CHAPTER ONE

 

Yolanda Perry's mother was a heroin addict and a whore. Everybody in the neighborhood knew that. The state child welfare agency had taken her and her two younger brothers away when Yolanda was 6. She and her brothers had been placed in her grandmother's custody and had lived there ever since.

She saw her every once on a while. Chamile, that was her name, would get picked up on a new drug charge or a violation of probation and end up doing 30, 60, 90 days or even two years once, in jail. She would be clean when she came out, all enthusiastic about the new life she would be planning for herself and her children. They would have a bit of sweet time together. She would come over from the halfway house and they would spend the afternoons going to the park or to McDonald's Her grandmother would be wary, warning her not to expect much so she wouldn't get hurt when Chamile reverted to her old ways.

And her grandmother would be right. She would let Chamile stay at the house when she was released from the halfway house or the drug treatment program. Chamile might actually get a job for a little while. But Chamile had a weakness bigger than drugs. They called him Tiny; he was anything but. He was about 6'5", black as night and built like a brick shithouse. Tiny, real name Curtis Green, was a street hood who had done time for everything from burglaries to strong-arm robberies to sexual assault, to drug distribution. He always seemed to beat the rap or make parole quickly. If he was in the joint when Chamile was released she would do fine. She would swear up and down that she was through with him. Yolanda and her grandmother would know he was around again when Chamile started staying out all night, missing work, sleeping to noon. Within a couple of weeks, Chamile would be gone.

Tiny ran a crew of girls, three or four at a time. He kept them in drugs and maintained a flop for them, bought them cheap, gaudy clothing and jewelry. Whenever he went away he would sell the girls off to another pimp and gather together a new batch once he was back. There were guys whose specialties it was to convince young black, white or Hispanic girls to go on the game. They would play on their affections, become their 'boyfriend' and then slowly reel them in. They would get hooked on crack or junk and then be told that they had to earn their next fix. Whenever one of the girls was getting ready to turn and become a full time whore, the pimp would have a little party and invite guys who ran crews to try her out.

She would be naked and shackled to a bed and one by one, over the course of a few days, they would come in and fuck her and get her to blow them. Some of them came by just so they could try out some fresh trim and hang out, partying. But one or the other of them would make the pimp an offer and the next thing the girl would know she would be trundled off by some guy she didn't know, spend a few days learning discipline and about what would happen to her if she ran off and then be put to work.

Chamile had been on and off with Tiny for almost 20 years. She was getting long in the tooth and had lost a lot of her allure, but she was still good for giving out back alley blowjobs and backseat quickies. For some reason Tiny liked having her around. Yolanda had long suspected that Tiny was her father, but Chamile denied it. Frankly, it could have been one of a few hundred guys. Tiny always made his girls ride bareback.

Chamile had been out for about 3 months and she had been doing pretty good. She had a job at the toothpaste factory and reported twice weekly to her probation officer. So far she had been clean. It was a bit of a thrill for Yolanda to have her at her eighteenth birthday party a few days ago. It was the first time in many, many years.

Yolanda was a slender, slight girl and stood 5'3" in her bare feet. She had just right hips and breasts that filled her hands and had just the right amount of 'hang'. Her face was graceful with plump but not fat lips and a slender nose. Her eyes were bright, kind of brownish green. She wore her straight, silky, auburn hair long, down to the middle of her back. Her skin was a little too pasty white for her taste, but most people thought she looked pretty good.

She was graduating high school in two weeks. She had been admitted to County College and was set on studying literature. She was enamored of Russian novels and had written her Advanced Placement senior thesis on The Brothers Karamazov. She had written a few short stories and a lot of poetry which she had not had the nerve to show anybody. Except Brad, that is.

Brad wasn't really a boyfriend, but he was a boy, friend. They spent hours and hours together. Yolanda had an inkling that he was gay, but they had never talked about it. He was, unlike Yolanda, a very light shade of brown. His father was black, but his mother was white. Some of her girlfriends had got after her for dating a 'black' boy, although that wasn't the word they used. She didn't pay them any mind. She didn't care if Brad was white or black or purple. And besides, she wasn't dating him. They just shared a lot of interests and temperament.

