Crackhead II: A Novel Page 15

  Most of all, Laci was disturbed by the fact that T.J. had the tape and by what he wanted her to do because of it. She could have fucked him to keep him from showing the tape, but she wasn’t no ho. Any man she would be with from now on would be by choice and not necessity.

  Dink already knew that Dame had fucked her. He’d never brought it up after she told him, but how could she explain a videotape of her having sex not only his boy, but Quita’s stankin’ ass too?

  She figured that Dink wouldn’t realize that it was as close to rape as a sexual act could get. Who would think that when it looked like just another addict fucking for crack? It was all on tape for anyone to see, and considering what T.J. said, people liked it. Nobody would ever think it was a total violation of her body.

  Laci thought back to her brief conversation with her uncle, and she picked up the phone again and began to dial.

  “May I speak to Officer Jones?” she said when someone answered.

  After she was put on hold briefly, a man answered the phone. “Detective Clifton,” the voice blared into the receiver.

  “Um . . . uh . . . may I speak with Officer Jones? This is Laci Johnson.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Johnson, but he’s off today. May I help you with something?”

  “My uncle told me you wanted to, uh . . . ask me some questions?”

  “Johnson,” he said, trying to remember the name. “Julacia Johnson?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Laci confirmed.

  “Ms. Johnson, thanks for calling back.” Laci remained quiet. “I wanted to talk to you because we’re looking into the death of Crystal Moore and Rick Young.”

  “Death?” Laci screeched. “Rick who?” she asked. She had never heard that name before.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “You probably know him as Dame.”

  Dame’s dead too? she thought to herself.

  “Would you be able to come to the station and talk to us about this?”

  Laci became quiet. “No, I’m away in college. But Detective, I’m curious, why are you looking for me?”

  “You’ve been named as someone who may know more about this case. We have a picture of you with the group of girls known as the South Bronx Bitches, Ms. Johnson.” Laci stayed silent. “Look, you may or may not have the answers we’re looking for, but we just need to tie up some loose ends on this case. We questioned the other girls and you’re the only one we haven’t spoken with. The girl who was with Ms. Moore at the time of the incident is no longer cooperating, and you’re the only other one without a record, so we really need your help.”

  “Help doing what?”

  “Finding out why Ms. Moore was set up. We also know that her boyfriend ran a drug ring here in the Bronx and now he’s nowhere to be found. Every time their name comes up, yours does too, and it looks like nobody knows much about them or is willing to talk. So we need to get to the bottom of it. Ms. Johnson, this is serious business; if you can’t come to us, we’ll have to come to you.”

  Laci’s heart started racing and she hung the phone up abruptly.

  “God, please,” Laci said out loud, “please let this nightmare end.”

  CHAPTER 28

  THE PARTY BEGAN like any other college party scene. The students were celebrating the 42–7 ass-kicking that B.U. gave Northwestern, but it quickly turned into something resembling Atlanta’s spring-break Freaknik.

  Once the alcohol was flowing freely and the weed had been passed around to everyone, the atmosphere got crazier. The horny girls started to dance wildly with each other and on whatever surface could hold their weight in order to entice any guy that was paying attention. With a ratio of two to one, a man could have his fantasy of more than one girl in a night.

  “Jingling Baby” by LL Cool J filled the air and the girls grinded their pussies against the men who were standing around watching. They also teased them by rubbing their breasts against any man who would give them attention. The boys danced along with their freaks of the night, but a few had a hard time hanging out when they couldn’t take the sexy grinding any longer without wanting to get up in it.

  Dink was busy breaking the grip of three freaks who’d been eyeing him since he walked into the frat house.

  “Baby, we offering you an around-the-world proposition,” one of the girls told Dink. “Have you ever had three women at the same time?” She looked at Dink and licked her lips. “I’ll suck your dick while my girl eats your ass and my other girl sucks your balls. Come on, baby, let’s get down.”

  “Aye, yo, Slim,” Dink called out. He followed it up with a two-fingered whistle.

