Instincts

                I hate Tuesday nights.  Even though the streets are usually quiet, it seems like something crazy always goes down on Tuesday.  You know how you get that feelin’ that just eats at your stomach and makes it hurt?  I got that tonight.
 
                As he pulls up, I know something is getting ready to go down.  But to make myself feel better I check the back seat before I get in.  Looks ok, but it still don’t feel right.  I put out my Newport and get in the car anyway. Gotta get that dough, know what I mean?

         “What you want, baby?” I ask him.

         “How much for a little head?”

         “You got forty?”  The brothers are always cheap, so I start high.

         “Give you twenty?”

         I roll my eyes and suck my teeth.  “Never mind,” I say and I reach for the door.

         He grabs my arm.  “Look, all I got is thirty.”

         I act like I gotta think about it, but its Tuesday.  “OK.”

         I take him to my usual spot around the block.  All us girls park on this block to kinda keep a look out for each other.  He don’t want to park under the street light, but I make him.  I gotta get a good look at him, without making him nervous.  He looks like every other young thug around here.  His braids need to be redone.  The hair coming loose from them makes a fuzzy halo around his head.  I wish I didn’t look in his eyes though, ‘cause they ain’t right.  They’re small, and black, and too far apart.  They don’t have no feelin’, like there’s no soul behind them.

         I keep reminding myself to think about the money, think about the money.  I start giving him what he asked for.  I try to ignore the musty smell coming from his balls and think about the money.  I suck and jerk as hard as I can, it’ll be over soon.

         I think I hear something move in the back seat.  I know I checked back there.  Calm down; I’m just being paranoid, but I know I’m not.  Then, I feel a cold finger of steel against my back.  I try to get up but my head and hands are pinned down against his crotch.

         “That’s right bitch, keep yo fuckin’ head down,” the one with the gun yells from the back seat. His voice is deeper, tougher than his partner’s.  He sounds like he’s done this before.

         The car starts moving.  Tires screech, it feels like they’re making a u-turn.  They always say don’t let no trick take you nowhere, if he’s gonna do something to you, make him do it where there’s other people around.  I try to move my hand to put the car in park or snatch the key, but I can’t get loose.

                My heart is jumpin’ at my chest, tryin’ to get out of me.  Maybe they just want something for free.  Maybe they’ll do their business with me and let me go.  Won’t be the first time.  As long as they don’t pistol whip me or cut up my face, I can handle it.  I seen girls with their faces cut up; beautiful girls turned into monsters by fucked up tricks.

          It sounds like we’re going over a bridge, then some lefts and some rights.  When we stop, the one in the front seat puts a shirt over my head, while the one in the back grabs my hands behind my back.

         “Alright, bitch, out the car and keep yo fuckin’ mouth shut or I’ll blow your head off.”

         “Hold up, I—.”

         He pushes the gun in my back harder.  “Did you hear what just I said, bitch?  I told you to shut the fuck up!”

         They walk me up three flights of stairs.  I smell weed in the hallway.  They open door and it smells like stale weed, cigarettes and beer.  As fucked up as it sounds, the smell of cigarettes makes me feel better for a minute.  I want one, but I’m afraid to ask.

                I can see again.  The place is dark, the furniture looks like they got it out the garbage.  The only new stuff in there is a flat screen TV, a Sony Play Station, and a stereo.  There’s roaches crawling on a pizza box.

                The guy with the gun pushes me down onto a piss smellin’ couch.  He’s taller than the other dude; fat, with a bald head and a big scar across his forehead.

                “Where’s your dough at?”

                “I ain’t got none, I just came out,” I lie.

                He slaps me, and I fall back into the couch.  “You’s a lyin’ ass bitch!  My man saw you turn three tricks before him.”  He cocks the pistol at my head.  “I ain’t gon’ ask you again.  Where the fuck’s it at?”

                I hold up my hands, then pull my knot out my left boot.  I can taste the blood in the corner of my mouth.
   
                “A hundred and twenty?  That’s all you got?”  He shoves it in his pants.  “You ain’t got enough money for us to let you go, so you gon’ have to earn yo’ freedom.”  He flashes a few gold teeth at me then turns to his boy.  “Yo, you wanna help me make this bitch earn her way outta here?”

