It's Like Candy (19 page)

Eric looked at his cousin, and he knew he meant everything he said. It was like the saying, There's a new sheriff in town. But this sheriff wore the black hat instead of the white. Eric feared that with Russell being home, bloodshed was about to come because Eric knew—the players who were running the game now, whether selling drugs or pimping, they weren't going to back down from Russell one bit. It was going to be an all-out war.

Eric knew the key players around the way, and he was cool with them. He kept a low profile and operated his marijuana business with no problems. He wanted Russell to lie low and keep a low profile for himself. But his uncle Pumpkin always told him that his father, Yung Black, and Russell, they were the same—greedy, hardheaded and crazy. Both were smart men, and were highly respected in the hood,
but didn't know how to back down and keep a cool head about most things. Yung Black and Russell, they did business with their gun in one hand and the pen and money in the other.

“Yo, I've been meaning to ask you, E,” Russell blurted out.

“What?”

“Who tapped your eye up like that? You got beef, niggah? What's up wit' that?” Russell wanted to know.

“Nah, just a little dispute with a fuckin' crackhead who caught me off guard with an object. Nothing serious.” Eric lied.

“You sure, niggah? ‘Cause if you got problems out there, we need to handle that shit now. We need to let niggahs know not to fuck wit' family. You feel me?”

“Yeah, I feel you, Russell. But everything good,” Eric assured.

“Ayyite, niggah,” Russell said. “Yo, I don't know about you, but I know Critter a horny fuck, and I'm ‘bout to run up in one of those suites for some pussy before Critter sticks his nasty dick in all them bitches. Niggah might fuck around and give one of them hoes an STD.”

Eric laughed. “Ayyite. I'll be up there shortly.”

Russell gave his cousin dap, and then strutted drunkenly back to the elevators. Eric sat at the bar and ordered another drink. He thought about River, and then angrily had a flashback of the setup. He figured that she and her associates were probably long gone and out of town by now. He wanted to see River again, for mixed reasons, the majority of them not good. Part of him thought about bashing her face in, but then thinking of her smile and her charm made him think against it. He hated to admit it but River had a strong effect on him, and he had to give her credit, she had him open and so blinded that she'd made him slip up in the game. He hadn't even got to see the pussy yet, and he was already open like a fat man's pants.

“Fuck this,” Eric muttered to himself. He came to reason with himself, thinking he had over half a dozen naked freaky bitches
roaming around on the tenth floor in three suites, and he was sitting in the bar worrying about one bitch who did him wrong. Coming to his senses, he removed himself from the bar stool and joined his cousin and the rest for a night of craziness.

Starr was dressed
and finally ready to leave the hospital accompanied by two social workers from the Child Advocate Center who were joined by a uniformed officer. Ms. Henderson assured her that everything would be fine, but in Starr's mind she wanted no part of the system, or living in a group home. She wanted to be on her own, and cursed herself for not being eighteen soon enough.

“Starr, everything's going to be okay,” Ms. Henderson assured her, helping her with her clothing. “I know Mrs. Barkley personally, and she's a very good woman.”

Starr kept quiet and frowned at Mrs. Barkley, showing her disapproval of the situation that she was being forced into. Mrs. Barkley went over to Starr, and said, “Ms. Henderson tells me that you beat her in cards. That's impressive because she never loses. Maybe one day you and I can play a few hands.”

Starr remained quiet, smirking at Mrs. Barkley.
Does this bitch think I'm ten?
Starr thought. But Mrs. Barkley still kept her warm smile and reassuring attitude. Starr hated what she was dressed in, baggy worn jeans, old dirty white sneakers, a T-shirt that was clearly too big for her, and her hair in a long ponytail. They had her looking like some poor sixteen-year-old misfit from the block. For once,
Starr looked her age, but like a dirty sixteen-year-old girl without a pot to piss in. She was used to being scantily clad in the best name-brand clothing, having money to burn, and having grown men lusting after her and guessing her to be in her early twenties. She knew that after she left the hospital and got thrown into a group home, her life would change dramatically, and she wasn't about to let that happen. If they had her dressed like this, her skin itching from the cheap fabric they put her in, then she definitely wasn't looking forward to the Brooklyn group home that they had her assigned to.

