Hustle & Heartache Read online

  “Yes, sir,” the detectives responded in unison. After placing the bruised and beaten young boy in the back of the squad car, they exchanged a look that neither one of them had to convey out loud; they had become the monsters they had sworn to protect this city from.

  As Sergeant Hensley’s tires spun in the dirt, kicking up gravel in all directions, Detective Mills closed the driver-side door and put the GPD squad car in gear, then she and her partner followed their superior out to 22nd avenue in Gary, Indiana; aka the Wild Deuces.

  * * *

  * * *

  After a long while, nearly an hour after the sergeant and his detectives had dropped them off in The Wild Deuces, the boy regained consciousness.

  Oh...God,” he grunted in pain as he forced himself up off of the ground. Battered and bruised, each movement sending ripples of pain throughout his entire body and nearly causing him to lose consciousness again, he spotted his girlfriend lying motionlessly underneath a tree and began to crawl over to her.

  When he reached her side, he realized that she was completely naked, shaking and mumbling unintelligibly as tears fell from her eyes onto the unkempt grass.

  “Come on, Nessa,” the boy began to cry. “We have to get home.”

  With wet hands, she grabbed hold of his wrists and held them tightly, her mumbling getting louder and louder.

  The headlights of a car shown in their direction momentarily as it passed by and in the light the young boy saw that what he thought to be moisture from tears, was actually blood that covered the girl’s hands all the way up to her elbows. He glanced down at her legs and saw even more blood. Then he began to panic.

  “Oh, my God! Nessa, what’d he do to you?”

  The young boy pulled his girlfriend close and that’s when he heard what she had been mumbling.

  “Kill me. Kill me. Kill me,” she said repeatedly.

  “Help!” the boy screamed, pleading for anyone to hear.” Somebody help us! Come on, somebody, please! Please, she’s hurt real bad!”

  And as his pleas for help went out to the neighborhood, his girlfriend’s pleas grew even louder.

  “Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!” she continued to scream.”

  “What’s going on over there?”a black man asked as he, a black woman, and a black tender-aged boy approached cautiously.

  “Ya’ll all right?”the woman asked.

  “Oh, shit!” the man exclaimed when another car passed by and the brightness of the headlights shown him, his wife, and his son the worst horror they had ever witnessed in his entire time living in Gary, Indiana. “Erica, we gotta get out of here. These kids done been beat up real bad. I think this is some sort of gang initiation or something. Come on, Erica. Come on, let’s go!”

  “Oh, my God, James!” his wife gasped after seeing the naked young girl. “James, somebody done raped this poor girl. We have to at least call the police when we get home.”

  “Fine, we’ll call the police the moment we get home,” James relented. “Right now, let’s just get the hell out of here before whoever did this comes back.”

  James and Erica’s son just stared back in horror at the young boy and the young girl as his parents hurriedly led him away from whatever dangers that had caused so much pain and horror.

  An hour later, the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.

  But it was too late…

  Audi

  Present Day

  Audriana Escobar is what my parents named me, but everyone referred to me as Audi. My mother told me that she gave me that name because I reminded her of an earthquake named Audriana that devastated Brazil and shattered half the country by leaving destruction and devastation in its wake. My mother also told me that because she had to have a C-Section in order for me to be born, plus the fact that she nearly died from blood loss due to extreme hemorrhaging in her uterus as the surgery was a very critical one, she considered me to be just like that earthquake. I know that seems a terrible thing to say about your child, but you have not had the pleasure of meeting my mother.

  Even though I was nothing like my mother, I did look almost identical to her when she was my age. Maybe that was why she treated me more like I was an embarrassment and not a blessing at certain times−because I reminded her of how she used to look.

  It was May 25th and I had been giddy with anticipation all morning because today was to be a great day. My 18th birthday was tomorrow, and I had overheard my mother on the phone with my father discussing the possibility of buying me a new car as a birthday present. Although my parents were divorced, they always made sure to come together for birthdays and holidays, if only for the sake of their kids. So, I was really hoping that the car thing turned out to be true. I already had a car, of course, but it was a boring silver two-door ‘97 Nissan Maxima. It used to belong to my sister, but after one of her many boyfriends−which were really nothing more than her sugar daddies since they were usually twice her age−had gifted her a bright yellow Corvette, she had given me her Nissan so that I could get to and from work and school.

