BLOOD DIAMONDS Chapter 10

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Chapter 1The Present… A Trash Dumpster, New York City”Rambo to Sugar Tits. Rambo calling Sugar Tits. You awake Sugar Tits? This is your wake up call.””Yeah, I’m awake Rambo,” I groaned. Rambo’s irritating, nasal whine wasn’t something I wanted to wake up to. Ever! “And, stop calling me Sugar Tits.”The earpiece/microphone was coming lose from my ear and I seated it firmly back into place as Rambo continued, “Hey, you were the one who agreed that I could pick our call signs for this job.””What was funny then isn’t all that funny after 50 hours in this sweat box.” I felt around in the gloom created by the tiny amount of daylight filtering in through the small air holes I’d drilled in the steel walls and pressed the glow light, the battery kind some used in closets, and a weak, red light lit the confines of the space I’d been in since mid-day Friday. It was now three hours till nightfall Sunday.I found the bottle I’d filled from the water reservoir before sleeping and took a long drink, almost spitting the vile, warm and metallic tasting stuff out. But, I didn’t. After all day in this box I needed the fluid to replace what I had sweated out. What kind’a idiot thought that doing this job in June was the thing to do? ‘Oh, yeah, I was the idiot,’ I thought as I used the last inch in the bottle to pour over my face. It didn’t wash away the skin oil and sweat, but at least I was able to get rid of the salty crust from my eyes.”Anyway, Sugar Tits, you wanted me to wake you early today if no one was around,” Rambo paused and I could hear the crunching sound of what I guessed was a full handful of potato chips being munched on. My stomach rumbled loud enough that I was sure it could be heard the entire length of the alley my sweat box was in. I hadn’t eaten solid food in five days. Just protein drinks, vitamin pills and water. Trying to pee in a mason jar when unable to sit up straight was hard enough. I didn’t even want to think about trying to… Well, I just didn’t want to think about that.I’d done my thinking before sealing myself in here, so two days before closing the door behind me I’d gone on an all liquid diet with regular enemas up the ol’ backside to flush me out. My colon was as empty as any human could manage. Between my diet and sweating in my metal box I was sure I’d lost at least 15 pounds. Though I certainly don’t recommend this as a weight lose regimen, I’m sure there are at least some who might try this at home so here is the obligatory warning. Ladies, don’t try not eating and locking yourself into a metal sweat box for three days. It fucking sucks!I suddenly had thoughts of all https://escortium.org the food I wanted and was about to start drooling when Rambo finished chewing the last chip and continued, “…and no one’s around. Not even that cat who’s been pissing on your container all weekend.””Great. I was wondering what that new smell was.” I’d lined the top part of my metal prison with the stinkiest garbage I could find. I wanted to keep people away and after days in the hot June sun, it had ripened to a nice blend of stink. I would have thought that by now I’d be accustomed to the smell, but every now and then a new stink would rise up to overwhelm me.”Just give me a few minutes to collect myself, Rambo. Since it’s dead around here on a Sunday, I thought I’d get an early start if no one is around. Keep watch and I’ll call back when I’m ready.”Rambo came back with a 10-4 and an extra loud, extra long slurp of his icy drink just to piss me off. Bastard…I lay back down and kneaded the palms of my hands against my forehead while trying to forget how much I wanted a cigarette. And food. And a shower… Especially a shower. I’m normally a two shower a day girl. I love being clean. Clean skin, clean hair, clean clothes, clean bed sheets. God, how I love the feel of just laundered 500 count cotton bed sheets on my skin. I sleep in the nude, by the way.Glancing down between my boobs at my filthy body just made me want to cry. Yeah, I was naked in here, but, what the hell, it was too damned hot for clothes. Putting my head back down on the pile of clothes I was using as my pillow, I sighed and tried to clear my mind to think about what I was going to do tonight. Of course, with the smell of rotting garbage in my nose and on my skin, my thoughts veered to thinking of Mother.Chapter 2Several Years Past… Somewhere in AmericaMother was a crack whore. No, that’s not being truthful. Mother was a whore for anything she could smoke, drink or snort up her nose. Probably would have spread her legs for anything she could’ve shot into a vein except for her fear of needles.Dear Ol’ Dad was a picture in a high school yearbook. He took off before my birth so I don’t know what the fuck he was like. Mother always just referred to him as, ‘that fucking bastard who knocked me up and stayed around making promises just long enough that I couldn’t get an abortion’.Grandparents on both sides never cared if I lived or died. Neither set bothered to show up the night I was born. Mother’s parents disowned her before I was born. They bought her a run down trailer and a lot to put it on at the edge of a town two states away and called it the end of their parental