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Direct Link To This Post Topic: Learning to hit a lick...True Story pt. 1
    Posted: Aug 12 2004 at 3:39am

(Part 1) True story that happened Down in Atlanta GA.

 

 
Falicia Blakely
(Bartram Nason)

UNDESERVING VICTIMS: Claudell "Doc" Christmas gets a hug from his friend Cariletta Knox
(COURTESY: CARILETTA KNOX)

Cariletta Knox's brother, Ray Goodwin.
(Courtesy: Carlietta Knox)

GIRLS IN TROUBLE: Falicia Blakely
(COURTESY: DEKALB COUNTY)

Ameshia "Pumpkin" Ervin, photographed 10 days after the killings of Ray and Doc.
(COURTESY: DEKALB COUNTY)


1. In her Aug. 25, 2002, statement to DeKalb County police, Falicia said she “pulled out my semi-automatic pistol.” In a Feb. 3, 2004, interview with Falicia, she said she was “sitting on the floor playing with my pistol.” back

2. A police sketch of the crime scene shows Goodwin’s couch facing the patio door. Falicia said in a Feb. 13, 2004, interview that the laptop was sitting on a coffee table in front of the couch. Weather conditions provided by the U.S. Department of Commerce’s National Climatic Data Center, “Observations at 3-Hourly Intervals”, for Aug. 15 2002. The NCDC also notes that Aug. 15, 2002, marked the first significant rainfall -- .25 inches – in at least two weeks. back

3. In her Aug. 25, 2002, statement to DeKalb County police, Falicia stated, “Ray told me to come over and bring him some beanies,” or ecstasy. She also said in the statement that she had been snorting cocaine at Ray’s. She denied this in a Feb. 13, 2004, interview. In the interview, she said she’d told police she’d done cocaine to convince them she was under the influence of a chaotic drug, thereby establishing a motive other than having been ordered to carry out the killings by her pimp; she said she wanted to protect him.

In a Feb. 3, 2004, interview, Falicia described drinking tequila and smoking marijuana with Ray, Pumpkin and Doc. She also said she had brought Ray some powder cocaine, “but Ray didn’t want the powder we had,” so he “called somebody else.” According to a DeKalb Police property sheet listing, “suspected crack cocaine” was found in Doc’s pockets. back

4. In a Feb. 3, 2004, interview, Falicia said of Ray, “This man done pulled me out of some holes. … When I was in trouble, I’d call him.” Ray’s sister, Cariletta Knox, described Ray and Falicia as friends. back

5. One of Falicia’s attorneys, Claudia Saari, stated at Falicia’s Jan. 16, 2004, plea hearing that Pumpkin and Falicia “went to the bank with” Ray. “While at the bank, [Mike] Berry called and ordered [Falicia] to shoot [Ray] Goodwin and take his money.” Saari said Mike called Falicia a total five times, increasing with each call the urgency to kill Ray and Doc. Saari said that during the fifth call, Mike threatened to kill Falicia. In a Feb. 3, 2004, interview, Falicia described the numerous phone calls between her and Mike on the afternoon and evening of the murders. All quotes of phone conversations between Mike and Falicia are Falicia’s own recollection. back

6. After Doc arrived at Ray’s apartment, “[Michael] Berry called again and told [Falicia] Blakely to shoot them,” Falicia’s attorney, Claudia Saari, told the court at Falicia’s Jan. 16, 2004, plea hearing back

7. The conversation between Doc and Falicia regarding the gun was relayed by Falicia during a Feb. 3, 2004, interview. John “G.” Martin’s cell phone records indicate Doc placed a call to him at 8:15 p.m. on Aug. 15.