There had been plenty of opportunities for her to date boys. She had resisted most of them. She had had a few dates here and there, but the boys seemed more interested in getting into her pants than to learn anything about her or to share themselves with her. She guessed that boys were the same all over. She had had urges, yes, but she was adamant that she was not going to start having sex and end up getting pregnant like so many of her friends had. She wanted to go places, do things. This summer, her grandmother had paid for a month long program at an outdoors adventure camp in Colorado. They would do mountaineering, whitewater rafting, explore the local vast forests. There was a rigorous physical education component and Yolanda looked forward to successfully enduring it.

She had tried out for track at school, but she just wasn't fast enough. They had an intramural girls' softball league, but she was too much of a klutz to catch the ball on a regular basis and she couldn't hit worth shit. She didn't like the aggressiveness of soccer or basketball the way they played it. She had played a little tennis at summer camp her junior year, but her school didn't have a tennis team. Besides, she wasn't too good at that either.

She had taken violin lessons freshman and sophomore year, but she had let that lapse. She liked some computer games, but most of them were too violent. The one game she like to play was called Runnymede and took place in a magical kingdom where you had to team up with other online players and go in search of the Golden Tor. It was set in the Middle Ages. She had adopted a male character named Olf, who was fast and clever, skilled with the bow and arrow and didn't depend on brute force.

But mostly she liked to read and watch old time movies on TV. Her grandmother was an avid reader and film buff too and they often discussed books and watched movies together. Her favorite actress was Barbara Stanwyck and her favorite film Ball of Fire, although she liked the one with Henry Fonda too, The Lady Eve.

Four days after her birthday, she received a phone call from Chamile on her cell phone. She hadn't been home since the birthday party and Yolanda was getting worried about her. It was a Saturday, about 10:30. She was helping her grandmother about the house, doing some of the vacuuming and dusting. Her brothers were out at a friend's house. Granny had just finished washing the kitchen floor and they were both sitting at the kitchen table sharing a pot of English Breakfast Tea.

When she answered the phone and said, "Hello, Chamile," (she never called her mother 'Mom'), her grandmother perked up.

"What does she want?" she demanded.

Yolanda waived her off.

"Hiya, honey," Chamile was saying. "Sorry I haven't been home, but I spent a couple nights at the woman's shelter helping out for my community service."

"Okay," Yolanda answered warily.

"I was wondering if you would want to spend some time with me today."

"Doing what?" Yolanda replied suspiciously.

"There's a festival in Gilson Park with some bands and arts and crafts and stuff like that. We could just spend some time together and talk."

"Talk about what?"

"Things. I just want to try and get to know you better. I know I have a lot to make up for, but I'm trying. It would mean a lot to me."

"Sorry, Chamile," Yolanda responded. "I told Brad that I would see him this afternoon."

"You can still see him. We'll have some lunch and wander around a bit. We can be done by 1. Please?"

"Hold on," Yolanda told her. She looked at her grandmother and told her what Chamile wanted.

"I don't know, child," her grandmother replied. "Where's she been?"

Yolanda told her.

"That's a crock of shit!" her grandmother retorted.

"I kind of want to see her," Yolanda stated, holding her hand over the phone. "I think that she's really been trying. What can it hurt?"

"Your mother could fuck up a wet dream!" her grandmother answered. Granny was a little salty. She worked as a dispatcher for a local trucking company for 25 years until she retired three years ago,

"Granny!" Yolanda protested.

"You know what I mean!" Granny sent back.

"Well, I want to do it," Yolanda told her.

"Okay, okay," Granny surrendered. "But keep your phone on all the time and call me every hour."

Yolanda removed her hand from the phone. "Okay, Chamile," she told her mother. "Where do you want to meet?"

"Oh, thanks, honey! You've made my day. We can meet at your Granny's and I'll pay for a taxi."

"All right."

"I'll see you in about 20 minutes."

"Okay. I'll be ready," Yolanda replied and signed off of the call.

She gave her grandmother a kiss and ran up the stairs. She took a quick shower. She dressed herself in a red and black plaid miniskirt and a pair of low heeled sandals. She didn't use much makeup, but she outlined her eyes and applied a very pale pink lipstick. She brushed and dried her hair. She didn't want to show up for the outing with her mother dressed in worn out jeans and scuffed up athletic shoes. Going out with her was something special and she wanted Chamile to know how important it was to her. She adorned herself with a light pink bra to match her panties and a pink t-shirt with small, delicate yellow, blue and red flowers across her chest. She looked in the mirror. "Okay," she said to herself.

