Marie’s Story

If you want to know what it’s like to be a Sex Trafficking victim in the United States, just read “Marie’s”
story. She was manipulated into selling herself by in pimp whose street name was “Blood.”
What you are about to read is Marie’s story in her own words. She wrote all of this after she was
rescued from her life as a victim. The only thing we have changed is her name. It’s not really Marie, but
we did this to protect her identity.
Warning: These quotes are excerpts from a very serious book called, The Berlin Turnpike: A True
Story of Human Trafficking in America by author, Raymond Bechard. It’s not easy to read and should
only be reviewed as part of the EASTERN curriculum with the approval and supervision of your
instructor.

***

“I don’t know how well you accept human frailty,” Marie said to me. She was rehearsing a talk she
wanted to have with her new boyfriend. At 25 years old, Marie is a pretty, petite, blue-eyed blonde from
Newington, Connecticut, who doesn’t look a day over 17. Her youthful energy and easy girly giggle are
infectious. Like with most young American women, conversations with Marie burst back and forth
between her job as a waitress, boys, problems with her car, text messages, TV shows, Facebook, and a
hundred other topics that bubble up from the fountain of her quick mind and kind heart. Meeting her,
you would probably think she was a junior in high school.
But high school was a long time ago.
Now Marie knows something about human frailty. As I drive her to work along the Berlin
Turnpike, she stops in the middle of rehearsing her speech to Ryan, the new boyfriend who arrives from
Florida in a few days. She looks out the passenger window and says, “Me and my friends used to party
there – all the time. Rooms are really cheap.” Marie is looking at the Carrier Motor Lodge, one of nearly
40 motels along this ancient American highway in central Connecticut. “I can’t believe people just drive
by here and don’t know what’s going on.”
She went quiet for a moment. Then she shook her head and told me, “I saw the mother of an
old boyfriend the other day. She’s a typical housewife and mom. She has four beautiful children. She’s a
very typical suburbanite. She’s a nurse and she lives within a half mile from the Berlin Turnpike. When I
told her I was writing a blog about human trafficking and the Berlin Turnpike. She asked, ‘What’s human
trafficking got to do with the Berlin Turnpike?’ She had no idea that girls are being sold within a mile of
her house, that her teenagers are partying at The Carrier Motor Lodge, and girls are being sold in the
next room.”
I knew Marie wanted to be comfortable talking to Ryan, so I tried to get her back on the topic.
“You could start from the beginning of your story,” I suggest.
“That’s easy,” she says. “I was couch hopping. I was an addict. The motivation was money
– money for drugs. Blood hadn’t used any kind of intimidation. He was just talking to me like a normal
person. My friend asked me if I wanted to make some money tonight. I said sure, but in the back of my
head, I knew. He didn’t know I had a habit, but I just had to get money for drugs. I passed out in the car
and we woke up in the middle of nowhere. The other girl went out on her call. I woke up. She was gone.
I was in the car going God only knows where.”
Marie doesn’t just remember, she relives every moment she spent with Blood – her pimp.
Then, rapid fire, she switches back to practicing her lines to Ryan. She wants my thoughts on
what she’s going to tell him. “Something happened to me,” she tries. “I need you to know about it.”
***
 Marie describes her experience growing up in Newington, a suburb of Hartford, Connecticut,
this way. “As a child I would always do what I was told. I was almost, how do you say it? Submissive.
Very quiet and stayed to myself. I never wanted to draw attention to myself in fear that my mother
would yell at me.
“I was an only child and came from divorced parents who where both alcoholics. My mother
was always crying and yelling at her boyfriend and was also an extreme workaholic and perfectionist. I
would hide in my bedroom and draw or drown out the yelling with my headphones and cassette player.
My room was always neat and tidy. That’s unusual for a kid. The only thing in my life I could control was
what was in my room.
“Ignorance is truly bliss. Other than watching the local news and seeing nothing but shootings,
stabbings, and robberies it never really hit me that all the blood and awful things really went on in the
next county over. I lived a sheltered life. Went to a Catholic school for nine years and then went to the
public high school where nothing really happened except for the usual fire drill and occasional football
fight. Yup! My life was pretty great. Of course I didn’t always say that. I was a normal teenager. Smoked
pot, hung out with friends, went to dances and powder puff games. It wasn’t until I got a job in the city
as a bartender that I saw what the world was all about, and I only saw a portion of it. Since then I have
traveled all over the world, and I found that the city right next to me was more foreign to me than
anything else. The city is blanketed with poverty, drugs, gangs, and violence.”

