He’d dapped his boy out as they settled on a course of action, but deep inside he knew releasing Nooni was never gonna happen. Somehow the young girl had become Salida’s personal pet, and her junkie ass wasn’t going nowhere. At least not no time soon. Shit, probably not never.
CHAPTER 16
Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air as the G-Spot strippers gripped the golden fuck-poles between their thighs and performed tantalizing feats of sexual strength and provocation.
Monique sat at the bar pretending to rest her feet as she watched Salida put the moves on Nooni. That old lady had Nooni in her clutches, Monique saw. She was manipulating the girl with an expertise that was simply fuckin’ mind-boggling. Acting all motherly. Pretending to be so nice and concerned about her. Gaining Nooni’s trust by stroking her with one hand, while deep-screwing her with the other one.
And Nooni was simple as fuck too. For a wanna-be grown-ass who had been born and bred right there in Harlem, it had been too easy for Salida to get in the girl’s head. That child had almost zero street smarts, and Monique couldn’t help giggling as she remembered how she’d made the young girl believe that she had killed a white trick in Atlantic City, and then convinced her that the cops were looking to bust her and throw her in jail right here in Harlem.
It was hilarious. Twice already Mo had suckered the hell outta Nooni when the local police came to the G-Spot to pick up their weekly protection money. Monique had looked all scared and panicked in the face when she lied and told Nooni the police were there looking for her, and that they had her pictures from their hotel surveillance cameras.
That chick had broke out running like a goddamn racehorse. She’d jetted into one of the fuck rooms so fast that it was comical, and Monique had bust out giggling before Nooni could get inside the room and close the door good.
And it had been pure damn street smarts and the ability to think on her feet that had allowed Monique come up with that little caper she’d pulled on Nooni when they were in the car that day. Salida had sent them to pick up some supplies for the cut room, and Truth had been waiting at a traffic light. Monique had almost panicked when she looked up and saw that fuckin’ bitch Rita crossing the street right in front of the car!
Using her street wit she had screamed, “Cops!” and told Nooni to duck down in the seat. She’d tossed Truth’s jacket over the girl quick-fast until Rita had finished crossing in front of them and was all the way on the other side of the street.
Nooni had been so convinced that the cops were on her ass that she’d stayed crouched down in the car all the way to the store and all the way back. Even when Monique had told her the coast was clear, the girl had refused to pop her head up and she’d kept her face covered up with Truth’s jacket.
Monique took a long drag on her cigarette as she watched Salida work the girl over. All those crazy drugs was fuckin’ the young girl up, and if Salida didn’t get up off the money she had promised her, then Monique might have to make herself an anonymous call and tell Rita exactly who was playing pusher to her little sister.
CHAPTER 17
Two days after I ran into DarQuese in downtown Brooklyn I saw a flyer posted on the bulletin board in the shelter’s kitchen. There was a black-and-white photo on it of a spoken-word group called Street Talk N.Y.C., and the flyer said they were coming to perform that night for the kids who were staying in the shelter.
“What’s Street Talk N.Y.C. about?” I asked Egypt when I went back to our room. Her ten days were just about up and she had just packed her stuff so she could move to whatever shelter had the next open bed.
“You never heard of them? They’re from Manhattan but they visit shelters in every borough. They come through this one a lot,” she said as she looked in
CHAPTER 16
Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air as the G-Spot strippers gripped the golden fuck-poles between their thighs and performed tantalizing feats of sexual strength and provocation.
Monique sat at the bar pretending to rest her feet as she watched Salida put the moves on Nooni. That old lady had Nooni in her clutches, Monique saw. She was manipulating the girl with an expertise that was simply fuckin’ mind-boggling. Acting all motherly. Pretending to be so nice and concerned about her. Gaining Nooni’s trust by stroking her with one hand, while deep-screwing her with the other one.
And Nooni was simple as fuck too. For a wanna-be grown-ass who had been born and bred right there in Harlem, it had been too easy for Salida to get in the girl’s head. That child had almost zero street smarts, and Monique couldn’t help giggling as she remembered how she’d made the young girl believe that she had killed a white trick in Atlantic City, and then convinced her that the cops were looking to bust her and throw her in jail right here in Harlem.
It was hilarious. Twice already Mo had suckered the hell outta Nooni when the local police came to the G-Spot to pick up their weekly protection money. Monique had looked all scared and panicked in the face when she lied and told Nooni the police were there looking for her, and that they had her pictures from their hotel surveillance cameras.
That chick had broke out running like a goddamn racehorse. She’d jetted into one of the fuck rooms so fast that it was comical, and Monique had bust out giggling before Nooni could get inside the room and close the door good.
And it had been pure damn street smarts and the ability to think on her feet that had allowed Monique come up with that little caper she’d pulled on Nooni when they were in the car that day. Salida had sent them to pick up some supplies for the cut room, and Truth had been waiting at a traffic light. Monique had almost panicked when she looked up and saw that fuckin’ bitch Rita crossing the street right in front of the car!
Using her street wit she had screamed, “Cops!” and told Nooni to duck down in the seat. She’d tossed Truth’s jacket over the girl quick-fast until Rita had finished crossing in front of them and was all the way on the other side of the street.
Nooni had been so convinced that the cops were on her ass that she’d stayed crouched down in the car all the way to the store and all the way back. Even when Monique had told her the coast was clear, the girl had refused to pop her head up and she’d kept her face covered up with Truth’s jacket.
Monique took a long drag on her cigarette as she watched Salida work the girl over. All those crazy drugs was fuckin’ the young girl up, and if Salida didn’t get up off the money she had promised her, then Monique might have to make herself an anonymous call and tell Rita exactly who was playing pusher to her little sister.
CHAPTER 17
Two days after I ran into DarQuese in downtown Brooklyn I saw a flyer posted on the bulletin board in the shelter’s kitchen. There was a black-and-white photo on it of a spoken-word group called Street Talk N.Y.C., and the flyer said they were coming to perform that night for the kids who were staying in the shelter.
“What’s Street Talk N.Y.C. about?” I asked Egypt when I went back to our room. Her ten days were just about up and she had just packed her stuff so she could move to whatever shelter had the next open bed.
“You never heard of them? They’re from Manhattan but they visit shelters in every borough. They come through this one a lot,” she said as she looked in
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