Go, Cookie, Go

Crime Fiction by G.W. McClary

The name’s Cookie. Well, that’s not my real name, but you’ll see why I’m not telling you soon enough. It wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t Cookie until I met Sweet Thing.

My brother got locked up a couple months ago. Don’t worry, he’s been in and out all his life, he knows how to survive. But he was my glue for those few years he was out. He kept us fed, since our grandparents’ retirement just wasn’t cutting it. And yeah, he did it by selling drugs. Not like it’s an open case or anything. That’s why he got in trouble again. Parole violation. He made it over two years, which I guess isn’t a bad streak, not for him. But things were funny toward the end. I think he was getting into something heavier, if you know what I mean. He got so skinny. I hope what they say about prison, that you should hit the biggest guy on the first day to show dominance, isn’t true. Otherwise, my brother would definitely be getting his ass kicked. But we’ve been sending letters back and forth. I think he’s doing okay.

One thing you should know about my brother, he doesn’t like women. Never has, as far as I can tell. So don’t go judging him when I tell you more about him. I know how some people can be. He’s the realest person I’ve ever known, in this life, or any other.

I guess I should tell you how I met Sweet Thing. Sorry, I got off track. Like I said, my brother got locked up, so I was on my own. I’d wander the streets at night, just seeing what I could get into. Of course I wasn’t bothering to go to school. I saw her walking along one of the main drags in my little town, her hips swaying like two oranges bobbing in a sock. She wore tall heels, so she walked slow, languorous. I watched a car pull up beside her. She leaned into the window and I heard her laugh, like she was making fun of the guy. But she opened the door and hopped in. I walked around for maybe twenty minutes until I saw the car pulling up slowly to the same spot she was picked up. She got out and wiped her mouth, as if she was too proud to do it in front of him. No wave, no hug, no kiss goodbye to the stranger as he pulled off slowly, only turning on his headlights once he hit the speed limit. I walked right up to her, in my stupid youthful boldness.

“Whatcha doin’?” I said, playing dumb.

“Girl, get on. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“I don’t have a bedtime, thank you. I’m grown, obviously.”

“Obviously. You better be careful out here. One of these Johns might spot a pretty little thing like you and haul you off somewhere.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t like it?”

“Ha! You’re crazy, kid. They’d eat you alive.”

“Anything to put a little money in my pocket. I’m hungry.”

“Girl, do you know what your momma would do if she heard you talking like that?”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s dead.”

“Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, you don’t want this life, trust me. I’ve been stabbed. I’ve been shot.”

“How much did you make tonight?” I cut her off, since I could feel a monologue coming and I wanted to get to the point.

“About four hundred dollars, why?”

“I bet I could make half that.”

“You are crazy. Get home before the boogie man gets you.” Then she did this stupid fake ghost laugh, but it was so funny, I started cracking up. Another car pulled up. She fixed her posture and strutted over to the car. She turned back to me. “They call me Sweet Thing. We’ll talk.”

“Who’s your friend?” I heard the man say as they drove off.

***

Hey sis,

Great news! You know that guy I was locked up with a couple years ago? He’s getting transferred to my yard. The crazy fucker tattooed blush and lipstick onto his face. He’s gorgeous, and for whatever reason, he’s into me. I think I love him, Darcy. He just made the time fly when we were together. Oh, and they’re shipping some celebrity here. I guess he got busted with some underage girls, so you know what’ll happen to him in here. I’m back on the P.C. yard, just like my last bid. We’re cliqued up pretty heavy here. We’ve got our own gang, you could say, just guys like me. No one messes with us. I had to put in some work on a chomo when I dropped in, but it was clean, he didn’t snitch. I guess he knew it was better for him that way.

Anyway, how are grandma and grandpa? How are you holding up? I hope everything is good. Can you do me a huge favor and put some money on my books? I ran up some debt gambling the other night and the guy I owe has really been busting my balls. You’re the best.

Love,

Ricky

***

Before you start wondering how he was able to write me so candidly, without the prison censoring his letters (or incriminating himself, now that I think about it), Ricky made a deal with one of the guards. A secret post office, if you will. Ricky had the guard mail letters for him, though I’m not sure what he gave him in return. Maybe I don’t want to know. Believe me, I didn’t know what to think when I got a letter from my brother and some of the lines were blacked out. It was so creepy knowing they probably read my letters, too, maybe even got off on them. But this way, with the secret post office, we could tell each other what was going on in our lives without prying eyes.

I saw Sweet Thing again the next night.

“You said it yourself, they’d go crazy for me. Why not show me the ropes?” I asked her, out of the blue.