She ran back downstairs. Granny was still in the kitchen, at the table, reading the paper. "You forgot to put the vacuum cleaner away," she told her.

"Sorry," Yolanda answered. She rushed into the living room, unplugged the cord and tugged it so that it would disappear inside. She brought it over to the hall closet and put it in. She came back to the kitchen. "I'm going to wait on the porch," she told Granny.

"That's okay. Have a good time. And here, I've got something for you." She reached into the pocket of her housedress and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. "I doubt that Chamile will have any money. Use this to buy lunch."

"Thank you, Granny," Yolanda gushed. She leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Call me every hour!" her grandmother called out as she dashed to the front door. She didn't reply. She swung open the screen door and took a seat on the old, padded glider. Their street was one way heading off to her left, so she craned her neck and looked to her right to see if a taxi was coming. So far, nothing.

She leaned back. "Maybe I shouldn't go," she said to herself. Chamile had disappointed her so many times that she couldn't count them. She didn't really deserve to be treated as her mother. Granny had raised her after all. It had been embarrassing for everyone to know that her mother was an addict and a whore. Sometimes, when she was younger, she used to get teased about it. She always had the thought that the boys believed that if her mother was a whore she would be one too. And that was another reason she hadn't dated much. In sophomore year, Ronnie Jackson had offered her $15 for a blowjob. She had given him a slap that rattled his teeth. She refused to tell the vice principal why she did it and she got two weeks detention as a result, but it was worth it. Granny had been proud of her.

After about ten minutes she began to think that maybe her mother had stood her up yet again. It wouldn't surprise her. She looked at her cell phone. It was a half hour since her mother had called.

She was just about to go back inside and call the whole thing off when she saw a gypsy cab, all bright green and red, fling itself around the corner and trundle down their street. Their neighborhood was rather quiet and they didn't get much traffic. The cab pulled up outside their house. Yolanda got up and walked to the top of the stairs. She waited until she saw her mother get out of the back driver's seat.

Chamile waived excitedly. Chamile was slight too, although a little taller than Yolanda. And while Yolanda's thinness was elegant and attractive, Chamile just looked scrawny. She was wearing a tight black miniskirt and a pair of tall, red high heels. Her bleach blonde hair was scraggly and wild. She had on an orange halter top that revealed several inches of her tummy and large portions of her ample breasts. On her face was a pair of dark sunglasses. She had on bright red lipstick.

Yolanda warily waived back and descended the blue painted wooden stairs. She had brought her smallish brown leather purse with a long strap. It held her hairbrush, some Chapstick, her wallet and her phone. Chamile was carrying a big, brilliant yellow thing. God knew what she had in it.

When she got to the sidewalk she approached Chamile and they gave each other a tentative hug. Yolanda gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Come on, get in!" Chamile encouraged her merrily. Yolanda got into the back on the driver's side and slid over. Chamile got in behind her. As soon as the door closed, the cab sped away.

Yolanda looked at the taxi license mounted in the back. The driver was Eduardo Rodriguez. There was a picture of him. He looked to be about 40 or 45. He had curly brown hair and was looking back neutrally. She always checked the driver's name when she got into one of the gypsy cabs. They were largely unregulated and you never knew who was at the wheel. She looked up front. The man actually doing the driving had black hair and he looked more slender than Eduardo. That was just what she meant. Who the fuck was this guy? She looked back at the license. It had expired two years ago.

She was about to say something when her mother tapped her on her thigh. "It's so good to see you, honey," she said earnestly.

"Me too, Chamile," Yolanda returned.

"How's Granny?"

"She's fine."

"Was she mad when I didn't come home for the last few nights?"

"A little," Yolanda replied.

"Well I was working, like I said. In fact, we have to stop at the shelter before we go to the park. I need to get my community service worksheet signed so I get credit for it. I need to show it to my probation officer on Monday."

"Ok," Yolanda said.

"In fact, I'd like you to meet Mrs. Lim. She runs the place. I've told her all about you and how proud I am of you."