***

“I was living at City Side Hotel on the Berlin Turnpike,” Marie writes, recalling her first encounter with
the man who would become her pimp. “Rent was roughly $225 a week. I was an addict and living an
addict’s life. Just barely making ends meet. Didn’t have a job and was borrowing more money than
imaginable from whoever I could. I had overdrawn on every account and left my house that I had owned
to live a lifestyle of mayhem. I had to find my next fix, and I would do anything to get it, or, well, almost
anything. I wasn’t quite to that point where you see girls selling themselves for 20 dollars, not yet
anyway. I had a boyfriend and he managed to make up the other half of rent and we just managed to
get by. We used together and from him I learned the true meaning of a ‘ride or die bitch.’ We were a
team and always had each other’s backs. We would be there till the end or even passed the end. Well,
that’s at least what I thought at the time. I didn’t mind how bad life got as long as I was with my
boyfriend.
“I had gone out for a pack of cigarettes; I was walking of course. It was only a matter of a
quarter of a mile away. I had asked my boyfriend if he wanted to go with me. He said no because we
were waiting for our drugs to be delivered. So while he waited there in the City Side Hotel room I kissed
him goodbye and went for cancer sticks. It had been only a matter of five minutes, and as I’m walking to
the back of the hotel, I hear my “husband” whistle for me. He always did that, whenever we were on the
streets and he needed my attention or if there was danger nearby. This time it was to alert me that the
cops had found him. He had a warrant out for his arrest and so did I for a Failure To Appear in court. I
peeked my head around the corner and the cops saw me, but didn’t bother with me. I guess they hadn’t
bothered looking up my name yet. So I slipped back into the alleyway and waited for the cops to leave
with my boyfriend. Then I was able to go back to the room and pack a bag real quick. I went to the room
next door to see the girl who I often spoke to and bummed cigarettes to. Her name was Starr. The only
thing I knew about her was that she used to live in Massachusetts and had seven brothers and sisters.
She was very much a tomboy. She invited me in and told me how sorry she was to hear about my
boyfriend. She saw the whole thing go down. How embarrassing? However, living this type of lifestyle it
happens on a daily basis that someone you know is taken by the po po.
 “I was now in survival mode. I was anxious and scared. I had never been to jail and the police
came too close for comfort for me. Starr welcomed me in and she knew I was vulnerable now. She saw
an opportunity. She was going to go to a party and invited me. Her “friend” was going to be picking her
up any minute and, well, I had to go. I had to get out of there before the cops came back for me. They
would be back, they always come back.
“A few minutes later a silver Impala showed up. Starr let me sit in the front. Next to me sat a
very tall Black man with typical street clothes on. His eyes hidden by tinted glasses. He spoke in a low
monotone voice; it was sexy. I was so used to speaking with people without a high-school degree that
his voice and knowledge was refreshing. It made me believe that I would get out of this hell hole and live
the life I used to; a life where I could buy whatever I wanted with my own money and go and do
whatever I wanted to. Nice clothes and a roof over my head that was owned by me. He spoke so
smooth, like a salesman. If he wanted to he could sell me my own left arm. So handsome and witty; no
matter what color he was, any woman wanted to be in his presence. I have to admit within 60 seconds
of being in his presence I wanted him, I wanted to be with him, I wanted whatever he wanted. He was so
convincing and charming. How could someone deny him?
“We spoke as if we were the only two in the car. Starr had taken a phone call and said we had to
go to New Haven for her. So we headed down the Turnpike and did just that. At this time I still had no
idea what this man’s name was. I was kept in suspense. We spoke of going to Catholic school in the
“burbs” and how growing up for him was hard since he was Black in an all-White community. I knew
that his father had been in the military, and I knew that I would have him one day. We laughed and I
giggled. I felt alive again. I forgot that I used drugs and all my problems with the law. I was in a trance-
like state. He asked me a million and one questions like I was on a date and we were getting to know
each other, checking to see if his baggage went with mine and vice versa. Like a job interview. Little did I
know that it was.
“Before I knew it we were in New Haven, and Starr had gone to do whatever she had to do. She
came running back to the car not even 15 minutes later. She handed him money and we went to
McDonalds. He whipped out a wad full of cash, hundreds upon hundreds, and paid for our dinner. I
hadn’t seen money like that, well, ever! Now I was even more intrigued. After my belly was full and I let
the vibration of the wheels of the car soothe me like a baby, I fell asleep. A kind of sleep so deep that
there was no waking me. I hadn’t slept in days, and not to mention Starr had given me a sedative to
calm me down. We were supposedly going to a party. Before I knew it Starr was waking me up, and we
were in front of a Hotel 8 [sic]. She told me that we were gonna get ready for the party. He had a trunk
full of girl supplies! Anything I wanted: makeup, clothes, shoes, toiletries, even a hair straightener. I
thought it was weird, but what did it matter? My life had fallen apart anyway, why would I question
anything right now? Why bother?
“She straightened my hair, and we had fun trying on all the clothes and playing dress up. I was
messing around and giggling with my girlfriend, and she happened to take a risqué snapshot of me with
her phone, and I just passed it off as having girl fun. We got back into the car and all of my belongings
were gone. My purse and everything in it, which contained a phone, a license, passport, and everything
else that might be of importance to a girl on the run. My shoes and jacket were also gone. I knew
immediately that there was something wrong. I sat back in the car weary and unsure and quite nervous,
but calm because the sedative kept me that way. I was handed a phone and told to answer when it rang.
Starr would show me the ropes. She would take the first phone call and show me how to handle myself.
I was so confused and scared. The car started moving.
“That’s it. I was stuck. I was now involved and it was moving too fast for me to comprehend
and/or think. I couldn’t get a grip. I lost control. Was I supposed to throw myself out of the car at 60?
That would have been a possibility if the child lock wasn’t in place. What if I opened the window and
tried to get out of the moving vehicle? Nope, windows locked. There in his hand he held a butterfly
knife; the stars from the night glared off it. I didn’t dare make a move.
“‘My name is Blood, take the phone and do as follows.’
“Ring, ring, ring, ‘Hello? Yeah hi baby! Are you affiliated with any government agency such as
the police? …….200 roses for a half hour and two roses for an hour.’ Starr spoke robotically.
“Her working name was ‘Summer.’ I was ‘Autumn.’ He was looking for a ‘Winter.’ I don’t know if he ever
got a Winter.
“I don’t even know where we were headed. I just knew I didn’t want to go along for the ride
anymore. I wanted to be arrested. I wanted to be in jail. I wanted to be anywhere but in this car. I didn’t
care if I was under the bridge I used to live under or even in a women’s shelter.
“A ‘risqué picture’ had been taken of me and posted on Craigslist. ‘Autumn’ was up for sale. Not
even four hours after meeting Blood, I was delivered to my first john’s house, and there was no turning
back.
“What was I supposed to do? Run into the john’s house and tell him I had a driver? I would scare
the shit out of him. That was a cardinal rule: never tell a john you have a driver. Never tell a john the
truth. I was out in the middle of nowhere. If I were to tell the john that I was forced to do this, he would
have kicked me out immediately! They are just as nervous and scared in the first five minutes of meeting
a new girl as I was meeting a new trick. So I sucked it up and went in there. I knocked on his door and to
my surprise he was handsome. He was a good-looking guy. Very shy and timid though. I could see why
he was alone. There is a reason why they say, ‘nice guys finish last.’ This guy made that rule apparent,
more apparent to me than ever at this point. I was so nervous that I talked my bloody head off for an
hour, and he made me a sandwich, and all he wanted to do was cuddle for the rest of the time. We sat
and watched his TV for an hour. I think we watched the news. At the end of the hour I walked out with
$250 and got back into the car.
“‘Where’s the money? Give it all to me!’ Blood said firmly with the knife gripped tightly in his
fingers.
“I did just that, handed the money over. That was it. That was the end of my life that I knew and
the beginning of a new one. I had agreed to a contract. The minute you hand over the money to a
gangster/pimp you agree to his contract. A contract that is valid on the streets. Something you do not
renegotiate in the underground world. It just doesn’t happen. I agreed to a new relationship. I didn’t
realize till later that it was between a slave and her master.”

