Dangerously In Love (28 page)

S
he’d only spent a few weeks in jail and wouldn’t have had to stay for that amount of time if she hadn’t been hit with an old prostitution-related bench warrant. It was cool, though. She needed the break—to chill, clean out her system, and get her weight up.

Out of jail for two days, Buttercup needed a place to rest her head. Trying to get into a city homeless shelter was a bitch. She knew the drill. They ran you ragged, making you sign up at the main office that was located on Ridge Avenue in North Philly. If she expected to get a bed, she had to go to the office to get her name processed in the computer. After all that aggravation, the next step would be to trek to the Women’s Shelter downtown on Broad Street. Once she arrived at the Women’s Shelter, there was a strong possibility that her name still wouldn’t be in the computer. And if the downtown Women’s Shelter was too crowded, she’d have to hoof it all the way back to West Philly to wait in line at another shelter on Forty-Second and Parrish. It was a shame the way they ran people all over town for just a cot and one damn hot meal.

Before she could even begin to start the long journey, Buttercup had to get lit! There was no way she could stand in any of those long-ass lines with a bunch of funkyass people unless she was high as a kite. But getting high required money, so there she sat in the front seat of a police squad car in Fairmount Park—the headlights turned off, the car hidden behind trees.

She spit the bitter liquid out of the passenger window and wiped her mouth with a Burger King napkin she found tucked in a crevice between the seat and the door.

Despite the fact that cops were always locking her ass up and making her give them blowjobs at half-price and sometimes for free, at least one of them was good for something. “So, did you get me that information?” she asked the officer, whom she had just finished servicing.

He lifted his butt from the seat to zip up his pants. “Yeah, I got it; here you go,” he said and gave her a piece of paper. “All right, come on now…I gotta get back to work. Where do you want to be dropped off?”

She looked at the paper, then looked at the cop hopefully. “Can you take me up there?”

“Now you know that’s out of my jurisdiction; I can’t drive you that far,” the cop complained.

“All right, how far can you take me?”

“I can take you as far as Fifty-Fifth and Pine. I gotta get back to the station,” he replied with undisguised irritation.

“That’s going in the opposite direction,” she said, matching his tone. “Just let me out at that A-Plus gas station over on Thirty-Eighth and Girard.”

The cop pulled out of the darkness and cruised onto the street. He swung into the parking lot of the brightly lit service station.

Buttercup got out, slammed the door, and walked around to the driver’s side. “Since you won’t give me a ride, can you at least give me a tip?”

“Damn, you’re a pest,” the cop grumbled. Begrudgingly, he gave her a ten-dollar bill and roared out of the lot. He made a sharp left turn and then turned on the lights. The siren blared as he sped off in the direction of Fifty-Fifth and Pine.

Buttercup successfully hitched a ride but the guy who picked her up insisted on getting a handjob for his trouble. It seemed everybody wanted something; good Samaritans seemed to be a thing of the past.

The driver took her to her destination—a quiet tree-lined street. The soft lighting of a lamppost illuminated the piece of paper with the address she was looking for.

The house was dark, no parked car or truck. No people roaming around; no sign of life. Good. That’s the way she liked it. Money was tighter than tight and her best bet was to get inside the house she was casing. There was a lot of money in there; she just had to figure out a way to break in.

She walked around the back and used her shoe to tap the basement window and then wiggled her thin body inside.

She tiptoed around the dark basement and found the stairs easily. Breaking and entering was not a new activity for her, but she felt an adrenaline rush because this time it was personal. She intended to take back something that rightfully belonged to her.

Careful not to turn on a light, but wishing she’d had the sense to ask the cop for a flashlight, she crept around the kitchen, then the dining and living rooms. Where do people usually keep their money? She stopped pacing. Standing still helped her think. Upstairs! The money would definitely be upstairs in a bedroom, hidden in a bureau drawer. Excited, she quietly climbed the stairs. Yeah, most people stashed their dough in their bedrooms, she decided as she counted the rooms in the hushed, dark hallway.

She heard a rustling sound coming from one of the bedrooms and almost peed on herself. She should have cussed that punk cop out for not accompanying her. He had talked some shit about not being able to do anything without a search warrant. Shit, from her experiences with cops, they always did whatever the fuck they wanted—with or without a damn search warrant.

The rustling sound grew louder and Buttercup headed for the stairs, and then changed her mind.
Fuck it…I’m
out!
But along with the rustling, she heard something else that made her freeze. Her legs ceased to move; her heart clenched up and refused to beat.

“Help!” someone cried from one of the rooms.
Help? Who the fuck is that?
Buttercup asked herself.
Damn, it’s just my luck to run up into some fucked-up bullshit!

Terrified, but not having the heart to turn away from the tortured voice, she opened the door and with much hesitation, she clicked on the light.