  “What’s up, yo?” Slim said when he’d made his way over to Dink and the three freaks. The girls looked at Slim and approved by nodding their heads. They whispered to each other about who was gonna do what.

  “Ladies, why don’t y’all take care of my boy here.” Dink quickly told Slim what they wanted to do and he happily obliged. “I’ve been around the world before. Actually more times than you want to know,” Dink told the freaks, “so here you go, have fun.”

  The girls winked at Dink as Slim put his long arms around them. He gave an upward head nod.

  “We’ll try to bring him back in one piece,” one of the girls told Dink as they walked away in search of a little privacy.

  Dink had never thought that the people he encountered at the frat house—honor students and future leaders of America—would have that type of freak shit in them, but sex was a universal language that everyone spoke and understood.

  Simone laughed at how many women were coming on to Dink, so she stayed close to him to ward off the skeezers. She knew he didn’t want to be bothered and he was truly her boy. Plus, she didn’t want any of the other guys there try’na get up in her panties tonight either.

  Just as they were finishing a game of pool, T.J. came busting into the party. He was loud and obnoxious. It was obvious that he was drunk. T.J. had been drinking since he left Laci earlier that evening. His conscience was really fucking him up. He knew he wasn’t a real thug, but he had an image to uphold.

  “Look at this bullshit,” Simone said to Dink. She was embarrassed. “That’s the reason I don’t fuck with his ass.” She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  “Don’t even worry about that,” Dink told her. “Go ’head and rack ’em. I’m ’bout to get up in that ass tonight,” he joked. Simone laughed, and that was all T.J. needed to hear for him to storm over to the two.

  “What the fuck you think you doing? Who’s ass you gonna get up in?” T.J. boldly yelled at Dink and swung, connecting his fist with Dink’s jaw.

  In an instant, Dink instinctively clocked T.J. in the face, knocking him to the floor, then pulled out his piece. Dink never traveled far without his iron. Regardless of being on a college campus, he still had to watch his back and wasn’t gonna let nobody punk him. That was his street mentality.

  Slim and a few others rushed to Dink to keep him from killing T.J.

  “Whoa, what the fuck just happened?” Slim’s shirt was off and he stood there looking silly with his scrawny, long legs sticking out of his boxers. The freaks that Dink had passed off to him were making good on their promise, but when he heard the commotion, he was concerned about what was happening to his boys.

  T.J. rubbed his jaw and drunkenly got up off the floor.

  “Come on, nigga,” Dink yelled. “You been fuckin’ with me since I got here. I don’t fuck with wannabe niggas, but I been wantin’ to get at you for a minute. Bring yo’ ass!”

  “Dude!” Slim said forcefully. “Can y’all tell me what the fuck just happened?” He was becoming disgusted with the constant conflict between T.J. and Dink. He suspected that T.J. had a big issue with Dink, but Slim never thought this kinda shit would kick off.

  “That nigga all over my gal. Fuck his punk ass!” T.J. yelled.

  Some of the spectators started laughing, because that was a punk move on T.J.’s part.

  “T.J., you straight-up buggin’,�
� Simone told him. “What you talking about? We was just playing pool!”

  “Bitch, fuck you! When I’m through with this nigga, you next. I told you I wanted you to stay away from this ghetto-ass muthafucka, but you act like you ain’t hearing shit I’m saying.”

  “T.J., you trippin’.” Simone was pissed off. T.J. had never called her a bitch before, but calling her one in public took the cake. “He got a girl.”

  “Now you takin’ up for his ass. You a ho just like his gal.”

  Dink had had enough. He broke free from Slim and the other dudes and tackled T.J. to the ground. Clunk. Something flew out of T.J.’s jacket. He looked at Dink and laughed, with blood and saliva coming out of his mouth.

  LACI GREW FURIOUS at the memory. A flashback of her most degrading moments, which were even worse than what was on the tape that T.J. had shown her, flooded her mind. The memory of an unlimited amount of men and women using her for sex made Laci’s stomach turn.