***

“I remember one particular day I was feeling pretty confident,” Marie remembers. “And I’m pretty sure
he was the one to give me the strength to move on that day. He always did that. Like I said before he
would bring me down just to bring me back up. That was his way of controlling me. For the most part it
was easier to go along with his way of thinking.
“This particular day there were not too many calls coming in and it seemed as though I was not
going to meet my quota for yesterday or today. So a call came in for an afternoon delight. The time of
day I usually got to enjoy, where I was able to let the sun soothe me. I jumped on the call immediately
and in desperate measures I agreed to something I wouldn’t normally – because it’s dirty and calls are
very cheap. I agreed to go to the Berlin Turnpike.
“It was the place to go to hang out at Dunkin Donuts when you were 16, the drive-ins when they
were open, to shopping for clothes or food. No matter if you wanted to or not, you had to go on the
Berlin Turnpike because everyone was there.
 “In any event, the john called himself, Mike, they all called themselves Mike. It was a very
popular disguise name. They could be whoever they wanted to be, just like me. They could be a freaking
astronaut if they wanted to.
“I was on my way more than halfway down the Berlin Turnpike, past City Side, past USA and the
Carrier. I could feel my stomach turning like it always did as we approached our destination. I was
feeling particularly anxious that day because I had to be mindful of every move I made. The last thing I
wanted in my life was to be arrested even though it looked like my only way out. We were at the
intersection of route nine and the Pike just about to be pulling up to the motel we were going to. I was
so close to my real home – less than three miles from the house I grew up in – and no way to break free.
I thought in my head I have a phone full of contact numbers that could help me break free and I was so
close. What could I do? What could I pull to get back home? How could I disappear?
“Before I even got to create some kind of plan my phone rang. It was the john. He was
wondering where I was and how long it would take for me to get there. You never tell them when
exactly you are going to be there. You make them wait as long as possible. This way if it is a sting
operation you made them wait long enough to give up. Officers pack up after some time of waiting. So
by the time you get there they are already gone.
“Brilliant! I don’t know what was going through my head at the time, but I told him, ‘Five
minutes away.’ He then asked what kind of car I was in. Mistake number two I made: ‘Um yeah, I’m in a
green jag sedan.’
“Before I could even hang up the phone it was ripped from my hand, broken in two, and thrown
out the window. I was slapped in the face so hard my head slammed into the windshield and I started to
ball my eyes out. Once my eyes focused again I realized I wasn’t crying from the pain, I was crying
because that phone contained so many contacts that I thought could have helped me escape. How
would they find me now? I don’t have their numbers and they don’t have mine! I felt so hopeless and
now Mr. Pimp was mad as hell at me. I was in for a day of hell. I got no food and no water. I was so tired
and scared that I would never be set free.”

***

Marie continues her attempt at making some sense of her experience. “So many details, so many days
where the only freedoms I had were the ones given to me. To this day I want to feel safe and secure
enough to ‘sit still.’ Anxiety still haunts me that someone normal will find out my identity or history. You
would think that three years would be enough time for me to let go. I guess there are things I cannot
change. I try to make jokes and laugh about ‘Marie’s’ experiences with the people I can trust. I
appreciate being open about it with people who don’t judge me. People who understand. Those who
are compassionate. Those who laugh with me and not at me. I need to push harder and move even
further past the hard times. I have a hard time forgetting all the bad experiences sometimes.
“I can’t regret the things I’ve done. I mention this because I like to live by the saying, ‘don’t
regret anything you do because at the time it’s what you wanted to do.’ Fact of the matter is that I can
regret things because it isn’t what I wanted to do. Wasn’t my choice, or was it? Not sure how this works.
I’ve been trying to organize my thoughts concerning my story. Key points that I often forget or want to.
Things that I want to remember, but can’t. Details, I seem to remember randomly that tie together loose
ends. I wish I could put together more. It would answer some of my questions. The little details seem to
be the most important. I was in such a haze.”

***
Marie tells her story of two johns with their own special interests. “OK, I have one more call for the
evening and let’s hope it’s not some freak. Just my luck. It was. How much can a girl take? Damn sickos!
This time I went to an apartment building. He was a big geek that happened to be a hoarder and snake
lover. Oh that’s right kids, he wanted to pay me two hundred and fifty bucks to check out his snake. He
wanted me to touch it and hold it. He sat there for a half hour and told me a bunch of snake stories.
There was one story in particular that I enjoyed. One of the big-ass snakes escaped from the cage and
ate the neighbor’s cat. The reason he knew it did because the snake couldn’t digest the metal bell that
was round the cat’s neck. He then asked me to hold one of his snakes. I felt like Britney Spears in her
MTV Awards act. Did he want me to dance or something with it? It was so awkward and I definitely did
not like this reptile on me. So now I had a snake wrapped around me, hissing in my ear, and I’m knee
deep in a hoarder’s wonderland of trash. What a girl will do for money! As soon as that clock hit an hour
I was out.
“My next stop is a little bit more interesting. I was dropped off at a really cheap hotel. I wasn’t
excited. Looked like a dirty brothel for call girls. I saw girls peeking their heads out windows waiting for
their next client to pull up. They saw me and I was afraid they were gonna walk out of their room and
come beat me up for being on their turf. They didn’t, but they looked at me with bad intentions.
Anyway, you’ll never guess this guy’s alternate name. Yup that’s right, MIKE! Funny how we call them
johns, but they like to call themselves Mike. So I walked into the room and the man doesn’t say a word,
but hands me a razor. I was so confused. Did he want me to shave my legs? I had no clue what was
about to happen. I asked for the money and said, ‘what do you want me to do with this?’
“He responded so seriously, ‘slash my nipples with the razor.’
“I just stood there with shock all over my face. I ran so fast from him there was no way he was
catching me. I got in the car and screamed, ‘step on it.’ After I calmed down I told Blood about it. He was
like, ‘ah man you should asked for seven hundred dollars and just done it.’ No way!! I can deal with foot
fetishes and role playing, but no blood.”

***

Marie reveals how some of this hidden culture plays out in communities across the United States. “My
first client was ‘Mike,’ an engineer,” Maria says. “I saw a lot of engineers for some reason or another. I
think it’s because they never developed any social skills because numbers and calculations were their
interest and obsession. These guys were always so shy and timid. Like virgins.
“They were lucky if they made it to first base. I always felt like a teenager again. Their innocence
and virginity was appealing in a way. I always hated taking these guys to the cleaners. They couldn’t get
a date to save their life and I always tried to boost their self-esteem by telling them how nice they were,
and how I would love to have a man like them. Once I said that, I usually got to snuggle up to them and
watch TV for the hour or two that they purchased. Mike made me a sandwich and I distracted him from
touching me by pretending I was interested in what he did for work. He was a sedimentary engineer. He
dealt with rocks and erosion all day. I successfully made 2 bucks for eating and acting. Plus he was
pleasant company and easily manipulated. I remember him calling a few times after that, and I went
through the same thing every time. Eat and be a cheerleader.
“I went from rags to riches in a matter of a week. I had my hair done and my nails done and high
heels girls would kill for. All compliments of Mr. Pimp himself. If I was his cash cow, then he wanted me
to be just as pimp as he was. He wanted me to look fresh all the time. I had a lot on my shoulders. He
would yell at me for licking off my dollar lipstick and get mad at me if my eye makeup wasn’t to his
liking. So I had to look good all the time, behave, remember all the rules of the hustle, and try to keep
myself together. It doesn’t seem like much but when your life is on the line, it is.
 “He dressed me like a movie star and when I walked into calls, men’s jaws dropped. Men
thought I was from another place far, far away. They couldn’t even touch me because they were afraid
to wrinkle me. They liked the fact that they had me in their presence but couldn’t touch me. It intrigued
them more and they called me repeatedly to just stare at what they couldn’t have. I was in the company
of the attorney general’s nephew and he loved me. He wanted to keep me for his own. He just wanted
me to cuddle with him. He also was too scared to get too close in fear that he would fall in love. Which
he already was. He invited me over to his place several times only to talk and try to convince me to
come and stay with him. He wanted me to be his, but he didn’t know how to convince me. He tried
everything, but honestly he didn’t have what I wanted. I wanted freedom.”