The DeKalb County incident report on the homicides states that Martin told police he’d been on the phone with Doc when he “heard gunshots, then a female voice saying, ‘Get the money,’ then a subject gasping for breath.” Ray’s sister, Cariletta Knox, told police that Martin called her before 9 p.m. and described the shooting the same way, according to the incident report. back

8. At Falicia’s Jan. 16, 2004, plea hearing, prosecutor Tom Clegg said Claudell “Doc” Christmas was shot once in the right temple. Falicia said in her Aug. 25, 2002, statement to police that Doc “started to get up” and she “shot him twice in the head.” A DeKalb County police sketch of the crime scene shows Doc slumped over on the couch, which is consistent with the statements given to police by Ray’s sister’s boyfriend, Samuel Flowers, the first person to arrive on the scene. back

9. The DeKalb County police sketch of the crime scene showed at least six shell casings strewn around Ray’s living room. Prosecutor Tom Clegg told the court on Jan. 16, 2004, that Ray was shot four times in the right shoulder and chest and Doc once in the head. In her Aug. 25, 2002, statement to police, Falicia said, “I fired one round at him [Ray] and then shot al of the bullets out of the gun.” back

10. John “G.” Martin’s cell phone records and his recollection of the length of his conversation with Doc places the shooting shortly after 8:25 p.m. Sunset on Aug. 15, 2002, occurred at 8:24 p.m., according to the National Weather Service. back

11. Ameshia “Pumpkin” Ervin, in an Aug. 25, 2002, statement to DeKalb County police, described Ray’s death this way: “I heard 4 gunshots in rapid succession and I covered myself on the floor. I heard 3 more gunshots and that is when Ray got shot. Ray ran to the other sofa by the sliding glass door. He fell dead onto his back. The heavyset guy [Doc] was shot in the head. I saw this when I got up.”

In Falicia’s Feb. 3, 2004, interview, she described the events similarly. back

12. Falicia described the conversation between her and Ray during a Feb. 3, 2004, interview: “Ray wasn’t dead. I seen the other man was bleeding. But Ray was sitting up and screaming. And I went to Ray, and he had this pillow right here” – she motioned to her neck and chest – “in front of him. And I told Ray I was sorry.”

However, John “G.” Martin, whose phone records show he was on the phone with Doc at the alleged time of the shootings and who described parts of the shooting to police, did not recall any such words in an Aug. 15, 2002, DeKalb County police incident report. back

13. In a Feb. 3, 2004, interview, Falicia stated, “And when I told Ray I was sorry, Ray fell back and he started foaming at the mouth.” At a Sept. 12, 2003, pre-trial hearing, DeKalb police Maj. John Germano testified that Falicia told him, during a videotaped interview, that when she looked at one of her victims she “saw foam coming out of his mouth.” back

14. In a Feb. 3, 2004, interview, Falicia stated: “We was getting stuff that we touched. A glass. A can of coca-cola. The pictures that we had on the floor. And put it all in the bag.” At a Sept. 12, 2003, pre-trial hearing, one of Falicia’s attorneys, Claudia Saari, said, “a photo book was stolen.” back

15. The exact timing of the rain is Falicia’s recollection. The U.S. Department of Commerce’s National Climatic Data Center, records for Aug. 15, 2002, the first significant rainfall -- .25 inches – in at least two weeks. back

16. The conversation between Falicia and Pumpkin is Falicia’s recollection, stated during a Feb. 3, 2004, interview. At a Sept. 12, 2003, pre-trial hearing, one of Falicia’s attorneys, Claudia Saari, said that “allegedly some cash ... was stolen.” back

17. Some descriptions of Falicia’s childhood – that she lived with her mother at some times and her grandmother at others, that she came from a rough neighborhood, that she excelled at track and that she dated at least one older man -- were corroborated by DeKalb County public defenders and investigators who visited Jacksonville to interview Falicia’s relatives.

