It's Like Candy (11 page)

Starr lay motionless
and still unconscious in Jamaica Hospital with tubes running in and out of her. Her vital signs were stable, but her body was badly beaten and abused. The nurses and doctors made continual room checks on her, monitoring her signs and nursing her wounds.

“How is she?” a city detective asked, walking into the room and peering down at Starr.

“Still the same,” the nurse, Ms. Henderson, responded, jotting down some information on her clipboard. “She suffered some vaginal tearing, swelling in her right eye, and a broken nose. Whoever beat her like this had to be a big dude.”

The detective shook his head in disgust and wondered what monster could do something so horrible to a young woman.

“Any information about her?” Ms. Henderson asked.

“Nothing. She has no ID, no name. Far as I see it, she's a Jane Doe,” the detective informed.

“Well, we got the hospital sex-abuse unit on their way soon to check her out,” she said. “But my guess, I say she's about sixteen or seventeen, and maybe a runaway. They found her where again?”

“The Executive Motel over on the Conduit,” the detective stated. “One of the housekeepers found her sprawled out naked on the bloody mattress and freaked out. My guess, she was soliciting for sex, met up with the wrong guy.”

Ms. Henderson let out a painful sigh. She peered down at Starr and shook her head, feeling sorry for the young girl. She'd worked at Jamaica Hospital for over fifteen years and saw young girls like Starr in and out of hospitals repeatedly because of abuse, sexual mistreatment, and pregnancy.

Ms. Henderson was one of the caring nurses who truly looked after her patients, especially the young men and women that came in off the streets.

Ms. Henderson was in her early fifties, and was a strong, positive black woman who had migrated to New York from the South when she was in her early twenties. She was a slim, gray-haired woman who wore wire-rimmed glasses and still had a good shape for a woman her age. She always gave off good vibes and was a very attractive woman who got asked out by the doctors and the male staff all the time. She had not one wrinkle on her fair brown skin. Men were drawn to her despite her age, but she was a Christian woman and loved her work, especially when it came to dealing with children. All her kids were grown and had moved away from home, leaving her to work late hours at her job.

She gently took Starr's hand and began rubbing the back of it soothingly, quietly saying, “It's all right, chile . . . everything is going to be okay for you. You're home now. You're gonna be okay.”

“If she comes through, you call me right away, okay?” the detective said, walking towards the exit.

“Yes. And, Detective . . .” Ms. Henderson called out, stopping him at the doorway. He turned around. “If you find anything else on her, please notify me soon as possible.”

He nodded. “Not a problem,” he said, and walked off to continue his investigation.

Ms. Henderson continued to nurse Starr as she lay in bed motionless.

“We gonna get whoever did this to you, dear. I promise you. But you gotta wake up first and tell us what happened,” she said, still soothing Starr's limp hand.

Ms. Henderson continued to talk to Starr as though she was her own child.

“Yo, E . . . when yung slim gets out,
out, tell him to put a niggah on. I need to make that money,” Critter said.

“Critter, just shut up!” Eric snapped.

“Fo' real, E . . . I need to get that money; my pockets are light right now. Shit, you know I got kids to take care of.”

“Already, my cousin getting out and you ready to put him back in that life of crime. You thinkin' he gonna go back to his old ways?”

“Shit, what else is he gonna do, get a job?”

Eric cut his eyes over at Critter.

“Yo, that niggah was born a hustler. Niggah from the streets, just like you and me, E. I ain't got many options for myself, so I gotta get out here and grind hard so I can live and feed my kids. Shit, you out here pimpin' these hoes and selling weed, you should understand. Shit is hard for a niggah,” Critter stated. He took a quick sip from his beer and glanced around the room.

“Niggah, I ain't pimpin' no hoes, I just throw parties and get a nice cut from them.”

“Yeah, whatever. You got these hoes on lock, you call these hoes up, and them bitches come like that. Like Rah's bachelors' party, you
ain't pimpin' them. But you charging niggahs to used the rooms for VIPs.”

“Critter, I just do me. These hoes know that if they come to one of my parties, they gonna make at least five hundred and better for the night. Niggahs that I invite, they spend money, unlike your cheap ass.”