***

“Even the cops don’t know,” Marie says. “They just think it’s prostitution. They don’t know it’s much
more involved than that. Now, the men in Newington probably know about it because they’re the
customers. They know, but don’t want it to get out. They just don’t talk about it. It’s like old people
talking about the War. They just don’t do it. These johns certainly don’t want to get messed up by a
pimp or arrested. So they’re really motivated to keep it quiet. They don’t want anybody knowing. For
them, it’s like having a secret obsession.”

***

Marie is convinced that, “Gangsters are a different breed. At least the serious ones, the professionals.
Their game is sharp and their minds are impenetrable. They are aware of their surroundings at all times.
One small mistake could cost them their lives and the lives around them. Gangsters prey on the weak
and use nothing but mind control. They don’t need weapons, they use their wits. They fly under the
government radar and rule with an iron fist on the streets.
“Their fear is to be of no importance, to not matter. They want to be somebody, anybody, no
matter what it takes or what they have to do. Throughout their lives they have gained knowledge and
wisdom that many of us will never have. But like most of us, they want to pass on their knowledge and
legacy, and that is why I was taken. That is why I was used.
“When you think about the word “gangster” what do you think about? Do you think about the
guys on TV in music videos? You think of Scarface or the Godfather? Guys with guns and the same
colored shirts? There are two types of gangsters. There are the “wannabe thugs” who pretend to be
‘gangster’ on small levels and those types of people are just criminals. These are the ones I am used to
dealing with. These guys are the ones who sold me drugs every day for two years, they are the ones who
used drugs with me. They also invited me into their homes and fed me. No harm would come to me
because they were in a sense almost friends. They ran with people who were just trying to get by and
make a living.
“Then there are ‘real gangsters,’ such as the mob, but there are others who have just as much
power, but in a different field other than drugs. A field that most are not familiar with, one that I never
knew about at least. Not until now. The profession of women. He was and is a professional gangster, do
not mistake that, but to me he was my everything, and became increasingly more to me every day on a
professional and emotional level, but to others he was better known as my pimp. His drive was money
and he acquired that through slaves.
“My pimp was handsome to say the least. He had it all, looks and charm, but most importantly
to truly understand why one would be intimidated by him you have to look first at his physical
appearance. He was a six-foot-seven-inch Black man. He stood so tall I could climb him like a tree. I had
to take two steps for every one he took. He had an NBA basketball stature. He towered over me. His skin
was so smooth and dark as chocolate. His glasses were Gucci, diamond trimmed and very sleek around
his face. His hair neatly trimmed and short. Very clean cut. He wore street clothes. The newest, freshest
Nike’s and intricately embroidered pants that always tied in with his shirt and shoes of course. He wore
a lot of black and white.
“He once told me that his mama taught him that because he was such a big man people would
be testing him from many different angles, and that he would have to learn how to keep his temper and
learn how to control himself. She wanted him to outwit and outsmart them when they came at him. He
did just that.
“Blood was/is his name. That is his street name. They called him this because blood never stops
circulating, it just keeps running through your veins. He was Blood! He never slowed down, he just ran.
For periods of hours that amazed me; for days he would be awake watching every move I made, and
when he did sleep, it was always that half sleep where you can still hear everything around you. I never
once saw him sleep. Not even after three days of working me, driving me around, prepping me for the
day’s worth of work I had to endure. He was aware of his and my surroundings at all times, keeping us
out of harm’s reach. We flew under the radar and sonar. We were untraceable. He taught me everything
he knew. My story may not be full of guns and drugs like you would expect because he was one of a true
professional gangsters who was so focused and controlled that he was more powerful than you could
ever imagine.
“Blood is a different breed. Something so sharp and ill. The smartest of all would be fooled by
his front. I’m not sure he was trying to fool anyone though. Maybe he was just being himself. His words
of wisdom filled my heart and mind every minute of every day and gave me wisdom no one else ever
gave me.”