Ms. Henderson looked at Starr with glossy eyes, trying not to become too emotional, as she sometimes did with her young patients before they checked out. She went up to Starr and gave her a deep, loving hug, and said, “This is not the end for you, chile. It's only the beginning. You have a second chance to get your life right. Please do. And in time, I'll come for you. You have my number, and please don't hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Starr replied, not wanting to let go of the one woman who ever cared and loved her in such a short time.

“Remember, I'm always here for you, Starr. So give me a call, and I promise we'll hang out someday,” Ms. Henderson said.

“I'd like that,” Starr replied, smiling.

“It's time to go,” the male worker said, glancing at his watch.

Starr collected the few items that she'd acquired since her stay and followed both social workers out of the room. Ms. Henderson lingered back in the room peering at Starr with tearstained eyes, getting emotional over Starr's departure. Starr quickly glanced back, and mouthed “Good-bye,” to a friend and a woman who'd been more of a mother to her than her own biological parent.

Down in the lobby, Starr had other motives. She peeped at the ugly brown van parked outside the hospital entrance and knew it was there waiting for her. Her heart pounded rapidly as she took in her surroundings.

Mrs. Barkley was engaged in a conversation with the cop while her male friend played her close, as if he knew what was up.

“So, where is this place?” Starr asked, trying to feel him out.

“Someplace where they won't hurt you,” the man replied, being short.

“Well, can I use the bathroom before we go anywhere?” Starr asked.

“You should have thought of that before we came downstairs,” the man replied angrily. “We're on a schedule. We have two more kids to pick up.”

“Well, you want me to go in the van?”

He let out an irate sigh, and heard Mrs. Barkley say, “William, just let her go. She's not going anywhere.”

“Fine,” he muttered, and escorted Starr to the nearest bathroom.

“You got five minutes. Make it quick.”

Starr went into the bathroom and thought about her quick escape. She was determined not to get into that van with anyone. She went into the stall and tied her sneakers really tight. And then she went to the sink and filled her hands with lots of liquid soap. It was a desperate attempt, because the man in the suit looked really fast, but the cop and the woman she knew didn't have a chance in hell of catching up with her when she ran. The cop was overweight, and Mrs. Barkley looked as though she hadn't seen a gym in ages. But her colleague looked fitter than either of them, and he was the one who worried Starr.

After spending a moment in the bathroom contemplating her plan, she told herself that it was now or never.

“Hey, young lady, hurry up in there, we ain't got all day!” he shouted, banging on the bathroom door.

Starr emerged from the bathroom with both her hands in tight fists. She tried to keep her composure and started back to the lobby looking nonchalant.

“Is everything okay?” Mrs. Barkley asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Starr replied.

“Good, let's keep it moving,” the man said.

They all walked outside the hospital toward the van. Starr's heart started to race. She knew doing this was going to definitely disappoint Ms. Henderson about starting up a new life for herself. But Starr didn't care. She had to do what she had to do.

When it looked as if everyone was distracted by something outside, Starr quickly made her move.

“Excuse me,” she called out to her male escort.

“What?” he said, turning to face her, and that's when Starr leaped up and smeared the liquid soap in his eyes, causing him to scream out, “Aaaaaahhh, that little bitch put soap in my eyes!”

In one rapid motion, Starr took off running. The cop gave chase as Starr bolted across the busy Van Wyck Expressway, almost getting hit by a car. She ran toward the overpass down Jamaica Avenue. She glanced back and saw the cop was right behind her. She'd underestimated his speed, because he was gaining quickly on her.

She sprinted down five blocks, never letting up her speed, and when she glanced back at the cop, he was more distant from her. He was fast, but Starr had much more stamina, and ran as though her life was in jeopardy.

After the eighth block she finally slowed down until she stopped, assuming it was now safe for her. She was out of breath, and leaned against a steel gate for rest. She glanced around, making sure she didn't see any unwanted company coming her way.