Other descriptions – that Falicia snuck into nightclubs at a young age, that men paid her to hang out with them and that she paid an inordinate share of her family’s expenses – could not be corroborated. back

18. Falicia’s attorneys’ investigation showed Falicia’s father was repeatedly incarcerated, mostly on drug-related charges. Attorney Claudia Saari also interviewed Falicia’s father in a Florida prison. “He had a crack addiction,” said in an interview. “He was pretty much missing most of her life.” back

19. The description of Falicia’s conversation with her mother is Falicia’s recollection; her mother was not interviewed. back

20. On at least three occasions when Atlanta police arrested Falicia – June 1, 2002, July 30, 2002, and Aug. 25, 2002 – her birth date was recorded in the incident reports as Sept. 4, 1978. Her actual birth year is 1983. When she got her dancer’s permit – which attorneys say was dated Jan. 28, 2000 – the fake birth date would have made her 21. back

21. Falicia’s attorney, Claudia Saari, said during an interview: “Before she [Falicia] got her dancing permit, she was dancing at some of these small dives. ... She got her fake ID, and that’s when she started dancing at some of the more established clubs.” Ray’s sister, Cariletta Knox, who says she used to work at Dancer’s Elite, recalled in an interview that Falicia worked there, too, though not at the same time she did. back

22. The description of meeting Mike is Falicia’s. Michael Berry could not be located. All of Berry’s statements and actions were recollections of Falicia, unless otherwise noted, and were described during two interviews in February 2004.

Ray’s sister and his girlfriend both said they were familiar with the girls and their pimp, “Mike.” The sister, Cariletta Knox, took police to Ray’s apartment and uncovered a photo of Mike, taken at a Lake Lanier boat party three weeks before Ray was murdered. The photo is included in the DeKalb police’s investigative file on Ray and Doc’s murders with a note from Knox that states: “This is the person I know as Mike the Pimp of Peaches/Fantasia [Falicia’s stage names] & the rest of the girls.”

A 32-year-old named Michael Lawrence Berry spent eight months in a Hall County prison in the mid-90s for a Fulton County cocaine conviction, according to the Georgia Department of Corrections. Falicia’s attorney Claudia Saari said in an interview that he is Falicia’s Michael Berry.

In response to a state Open Records Act request sent to the Atlanta Police Department for all incident reports involving a Michael Berry born in 1972, the department produced just two, both of them 2003 traffic violations. Neither named a Michael Berry – in one, the suspect was “Michael L. Thomas”, in the other, he was “Michael Correlle”, though both Thomas and Correlle shared Michael Berry’s birthday. Atlanta Police Sgt. John Quigley said police were confident that Correlle and Thomas were in fact Michael Berry; in neither report was the suspect’s phone number listed.

Quigley also said the department had evidence of Berry being arrested several before – in particular, an aggravated assault charge in 1998 -- but was unable to produce those incident reports. The department could not produce a report corroborating the 2000 arrest alleged by Falicia.

According to Falicia’s attorney, Ken Driggs, Michael Berry “has nothing in his name. He’s very careful about not having anything in his name. He’s got cell phones, but he changes the phones.”

Driggs also said one of his office’s investigators tracked down and briefly interviewed Michael Berry early in the attorneys’ investigation, before Driggs learned that Berry might be Falicia’s pimp. Little was said during the interview, according to Driggs, and his office has since lost touch with Berry. back

Learning to hit a lick
Falicia Blakely was a 16-year-old dancer when she met a pimp 11 years her senior. Within two years, she'd be a prostitute facing the death penalty for three murders.

BY MARA SHALHOUP

AUGUST 15, 2002

Falicia stretched out on the floor of the apartment and, finally feeling ready for anything, pulled from her purse a .32-caliber Sauer & Son pistol [1]. Nobody seemed to care. Doc was on the phone. Ray and Pumpkin were playing solitaire on Ray's laptop. In front of the four of them, the sliding glass door framed a sky about to reach out and swallow the sun, to take the edge off the heavy August heat. Since the afternoon, when they began partying, the cover of clouds had lifted, loosening the morning fog and mist so that only broken fragments remained. And still no rain. It hadn't rained in weeks [2].