***

“I’m a ride-or-die kinda bitch,” Marie says with a small laugh. “The relationship is complex and based on
survival. It has elements of a romantic relationship, a business partnership, a master and slave, a teacher
and student. It is a badge of honor; a level of street credibility that is a point of pride. It is earned
through time and abuse; through sticking with “your man” whether or not he pays you, beats you,
abandons you, lets you rot in jail, loves you, or hates you. You stay “with him” when he’s in jail, in a
fight, in the hospital, anywhere and everywhere. That is Ride or Die.
“If I fall, you fall. If I fall, you’re there. If you fall, I’m there,” Marie tells me. You are loyal to the
death or you’re already dead.
“I can take it no matter what,” is the mindset that motivates a ride-or-die bitch, Marie explains.
It doesn’t matter what he throws at her, she will stay with him. “You’re down for whatever, even if it
kills you. Loyalty, that’s what a ride-or-die bitch is all about. I am a ride-or-die kinda girl. I was down to
the end or maybe passed the end. An eternal friend. Someone you can trust no matter what. That’s
important on the street because no matter what, you must be loyal to your people because they are the
ones who have your back whether it be out in the middle of the street or if you are in jail. If you aren’t
trustworthy, consider yourself dead. Under no circumstances should you give up your dogs.
“You’re doing it out of fear. If you can’t keep your cool or a straight face, what’s going to happen
you? Get dumped in the Connecticut River for all I know. Ultimately, being that kind of girl, someone’s
going to love you for it. Whether it’s real or not, I don’t know. But, as long as you’re loyal and faithful –
walk by faith and not be sight kinda’ deal – and eventually he has to get emotionally involved, reward
you, treat you better – or shit, treat you worse.
“It’s about being completely submissive to him. I’ve always done things to please other people
and keep things quiet and smooth. I’ve done that throughout my whole life, you know, through Catholic
School, with my mother’s alcohol – if I just did what she said, there was no fighting or yelling. It was a
conditioned response I grew up with. It became habit. I was afraid to disturb the water. My father left
when I was eight. He wasn’t there. He was helpless and he couldn’t save me from my mother’s abuse.
I’ve never had a man in my life that I could fully rely on.
“What people don’t realize is that Blood had to look out for me. I was his cash cow, so he was
really trying to protect me. He was always looking to keep my life straight. If I had trouble with the
police or my record, he took care of me. If I was sick with a staph infection, he immediately got me to
the doctor. I’ve never had a man come through for me like that before. He made the appointment,
brought me there, filled out the paperwork – everything. He completely took care of me those days I
was sick.
“I had to be completely honest with him, rely on him totally – talk to him about everything. He
had to know how to handle me all the times so I could keep making the most money. If I couldn’t
confide in him, he had nothing. If I was untrustworthy, I was dangerous. So, I would talk to him about
everything. He had been through so much with other girls, he knew not to trust the ones who don’t talk.
I could be thinking about leaving, escaping, or going to the cops. So, I would confide in him about
everything.
“You’re walking out with money, you should feel pretty good, because ultimately you’re going to
get clothed and fed the next day. But you were degraded, you were humiliated. I would talk to him
about it. He was the one making me do it, but he was also the sympathizer when I did it. He was it. He
was all: mother, father, butler, caregiver, friend. He was everything. He was my everything. He was all I
knew.
“If I had a good day, the next day if I wanted something – it was mine. If I wanted Dunkin
Donuts, he knew what I wanted in my coffee. If I wanted pizza, he knew what I wanted in it. If I wanted a
dress cleaned – or even a new dress – it would be there. He was my gay friend, my girlfriend. He’s in
your phone as ‘ICE.’ He’s number one in speed dial.
“When you do nothing but drive around all day in a car with someone for days at a time, you can
learn a thing or two about them. We talked about everything under the sun. One thing we were never
short of was words. We spoke of our childhood, adolescence, and what it’s like as an adult now. Things
we have learned throughout our past and what we expected in the future. He was like my best friend
and much, much more.
“In so many ways I wish we hadn’t met under these circumstances, and that he didn’t do what
he does, and that he wasn’t having me do the things I was doing. He was so well educated, whether it
was knowledge from a book or from the streets. Knowledge is power and he acquired it anyway he
could. He loved to read and just listen to people. He was like a child, like a sponge. Always aware of his
surroundings and taking it all in. Like with me, he was always listening, never just hearing me. I guess
that was what was so appealing about him he always paid attention to me. Today I realize that was what
was so scary. He knew too much about me. Like a boyfriend would, only he learned it in days not over
months or years.
“I remember listening to him some days and heard him speak of his childhood. When he spoke
of it, I knew it hurt him. It must have because it hurt me. He spoke mostly of his father. How strict he
was. He went to a Catholic school in an all-White community. So he was no stranger to White suburbia
and the upper class. He knew how to relate to me and everything my world was.
“They lived in suburbia somewhere in New York. I remember him telling me that his father
would lock the house doors from the outside and him and his brother would never be able to leave the
house. He was stuck inside all the time. He would watch the other kids play and so badly wanted to be
like them. His father would make them study.
“He once told me that his father would bring him these circuit boards, and he would take them
apart and put them back together at a very young age and was brilliant at it. It made him feel powerful
and smart. It was something he could control.
 “Being ride or die is dangerous because it’s just a game. You want to see how far you can take it.
But you can only take it so far. Eventually, you’re only thinking about him. You’re only watching his back
and not your own. It backfires because you expose yourself while trying to protect him.”

***

Marie explains some of the dynamics between a pimp and the women he commands. “Blood and I had a
lot of time to talk and bullshit. He would always have some life lesson for me. I’m not one to talk about
my feelings all the time and get in depth about certain things. He did though and you know what? I
listened.
“He wasn’t a complete monster. I mean, he had a little bit of class. He might have been fucked
up in the head and a little twisted. But quite honestly, he was in control and more sane than a lot of
people I knew. I had to put everything into him. I needed someone to talk to. I needed to stay sane. And
he knew that. He knew that girls need to talk about it.
“He wanted to make it as comfortable and as enjoyable for him as well. It wore on him. It’s a
very trying job. People don’t realize the importance of his job, as a pimp. It’s a partnership. He’s
supposed to take care of me. Food. Clothing. He was like my butler. His job is to watch out for me. He
had to be on point at all times. If I missed anything he had to catch it. He was my bodyguard; my
everything.
“There was one day when we were talking about being a survivor and being aware of your
surroundings at all times to be able to make it through this lifetime. He was a little agitated with me that
day because I was thinking and acting like a naive girl from suburbia. I didn’t feel like working either.
There were days when I just hated men and people in general, and he knew that would happen and he
would allow me to slack off because he knew that it would be bad for business. That’s when he took me
to a restaurant.
“That day, while we were waiting for our breakfast, he took out an ice cube out of the glass and
put it in my hand. He told me to hold it as long as possible. I did and when I was finished he asked me
how it felt. I told him, “cold and painful.” He said, “that’s what the world is like if you don’t start
listening.”

***

In order to get a clear understanding about the inner workings of prostitution at a casino, Maria and I
set out for one of Connecticut’s two facilities. Arriving at “Blood’s favorite entrance,” Marie tells me,
“We would get here anywhere from 9 at night to 3 o’clock in the morning. This is where I would get
yelled at.” Then quoting Blood’s instructions to her, ‘Don’t forget to walk right. Walk upright. Not like a
boy. Don’t fidget. Stand straight. Walk nice. Walk pretty like a lady. Put on your lip gloss and don’t eat
it.’”
As we begin walking through the cavernous though beautifully designed casino, I am holding a
small digital recorder toward her. The tiny device captures every word of her tour. She begins telling me
how her life inside this surreal world – with no windows and no clocks – would work. “I was told what to
look for. Be aware of my surroundings at all times. I would go in alone and he would wait in the car. He’d
wait for a while and maybe come in. Everything was planned out and methodical when you’re doing this
with somebody. Everything is planned out, but it isn’t. Anything unexpected could happen.
“When there were poker tournaments, big-ballers would just roll in. These men aren’t who you
think they are. They are deceiving. They are wolves in sheep’s clothing, but I was too. Their pockets may
be bulky, but they are dressed as commoners. They do not have on expensive brand names or
accessories. They are at the very least ordinary. These men know how to play card games and have a
mean poker face, but then again so do I.
“If I happened to go to the casino that night I had a choice. I could wait for a phone call and for
my prey to come to me, or I could go and hunt for it. I chose to hustle. I was taught how to hustle men
at the table so I wouldn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to. See, the last thing I was taught to do is
give any part of myself to a man. You give them nothing and they will give you everything. Isn’t that the
way it is in real life though?
“You always want what you can’t have. All I needed was one poor schlep who looked lonely, and
as hungry for money as I was. This took an incredible amount of studying the people around me. The
men at every blackjack table, at all the roulette tables and even craps. I would follow them, watch their
movements. Then I would pounce. I would sit down at a blackjack table and make my move.
“I played a different game than anyone else. When everyone else is playing for sport or maybe
they are just playing for themselves, I wasn’t. I was playing to stay alive and live better. Every dollar I
made went to better treatment for me. It was all about starting from the bottom and working your way
up. I had to earn it.
“I remember sitting at a table and thinking to myself, “how sharp is my game?” I was feeling
confident, cool, and collected. I could do this. I remember sitting down next to a man who was about
five foot 10. He was a heavier-set man and somewhat handsome for a middle-age man. He set down
$2,000 and that’s when I knew I would go for the kill. I always had to predict their next move. So I did. A
cocktail waitress came over and asked for our drink order. I ordered a whisky Manhattan neat. So did
he. Now I got his attention. If you have ever drank a whiskey Manhattan you know it is an acquired
taste.
“Then I whipped out my cigs because I like to smoke when I am gambling and drinking. So I let
him use my lighter which had “Yankees” written on it. He pulled out his lighter and it was the same one.
I think I just got lucky on that one though. Now he sees me as someone to chill with. Someone to watch
baseball games, drink with, and play blackjack. I am now someone he would like to get to know better.
So I sat there and played a few rounds with him and I was down. Now it was up to him to keep me in the
game. If he did that then I was straight. I bet my last $15 and he threw me a chip to stay in the game,
but I had to bet what he laid down for me. So I did just that and my game got better. I would bet high
every once in a while to show him I was a risk taker and he admired that. Eventually he ended up
throwing me 500 dollars and I was up 200 from what I originally started with. So in all I walked out with
my pockets full and had good conversation, blackjack game, and a great hustle.
“That night, I didn’t have to get undressed to make money.
“We got a lot of businessmen going to conventions. Businessmen will share girls. You know, ‘I’m
getting a girl. Do you want her after me?’ So, those would be easy nights because you could just go from
room to room. But, some guys are really shy and intimidated. You’d go into their room and they’d give
you money and say, ‘I don’t really want to do anything, but my friends are doing it, so don’t say
anything.’”