She let out a small scream when she saw the tied-up girl. Electrical tape covered the girl’s mouth. There was a ragged opening in the center; the girl had obviously chewed through the tape.

Buttercup didn’t go near the ravaged girl; she was too afraid. If the girl had bitten through that tape, she might be starved and crazy enough to bite Buttercup as well. Leaving the girl sniffling and whimpering, Buttercup found a phone in another bedroom. She supposed there were still some good Samaritans out there. But she’d never have imagined herself playing that role. Life was sure strange. Smiling proudly, she lifted the receiver and dialed 9-1-1.

Fuckin’ cops didn’t appreciate nothing! She’d helped them catch that bastard perpetrator but they still wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d been answering their endless stream of questions for what seemed like hours.

The bastards came right out and asked if she’d had sex-for-pay with the man, trying to trick her into saying something that would land her back in jail. But Buttercup was no fool. She concocted a story about being held hostage, too. And since she knew firsthand about Reed’s penchant for beating on women, she laid it on thick. With tears streaming, she told the officers, “He tied me up to the bed, duct-taped me, and tried to tear up my private parts.”

“What?” asked an incredulous female officer who, judging by her expression, felt personally offended.

“He told me he was going to fuck me until my pussy lips started bleeding.”

“And did that happen?” a male officer asked, appalled and unable to keep a straight face. He scratched his head and scrunched up his face as he regarded Buttercup with horrified curiosity.

“What?” Buttercup asked.

“Did he…you know…cause your womanly parts to bleed?”

“Hell no! Once he started talking about putting his mark on me—”

“His mark?” the officers asked in unison.

“Yeah, he said he was going to keep me tied up and fuck me until my pussy was all torn up and raw. He said he’d do it all day and all night if necessary. Said he wouldn’t stop until my coochie looked raggedy and well fucked.”

The officers shared a look of revulsion.

“He said my stuff is too pretty,” Buttercup said with pride.

The female officer rubbed her forehead wearily. “And did he make these same remarks to Chanelle Lawson?”

“He had me tied up downstairs; she was upstairs. Like I said, I don’t know what he was doing with her; you have to talk to her if you want her side of the story. Now, can I please leave?”

“Not just yet. We have a few more questions.”

“Damn, y’all done had me up in here long enough. Shit, I need a lawyer.”

An hour later, an important-looking attorney that she could never have afforded came to her rescue and put a stop to the questioning.

The expensively attired attorney, who spoke in an authoritative tone, was on point. The cops didn’t have a case against Buttercup and finally had to let her go.

Outside the police station, the news media descended upon her, sticking microphones in her face. “How’s it feel to be a hero?” someone called. “Did you know Chanelle Lawson before you two were held hostage? How do you feel now that you’re free?” another asked.

“Don’t say a word to these vultures,” the lawyer advised her. “I’ve already arranged an exclusive with one of the tabloids. Chanelle Lawson refuses to talk about the ordeal, so they’re willing to pay twice the amount for your story. You can pretty much write your own check.”

Buttercup smiled. Yeah, most people saw her as a worthless crackhead. But this crackhead had enough sense to memorize her so-called
boyfriend’s
license plate. The cop had paid her only ten dollars for a blowjob, but she’d gotten him to run boyfriend’s license plate and give her his home address. Now, she was going to get paid!

It didn’t matter that she conveniently pretended to have been held hostage. What people didn’t know surely couldn’t hurt them.

Besides, after all the bullshit that bastard had put her through, she deserved to get some revenge. Not only had he literally fucked her over, pretended to be her boy-friend, stole her grandma’s money, but the muthafucker also had the nerve to use a fake-ass name.

She wondered if there was another can of money left in her great-grandmother’s house. Since she was about to strike it rich, she didn’t have to snoop around in the abandoned house, but she had plenty of addicted friends who could use the money. No one understood or cared about people with addictions; they were despised and persecuted. So Buttercup decided she would try to help her friends stay high by putting the word out that there was possibly a large sum of money stashed somewhere in her great-grandmother’s house.

Feeling like a philanthropist, she fell in step with her attorney as he approached his limo. The driver got out and opened the door for Buttercup.

“We’re going to put you up at the Marriott,” the attorney informed her. “Is that all right?”

“Fabulous,” she responded. Staying at the Marriott and ordering room service and having her drugs delivered was a lifestyle she could get used to.

T
here were rumors that the abductor had not only held Chanelle Lawson hostage, but another woman as well, a drug-addicted hooker. News reporters wanted verification—they wanted to get the scoop. The hospital staff carefully shielded Chanelle from the media. “She’s not making any statements, leave her alone!” The head nurse rolled her eyes and slammed down the phone.