"Ok," Yolanda replied neutrally. It might be a good thing to go in. This way she could affirm for herself whether Chamile was telling the truth. It would relieve Granny to know that.

They drove for about 25 minutes. They crossed the river to the south side. Yolanda didn't like to go there because there was a lot of crime. Some people said that the police didn't go there after dark. Yolanda doubted that, but it just went to show how rough it was. She was a little disturbed since Gilson Park was on the north side and they would have to drive back clear across town to get there. It was already after 11. That wouldn't give them much time to be together.

Chamile was being uncharacteristically silent. She looked like she was shaking. "What's wrong, Chamile?" she asked. "Are you sick?"

"No," Chamile replied. "I just took my Methadone about a half hour ago and I've got the willies. It'll kick in in a little while."

Yolanda nodded her head. "Once an addict, always an addict," her grandmother often said. Maybe it was true.

They turned down a block with a bunch of burned out buildings and a large, empty, littered, overgrown lot that went down the whole block. "Why would they put the women's shelter here?" Yolanda thought uneasily. It didn't feel right.

They stopped in front of a wide, three story house. It was covered with dirty, grayish aluminum siding that looked like it had been put on thirty years ago. There was no building on the left, just an empty lot filled with litter and trash and other detritus. The house on the right was all boarded up. The large, empty lot was across the street. There were a few cars parked on the street, which seemed inexplicable since there was only one building that looked habitable. "Maybe they work in the shelter," she thought.

Chamile opened the driver's side door. "Come on," she urged.

"No, Chamile, I think I'll wait outside," Yolanda told her.

"Aw, come on, baby!" Chamile whined. "It's really important to me that you meet Mrs. Lim. I've told her all about you. I want them to see that I wasn't just bullshitting!"

"It just doesn't feel right," Yolanda replied. "Why would they put the women's shelter way out here? And why isn't there a sign?"

"It's so their boyfriends can't find it," was Chamile's quick reply. "And budget cuts. The City don't give out much money for this kind of thing."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather wait," was Yolanda's answer.

A look of anger crossed Chamile's face. Yolanda had seen it before. Chamile was known to explode into ferocious rage when she didn't get her way. Then, as if by magic, the expression faded. She was sweet old Chamile once again.

"Pretty please, Yolanda?" she begged. "It would mean so much to me. And I want you to see how much they appreciate me. What a good job I'm doing."

Yolanda took a deep breath. She looked up and saw the driver of the cab looking back at her in the rearview mirror. Being alone with him in the car didn't seem too appealing either. She looked at the house. At least if she went inside she would maybe be able to tell for sure that Chamile was telling the truth about working there. If it really was the woman's shelter.

She made her decision. She opened the passenger side door and got out. Chamile was waiting for her anxiously at the bottom step to the stoop. Yolanda looked at the building again. She hadn't noticed it before, but all of the windows were barred and had shades pulled down. Even the upper floors. For a second, she thought she saw a woman's face peering out of one, but it was withdrawn as fast as it appeared.

Chamile took her hand and marched up the three slate steps to the door. It was wooden, painted white, with strips of paint peeling from it. It looked like it was steel reinforced and it had a big brass deadbolt. There was a squawk box off to the right. Chamile pressed the button. There was no response for a little bit. Chamile, looking a little nervous, pressed it again. The squawk box had a little camera. Finally a scratchy woman's voice responded.

"Who is it?" it demanded.

"It's Chamile," her mother replied. "I've got my daughter with me."

There was a pause. Then, "Okay. Wait a second."

About ten seconds later, the lock buzzed and the door opened. A heavyset black guy was standing there. He was wearing a dark blue t-shirt and black jeans over heavy black boots. He had unruly black hair and what looked like a week old beard. Yolanda didn't like the look of him

"Who's he?" she asked Chamile. "I thought this was the women's shelter."

"It is, honey," Chamile answered quickly. "He's just the bouncer. I mean, you know, security."

"Security for what?"

"In case any of the boyfriends or husbands show up, of course," Chamile explained.

The entrance room was small. It was dimly lit with just a faint light coming from an overhead fixture and the glow of light from the shaded window. There were a couple of ratty easy chairs, a small table between them with an unlit lamp on it with a torn, yellow shade and a half full ash tray. The rug was threadbare, kind of a sickly green. The walls had centuries old, dirty white wallpaper on them.