***

As we enter the retail section of the casino, Marie suddenly stops among the moving crowds. People
walk all around us. She wants to tell her story here. “So, the escalators. This is the beginning. This is
where I would have to work for my money. It’s pretty much street walking. Same thing girls do on the
street is what you do here. Walk and look back. Walk and look around. You look for all the men, by
themselves. You’re going to make contact. You run your fingers through your hair . . . to look sexy. If I
see one and he sees me, I’m gonna briefly stop, take a step back, nod. Then he would turn around or I
would start following him. Then I’d get on my cell phone to make it look like I’m not following anyone
and call Blood to tell him, ‘I got one.’ If he doesn’t have a room and he’s just going to his car in the
garage, then you just turn around. All’s he wants is a 20 dollar blowjob. That’s not the money you want.
You want the ballers; the one’s that want you all night; the ones that want you to be with them for
hours and spend two, three, five thousand dollars.”
Marie explains that she would communicate with a man via nods and eye contact while he
secured a room at the massive hotel attached to the casino. As we stand in the lobby, filled with
fountains and activity flowing in and out, Marie begins to explain how she would stay close to the john,
but not too close. He would get his key while she waited. “You stand close enough to the john, so that
you can get past the hotel guy at the elevator. But you had to be far enough away so that if anyone asks
you aren’t identified with him. People know who you are and what you’re doing. You don’t have a key to
get upstairs. You don’t want to make him look bad. You don’t want to make yourself look bad either. I’d
rather look like I’m going up by myself rather than looking like I’m with a john. So you don’t really want
to give yourself away. Plus there could be other men with more money somewhere close by. And you
don’t want them to see that you’re going upstairs with another guy just in case they’re still sitting there
when you get down; there’s another opportunity for you.”
Then Marie brings me to one of the casino’s several cashier windows where gamblers exchange
the chips they have already won for cash, and where they can purchase more chips for more gambling.
After she explains to me that this is the most popular places for working girls looking for johns because
they can see who has the money, I ask her about the casino guards. “OK, so you see that door right
there?” she asks, pointing to a door leading into the cashier’s area. “On a busy night the guard will be
standing there and you would see the same girls working. They’re in the same place all the time. This is
their street, their corner. This is their turf. They would be there with the guards and they knew them
because they were always here. They would talk to guards, flirt with them, so it didn’t look like they
were looking for johns.”
As Marie walks slowly past the elegant shops of the casino, the same casual pace she kept when
working for Blood, she pauses in front of a jewelry store. As she looks through the window I can hear the
small sounds she often makes when not speaking; a way she has of exhaling nearly musical tones as
though she is singing to herself. Then she says, “I remember I wanted a necklace with ‘M’ on it, but I
couldn’t have it because my name was Autumn. M would just be weird. After Autumn became Diamond.
I could be whoever they wanted me to be. I could be anybody I wanted
– anybody but myself.”
Marie is tired. She wants to leave the casino. We have spent several hours here and the
memories of her previous visits seem to be wearing heavily on her. As we make our way to the exit and
walk out, she tries to make sense of her previous life within these walls. “If you’re married, you love
your wife. You can be with her over and over again. But let’s face it, your seed only goes so far. It’s a
natural desire for men to want to spread their seed as far as possible. It’s just the way men are. It’s in
them to want to procreate as much as possible. Sometimes, it’s just the notion that they just can spread
their seed and that is enough. Guys just seem to like the thrill of it all; the thought that they could if they
wanted to.
“They just want something new. They want to talk to someone nice, someone who isn’t
bothering them or nagging them. They called me back because I gave them the impression they could
have me anytime.
“They would sometimes just walk around the casino with me. They wanted to be seen with a
pretty girl. They wanted to be known as a baller and a player. I’m sure the casinos know,
they’re just blind to it. They don’t want to know about it. It’s a gaming facility. And men are there to play
games! Games with cards. Games with women. It’s all the same thing.”
As we enter the parking garage to retrieve our car, I ask Marie how long she would typically
spend at the casinos. She tells me, “You were up for days sometime. It didn’t matter. There are no
breaks in this profession. 24/7. Sometimes it would be 3 o’clock in the morning. Sometimes it would be
10 o’clock in the morning. Whenever the money stopped. Whenever the money began and whenever
the money stopped, that’s when you came and went.
As we sit, waiting for the car to warm up, I ask Marie one last question. “Do you miss him,
Blood?” She pauses a few moments then answers with one word. “Sometimes.”

***

This manipulation by pimps frequently begins by recognizing and taking advantage of the girls’ common
lack of self esteem. “He always was so sincere the way he complimented me,” Marie recalls. Explaining
how Blood, her pimp, constanly influenced her thinking in this way she says, “Still to this day I believe his
words . . . How smart I was and beautiful.”