She only had one place to go, and that was the apartment she was previously staying at in the Forty projects before her beating. It was a risk getting there, but she was willing to take it.

She went into a nearby McDonald's and cleaned herself up in the bathroom, washing the sweat off her face. She stared at herself in the mirror and sighed, looking at a hot mess of herself. Some of her bruises still showed, but they weren't that bad.
I need to get out of
these clothes,
she said to herself. She remained in the bathroom for fifteen minutes and then cautiously exited, watching her back carefully.

She only had three dollars in her pocket and was so hungry. She went to a nearby pay phone on Sutphin and called the apartment where all her belongings were; at least she hoped they were still there.

The phone rang a few times before a male picked up. “Yo, who this?”

“Rome, it's Starr—”

“Bitch, where the fuck you at?” he cursed. “You don't know how to bring your fuckin' ass home. It's been almost two weeks, Starr. I got niggahs calling for a date wit' you every fuckin' day and night. I'm missin' out on lots of money, Starr.”

“Rome, I was in the hospital,” she said.

“What the fuck you doin' in the hospital?” Rome shouted.

“I got jumped by Bamboo,” she explained.

“I'm gonna fuck that niggah up when I see him. You okay, Starr?”

“Yeah, but I need help. They were tryin' to put me in a group home, but I ran away, and now they're after me,” she quickly explained.

“Where are you now?”

“I'm at a pay phone on Sutphin, near Jamaica Avenue,” she mentioned, then glanced around for any cops or that ugly brown van.

“Ayyite, you stay there, I'm comin' now,” Rome said.

“Rome, meet me in the McDonald's on Sutphin. I can't stay out on the streets lookin' like this.”

“Don't go anywhere, Starr. You hear me?”

“Just hurry up,” Starr said, and hung up.

She quickly went back into the McDonald's and ordered herself a cheeseburger and some small fries and took a seat at one of the tables.

Half an hour later, Starr saw Rome walking into the McDonald's looking around for her. He went up to where she was seated, clad in dark jeans, a black T-shirt with a picture of Biggie on the front, and
Timberlands. He was decked out in lavish jewelry and swathed with tattoos on his upper torso. He sported a low-cut Caesar, and a small scar ran down his cheek.

“C'mon, get up and let's go,” he told Starr, grabbing her by her arm and not caring who was watching.

“Damn, Rome, you ain't gotta be manhandling me like that,” Starr shot back.

“Yo, you heard what the fuck I said,” he said loudly, catching the attention of a few bystanders. “C'mon, get your fuckin' shit and let's go.”

He noticed a family of four watching his every move. He glared at them, and shouted, “What the fuck y'all lookin' at? Eat your fuckin' food and mind y'all business!”

They quickly turned their heads, intimidated by Rome's thuggish behavior. Starr got up and followed him out the door. Parked outside was a black Escalade sitting on twenty-inch chrome rims. One of Rome's henchmen was sitting in the driver's seat. He shoved Starr into the backseat, jumped in on the passenger side, and the truck drove off moments before the brown van turned the corner.

 

Starr was happy
to be back at the apartment, even though Rome was acting hostile toward her. But she was used to his abusive ways.

“Bitch, how did you let Bamboo put you in the hospital? I told you about those motel dates,” he barked.

“Baby, I'm sorry, but he—”

“You know Bamboo crazy!” Rome shouted, cutting her off. “You know what, go in the bathroom and wash your dirty ass, you stink, bitch!” he said, pushing Starr toward the bathroom. “You're makin' me some money tonight.”

Starr did as told, moving toward the bathroom, slowly undressing. She gave both her wife-n-laws, Juicy and Sin, nods as she passed them slouched down on the couch.

Inside the bathroom Starr turned on the shower and finished undressing. She put up with Rome's mistreatment because she had nowhere else to go when she walked the streets. He gave her shelter when she was out on the cold streets starving, trying to survive. Rome put Starr up in his apartment, and she agreed to work for him on the streets, making him rich, while he supported and took care of her.