"Where are the women?" Yolanda asked skeptically as Chamile guided her in.

"Oh, this is just the entranceway. There's all in the back."

Across the room was an archway. It had a steel barred door like on a cell. "This place looks more like a jail," Yolanda observed nervously.

Just then a woman came to the barred door. She was wearing a gaudy orange, green and blue, kneelength housedress and low heeled, black shoes, like old ladies wear. The dress was opened to midway between her breasts showing off a daring amount of their heaviness. She had thin black hair mixed with grey that was pulled into a bun. Her face was round and not exactly brutish, but you wouldn't want to fuck with her. She had a slightly Asian look, maybe from a mixed marriage. She seemed maybe 45 or so; Yolanda wasn't good with ages of older people. She wasn't tall, kind of medium sized, but she was broad and a bit hefty. Thick arms were jutting out of the short sleeves of her dress. If you looked really close, you could see that her nose had been broken at least once.

"Hello, Chamile," the woman called lightly out from between the bars. "Is this your daughter?"

The woman had pulled a set of keys from her belt. A long, thick, golden one went into the lock of the door. She turned it with a 'clang!' She swung it open.

"Come in! Come in!" she called out, smiling.

Yolanda felt very uncomfortable. Why was there a cell door and such a heavy lock? The woman's voice was slightly accented. It was low and deep. Her apparent friendliness could not disguise the rough edge to it.

Chamile took hold of her wrist. "Come on, honey, let's go inside."

"I'm not sure, Chamile," Yolanda responded. "Something's not right here."

"What's not right, honey?" Chamile asked impatiently. She tugged at her arm. "Come on! Don't be stupid!"

There was more than a bit of the Chamile she was mostly used to in her voice. Yolanda pulled her arm away. "I told you, I'm not going in there!" she responded loudly. "Don't try and make me!"

She looked back at the woman. Her smile had faded. She looked like she might rush out and grab her. Yolanda started to back her way to the outside door. She jumped when she came into contact with the big black man behind her. She looked at him, more than a little afraid now. "Please get out of my way," she said as forcefully as she could, a tremor in her voice. She looked back at the woman. As if he had been standing back listening, an even bigger black man stepped out from the corridor behind the woman. He loomed over her. He was wearing an oversized jersey from the local pro basketball team. He had a neatly shaved goatee. His hair was curly and cut close to his head. He was glaring at her as if she had insulted him.

She realized who it was. It was Tiny! Yolanda panicked. She turned and tried to make a dash for the door. The bouncer blocked her way. She pushed against him with all her might, but hardly budged him.

"Let me out! Let me out!" she screamed. She went to give the man a big kick when a large hand seized a skein of her hair and jerked her back. She was frantic now and tried to pull the hand away while she twisted and turned. Chamile screeched, "Don't hurt her! Don't hurt her!" She felt a clobbering blow to the side of her head. Her body went limp. Tiny released her hair and she fell to the floor.

Things happened really fast, or maybe not as her head was whirling and there was a throbbing on the side where she had been struck. Someone stripped her pocketbook off of her shoulder. She was rolled to her belly and her arms were pulled behind her. She could hear Chamile sobbing and wailing. Someone tied her wrists crossed tightly. She tried to rise, but a heavy hand pushed her back down. A hand went back into her hair and her head was tilted back. She looked up and saw the woman reaching out to her with a strip of silvery tape. A large, meaty hand pressed upwards on her jaw and her mouth was jammed closed. The woman, Mrs. Lim, she assumed, placed the tape over her lips. She pulled another strip from the roll and placed it over the first, a little higher, and then a third which overlapped the first on the bottom.

Hard, heavy hands grabbed her arms and lifted her from the floor. Her knees wouldn't cooperate and the hands had to hold her up.

"Bring her into the kitchen," the woman snapped. She was led through the barred door. She heard it clang closed behind her. There was a room to her left. She heard men's voices and a woman laugh. She was dragged straight ahead into a bright room. It was a small, bare bones kitchen dominated by a large, rectangular table covered with a faded red and white, checkered vinyl tablecloth. She was shoved down on a chair at the near end.