***

Marie explains how Blood kept ahead of her online “competition.” “Sometimes the calls were in the
middle of nowhere. By the time we were back to civilization he would take me to a location where he
would shoot me up and I would go back to work.
“He would tell me about the new girls on Craigslist and how they were blackballing me. They
knew I was the new girl on the block and I was monopolizing the business. Their customers were no
longer calling them. They were calling me. They posted so much shit about me. Trying to
persuade men from calling me. They would post that I had diseases to scare the men away. They hated
me. They wanted what I had. Only I didn’t want what I had.
“They knew who my pimp was and they wanted to work with him. They wanted to get rid of me
so he would be available to work with again. In this business everyone knows everyone in some sense or
another. Even if it is only by picture or voice. Girls would call my phone asking for my pimp. I was trained
to respond, ‘I don’t know what or who you are talking about. I work alone.’ They all knew I didn’t work
alone. I was making too much money and there was a mastermind behind it. They tried so hard to catch
me too. They would set up fake dates with johns and try to catch me. Good thing my pimp was on his
game and knew all of their tricks.
“You’re probably wondering how we were on top of our shit. Especially since we were in the car
all the time. He had two blackberrys that we checked Craigslist on at least 50 times a day. Not to
mention Eros, Cityvibe, TER, all of them. This was our lifeline to the underground world of escorting. This
is why we were one step ahead of everyone else. It allowed us to be out on the road and doing business
at the same time.”

***

Marie recalls her last day with Blood. “It was raining and cold. A very gray day that just seemed to get
shades darker as time passed. I was walking on the Ho stroll in the morning. Maybe around 10 or 11. I
remember girls were just getting out of the soup kitchen across the street. They all had red shiny apples
and I envied them. I was tired and hungry and being punished that particular day. This was the first time
I was actually punished like this. I had acted like a brat that morning. I supposedly lost a gift he just gave
me. I lost a very expensive earring. I fought him on this. I knew I was right. I put the earring in the
ashtray of the car for safe keeping. The next morning when I went to put them on there was only one.
He thought I was unappreciative of his gifts (items that the money that I made bought) and his
generosity. I told him, ‘I worked for that money, it’s just as much as mine as it is yours. I didn’t lose the
earring. You must have misplaced it or moved it. I hate those earnings anyway!!’ I screamed and cried.
He responded very monotone, ‘Ahhhh.....Get Ready! And dress for the weather.’
“Little did I know I was about to get a taste of working the streets. Until then I was strictly a
Craigslist girl. I was dropped off at the corner. He told me that I was lucky to have him and if I really
wanted to be on my own, he would show me how hard it is. So when people say I’m working the corner
I know exactly how hard it is. I had to walk up and down in the cold and rain on the ho stroll. This is scary
because of so many reasons. One: I’m the new girl! Pretty too! Two: I’m dressed well and could easily be
mugged. Three: Police.
“There is a constant fear of the authorities. Being handcuffed and shackled in my Ed Hardy skirt
and four-inch pumps does not sound like my cup of tea. Even though I had the comfort of knowing that
my pimp would go to any length to bond me out. Is that what I really would want though? Wouldn’t
being arrested save me? I was never completely sure of these details. Being arrested for prostitution
didn’t seem like the way to go to obtain my freedom. I would have a record, be sentenced, my family
would know, and all sorts of ramifications.
“I was walking and looking over my shoulder every couple of feet to give signs to oncoming
traffic that I’m working. Not to mention watching him to see how intently he was looking over me. It
never failed, he was. As I moved so did he. I thought, ‘This is my chance to get into a john’s car and tell
the bastard to step on it!’ So while trying to plan an escape a car approached me. He rolled down the
passenger window. I uncovered my face from the hood I was wearing to protect me from the rain.
The man driving the car said, ‘You working?’
“I nodded and got into the car. I said, ‘What you want baby?’
‘Twenty bucks good?’ he replied
‘Hell no!’ I work for two hundred a pop.
“I went to get out of the car. Oh shit. There are no handles on the doors! That only meant one
thing.
“He drove me around the corner and I was greeted by the rest of the undercover Hartford cops.
Handcuffed, shackled, patted down, searched, and thrown into a van with about three other prostitutes.
“It was the worst moment of my life. But I most likely would not be alive today if it wasn’t for
that sting operation.”

***

Marie looks back on the woman who introduced her to Blood, her pimp. “For two years I wondered
what happened to the girl that tricked me into thinking that getting into the car with a pimp was a good
idea. The girl that pretty much traded me for her freedom. The girl that coerced me into this whole
ordeal. She was the beginning to this story, it initially all began with her.
“I went back a year or so after getting arrested and went to the neighborhood where I met her
and asked around what happened to her, and I got the same response from everyone. They thought she
was arrested or just bounced. That’s what happens to most that just disappear. I never really knew what
happened to her, but I knew that she couldn’t have gone far. That’s when I got a call from a very dear
friend in the area who has always kept me posted on what is going on in the area. She said that she was
around and to come by to see her. I didn’t hesitate. I immediately ran to see her.
“Once I got there I thought I would have so many questions for her. Why she left me in the car
that night? Why she wanted to come back to him after she traded me for her, after she got her finder’s
fee. Why she thought she could come back? I thought I needed answers. Once I got there I realized I
didn’t. I had all the answers already, I could answer them with all the experience I had already. I didn’t
need her to tell me what I already knew.
 “It was a brief encounter. There was really nothing to be said between her and I. We caught up
for a few. I asked what happened to her and ends up she did indeed get arrested and was under the
same judge I was. Only she got a year in prison and I had three months in a program. Afterwards she
ended up going to New York City where she was indeed still a working girl. She worked under a pimp
and still was deep into drugs. I’m not sure why she was still living this lifestyle, but in so many ways I
already knew. No girl really gets out of this scene, they seem to be addicted to it.
“As I watched her take a hit off the crack stem that repulsed me, she blew her hit out and asked
if I was still a working girl. She did end up telling me that there was money in New York and asked me if I
could drive her back home and then proceeded to ask me if I was still working and would I like to join
her. She was trying to recruit me again. I did it once why not again?
“She could tell that it was no longer my lifestyle and that there was no convincing me this time to follow
her in her path of destruction.
“I remember something she had said awhile back when we were getting high two years ago. She
said, ‘rehab is for quitters!’ She meant it too. She was a diehard street girl and even though she had
gained about 40 pounds since the last time I saw her and still had that boyish look, she was still the
same girl. Her hustle was still the same. The only thing that was different now was that I was changed. I
turned my life around, she didn’t.
“The one thing I did ask her was if she ever got her money from Blood, money he owed her from
all her work. I already knew the answer, but I had to hear it for myself. The answer was, ‘NO!’”