They'd kept it to tequila and weed for the most part, some ecstasy and blow for later. Falicia had shown up at Ray's hours ago, under the pretense of bringing him ecstasy pills [3]. But as always, it was expected she hang out when she delivered the drugs. With Ray she didn't mind. They'd been doing business for more than a year. She liked him. Unlike most men she knew, Ray had helped her out of more than one bad scene, had picked her up when she was in trouble, had listened to her rant when she was scared or pissed off. He was a welcome change [4].

She herself was easy to do business with. All long legs and slow curves, eyes like a sphinx and skin like bitter Godiva. She was only 18 - not that she let on - and full of fast talk, a little ghetto at times, but tinged with just enough girlish sass to disarm.

But not today. Something was different about her today.

When she and Pumpkin showed up at Ray's, around 2 p.m., he'd examined the goods and offered them a drink. Naw, Falicia said. I need some lunch first. He said he'd take her and Pumpkin by Chick-Fil-A. He had to stop at the bank, anyway.

That's when Mike first called.

"What you doing?" Mike asked her. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," Falicia told him.

"Go on and stay there until you get about $500 from him. Where y'all at?"

"We're at SunTrust."

"Mmmm. What you all getting out of the bank? You know how Ray is. So you counting on what, five? A 'G'? Fifteen?"

"I'll call you back on that" [5].

After Ray and the girls went back to his apartment, it didn't take long for him to figure something was up.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked Falicia. "You need some 1800?"

She accepted, and downed the tequila with salt and a lemon. She had another. Her demeanor didn't change.

Mike called again. Falicia told him she'd just overheard Ray talking on the phone to some guy, Doc, who was on his way over. To Falicia, that meant the whole thing was off. To Mike, it made no difference. "Oh, that's better then!" he told her. "You get all that money, and then get up out of there" [6].

When Doc, a big guy with his hair in twists and a lumbering 265-pound frame, showed up, he and Ray went into the kitchen to pour drinks and season steaks for the grill. After dinner, once the sun went down, Ray was supposed to head to the clubs in Buckhead. It was his girlfriend's birthday. The girls, Falicia and Pumpkin, had other plans.

Falicia took a third shot of tequila, then a fourth. The four of them retired to the living room. A good hour passed before Mike's next call.

"Do you love me?" he asked. "I don't think you love me. Because if you loved me, you would have done it. We could have been gone by now, Mama. We can be gone by the time the sun goes down if you just do it and come on. Why you don't got no love for the game? What's wrong with you? You don't want me no more?"

"No, Mike. It's not like that."

Falicia stretched out behind the couch, on the floor by the stereo. She nudged up the volume. She wanted to distract the rest of them, to mask whatever conversation she and Mike would have next. She took out her pistol and started fiddling with it, messing with the clip, taking it out, putting it back in. "What the hell you over there doing with that gun, girl?" Doc turned around from his seat on the couch to face her. "Put that gun up."

"There ain't no bullets in here," she said - a sweet, incredulous voice. "The clip's right here."

Doc waved her off. He turned back around to make a call. He was talking to a guy called "G" [7].

Falicia's own phone rang.

"Listen here," Mike told her. "Get yourself together, pull that trigger, wipe everything down and come on. 'Cause you're just making it harder than what it got to be. Y'all got something going on that I don't know about? Well, if I make it over there, I'm going to kill all y'all. All y'all. It's a done deal. Because you don't love me like you say you do. You just wasting my time."

He hung up.

Doc was still talking to G. Ray and Pumpkin were playing on the computer, sitting in front of Doc facing the glass doors. All their backs were to Falicia. She called Mike. She watched her little Sprint phone, how when it rang, the face lit up green, and when someone answered, the seconds started ticking. Mike picked up. Falicia told him to listen. She set the phone on the back of the sofa, behind Doc. She watched as the seconds ticked and ticked.