duties.Dad’s parents never even acknowledged I was their granddaughter. A one-way ticket for Dad to somewhere far, far away where Mother couldn’t find him for support payments was their sole concession to my existence.I’ll tell you the truth. I have no fucking clue how I lived long enough until I was able to start taking care of myself. I can only attribute it to two facts. First, was that Mother cared enough about the welfare check she got because of me that she remembered to feed me once in a while. Second, I grew up fast. Potty training at two years old was a study in survival as the beatings got worse every time Mother had to change my diaper.I have a pretty good memory. I’m not stupid! My earliest memories are of having my own room and a small, single bed where I spent much of my time. If Mother didn’t see me, she couldn’t hit me. So my training to become, and to remain, invisible started at an early age.So, too, did my training to become a thief. After Mother and whatever man was currently my new ‘Uncle’ finished making strange noises at night, I knew it would be safe to make a food run to the kitchen while they were passed out on the couch or in Mother’s bed. If they were passed out on the couch I didn’t dare turn on a light. I just grabbed whatever can my fingers touched and took it back to my room. I once ate an entire can of beets. I hate beets. To this day the thought of beets makes me sick. Why the hell did we even have a can of beets?Somehow, on free food from a local food pantry and clothes from a church charity, I managed to stay clothed and fed enough to make it to first grade. I think Mother lied to get me enrolled early. After all, school was free daycare to her. As for me? I loved school. Mother wasn’t there to hit me. There was food at lunch time. And there were books. I learned to read while the other kids were learning their alphabet. I read everything! I went from Dick and Jane to Frank and Joe The Hardy Boys in nothing flat. When other children were trying to figure out the logic that 1+1 does actually equal 2, I’d already read my math book from cover to cover.The other kids started making fun of me. They called me Nerd Girl and Teacher’s Pet and Weirdo because I was always raising my hand to answer all the questions. After that I never raised my hand again and I was careful not to show I already knew things they were struggling to learn. I wanted to fit in. Yeah, like I had a chance in Hell of that ever happening.I guess Mother’s rep as the town whore was pretty much established by the time I got into school. Invites to other kid’s parties just never seemed to make it to me. I sure as hell couldn’t invite them to my place. Seeing Mother passed out in a pool of her own vomit just wasn’t a thing I wanted to share with another kid. Now that was a Kodak moment.I was halfway through second grade when I got the nickname I was stuck with for the rest of my time in school. Stinky. Like, you try and keep clean when Mother forgets to pay the water bill and the company shuts off your water for a month. I did try. There was a small stream in the woods out back of our trailer and no matter how cold it was, I’d strip down and wash myself as good as I could. But, the stream was just too small and muddy to really get my hair clean or to do my clothes in.Since I couldn’t keep my clothes clean I expanded my invisible thief rampage to include things other than just food from the kitchen cabinets. I sneaked out of the trailer at night to raid the Salvation Army drop off boxes I’d seen from the school bus for clothes. I went to the drop off area behind the Goodwill store where people left clothes and other items after hours. I got clothes and shoes that didn’t always fit but at least they were cleaner than what I had. Behind the Goodwill store I got one more thing. A black-and-white TV. The screen was only nine inches and one of the rabbit ears was broken off, but after I lugged it home it was enough to pick up the local stations. Most of them. That TV was to be my mentor and guide for many years because through it I found a world that I hadn’t known existed and couldn’t understand.There were people, grown-ups, moms and dads that actually seemed to give a damn about kids. Who lived in houses like I’d never seen the insides of before. Mothers who were called Moms, who cleaned and did laundry and made food that didn’t come from a can. Men who weren’t called Uncles and who stayed around longer than a couple of months. It was all so weird. I’d put the TV on the floor and close my door and turn the volume down very low while I read a book. I’d just spend hours trying to understand.I watched every show I could and read every book I could check out of the school library. TV crime dramas and The Hardy Boys led me to novels and internet searches in the school library. I began to get a small understanding of how crimes were solved. Little things like fingerprints. I’d never known I had fingerprints. I got a pair of gloves that fit. DNA stuff from blood or hair left behind. I got a stretchy cap to bunch my hair into. The Summer I was seven or eight, or maybe I was six or nine—Mother was never too clear what year I was born and got really mad when I asked—I expanded my invisible thief persona to include breaking into houses.