“You need to hook a niggah up wit' some free pussy once in a while. The bitches I be seeing you with, I would love to break my dick off in some of that pussy. Look at me, E. . . . I'm on hard times here,” Critter said, backing his chair away from the table, and allowing Eric to have a closer look at him. He was dressed in an old faded blue Rocawear T-shirt, old jeans, and Timberlands that had seen better days.

Both men were up in After Hours, a well-known lounge bar up on Atlantic Avenue. 50 Cent's hit single, “In Da Club,” blared throughout the lounge as men and women mingled and reveled the night away.

“Niggah, you just too cheap to buy anything new for yourself,” Eric countered back.

“Ayyite, E, you go out and have four kids and see how fast your money is squander away. My baby-mamas be stressing me every fuckin' day.”

“See, that's your problem, I ain't having four kids by multiple women. You a pussy-starved niggah. Learn how to leave the pussy alone. Behave yourself, Critter. You meet a new bitch, and a month later, she's claiming she's pregnant. Niggah, how many abortions did you pay for?”

“Niggah, that ain't funny. Them other three bitches I got pregnant, yo, they were on some funny shit. I'm sayin', that dumb bitch, Angie, that bitch gave me gonorrhea and shit, and she had a man.”

Eric shook his head, smiling over at his friend. “I'm gonna put you in rehab. You a nymphomaniac, niggah.”

“Yeah, well, they say birds of the same feather flock together. You the same, E. You a pussy-craved niggah too. Shit, you just more
quiet wit' yours, that's all. I see a couple of bitches that I would like to get at right now up in here,” Critter proclaimed, guzzling down the last of his beer and then slamming the bottle on the table.

“Look at you, on the hunt.”

“Yeah, well, we only live once, right? I need another beer. You still paying, E?”

“Yeah, I got you.”

“I be back, I need sumthin' stronger this time.” Critter got up from his chair and walked toward the bar.

Eric just remained seated, thinking Critter was going to overdose on the p-u-s-s-y. Critter was right about him, though. He was the same, but he was more discreet in his ways. That was why he couldn't really hate and talk down to Critter, because they shared the same ways. Eric just had better taste in women, and he took care of business more often than Critter, who was constantly broke and asking for a buck.

Critter made his way over to the bar, gazing at every big-booty cutie he came across. It damn near took him ten minutes to get to the bar.

“Damn, ma . . . let me get that number, you a cutie wit' a booty,” Critter hollered at a passing female in a microminiskirt. “Ummm, let me bite that butt.”

He laughed his way to the bar. And then gave the lady bartender a huge smile. “Hey, ma, what's up?”

“What you need?” the brown-skinned, short-haired, silver-hoop-earrings-wearing bartender asked Critter, being familiar with his loose ways toward women.

“You're cute, ma, what's good wit' you?”

“I already got a man,” she quickly responded.

“So. He treating you right? Because you know I can treat you better. Honey, I'll rub you down in baby oil every night, and give you that massage. Yo, you'll be begging me for more.”

She sighed, shaking her head, looking a bit annoyed by his words.
“Listen, I'm here to work, not to be some cheap thrill. What you want? “

“Damn, excuse me, luv. Shit, your man ain't giving it to you right, because—”

The lady bartender was about to walk off and take care of the next available customer, when Critter muttered, “Ayyite, ayyite, I'm sorry, ma. I'll take a glass of Alize and mix me that Incredible Hulk, that green shit, you know? “

Critter looked around, dying for some female company tonight. He was definitely on the prowl and he was determined not to go home empty-handed. There was too much pussy in the place for him to come up short.

The lady bartender quickly went to work on his drink, wanting him to leave her bar as soon as possible. Critter looked around in awe when this stunning, drop-dead gorgeous brown-skinned beauty came squeezing her way toward the bar and stood next to him, trying to signal for one of the two bartenders.

Critter leaned back and exclaimed, “Damn! Ma, what's really good wit' that? “

River shot him an irate look, sucked her teeth with attitude, and focused her attention back at the bar. Critter wasn't going to give up that easy, even though River was high quality and would never give him the time of day.