“Well if it isn’t little miss orphan. Or is that just some sob story you tell?”

“I really don’t care if you believe me. I just want you to show me your ways.”

“You can’t go get a job or something?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do. I tried to do it by myself, but they all kept driving off.”

“Because you look too straight. You dress like a kid, first of all. You gotta show a little skin, but not too much. You got anything at home like that?”

“Not really.”

“Tell you what. Come see me tomorrow, I’ll have some clothes for you.”

“Really?”

“Sure, kid. Now run along, momma’s got to work.” She hitched up her pink booty shorts and started on her stroll.

I donned the slutty clothes Sweet Thing gave me, which she handed off to me in a plastic bag, and met her the next night. She never took a day off.

“What’s your name, kid?” she asked me. I could tell she was impressed with my appearance, surely enjoying a nice ego boost, since it came from her gifted wardrobe.  

“Darcy.”

“That’s no kinda name. You need something simple, easy to remember. Darcy sounds like a hillbilly girl.”

“It’s Irish, actually.”

“Well sorry to break it to you, honey, but Irish ain’t sexy.”

“What about Cookie?”

“Why, ‘cause you’re too sweet and you crumble under pressure?”

“No, because I’m about to make more money than the girl scouts.”

“Okay then, Cookie. Let’s go to work.”

Sweet Thing showed me how to trick. I watched how she lured in the Johns, how most of them liked to be talked down to, insulted. They didn’t seem to care who was watching. They were blind to her.

“They’re paying for pussy,” she said, “They’re already humiliated. So they like it when you rub it in. Just be careful to only run your mouth to set the hook. Once you’re in the car, it’s all business. You have to be on guard. No daydreaming. There’s crazies out there. Trust me, I know.” I tried to get her to open up about what happened to her. She showed me the scars, but didn’t tell me the stories. Maybe she didn’t want to scare me away. After my first night of turning tricks, she asked me how much I made.

“A hundred and sixty bucks,” I said, a little proud.

“Let me get half.”

“What?”

“Educator’s fee. Come on. Cough it up, Cookie.” I reluctantly handed over the money. I still had enough to cover groceries for the week. “See you tomorrow night, same time,” she said, and went off with a completely different walk, her pumps dangling by her side as she carried them through the dark.

When I got home, I laid down in my bed and fanned the money out on my bedroom floor. I sniffed the crumpled bills. They smelled like paper, I guess. But they also smelled like freedom. Freedom from hunger, from worry. I thought if I could keep it up, I’d have enough to put on Ricky’s books, too.

***

Darcy,

You might not hear from me for a while. The shot caller’s a fucking psycho and wants me to book the new guy, the famous one I told you about. He says if I don’t, he’ll do me. I’m not dying in here. But here’s the thing, the guy broke down within a couple minutes of being locked up and got put on a crisis bed. Basically, he told the CO’s he’s suicidal, so they holed him up for ten days in another unit. Word is he’s getting transferred as soon as he gets out. So I’ll have to tell the guards I’m suicidal too, get put in there with him, and do the deed. If you don’t get another letter for a while, I pulled it off and I’m in the hole. I love you. Thank you so much for the money on my books. It came in handy.

Talk to you soon hopefully,

Ricky

***

One night, Sweet Thing introduced me to a guy. She said he was her “man,” but I knew what that meant. He looked slick and dangerous, a black and mild dancing on his lips as he spoke.

“I heard you want to make some money,” he said.

“I already did,” I blurted out. Sweet Thing’s eyes went wide. She shook her head no, but it was too late.

“Cough it up, bitch. I know you pressed her for it,” he snapped at Sweet Thing from between his teeth. His voice was quiet and menacing. She gave him a defiant look, but he reared back his hand. She flinched and reached into her bra strap, handed him two loosely folded twenties.

“You know I love you, right?” the man said to Sweet Thing. He looked at me, through me, into me. “They call me Pinky. I’ll look out for you, like I look out for Sweet Thing here. There’s always room for another girl.” He grabbed her by the hips and stared into my eyes, like he was trying to hypnotize me.

Sweet Thing told me to always give Pinky half of what I made, no matter what. She said to hide the other half, to take the beating if he pressed me about it. It’d be worth it, she said. The first time he hit me (and does it really matter why?), I thought I might die. But the swelling went away, and I got to keep my half of the take.

“What do we do when we’re on our period?” I asked Sweet Thing one day, since mine was coming up.

“Blowjobs, honey. We give blowjobs.”

Business was steady for a while. I started to count up thousands of dollars, curled like a mad banker on the floor. I’d spread it out and just stare at it. My own little fortune. I hoped Ricky was doing okay. It had been a while since his last letter, but he did say it might be a minute before I heard from him. Whatever it was, I was sure he’d get through it.