  Oral sex, anal sex, vaginal sex, and the smells of bodily fluid she was constantly sprayed with stuck in her mind. The names she was called—most she had never heard of—rang loud and clear.

  At her lowest point, Laci would have fucked a dog right in the middle of the South Bronx during rush-hour traffic if it would have fed her habit. Junkies stole, lied, and would sell their soul to the devil if it would give them the hit that their bodies needed.

  At that time Laci knew she looked like shit and she didn’t give a fuck, but everyone still wanted a piece of her. Not only because she was fly but also because she had a reputation that anything goes, and best of all, they didn’t have to break her off anything more than some dick and a hit.

  Many local and nonlocal ballers had had a taste of the ripe young strawberry. Nothing else compared to it. They enjoyed running trains on her just to see how much she could take. One night she had eight guys running through her young body. Oftentimes the men wanted to see just how far she’d go for her high and during group sex, they made her suck the dick or eat the pussy of another druggie who was shooting up. The ballers she fucked didn’t want to share her pussy with other druggies because Lord only knew what diseases they carried. They wanted her snatch to themselves.

  With tears pouring from her eyes and close to hyperventilating, she picked up her phone and dialed the number again. Upset that she received a machine, Laci left the best message she could in her condition.

  An image of her sucking the dick of a homeless junkie played on repeat in her mind. She ran to the bathroom and threw up just as she remembered him nutting off in her mouth. It was the most horrid thing she had ever tasted in her life.

  Almost instantly, a large, warm hand grabbed her shoulder.

  Laci’s heart almost jumped out of her chest. Her mind was all over the place and she prayed it wasn’t T.J. again.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?” Dink asked, picking her up off the floor. “Have too much to drink?” When he walked into the apartment, he’d seen two empty bottles of wine on the floor.

  Laci hugged Dink, glad he was home. Dink broke her embrace and looked at her angrily. It was a look she had never seen before.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “That nigga T.J.,” Dink said. Laci’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.

  “T.J.? What he do?” Laci asked anxiously, afraid that he would have shown Dink the tape as well as others.

  “I don’t wanna talk about it.” Dink helped clean Laci up, but the alcohol he’d drunk earlier put him in another mood. As he led Laci to their bedroom, he turned her toward him and gently pushed the white spaghetti straps from her gown off her shoulders, then gently eased the delicate fabric down over her slender but curvy body.

  Dink’s sultry gaze met Laci’s as he undressed. He stepped to her and held her naked body in his arms.

  “I need you, baby,” Dink whispered in Laci’s ear, enjoying the feel of her body next to his. He breathed heavily while he kissed her neck and trailed kisses to her breasts, then back up.

  Laci’s body reacted to Dink’s touch. Her breathing matched his while she allowed her lips to meet his and they exchanged a long, passionate kiss.

  Her hands traveled up Dink’s strong back, enjoying the feel of his muscular body. The intensity of the moment excited her and she allowed Dink to lay her down on the bed.

  Although Laci’s pussy was wet and she wanted Dink to make love to her, her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t get the tape off her mind and the lingering feel of T.J.’s touch off her breast.

  Just as Dink attempted to enter her, Laci tensed up.

  “Dink, no.”

  “Baby, it won’t hurt. I promise I’ll be gentle,” he told her, putting his mouth on hers with a passionate kiss.

  “Dink, please stop.” Laci broke the kiss and struggled against the weight of his body. Finally he realized she was serious. “I’m not ready for this. I . . . I can’t.” Laci got up and ran to the bathroom.

  She splashed cold water on her face and looked at her reflection in the mirror. What’s wrong with me? Everything seemed so surreal. After she’d gathered her composure, Laci walked back into the bedroom and sat down next to Dink, who had put his boxers back on. “Dink, I’m sorry,” she said quietly, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “It’s okay,” he told her, reaching for his T-shirt. He quickly put it on and lay down. Laci got in on her side of the bed and snuggled up next to Dink. Laci put Dink’s arm around her. She needed him to hold her before she lost it.