River stood out in the place, sexily clad in a cropped red leather jacket with black collar, and matching miniskirt. Her lustrous long legs were set off by a pair of three-inch heels, and her long black hair fell smoothly down her back.

“Ma, I got your drink for you. It's on me,” Critter told her, knowing it was Eric's money he was spending. But he didn't care; the niggah was pussy-struck right now.

River looked at him, displeased with his appearance and his pathetic attempt to pick her up, and said, “Niggah, did I give birth to you?”

“Huh?” Critter muttered out.

“No. So don't call me ma. I'm not your mother, nor would I want to be. Please, leave me alone. Fuck off!”

She shot Critter down like a bad contract. Critter glared at her, picked up his drinks from the bar, and countered with a quick, “Fuck you, then, bitch. You ain't all that anyway.”

River glared at him, shaking her head in disgust, and then peacefully began to order her drinks.

Critter made his way over to Eric, wishing he could have really cursed out the bitch more.

Eric looked up at Critter, noticing the bleak look on his friend's face, and asked, “Damn, niggah, what happened at the bar? You look like you done lost your best friend.”

“Nah. Fuckin' bitch got rude and shit, so I had to curse the bitch out.”

“Who?”

“That bitch in the red, standing by the bar.” Critter pointed out.

Eric took a peek, and shouted, “Damn . . . her?”

“Yeah. She a stuck-up bitch wouldn't even give a niggah the time of day.”

Eric had a huge smirk on his face, knowing Critter didn't stand a chance with shorty—not his type. She had all her hair and all her teeth in her mouth.

“Man, knowing you, you probably came at her wrong and shit.”

“Niggah, my game is tight.”

Eric laughed. “If you say so.”

Eric looked over at River again. He couldn't take his eyes off her, she was just too stunning. He also noticed that he wasn't the only man in the place noticing River's beauty. A lot of them were looking and pondering, but they saw that she came in with Big Red and Twinkie, who had a table across the room and were looking like two major bailers since their last holdup.

River carried both drinks over to Big Red's table, trying to avoid
being bumped into and approached by assholes willing to maul and lust over her beauty.

She placed Red's drink in front of him—Hennessy and Coke—and then sat across from him. Big Red sat gangsta lean in his chair, observing the place. He wore a brown denim suit with a navy blue button-down by Akademiks, and a thick white-gold chain with a bulky Jesus-face pendant draped around his neck and a diamond pinky ring wrapped around his finger. He looked like a bailer—that extra six grand in his pocket did him lovely.

“Yo, who was that niggah that tried to get at you at the bar?” Red asked.

“Some clown niggah. Why?”

“I've seen his face before,” Red said.

“You can't miss it, he's ugly enough.”

Twinkie let out a slight chuckle.

Red's eyes looked past the dense crowd in the lounge and landed on Critter's and Eric's table. He noticed Eric studying him. He watched Eric pull out a wad of bills and pass Critter a fifty.

“He a playa,” Big Red said.

“Who, that ugly muthafucka at the bar?” River said, looking back.

“Nah, not him, his boy he came with. I know the face. The niggah got a string of hoes on lock. He be throwing parties with strippers. I've been to a few. He definitely makes his ends,” Red said.

“Word, Red?” Twinkie asked.

“Yeah. We can get at that. You down, River?” Red asked, with his attention and eyes back on her.

“How much you think we can get from him?” she asked.

“I say about fifty thousand or better,” Red answered.

“That'll do,” River replied with a contented grin.

“What, I'll be good for a minute with that kind of cash in hand,” Twinkie said, gulping down the last of his drink.

“Well . . .” Red began, gazing at River.

“Well what?” River asked looking at Red confused.

“Get to work. Get up and strut your goods, River. Get the nig-gah's attention like you did his friend,” Red said.

River sucked her teeth; it seemed that her job was never over. It was always about that money, which was good. But damn, they had just hit up Hubert for twenty large a few short days ago, and she wanted to chill. But Red's eyes saw green constantly, and he was always willing to risk her life by putting her at the front line of his scheme.