***

“After jail, I was almost free,” Marie says. “I may have been free from Blood’s grip, free from a lifestyle I
never asked for, but I wasn’t free from the Superior Court. I was just set free on a promise to appear
from a 21- day waiting game in jail. I was handed over to a nonprofit who were experts in human
trafficking and slavery. I had no clue where I was going or what was going on for that matter. I was a
prostitute and now I was victim and slave!?!?! What? I was confused, but along for the ride. I was down
as long as I got out of jail. Did it really matter at that point where I was going? It was better than being in
the car with Blood or in jail.
“What I thought was that the government was going to take care of me, now that they thought
of me as a victim. They had me and my family in judge’s chambers, introduced me to specialists, stuck
sunglasses on me and a hat, escorted me out the back of the court house with two court officials and
into a tinted-window car, and I was taken to my destination. I thought things would go smooth for me at
this point since I had the courts on my side, and I thought programs and social services were at my
disposal.
“I was wrong, dead wrong.
“The one thing that the courts wanted me to do was cooperate with all government
organizations. I did just that. I took my story to the FBI and I was sure that they would understand. Now I
was a snitch. I was putting my life on the line and in return I wanted to be taken care of. I felt like all I
had been doing was putting my life in danger. I was with Blood and there was no difference now that I
was in the hands of the court. I was still in harm’s way as far as dangerous situations.
“However there was one enormous difference. Blood had taken better care of me. In all
honesty, I felt more secure with him than I did in the hands of the court. They could not offer me the
care I had with Blood, the security, the funds. Nothing, they offered me nothing. I couldn’t get health
insurance. I couldn’t get into an in-house drug program, food stamps, shelter, clothes, not even basic
necessities without there being an issue. There were problems and issues everywhere I turned. Nothing
ran as smooth as they should have, everything ran smooth with Blood. It just flowed. If I was supposedly
safe now, why did I feel so scared? More scared than ever before in my life. More insecure and
vulnerable than at the hands of a pimp?
“Blood always came through, he was always there. Anything I needed and wanted, I got, well
almost. The FBI, I felt, left me with nothing. They were just as bad if not worse than Blood. After giving
them all the information I had, they handed me two gift certificates for food and clothes and once they
ran out that was it, my funds were depleted. It was roughly two weeks worth of food, if I spent it wisely,
and a few articles of clothing. Then what do I do? I was thrown to the wolves.
“Blood took care of me like a mother and father would. After all I was his everything. I was his
‘Diamond.’ I was like a Blood diamond, something people killed over. He was going to take care of me no
matter what. I remember one day I had a wicked infection and had to go the doctors. I always got these
infections and it was a normal thing for me since childhood. It needed immediate attention and I had to
tell the person I ran with. A few hours of telling him I was at the doctors, bill was fully paid and
medication was bought. He took me to rest for the next three days until I was well. He fed me, watched
my fever and distributed all my drugs to me. He waited until I was fully recovered to take me back to the
grind. He always took care of me. I always had clean clothes laid out for me in the morning, not to
mention coffee and breakfast. I gave him what he wanted and he gave me what I needed. It was a give
and take.
“He had a bedside manner that the FBI couldn’t touch.
“I needed counseling, medical doctors, housing, clothes, well everything after I was arrested and
taken out of my situation. My pimp was prepared to do that. The FBI wasn’t. Where and what was I
supposed to do?
“I hate being told I am wrong when I am right, I hate getting my shoes dirty, I don’t like it when
I’m not in control of the situation, and above all I hate being lied to and getting played. So naturally, I
felt like I was being played when I got an unexpected call from the FBI. It was almost exactly two years
to the date after I had walked through their secure doorway and gave them my story the first time.
“Back then I gave them all that I knew, which wasn’t much, and held back the tears when I
realized what I was doing. The one thing I have learned throughout life is to not be a snitch. I did it
though and I walked out of there feeling worse than when I walked in. I thought by telling them all about
my world and my information that they would give me the help I needed to be able to get back on my
feet. I thought I would be able to get victim funding and start a new life over again, seeing as though I
was playing such a dangerous game with them. And over the years I started to think I made a mistake by
giving them this information. They didn’t seem to care that I put my life on the line for them.
“I wasn’t anything to the FBI, that’s the way I felt anyway. Were they really watching my back?
No, they weren’t, hence the phone call two years later. Now they needed me again to validate
information for them and I was there to do it. Really though I was thinking there isn’t anything else I can
give them. Realistically, what were they going to do for me this time around? Put me in witness
protection? Change my name and social security so no one could find me? They didn’t see it that way.
They didn’t see it as such a pressing matter. I was just another victim snitching and that’s all there was
to it, it was my decision. The risk was on my shoulders not theirs. I guess one day I hope and wish for
justice, that my trafficker is behind bars, but realistically they couldn’t offer me enough security in the
world to get up on that stand and talk for them.
“But they did want me to talk. They wanted me to get up and talk for some trafficking
organization that I never heard of. After getting all the information they wanted from me, they were
trying to talk me into speaking in public for these people I didn’t even know. Holy shit, they were
recruiting me just like Star did. I didn’t know what to say to them. But I left the FBI office with a glimpse
of hope. They told me I might receive free college education one day under victim funds. Instead I
received a work suit from a non-profit organization that they hooked me up with weeks later. That’s it?
A dress and more fear?”
 Giving credence to Marie’s response to her meetings with the FBI, The U.S. Department of
State’s 2010 Trafficking in Persons Report, released just weeks before her July 2010 meeting in Meriden,
observed that “Victim identification, given the amount of resources put into the effort, is considered to
be low and law enforcement officials are sometimes untrained or unwilling to undertake victim
protection measures.”561 It further recommended that the U.S. government “increase” its “efforts to
identify and assist U.S. citizen victims; improve the efficiency of victim services grant-making structures
that include comprehensive case management, community collaboration, training and outreach;” and
“increase funding for victim services.”

***

“People tell me Blood’s still around,” Marie says. “There’s certain locations he stops by and checks in.
But, he’s always got a girl in his car. He tells people he’s retired. I don’t think he stays in one spot too
much any more. Someone mentioned he might be in Atlanta – just still doing the same thing.”
As Marie sees it, “I was once a criminal, once a victim, now I’m a human-rights advocate. I want
to make sure that what happened to me happens to no one else. I want those girls to have options. I
want them to have something I never had. A way out! I want people who are on their side and willing to
work hard for their freedom. I only want ride-or-die people working for victims.”
“You know sometimes I sit here and think, ‘maybe I was a victim of my own devices.’ Had my life
become just that unimaginable that I really was looking for someone to take control and tell me what to
do and how to do it, who to be? Is there a day when judgment will come for me and condemn me once
again? Have I sinned? Was it all my fault? Then I talk to someone on the streets or think back to
conversations in jail with other girls who are streetwise, and even they tell me that there is a reason for
me to tell my story. They say what happened to me isn’t right and that they’re sad to hear me speak of
such things. They cry and can’t get over my story and want me to tell more of it to them and others, like
little kids waiting for the reader to turn the page. I think, well then there is a reason why I am so open
about it and why I think people should listen. Though it feels so often like I am screaming at the top of
my lungs and no one hears me and no one cares to listen. If they are interested in my raw and unedited
details of this whole ordeal then maybe there is a reason for me to pursue this and keep on truckin’.
Otherwise there are so many days that go by and I think that this is going to get me nowhere and that
my story is useless.”

***

A written account and affidavit attesting to the accuracy of “Marie’s” recollections are on record with
the author and at TheBerlinTurnpike. com. A recorded interview with Marie at a Connecticut Casino
August 24, 2010. Recording on file with author and available at TheBerlinTurnpike.com.