                “Yeah, I didn’t get to finish with her before,” the one with the braids says.

                They only want sex, I tell myself as I take off my stuff.  Once they bust, they’ll be done with me.  It’s not like I don’t do this ten times a night.  I try not to think about the gun pointed at me.  It’s gonna be alright, just don’t do nothin’ stupid.  Let’m do what they want, and they’ll let you go.

                The big dude pulls me to him and tries to kiss me.  I can feel the metal on his teeth against my lips.  He’s still holding the gun at my waist and grabs my ass with his other hand.  He bends me over the sofa and gets me from behind.

                “Honey,” I make my voice sound real sweet and relaxed, “don’t you wanna use a rubber?”

                He pulls my hair real hard and puts the gun in my neck.  “Don’t let me hear your fuckin’ mouth again or “rubber‘ll” be yo last word ever!”

                I close my eyes and try to tune it all out.  Clear my mind.  I think of a long hard pull off a Newport; imagine the smoke floatin’ out my nose.

                He finishes, without makin’ any noise.
 
                “It’s all you, dog,” he says, pushing me at the other dude.

                “I ain’t fuckin’ her after you, man.  I just want my dick sucked.”  He unzips his jeans and pulls it out.

                Soon as I start, the door opens.  A short Puerto Rican guy with braids and sunglasses comes in.  He looks pissed.  I don’t know if this is good or bad for me.

                “Who’s this bitch?”  He yells at them.

                “Just some ho we picked up in the Point.  You want some of this?” says the bald guy; his voice sounds shaky.

                “Fuck no!  Y’all sposed to be out handlin’ my business and you busy fuckin’ bitches in my joint?”  He’s so mad his face is turnin’ red.

                “Nah, man, we was just takin’ a little break.  We was gonna keep her here for you for a while.”

                “This is a place of business, not no ho house!  Ain’t nobody even supposed to know where it’s at.  You fucked up big time.”  He turns to the guy that picked me up.  “Put yo dick away man, and tell this bitch to put her clothes back on.”

                The bald guy clears his throat.  “Don’t worry, she don’t know where she’s at; we blind folded her when we brought her here.”

                “Well blind fold her again and get her the fuck out of here.  Now!”

                “You sure you don’t want none of this, dog?  It was pretty good.”  The bald guy turns me to the Puerto Rican dude.

                Please just let me go.  Please, please, please.

                “Did you not understand me, yo?  Get this bitch out my sight before I bust a cap in yo ass!”  He’s gettin’ hoarse from yellin’ so loud.

                They put the shirt over my head again and take me downstairs.  I can hear the cars driving by as they walk me down the street.  We make a left, then a right.  It’s messed up that two dudes can walk a girl down the block with a shirt over her head and no one even says nothing.  They sit me down; it feels like steps, probably somebody’s stoop.

                “Put yo head between yo knees,” the bald one says.

                When I do, he puts the gun to the back of my head.

                “What you doin’, man?”  The other one asks.

                “She seen our faces, she could drop dime on us.”

                “She just a ho, she ain’t goin’ to the police.  Just leave her, let’s go.”

                “Nah, man.  Dead bitches tell no tales.”

                His words make me wanna throw up, piss, and shit myself all at the same time.  I start thinkin’ about my plans to get my son back, to go back to school, to get out this shit.  I always told myself just one more year, put a little more away and I’d be done.  But now it’s too late for that.  I wonder what went wrong with me.  How’d I end up like this?  It don’t matter no more.

                Through the shirt I can see light, it’s getting brighter.  I hear a woman’s voice.

                “What’s going on there?” she says.

                I hear the guys run off
.
                I pull the shirt off my head.  The lady looks like she could be someone’s grandmother.  I wonder what she’s doing out this time of night, but I’m thankful that she is.

                “Are you okay, dear?”  She calls out the window.

                “Yeah, I’m fine.”

                “Can I drop you anywhere?”

                “No, thanks.”

                She rolls up her window and drives away.  I walk to the nearest corner; I’m in Harlem; 137th and Amsterdam.  The traffic looks pretty good, even for a Tuesday.  Maybe I can make a few bucks here.



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