It just happened, which was unfortunate. It meant human traffickers grabbed them younger and younger because there was billions of dollars in the sex slave industry and most of it was made off minors. The Brambinos were just sick, sick, sick bastards, and Tino hated Don Moretti for tolerating them when he had the power to annihilate them instead.
But he still didn’t mind his personal gig, as whore to all those rich, lonely mob wives who weren’t allowed to touch another man but didn’t seem to mind renting Tino.
Nova thought he was mowing their lawns.
Or shoveling their driveways.
And he let Tino do it, because Mary made him nervous, and he liked to keep her happy. Gold star to Nova for having enough survival skills to notice keeping Mary happy was always the wisest choice.
Mary was the crowning glory in a long list of reasons why Tino’s life was totally dysfunctional, and he was starting to suspect that somewhere along the way, he had become highly and irreversibly fucked-up. Like the fact that seeing pills in a bottle made his dick hard, and seeing naked women made him think about being high.
If he went too long without seeing Mary or getting a job, he started to get itchy. He didn’t know if he was itchy for the drugs or itchy for the sex. He supposed he could solve it by taking the drugs when he wasn’t fucking, but that seemed wrong for some reason, and he could never bring himself to do it.
Drugs were for survival.
At least to Tino they were.
Others had different reasons for them.
“Why do you like the weekends so much?” Tino asked Nova as he followed him down the stairs. It was dark out, past nine, which was about the right time for Lost Boys to head out and play.
“It’s a break. A few days off. I don’t owe anyone anything,” Nova explained very reasonably.
How nice for Nova. It wasn’t Tino’s day off.
Tino didn’t really have a day off.
He was always doing something for someone.
School.
Karate.
Dance team.
Dealing.
Fucking.
Crew work.
What the hell would he do if he had a day off? Probably exactly what Nova did.
“That’s not what I meant,” Tino argued, still following after Nova, who was motivated to get the hell out of Dyker Heights for the night. “Is it the E or the girls?”
Drugs.
Or sex.
Which one was it that made him sweat for more?
“It’s both.” Nova walked past his Porsche in the driveway. “They sorta go hand in hand.”
Instead of catching the bus, Nova called a car service to get to the subway. The lack of stops in Dyker Heightsneverstopped being annoying. Nova carried Tino’s backpack, but Tino was still packing heat, so chances were they were both going down if they got stopped.
They never did.
The Borgata had most of Brooklyn in their pocket, but they could never be too careful.