  I was also excited about the Wort High School prom coming up on Friday. So far I had been asked by five guys; Diego, Jamal, Ty Baby, JuJu, and Victor.

  I wanted to go with Diego because he was the only Puerto Rican guy at our school with a Mercedes, plus he used to buy me expensive gifts when we were dating. He did not speak very good English, so he figured in order to compete with the black guys who were considered ballers, he would trick with the fine girls by spending money on them when the other guys would not.

  I do not really understand why Diego chose to spend money on girls just to make sure he would get their attention when all he had to do was arrive somewhere and girls would be throwing themselves at him anyway. I mean, the guy was gorgeous! With long black hair that seemed to shine in the sunlight whenever he stepped out of his Mercedes S550, and a body like a Calvin Klein model from years of working out, he could easily get women to pay him to make sure he noticed them. If I took Diego to prom, girls would definitely hate on me for sure.

  Only problem with that scenario was, in the brief two months that Diego and I dated, he had cheated on me with at least three of my schoolmates, so I was definitely not going to embarrass myself by going to prom with him.

  JuJu, whom his homeboys nicknamed him after noticing that he carried a box of JuJu’s Sweet & Sour candy with him wherever he went, would have been my second choice. Only problem with him is that he’s got too much baby mama drama on his hands. He had three kids by three different women, all of them white girls, and he was not even out of high school yet. Yeah, JuJu was definitely out of the equation.

  Ty Baby was the finest out of them all. He was Jamaican and Ethiopian and he was only a year older than me. Girls loved to play in his long, black dreadlocks. He was tall and light-complexioned. My mother said that she would not have minded me going to prom with him because he had good grades in school, but that morning he called and told me that he could not go.

  “I’m sorry, Audi,” he had said to me. “I didn’t know that me and my ex were gonna patch things up. If I had known, I wouldn’t have asked you in the first place. I hope you can understand that.” And with that, he hung up. He did not even let me get a word in−just hung up. Although I was pissed at him about it, I did understand.

  He and Jasmine had been together for the past four years until her parents had gotten divorced and decided to sell the house. Jasmine had been under the assumption that her mother wanted to move back to Arizona, to her hometown, and she did not see any reason for her and Ty Baby to continue seeing each other.

  After being offered a manager’s position at Toys R Us, Jasmine’s mother had decided to stay in Gary, Indiana and keep Jasmine enrolled in school. When Jasmine had told Ty Baby the good news, they had decided to get back together. I know that sounds a little soap opera-ish, but who am I to get in the way of true love?

  Jamal would have been my first pick had he not gotten arrested for attempted murde
r the very same day, just hours after he had asked me to prom.

  “Stupid ass Jamal,” I said aloud to myself as my older sister began to cut the split-ends off my long, brown hair that, when unhindered, flowed down my back all the way down to the top of my big bubble-butt.

  “What’s that, Audio?” my 23-year-old sister asked. She had been calling me that since I was a baby. At least, I think she has, I really do not remember. “I know you ain’t cussing again. You know Roy-Boy don’t play that shit.”

  Of course, I knew that my mother’s current boyfriend, Roy-Boy, did not like it when I cussed in the house. Actually, he was not fond of anyone cussing in the house. But I did not give two shits about what he wanted, so whenever he was not around, I would cuss as much as I damn well pleased.

  I mean, what kind of stupid-ass name is Roy-Boy, anyway? It’s not like his fat-ass is some kind of wrestler or something. This motherfucker was not even a biker. His real name was Royer. I know, right? What kind of lame-ass name is Royer?

