P.I.G. shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess you’ll have to come back tomorrow. I’ll let
ya sweep up again.”

The smokers all chuckled at the dis, glad it wasn’t directed at them.

That was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Something snapped inside of Wanda
as a lifetime of disappointment and bad memories flooded her brain.

As she reached in her purse, she could see her stepdad sneaking into her room at night, followed
by her stepbrother. She recalled every lie told to her by Mike and others like him, the pathetic lies
that turned her into a prostitute and a stripper, only to be chumped off for Tiffany. She remembered
every trick and every dick.

The room fell silent as Wanda produced the little raggedy gun from her purse. Her hand shook
wildly as she pointed the weapon at P.I.G.’s wide face. Wanda’s hand was shaking so hard that the
clip fell out of the gun, causing the room to erupt in laughter.

The doorman, who had been easing up to disarm Wanda, fell back and joined the revelry.

Then an explosion from the small gun reverberated in the suddenly silent room. Everyone
looked around at each other in shock.

P.I.G. had a confused look on his face, as if trying to figure out what had just happened. The
small-caliber projectile had entered his nostril so cleanly it took a few seconds before he or anyone
else knew he was hit. By the time he realized what happened, he was dead. His huge head slumped
forward, causing blood to pour from his nose.

The junkies, along with the doorman, all ran out of the house.

Wanda smiled at the sight of her dead tormenter, then turned on her heels and left as well.

Blast simply walked to the back and continued smoking. When the police arrived an hour later,
that was where they found her…still smoking. She was arrested for possession, but luckily, the
police response time was so slow that she’d smoked her stash down to an ounce, thus avoiding a
trafficking charge. That meant the difference between rehab versus twenty years.

Once she arrived at the jail, she used her one call to contact Earl. “It’s over, baby. The pig is
dead,” she said, relieved. After explaining what happened, she told him to collect the money from
the houses and shut everything down. She gave him her bond information and waited for him to
come and get her.

Instead, Earl gathered up almost $300,000 from the houses and took flight—took
a
flight, to be
exact. He paid cash for a one-way ticket to his birthplace on the small Caribbean island of Tobago,
all courtesy of his former employers.

CHAPTER 27

A
s fate would have it, Blast and Tiffany ended up in the same rehabilitation center. The two
women were cordial to each other when they met, but they generally tried to avoid each
other. They shared a legacy of pain and degradation that they didn’t care to be reminded of. They
wanted the past to stay where it belonged: in the past.

This came easier for Tiffany, who had mended her relationship with her parents. They were at
the center every weekend for visitation. Their unwavering support and forgiveness was essential
to Tiffany’s rehabilitation.