She lifted the pistol to the back of Doc's head. He must have heard something; he spun around. "Oh, no," he said. He started to stand. Before he had a chance, Falicia fired a round into his right temple, crumpling him back into the sofa [8]. His cell phone fell from his hand; the caller was still on the line.

She kept shooting, five, maybe six, rounds, toward Ray [9]. Pumpkin hit the floor. Ray jumped up and stumbled across the room. He made it to the patio door, where he laid his hand on the glass. Outside, the sky was darkening [10]. The door was locked.

Ray turned back, reached for the loveseat and grabbed a pillow, clenching it to his chest. He dropped to his knees [11].

Falicia walked toward him, slowly.

"Stop screaming, Ray," she said. "Shut up."

He locked eyes with her. His pupils started darting back and forth.

"Ray?" she asked. His eyes stopped moving.

"I'm sorry" [12].

When he collapsed, a trickle of foam spilled from his mouth [13].

Falicia turned to Pumpkin. "Get the money," she said, motioning to Doc, who was bleeding from his head. Falicia handled Ray, pulling the bills from his pocket. She realized her phone was still sitting on the back of the couch. She picked it up.

"That's my baby," Mike told her. "You all right?"

"Yeah."

"Do me a favor before you leave. Just wipe everything down, and just get up out of there. Calm down."

The girls hastily filled a duffel bag with everything they remembered touching. A glass. A Coke can. A photo book they'd been flipping through [14]. By the time they made it outside, the sun had disappeared. The wall of clouds had reassembled, cutting short what was left of twilight. They climbed into the truck. Falicia drove. In the short ride up Buford Highway, to Clairmont Road and over to I-85, the swelling sky began to squeeze out rain [15].

"Every time it rains somebody dies, huh," Pumpkin said.

"Girl, what in the world just happened?"

"I don't know."

Pumpkin had the men's money in her hand. She was counting it [16].

FEBRUARY 3, 2004

The table in the DeKalb County Jail's isolation room is dirty, a soiled food tray its ignoble centerpiece. Falicia Blakely shuffles in, florescent orange jail scrubs hanging loosely from willowy limbs. Glancing at the table, she pokes her head back out the door. "Phyllis," she calls to an orderly. "Can you wipe this down?"

The room is walled in by glass, with views of an empty gymnasium on one side, the guards' control booth on the other. Falicia lives on the far side of the booth, in one of 16 cells that make up what's called a "pod." There are six pods, for a total of 96 cells, circling every control booth. And there are 20 such booths inside the jail's four septagonal towers, where 3,800 inmates stay. Falicia's pod sits on the fourth floor of the northeast tower, a region reserved for women. She is unique among them in that she's the only female resident of the jail against whom the DeKalb district attorney has ever sought the death penalty.

In the 17 months Falicia's been locked up, she's earned a sort of notoriety on the fourth floor, for obvious reasons. Multiple-murderers are scarce. Teenage female multiple-murderers are practically unheard of. Yet those who meet her are quick to point out that, outwardly at least, Falicia bears little resemblance to the Hollywood image of depraved killer. Her smile shows a row of porcelain teeth, perfectly aligned like white tiles. Her manicured fingernails are meticulously squared. Slender chin-length braids, which she sometimes ties up in a girlish ponytail, barely fray at the ends. Her face is clear, her eyes unclouded. Nothing about her fresh looks or plaintive demeanor suggests anything but a normal young adulthood. Only after she gets into the details does it becomes obvious she's much older than her years.

Born and raised on the east side of Jacksonville, Fla., an only child bounced between a single mother and weary grandmother, Falicia hit puberty young and ran with it. Before high school, she dated men three decades her senior. Her full breasts and long, lean frame (she was a track and field star in ninth grade) belied her barely pubescent age. She had no problem getting into clubs. Once inside, she learned how easy it was to make up for years of lost affection. Men flocked. They gave her money for virtually nothing [17].

She attracted her first sugar daddy at 14. Most of the men she only dated, luring them with sex but never bedding them. They in turn took care of her financially.