  CHAPTER 29

  SMURF WAS AN eager student and learned more and more about the mechanics of drug trading. Dirty taught him everything he should know and then some. Smurf now made all the decisions and negotiations about what came into the South Bronx.

  Smurf also took a personal approach with Dirty. He learned that Dirty went to jail when he was seventeen years old and took the entire rap to protect someone else.

  Because of all the product that Smurf brought into the hood, his crew stepped up their game and did their job, so Smurf rewarded them handsomely. It was a win-win situation. Once he got back in the hood, he linked up with his boys, Drake and Lil’ Rob.

  “Yo, boss,” Lil’ Rob called. “I got some freaks from Harlem rollin’ through tonight. You know how I do it. You want in?”

  “Shit . . . depends,” Smurf retorted. “They them hoes from last time?”

  “Naw, man, this some new shit.”

  “Good . . . good, ’cuz old pussy gets dug out,” Smurf laughed. “You know how to get a hold of me, man.” He thought back to LaQuan. The pussy was getting better every time he hit it, but Smurf would never turn down a fresh piece of ass. And lucky for him, he had all kinds of women to choose from.

  Brenda, a chick he’d met through one of his boys, was money hungry. She was fine, and kept to her motto of whoever had the most bread would be the one to get the head.

  Maria was a mixed black and Spanish mamacita. Smurf really liked her at first because they could have a real conversation. But that was just her game to get into his psyche, so she could make more demands. Smurf didn’t have time to deal with the drama for a piece of booty.

  Thinking about using all these women got him thinking about his own mom, who had been used time and time again. Smurf hadn’t seen her since their talk, but he always left money under her door.

  On his way to Tonette’s, he saw a new-model red BMW. He looked at the driver and thought he saw his mother. Smurf followed the car, and true enough, it was her.

  He knew that his mother couldn’t afford a car like the one she was in, so Smurf surmised that she had to be dealing with a hustler.

  His mom had come up and it wasn’t because of him. Smurf was angry now. “Man, fuck her. Talking about she gonna try to change. Tellin’ me she can’t accept my help, but when it’s another baller who doesn’t give two shits about her it’s cool? Fuck that. Guess you can’t take the ho out of the woman,” Smurf said aloud.

 
CHAPTER 30

  TONETTE SAT IN Dame’s 1987 navy-blue Chevy Camaro and blasted “Colors” while she watched her customers rock her spot. It was a busy Saturday night and the dead were walking. She saw the men, women, and children that the crack epidemic affected. It’s a shame, she told herself, but it’s all about money and somebody got to do it.

  Her spot was poppin’ and she decided to go in to service more of her customers. She didn’t care where they got her payment from, they’d always come up with it. Many of Tonette’s customers were tried-and-true junkies. Because of this, they would come back numerous times a night and each time, with a wad of bills in their hands for their needs.

  Tonette was known to her customers, and it was time to show her face again. She walked into the vacant building and immediately felt she was going to pass out from a stench like that of decomposing bodies. Beneath her feet crunched used vials of heroin. To the right, Tonette saw junkies fighting one another over their last hit. To her left, she saw what looked like a man, sucking another man’s dick. Her stomach turned at the sight. Then straight ahead lay a basehead on a piss, blood, and cum-stained mattress looking like she was halfway dead. The girl looked familiar.

  Tonette walked closer. Most girls would have been afraid to go into a crack house alone, but she wasn’t. She had what they needed and because of that, she was protected. Also, Tonette was known to put a foot or two up someone’s ass if anyone tried to fuck with her. Her reputation for abuse preceded her and it got worse when she became angry or wanted to prove a point.

  The high-yella girl on the mattress had a slim build and her dark hair was matted to her head.

  Adrenaline began to pump throughout Tonette’s body. There, that bitch is right there, she said to herself. I’ma finish this bitch off for good, she thought as she approached the girl.