  He must have known it was whack, too, because he started calling himself Roy-Boy after he had noticed a sign above a tattoo parlor on Broadway. Roy-Boy’s Tattoo and Piercing Shop it said, which the storeowner fit the store name perfectly as he was a biker and tattoo artist. Plus, the owner had tattoos all over his body and about thirty-two piercings as well. But Royer did not have any tattoos or piercings, so I don’t know why he chose to dub himself with that guy’s nickname.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll stop cussing,” I feigned concern for my sister’s sake.

  She had a nasty habit of ratting me out for any little thing that I did. But if she did something that she could get in trouble for, she would just ignore it like it was okay because she was older than me.

  “Okay, my ass,” my sister said. “You better stop cussing and shit.”

  “You’re not gonna tell on me, are you?” I asked her, using the exact same words she had been using on me since before I can remember.”I promise to try not to cuss. I’m just pissed because now I don’t have a date for prom.”

  “Don’t worry, Audio,” my sister said sympathetically. “I’m not gonna say anything. But why you keep thinking about shit like that? Aren’t there more boys you could get to go to prom with you?”

  Ain’t that something? She cusses, it’s cool. I cuss, she snitches on me.Talk about a fucking hypocrite!

  “You wouldn’t understand, Mari. You’ve never had a problem with getting boys to like you, but Mom and Roy-Boy act like the boys that I’m interested in has to have a preexisting law degree or something. Plus, by it being so close to prom, nobody’s gonna be available now, anyways. Never mind, I’ll get over it, just like I do with everything else.”

  “Hey!” Marisol said, grabbing hold of my chin and tilting my head so that I was looking up at her. I was sitting on the floor in front of her, while she was sitting in the wooden dinette chair with the missing seat cushion. “Don’t be saying that shit, okay? I’m sure you can find somebody before prom next week.”

  “Tomorrow,” I corrected her. “Prom’s tomorrow, not next week.”

  “Oh,” she blinked twice and sighed deeply. “Yeah, that might be bad. Maybe next time, then, huh, Audi? Oh, wait! I got it. Why don’t you ask Victor? He and Tawny just broke up, like, a week ago.”

  “He already asked me,” I told her with a hint of a smile. “But he said that if he takes me to prom, then I’d have to give him a little sumthin’ sumthin’ in return. I don’t think he was talking about just a kiss, so I won’t be giving him a little nuthin’ nuthin’ in return.”

  “I guess,” Marisol said with a shrug. “Wouldn’t be such a bad idea. He’s hot!”

  “I don’t care if he’s Michael Jordan, I’m not some cheap whore,” I said with pride. “Plus, Mom and Roy-Boy would kill me.”

  “You got that right,” Marisol agreed as she finished up the last of my split-ends. “All done. That’ll be $250, please.”

  “Put it on my tab,” I joked back.

  “What about Dre? He’s available. I know because I saw him earlier today and he said that he wasn’t going to prom because every girl he asked already had a date. Besides, you know you both have little crushes on each other.”

  “Are you serious?” I glared at my older sister.

  “What?” she asked with raised brow. “What’s wrong with him? He’s cute.”

  “He and I hate each other, remember?”

  “Really? Since when?”

  “Since he poured lemonade on the floor beneath the chair of my desk in English class last year while I was dozing off, then told everybody that I pissed myself.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Marisol laughed loudly, her large breasts bouncing up and down as she did so. “Yeah, I forgot about that. That was so funny.”

  “That was not funny!” I said, my voice edged in irritation. “Everybody thought I peed in bed every night after that. They called me the ‘Wet Burrito’ for a whole year.”

  Marisol laughed even harder, throwing her head back and smacking her knee. “I know they did. I’m the one who started it, remember?”

  “Ugh!” I clenched my fist and stormed out, slamming the door when I reached my own room. I could still hear her laughing from down the hall.

  “Hey, you little Wet Burrito, get back in here and clean up this hair!” she shouted. She was still laughing.

  Sometimes my sister could make me so mad, but this was not one of those times. Although I hated when she teased me, I was not really upset with her for the Wet Burrito reminder. I just pretended to be mad so that I could avoid the subject of me asking Dre to prom.