I didn’t see the van until it was right beside me. I was on my way home from a night of tricking, my feet sore, my soul even sorer. I was tired, and didn’t even turn my head when the van door slid open and two men in black ski masks snatched me up and threw me in.

“Ricky says hi,” one of the men said. They threw a bag over my head, then I felt a pinch. I blacked out after that.

Ricky must have been caught up in something bigger than I’d thought for them to have abducted me like this. Whatever it was, they kept me alive. They could have easily ended me and dumped me somewhere. But this seemed like revenge. I had to admit it was kind of funny. All that time turning tricks and my ass got kidnapped, not by some bloodthirsty John, but because of my fuck-up of a brother. I was sorry to think it, but it was true. Whatever he did got me into this. Maybe he actually went through with his plan and pissed off the wrong people.

They mounted a camera in the room and made me do things. By myself, with men, with other girls. Sometimes all at the same time. It was always the same. It felt like I watched it happen, as if I was beside my body, watching those things happen to it. I felt no pain. Not until they all left and I was empty and alone on an unmade bed, stained and filthy as the sheets. There was no depth, no dimension. I felt as flattened as asphalt beneath a steamroller. My heart beat outside of my chest, its cage of ribs vacant. All the birds had flown. I thought I’d lost it. Think, Darcy, I thought, you can get out of this, just remember, remember anything.

***

“Darcy O’Halloran, a girl of just sixteen, shouted a crucial geographical detail into a camera. A camera displaying lewd sex acts on a website we can’t name here. Needless to say, the girl’s cry was heard by undercover officers viewing the illegal webcam feed, who sprang into action and rescued the girl, along with twenty-six others, some as young as ten years old. And since the arrest was filmed, we have that footage for you tonight, live at nine on FPN. Stay tuned.”

***

Have you ever watched yourself on the nine o’ clock news? It was trippy, to say the least. Not that I’ve ever really tripped, but you know what I mean. Kind of took out-of-body experience to a whole other level.

I was slipping back into consciousness as they were carrying me down a hallway. For a moment, my mask slipped over my chin, and I caught a glimpse out the window. It was dark, but in the distance, I saw signs for a hotel and a gas station. They told me not to say which ones. That part of the footage was “classified,” they said. But that didn’t stop them from plastering my face everywhere. People recognized me everywhere I went. The girl who got away.

I couldn’t tell you exactly why I shouted at the camera. I guess I thought maybe someone worth telling might hear me. You should have seen their faces when I did it. They beat me up pretty bad, but they couldn’t go through with killing me. I had to listen to them argue about it. But then I remembered Sweet Thing’s lessons, how those types of men craved humiliation. I called them both cowards, right there to their faces. The cops stormed the place before they even left the room. All thanks to yours truly.

***

Darcy,

I’m sorry. It was a hit. The guy was involved in some heavy-duty underground shit, and he was threatening to leak names. The money was too good to pass up. I was going to use some of it to pay you back, I swear. I heard about what happened. You’d be surprised how informed you can stay on the inside. The news report said you’re going to testify. I’m telling you, Darcy, don’t do it. It’s way bigger than anything you could dream up. This is way deeper than any conspiracy theory you may have looked up (no offense, but I know you). Those people are sick, but they’re powerful. Stay out of it.

-Ricky

***

The trial was in a couple days. Screw what Ricky said, I was going through with it. They needed to pay. I didn’t care what happened to me, as long as they got what was coming to them. In the end, there were no convictions, but my story was heard far and wide. Leave it to an abducted white girl to spread awareness. Either way, I tried.  

***

Ricky got out last week. I was there to meet him at the gate, but I didn’t want to step foot in that place. He had to make that long walk alone, but there I was at the end. I had my own car by then. Grandma and grandpa passed away. It was just a matter of time for them, anyway. I went back to school and got a decent job, so I had enough to cover their burial costs. Their pensions ran out long before then. I guess they really held on. Ricky’s not doing too great. He found out his old boyfriend turned snitch and got himself killed. He was never getting out, anyway. I was sure Ricky was back to his old ways. But he was my brother, we’d been through too much for me to just leave him. He couldn’t make it on his own. He’d probably end up back in prison, but until then, I was going to look out for him. And I wasn’t about to press him for half. He could keep the whole take.

---

Bio: G.W. McClary is a native of Ohio. His stories have appeared in a local literary magazine, Tyler Zine, and are forthcoming in Mobius Blvd, Schlock! webzine, and Pulp Lit Mag.

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