She was coming out of her daze, although her head still throbbed. She looked around. She knew that she was frightened beyond her wits, but her brain's receptors were just not receiving it yet. There were three women sitting there, one to her left, one to her right, and one, at the other end, dead ahead of her. The girl on the left was white with reddish brown hair all teased up. At the end in front of her was a Hispanic girl. Her hair was long and black. The girl to her right was black with her hair done up in a short 'fro'. They were all wearing flowery satin robes pulled nonchalantly over their bodies and drinking mugs of coffee. There were 2" wide silver collars around their necks. They all looked like they were between their late twenties and early thirties. The black girl and the Hispanic one had large breasts. The white girl's were more modest, if that's the right word since her robe was very loose and they were practically hanging out.

All the girls were looking at her fearfully as if she had a disease that they might catch. Tiny was towering over her to her on her right and the woman was to her left. She tried to push herself up off of the chair, but Tiny put his massive paw on her shoulder and forced her back down. She tried to jump up and dash off on the woman's side, but the woman just pushed her back. She reared her right hand and gave her face a mighty slap. Yolanda screeched. She grabbed her hair and gave her another and another. Yolanda sobbed and wailed.

"Get the message, you stupid cunt!" the woman snarled. "If you get up again, I'll knock you into next week!"

Yolanda started sobbing wildly. She looked to the three women for help, but they just looked away and sipped at their coffee. She could hear Chamile crying. "Why'd ya have to hit her so hard for?" she whined. "Is she all right? Let me see her!"

Tiny turned to her. "Get the fuck out of here!" he boomed. "Tell Reynaldo to drive you back to the house and get ready for work. I told him that he could fuck you, so take him up to your room when you get there. If he has any complaints I'll take you down to the basement and beat the shit out of you!"

"Please, Tiny, let me see her!" Chamile whined again.

Tiny reached out and grabbed her by the hair. He dragged her over to Yolanda's chair and pointed her face at her.

"See?" he demanded gruffly. He released her hair and pushed her back. "Now get the fuck out of here!"

"But you said you would get me right, Tiny," she complained plaintively. "I've got the heebie jeebies all over!"

Tiny looked at her. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small bag of pills. He reached into it and pulled out a half. "Here's half an Oxy, take it!" he growled.

Chamile took it quickly. "Can't I have a whole one?" she asked timidly.

"No," Tiny said flatly. "I don't want you too fucked up to work. I'll give you another half when I get home."

"Pleeeeease, Tiny!" Chamile begged. "I did what you said!"

Tiny reached out and took Chamile by the throat. He picked her up and pressed her against the wall. She started choking and gurgling. "If you don't do what I say now," Tiny told her loudly and ominously, "I'll sell you off to some Mexicans and they'll take you down to Mexico where you can work in a slop shop until they cut your throat and throw you away! Would you like that?"

"Nnnnnnnn.....!" Chamile managed to squeak out. Her face had turned beet red. Tiny released her and she fell to the floor. She was sniffling and whining as she rose. Despite Tiny's assault, she had held the half an Oxy tightly in her right hand. She looked at Tiny piteously. "Can I have some water?" she squeaked.

"Go get some water and get the fuck out of here!" Tiny replied, exasperated.

Chamile maneuvered herself behind Yolanda's chair and past Mrs. Lim to the kitchen sink. There were a couple of glasses in the drainboard. She took one, ran the cold water for a few seconds and half filled the glass. She tossed the half pill into her mouth and washed it down.

Everybody was silent as they watched her. She put the glass down carefully on the drain board as if stalling for time. She turned slowly and stepped up to where Mrs. Lim stood. She poked her face past her and looked at Yolanda. "I'm sorry, honey, but I had to do it. You'll be okay. I promise. I'll see you again soon."

Yolanda whined and said something piteous sounding, like she was begging. Chamile gave Tiny a fearful glance and fled from the room. The door man, who had been standing back in the corridor took her to the cell-like door, unlocked it and let her out. Yolanda heard the cell door clang closed and wailed.

"She's a noisy bitch," Mrs. Lim observed.

"She'll get over it," was Tiny's reply. "Now where's my money?" he demanded.

"Cool your jets, Tiny," Mrs. Lim spat back. "I'll be right back. Keep an eye on the cunt."