  Although it was true that he and I had had our differences over the years, he had started being very nice to me lately. He even helped me with my homework when I was failing Math. I ended up passing with a C-plus because of him. That was about six months ago, but ever since that day, I would catch him watching me out of the corner of my eye. Had he been any other boy, I would have ignored it as just another creep who was interested in getting in my pants.

  You see, guys at my school only had one rule when it came to girls: Find them, befriend them, and fuck them. I was not in the category of “an easy lay,” so guys tried extra hard to get at me. I do not mean to sound conceited, but at the tender age of 17, I was considered by the hustlers, ballers, and playas to be a dime piece. I was of Mexican and Armenian descent, had long brown hair, a nice juicy ass, small waist−with abs, might I add−and boys could not keep their eyes off my breasts. Plus my light-brown sugar skin tone gave me an exotic appearance.

  Yeah, if I was a nigga, I’d definitely consider me to be a bad bitch.

  I woke up from my usual afternoon nap to the sound of my mother’s voice.

  “Audriana!” she shouted. She was the only one who called me by my full, given name. “You hear me in here calling your ass. Pick up the damn phone so your little fast-ass friends can stop calling my house.”

  “Got it, Mom,” I said, wiping drool from my mouth and forearm, then I hopped out of bed, my feet leaving imprints in the white carpet that covered my bedroom floor. I glanced at the Caller ID before picking up the pink cordless phone from the charger on the dresser next to my vanity mirror. “Who the hell is calling me from Nailed It! nail salon?” I said to myself. I turned the volume down on the T.V. then answered hesitantly. “Hello? Who’s calling?”

  “Why’d you answer the phone like a white girl? What’s Gucci, baby girl?” my homegirl Cherish Sinclair said all giddy over the phone. She was one of three girls who I hung out with on a daily basis, and she was the only other one of us other than me who has not given up the goodies yet. At least not that I knew of. But Coco and Makita, on the other hand, had been “fucking and sucking” since the tender ages of fifteen.

  “What’s Gucci, girl?” I responded, happy to hear her voice. “What are ya’ll doing over there?”

  “Shit, just chilling. Over here trying to get Coco to hook up my damn nails, but her fast-ass is too busy trying to see what
Lyrical’s up to. All out there sitting on the hood of Lyrical’s Mustang and shit. You know Lyrical’s hitting that, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s what Makita was saying to me the other day.”

  “Shit, she should be the one to talk. Raheem caught her and Devonte down in his mama’s basement last week. Girl, he said they were butt-ass naked, getting it in on his daddy’s old pool table.”

  “What?” I asked incredulously, my side hurting from laughing so hard. “You lying.”

  Cherish was also laughing. “Girl, I wish I was lying. Raheem said when Makita got up off the table, she had so much dust on her ass that it looked like she just came in from laying ass-naked on the beach.”

  “What? That’s crazy!”

  “And don’t I know it. Anyways, Makita’s big-booty ass is in the back smoking weed with Raheem and Devonte. I haven’t seen Dre yet, though. Jinx said that he came through earlier, but then he cut out, said he had to do some yard work or some shit like that. Anyway, why aren’t you at work? We went up there to the Market, but that one white girl, Melissa−you know, old girl behind the courtesy booth−said you hadn’t come in yet. I thought you worked 8:00 to 4:00. Shit, it’s 12:30, girl!”

  “I changed shifts so I could work nights because I got school in the morning, remember?” I reminded her. “I only work 8:00 to 4:00 on the weekends. But anyway, I didn’t ask you about no damn Dre. I’m not thinking about that nigga,” I said defensively.

  “Girl, please,” Cherish said. “You aren’t fooling anyone with all that ‘I don’t like Dre’ bullshit. We all know you like that nigga. Anyway, who’re you going to prom with?”

  “I don’t think I’m going. The only dudes that asked me is on some dumb shit or some bullshit, so...”

  “Shit, just go with Dre. He said he’s not going either, but I’ll bet you he’d change his mind if you ask him to.”

  Before I could respond, my mother came into my room and tossed a box of Hefty trash bags on my twin-size bed.