Balloons and flowers filled the hospital room. Cash donations folded into get well cards poured in from well-meaning strangers from throughout the country who had heard the news that Chanelle Lawson had survived living in a torture chamber for three days.

“You have a visitor; she says she’s a friend,” a nurse said, peeking her head inside Chanelle’s room.

“Who?” Chanelle asked suspiciously. She didn’t have any real friends.

“Saleema Sparks. She said you know her as Hershey.”

Chanelle paused to think about it. “Okay, she can come in.”

Hershey rushed into the room with a bouquet of flowers, smiling though her eyes could not conceal that she was deeply troubled and concerned. She leaned over and gave Chanelle a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so sorry, Chanelle. Thank God you’re all right. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I’m curious…how’d you get out of that mess alive?”

For a moment, Chanelle was quiet, and then she sighed and said, “I prayed for a miracle and God answered my prayer.”

“I feel so responsible…”

Chanelle shifted her position and pushed herself up a little higher. “Why? You didn’t have anything to do with that situation. I’m the one who trusted a man because he seemed nice and had an attractive face…” Chanelle gulped and didn’t finish the sentence. The memory of her encounter with Reed Reynolds would be etched in her mind forever, so why talk about something she’d be trying to forget for the rest of her life?

“I know,” Hershey said, patting Chanelle’s hand. “I feel bad that I didn’t take you under my wing and school you. Girl, I knew you were green. If I had got inside your head and made sure you realized that in this crazy world there ain’t hardly a soul you can trust, you wouldn’t have never got all caught up in that mess.” Wearing a sad expression, Hershey swallowed and shook her head.

“I have to take the responsibility for that, Hershey. I don’t know why you’re trippin’.”

Hershey’s eyes filled with tears. Chanelle was shocked. She thought Hershey had ice water in her veins. She found it hard to believe she was capable of crying.

With the tables turned, Chanelle rubbed Hershey’s back as she released a floodgate of tears. “Most people think I’m just a hard-core madam, but I’m in the business because I have a lot of responsibilities. I’m raising my best friend’s daughter because she’s all messed up…in a psychiatric hospital. The place she used to be in didn’t really take care of her right, so I moved her to a real nice place out in Horsham, Pennsylvania. It’s costing me an arm and a leg. That’s part of the reason I gotta stay on my hustle.”

“I know,” Chanelle soothed. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be blessed for what you’re doing.”

“You don’t understand,” Hershey said, sniffling and wiping away tears. “When I realized you were diggin’ Marc Tarsia hard, I should have been up front and told you the truth. But instead I told you that lie about his bachelor party—”

“Marc didn’t get married?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you tell me that? I was really feelin’ him; I was falling in love.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted you to think he was getting married. I was trying to protect you because I knew you were falling hard for Marc.”

Chanelle gave Hershey a blank look.

“Marc has a pattern of getting involved with working girls,” Hershey explained. “He gets some kind of freakish kick out of making women think he’s going to take them out of the life. He starts out by inviting them to go sailing, but never comes through. It’s nothing but a game to him; he does it just for kicks.”

Chanelle was quiet while the information sank in.

“I thought if I told you that he was getting married, you would get mad and toughen up like me. I didn’t think you’d be so hurt—quit the business and run right into the arms of a maniac.”

“Well, I’m over Marc now,” Chanelle said defensively. “Believe me, after the ordeal I just survived, I’m just gonna do
me
. I’m not trying to get involved in another dangerous love affair. I probably won’t look at a man in a romantic way until I’m at least twenty-five or damn near thirty,” Chanelle said with a sardonic chuckle.

“You know, you remind me a lot of my best friend, Terelle. You look a lot like her, too. She wasn’t as lucky as you; she really got messed up.” Hershey let out a long, sad sigh. “When you quit working for me, you said you were gonna go legit and start saving money. Didn’t you say you wanted to get out of Philly and start all over again?”

“Uh-huh. I haven’t changed my mind; I’m still leaving.”

“Where’re you going?”

“I don’t know. Wanna hear something strange? You’ve been talking about not trusting people and I understand where you’re coming from, but people who don’t even know me have sent me their good wishes and have donated money. Now, I can hire a lawyer and change my name, go to school, and start all over again. And just like I believe in miracles, I believe that most people have good hearts.”

Hershey was briefly pensive, then she reached into her purse. “Speaking of donations, I brought a little something to let you know I care.”

“Aw, Hershey…you didn’t have to…”

Hershey kissed Chanelle on the cheek. “Yes, I did,” she said. “And by the way, can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“You say you believe in miracles, so would you pray for a miracle for my best friend Terelle? She could sure use one.”

Chanelle smiled and nodded. “I’m gonna pray real hard for your friend.”

“Thanks.” Hershey got up to leave. “Take care of yourself.”

“I plan to take real good care of myself,” Chanelle said and meant it with all her heart.