Big Sugar

Big Sugar padded into the Port’s basement, a netherworld of intransigence and insanity known only to the homeless residents who lived there and the police that swept the area regularly. He saw several junkies passing a crack pipe around and moved in for a closer look. One of them glanced up. “Wanna hit bro-ah?”

Big Sugar shook his head solemnly; he could see they were all stoned and weren’t who he was looking for anyway and so he moved on and caught sight of two transvestites, invoking a memory of one of the murderers. He narrowed his eyes in the dark and one of them pulled up his shirt, revealing a flabby breast. “Want some titty baby—huh?”

Big Sugar scowled and was drawn towards a commotion coming from the end of a narrow curving pathway. He narrowed his eyes again and looked towards a darkened corner where someone had hung an old blanket from a water pipe, partially covering what appeared to be either a table or a chair. Big Sugar moved in for a closer inspection, even as he heard someone moaning and the piece of furniture creaking. He heard a man’s voice bark something unintelligible and then the blanket parted and a form appeared and walked past Big Sugar. When he got close enough he smiled at Big Sugar. “Cheap head man,” he said.

Almost at the same instant a woman’s voice shrieked, “Hey-hey, come back here youse bastid, youse ain’t paid me yet.”

Big Sugar walked to the blanket that was being used as a curtain, and moved it aside. Sitting in a wheelchair was a woman of indeterminable age, who only stopped screaming when she caught sight of Big Sugar. “Big Sue-gar, stop dat man, he raped me Big Sue—”

Big Sugar scowled at the woman, who was a notorious prostitute known for screaming rape whenever any of her Johns failed to pay her, which, in the Port’s own personal Purgatory, was more often than not. Big Sugar shook his head and wagged his finger at her. “Rose, you know better than this, you mus’ stop these evil ways.”





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