She turned and left the room. Tiny eyed Yolanda warily. "You know, I'm going to sell Chamile to the Mexicans anyway," he told her. "She's getting too old and sloppy. Besides, she might get remorseful and go to the cops."

Yolanda had been trying to get a hold on herself. This news started her off crying again. Tiny laughed. "Your mother's a cunt," Tiny told her callously. "Look what she did to you. All for a little scag. Don't waste your time crying for her."

Yolanda's despair and fear had seeped into her very bones. Her brain function was mostly restored now and her emotions were registering fine. "What are they going to do to me?" she worried hysterically. She didn't want to be a whore! She wanted to go home, to Granny's. She wanted to ask them, "Please! Please! Please! Please!"

Tiny took hold of the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up. Yolanda tried to twist away, but he snuck his hand under it and grabbed her by the throat, holding her still. He pulled the pink t-shirt over her head with his other hand and down her arms behind her. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a switchblade, popping it open. Its razor sharp edge cut through the straps of her pretty, pink bra like they were butter. Still holding on to her neck, he folded the knife up. Putting it in his pocket. He reached behind her with his left hand and undid the clasp. He reached for the center of the bra between her breasts and pulled it off.

Yolanda whined. She knew that everyone was looking at her. She tried and tried to twist away, but Tiny had his hand in her hair and held her still.

"Nice tits, Yolanda," he told her, sneering. "Someone's gonna really like 'em."

Mrs. Lim came back in with a white envelope in her hand. "What the fuck are you doing?" she asked Tiny angrily.

"I'm looking at her tits! That's what I'm doing!" Tiny replied.

"Leave her alone. She don't belong to you."

"Well maybe I'll decide not to sell her. Maybe I'll keep her and fuck the shit out of her. Maybe I'll sell her to the Mexicans. They'll pay me top dollar!"

"Don't fuck with me Tiny. And don't fuck with the people who I represent. She's tied up and gagged in my joint. That makes her mine. We had a deal."

Tiny looked at her. Yolanda saw the fierceness in his eyes and her body went sour. There was an animal inside the man, a fearsome animal. How many times had her mother seen that? She could see why she would be afraid to cross him. That didn't excuse what she had done to her, of course. There was nothing in the world that could excuse that. She dreaded being under his power and, despite her sadness and terror about what had been done to her, and her terrible, uncertain future, hoped that the woman won out.

Tiny seemed like he had grown a few inches. The woman just stared him down. "I could break you in half," Tiny growled.

"Do it and see what happens," the woman replied icily. There was a few seconds of terrible silence between them. It was as if the room had filled up with some explosive gas and the slightest spark could set it off. It was a world of violence and cruelty she had never seen before.

Tiny released her hair. It had been pulled really tight and, for a second, she had been afraid that he was going to pull out a big clump. He went back to his normal, bear-like size. The tension went out of the air. Mrs. Lim pulled a wad of cash from the envelope. She threw down on the table in front of her a pack of hundreds surrounded by a rubber band. "One, two, three," she began to count as she tossed down more bundles, "four, five. That's five grand, as we agreed," she said. Yolanda stared down at it. Was that what she was worth? $5,000? It seemed so cheap.

Tiny looked at it. He scooped it up. Mrs. Lim handed him the empty envelope. Tiny took it, stuffed the 5 G's into it, folded it, and put it in his front pants pocket.

"It should be more," Tiny growled.

"It's what we agreed on. Besides, look at her, she's all skinny and scrawny."

"Skinny and scrawny, my ass," Tiny rejoined. "Look at those tits. That's a fine set. And she's fresh meat, never been touched."

"And I've got to find a buyer from out of town sos nobody ever sees her again. You got a buyer like that?"

Tiny was silent. Yolanda quailed. "A buyer? From out of town?" she thought fraughtfully. "What's going to happen to me?" She started whining and sobbing again. She was frightfully distressed at having her breasts out for everybody to see. Nobody had ever seen them since they started growing but her, except momentarily in gym class where she hurriedly took a shower and wrapped herself with a towel right after. She looked at the three whores. They were staring at her. She broke out into a howl and bent over, trying to hide them.

Mrs. Lim grabbed her hair and straightened her up roughly. "Shut the fuck up, or I'll give you more like what you got!" she ordered her sharply. "And don't hide your tits! You're a whore now and whores show their tits to everybody!"