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Heaven hollered. “Oh no, Miss Janie. We can’t have you snatching off scalps. How much does she owe you?”
She readjusted her wig back on top of her head, tucking under her two long pigtails. “Let’s see. This week and last week . . .” She pursed her lips, counting in her head. “That ho owes me sixty dollars.”
Heaven blinked. Sixty dollars? What the hell was she gambling for, when she had no money coming in?
Heaven stood to her feet and walked over to her locker, counting out sixty dollars’ worth of goods. Ten iced honey buns, four three-pack pecan swirls, and one can of Maxwell House coffee. Twelve ramen noodles were a dollar. No, wait. She put those back. She reached for a jar of chunky peanut butter, which was worth five dollars. Two cans of chicken breasts equaled to five dollars. She tossed in two bags of Snyder’s jalapeño pretzels. And since candy bars were a dollar a pop, she doled out fifteen Milky Way bars. And, lastly, she grabbed cans of mackerel—Croydon Hill’s most wanted form of currency. Eight cans of mackerel were tossed in the bag.
“Here you go, Miss Janie.” Heaven handed her the bag. Everything in it was more than enough to cover Clitina’s gambling debt.
Miss Janie smiled, looking at the bag. “Chile, you got yourself a regular ole prison Seven-Eleven up in here, don’tcha? I appreciate you wanting to handle that gal’s debt, but that ain’t teaching her nothing. She needs to know how to pay up or get beat up. You hear what I’m saying, Pussycat?”
Heaven nodded. “I hear you, Miss Janie. But it’s okay. It’s an investment.”
She grunted. “Ummph. In what, trash?”
Heaven shook her head. “Miss Janie, one woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure.”
Miss Janie waved her on. “Chile, I don’t know ’bout all that. Mmph. That ho’s treasure chest ain’t filled with nothing but shit. Now let me go take my old ass back on down the way. It’s always good seeing you, Pussycat.”
As she turned to leave, Heaven called her back. “Hey, Miss Janie?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I know you’ve been here for a long time, so I wanted to ask you”—she lowered her voice, stepping up to her—“if you knew an Officer Flores?”
She blinked. Narrowed her eyes. “Who, that light-skinned-ed fella?”
Heaven nodded.
“Pussycat. Yeah I know him. He’s one of the Classification officers. Mm-hmm. Ooh, that’s one pretty man.” She fanned herself. “He fine, ain’t he?”
Heaven shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess.”
“Mm-hmm. What you guessing for? Even I can see he fine. Long, tall drink of sexiness; I don’t think he wears drawers to work.”
Heat crept up through Heaven’s belly as the memory of how his dick had felt as she stroked him over his pants. She giggled. “Miss Janie, you a mess.”
“Uh-huh. Don’t go snooping where the sun don’t shine, Pussycat. Now what you asking ’bout him for?”
“Curious, that’s all.”
She narrowed her eyes, studying Heaven. “Well, don’t be getting too curious. He one of the candy men.”
Heaven gave her a questioning look. “A what?”
Miss Janie crooked a finger and beckoned for Heaven to come closer. Heaven leaned in, then Miss Janie whispered conspiratorially, “He the dope man.”
Heaven blinked, then opened her mouth to—
Miss Janie put a hand up, and stopped her. “Not another word on that.”
And then she was gone.
FORTY-TWO
Get Ready . . .
“You owe me,” Heaven informed Clitina as they walked around the outdoor track. The weather was gorgeous. Warm, but breezy. Low humidity. Heaven couldn’t resist coming out to the yard to let the sun shine down on her. Oh joy! This was what her life had become. From Central Park carriage rides to getting excited about sunshine in a prison yard.