Falicia bought her own school clothes, put food in her grandmother's cupboard, paid the tab at the laundromat, covered the costs of her cousin's salon visits. Spending on others was a source of pride for her, as well as a source of petulance. No one ever could tell her what to do - not when she had so much control over their world and hers.

While men held the ticket to power for Falicia, they were not meant to wield power over her. Or so she thought. Odds were, though, it wouldn't be long before she met the wrong guy. The bad decisions would inevitably follow. For those decisions, she blames herself.

"When you're out there and you're living that fast life, you can never say what you wouldn't do. Growing up, I never wanted to hurt nobody and never wanted to wrong anybody. When I was coming up, I never thought I'd be sitting here because" - she takes a long, rare pause - "I took some peoples' lives. And it's bad enough it wasn't one. It was three."

The pause was her third in an hours-long exploration of her life and crimes. The first followed the sole question about her father.

She'd broken eye contact and gazed off toward the guards, sustaining a long silence. She turned back and said, "Who is Daddy?" It was the softest, possibly most sarcastic voice you've ever heard. "No, Daddy wasn't there. He struggled with a drug addiction real bad" [18].

The only other time she paused like that was after she was asked, "When did you meet Michael Berry?" It was the first mention of his name.

SEPTEMBER 1999-JANUARY 2001

Falicia's ticket to Atlanta showed up in her grandmother's mailbox a few days shy of her 16th birthday.

"I don't want to go," she said.

"Maybe it's best for you to go," her grandmother told her.

Falicia's mother had decided it was time she took responsibility for her daughter again. That meant Falicia would be sent to Atlanta, where her mother, who worked for a flooring distributor, had been transferred. Falicia was told to box up her things and Fed-Ex them to her mother's new home, and to get on the plane.

At first, it was quiet between them in their two-bedroom townhouse in the southwest corner of the city. Falicia was holding tight to a grudge, one that began with a conversation she tried to have with her mother more than three years ago. Falicia recalls walking into her mother's bedroom to explain she'd lost her virginity. Her mother rolled onto her boyfriend, mumbling, "Give me another year" [19].

"I bring it to you, and you ain't got enough time to talk to me about it?" To Falicia, it was the ultimate snub at the end of a long line of indifference. "Both of y'all are in the bed. Why y'all can't explain to me the goods and the bads about it?"

In Atlanta, she tried going to school but quickly grew frustrated; she'd have to repeat the ninth grade. She wanted to work instead, in part so that she could buy a new wardrobe of cold-weather clothes. Her mother had refused to spend the kind of money Falicia had in mind.

So Falicia dropped out, over her mother's protests. Nobody controlled her before. It wouldn't be any different now.

She picked up a job at the Taco Bell across from Greenbriar Mall, where she won a quick promotion from front register to drive-thru and met a customer who introduced her to a dive of a sports bar off Old National Parkway. It was a place where one night a week amateurs were allowed to striptease down to a flimsy costume. Falicia had no trouble duping the manager into believing she was legal. She was even hired on part time - until she met a man who told her that for a certain price, he'd get her a fake birth certificate and Social Security card. That meant she could get a driver's license that made her 21, which in turn would get her an adult dancing permit - and a ticket to the real clubs [20].

Within months, Falicia made the rounds of strip clubs best described as a groaning half-step up from the sports bar. She mostly frequented Dancer's Elite [21].

At Dancer's Elite, Falicia noticed that one of the girls, "Candy," had a tattoo on her breast of a man's name. "Michael Berry." Falicia soon realized he was a regular at the club. But she wasn't sweating him. He didn't interest her, wasn't her type. When she first talked to him, he struck her as kind of gay. His voice, she thought at the time, was too soft for her.

She'd been hooking up with someone else, anyway. He was in his mid-20s, an age the 16-year-old considered too young. But he did help her move out of her mother's place and paid her weekly tab at the Suburban Lodge. She got pregnant by him. And she got tired of him. She moved back in with her mother and gave Dancer's Elite

her notice.

On stage one summer night, a week or so before her going-away party, Falicia's stomach was threatening to give her away, her six-pack having slackened into a telltale swell. She was accustomed to pulling in $200 a night. Tonight, she was holding a miserable $20.

A bunch of men down at the left corner of the stage were looking at her, commenting on what they liked but holding tight to their bills. She was mad and about ready to step off the stage when one of the guys, in a yellow hat and shorts, handed her a wad of cash. Like clockwork, she lowered herself to her knees, to dance closer to him. As she did, she glanced at the bills he'd just handed her. She was holding a stack of twenties.

"I've been trying to get at you, and you've been ignoring me and stuff," Michael Berry told her. "Come holla at me when you get off stage."

He paid her $20 each for a bunch of lap dances. They normally cost $10. When she was sick of dancing, he paid her just to sit and talk, dropping twenties into her hand.

"Let me take you home and rub you to sleep," he said.

"I don't go home with people I meet at clubs." At the time, there was no going home with guys, no giving out phone numbers. She left this part of her at the club. It would be there when she got back tomorrow.

When she showed up the next day, so did Mike.

He convinced her to go out with him, but he was arrested on the night they'd made plans [22]. Mike called her collect from jail nearly every day. And then he sent someone to pay Falicia's mother's phone bill. He also sent Falicia a young guy, "Shy." Mike had told Shy to do whatever Falicia told him to. Shy drove Falicia to work, to run errands, to see the obstetrician. She did nothing for him in return. Mike was pulling strings, even behind bars. Falicia liked that. She assumed he earned his money, respect and command from selling dope. She didn't mind.

On Dec. 30, 2000, Falicia gave birth to a boy, Mikaele. Mike got out of jail a few days later but gave Falicia a few weeks with the baby before coming to see her. He immediately asked her to move out, to let him put her up somewhere. She refused. She wasn't ready. She went back to dancing. He brought roses, chocolate and a big cookie cake to Dancer's Elite. He bought her jewelry, bought her mother jewelry. The girls at the club swooned. "Oh, that man is so sweet," they'd say. "That man really loves you." A few weeks later, Falicia agreed to move in with him to an extended-stay hotel.

Before Mike, every boyfriend had been a neighborhood boyfriend, a school boyfriend or a sugar daddy. Mike was the first guy with whom Falicia felt both a commitment and a connection. Mike was a man, one who bought cases of diapers at Sam's Club and made her hair appointments.

Looking back, Falicia says, "He was buttering me. He was really investing. That's all he was doing. And I was sucking it up. He was sweet for a long time."

stay tuned for part (2)

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Phoenix1017 View Drop Down
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: Aug 12 2004 at 3:43am

That's the longest post I have ever seen on this site!!! I think you may have set a record Stef.

Going back to read now.



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stefani_diamond View Drop Down
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: Aug 12 2004 at 3:48am

its a story silly....I was about to say who posted that fast....someone is a speedy reader....

4 parts im breaking it up in....veeeeeeeeery juicy!

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Direct Link To This Post Posted: Aug 12 2004 at 5:11am

Im definately captivated, waiting for the second draft

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Direct Link To This Post Posted: Aug 12 2004 at 8:10am
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: Aug 13 2004 at 9:25pm
< bump > so that people can read in order
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: Aug 13 2004 at 11:20pm
Oh it's very real.. You can go to the Department of Corrections sight and look here up. She's doing time.
Originally posted by TheLastPrincess TheLastPrincess wrote:

I think it might be real, I found the story on a few news sites....

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/3016059.stm

and here..

http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/dekalb/0104/16prostit ute.html

and here

http://www.ledger-enquirer.com/mld/ledgerenquirer/2003/10/30 /news/local/7733035.htm

 

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pure_intentionz View Drop Down
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: Aug 03 2005 at 3:29am
where's part 2 i gotta read it!!!!
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