SENIOR AUTHOR’S NOTE:
Much of the material presented in the next several chapters is culled from the case notes of the Center’s for Disease Control agents assigned to these cases. The CDC case notes have been elaborated upon by personal interview where possible.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 7:15 P.M., CHINA-TOWN, NEW YORK

“Please baby. Pleeease. I need it. You know I’ll do anything for you baby, anything. Just gimme the shot baby. Please.” She rubbed her chocolate colored arms over his hairless, chain bedecked, white chest, her long black curly hair rubbing his cheek as she whispered in his ear.

“You know what I wanna hear baby. Tell me you love me baby. Tell me you’ll fuck for me baby.”

“You know I love you Baby! You know I’ll be your whore! Just give it to me now. I’ll do you good right now, right here baby. Just give it to me baby. Pleeease...” Her left hand lowered to the man’s crotch and she began to rub and squeeze gently.

“That’s better baby,” he sighed. I got it for you. Right here. Right now. You do me later. And you better do me good,” he growled as he turned away and took out a needle. Suddenly a well dressed young woman in bare feet came running around the corner and slammed into him. He staggered back two steps while she bounced back onto the cement and garbage floor of the alley.

Two policemen rounded the corner. They grabbed the woman on the ground and dragged her off without even looking at the couple or the needle still in plain sight in the man’s hand.

“What the hell was that?” the man with the needle asked.

“I don’t know baby, but don’t pay it no mind. Just give it to me. I need it baby.”

“Yeah. Okay. Just relax, see. I still got it for you right here.” He showed her the needle. Seeing a small piece of blue fabric on the tip of the needle, he flicked it off and waved it in front of her. She grabbed it, nearly dropping it in her haste. Quickly finding a vein, she injected the heroin and sighed in anticipation.

“Now get back to work. You got a whole lotta fuckin’ to do to pay me back, honey doll! A whole lotta fuckin’!”

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 1:30 P.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

“Sheila! Get outta that bed, sister!

“Uuuurrh. Go ‘way, I feel like shit.” Sheila rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Suddenly the paisley quilt was yanked off her and hands grabbed her and pulled her nude body out of bed.

“Debbie. Pleeease...I really don’t feel good. Lemme sleep, girl.”

“You know better Sheila. Lessin’ you got your nut for John, you betta get you black ass outta that bed girl.”

Sheila opened her eyes a crack. It was just enough to see Debbie in her “uniform” as they called it; bright pink hot pants, and a tie dyed blue halter-top with hot pink ankle socks folded down, three inch pink heels, and her brown hair drawn up in a top knot ponytail.

Suddenly Debbie let go, unceremoniously dropping Sheila back onto the bed. “What’s wrong with you skin? Oh my god, maybe you really are sick. Carla! Ginette! Get your asses in here. I think Sheila is sick.”

“I told you I was sick, girl. Now will you let me be?” Sheila slowly realized that Debbie had said there was something wrong with her skin, her beautiful, smooth, mocha-colored skin. Just as the others walked into the room and gasped, she fully opened her eyes and looked at herself. There were small splotches of lighter coloring all over her body.

Sheila groaned and slumped back onto the bed. She grasped weakly for the covers but missed. A shiver started in her shoulders, spreading and growing into full-fledged tremors as the others quickly covered her up.

Debbie ran for more blankets while Carla felt Sheila’s head. “Madre de dios!” Her friend was burning up with fever.

She gasped and ran to the bathroom. Returning with a damp washcloth, she started wiping Sheila’s forehead. Ginette stood back for a moment, wiping several wisps of wavy red hair off her forehead as she thought hard. Then she made a decision. She ran out of the room yelling back, “I’m calling John. He can’t make her work today. She may need to go to a hospital, for God’s sake.”

“No hospitals,” Sheila groaned. Then she rolled to the side of the bed and puked on Debbie and Carla.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 4:00 P.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

John pushed past Debbie and stormed into Sheila’s room.

“What you mean you’re sick, bitch? You got work to do. Get your lazy black ass...” He slapped her, drawing blood from her lip. Then the pimp turned to Debbie who had come up behind him.

“Shit bitch! What the fuck happened to her skin? It’s all crazy-like!"

“We don’t know. It just started changing color in patches like that. Maybe she’s got that that shit like they say Michael Jackson’s got, where you skin changes color?”

John rolled his eyes. “You’re fuckin’ stupid, ho! They ain’t no such disease! Don’t you know they pay people to make that shit up to sell papers?” John snarled as he continued staring at Sheila’s quivering sweat drenched body.

“Maybe we should get her to a hospital. Huh, John?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t think bitch!” he snarled again and backhanded her on the cheek, drawing blood. “She don’t need no hospital, but you’re sure as shit gonna to if you don’t get your hot little ass out on the street and make your nut.

“You tell the others too. You all need to get your tricks and Sheila’s too, or I beat the shit outta the four of you.”

John glared at the silent women, then turned and left.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 1, 4:50 P.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

Giggling and laughing Debbie, Carla and Ginette came back into their apartment.
“Girl that last sucker was so quick I barely got my mouth on him and he was jetting.”

“Yea, I had that guy who likes to smell my clothes again.”

“I’m gonna check on Sheila,” Debbie said becoming serious. “Will one of you put on some water for tea?” she asked before wandering into Sheila’s bedroom. Between the pre dawn light and the glow of the streetlights, she could see Sheila shivering with the covers more than half off. Debbie gently replaced the covers and quietly backed out of the room.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 3, 8:00 A.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

Pots and pans were flying. Plates and glasses were breaking as they hit the floor.

Debbie and Carla came running into the kitchen. Debbie had a broom and Carla held a pair of scissors. There was a strange white woman, in nothing but her panties and bra, tearing up their kitchen.

“Who the hell are you, bitch? Whatcha doing here?” Debbie and Carla screamed in unison as they brandished their weapons.

“Where’s our stash? I need a jolt. Please Debbie. Carla. I need a fix. I’m hurtin’ bad. I been so sick, it’s been three whole days since could get outta my bed and get some.” Sheila stopped rooting through the kitchen and throwing things as she leaned against a chair shivering.

“Sheila? Is that you, girl? What happened to your skin? And your nose, it’s different too. You look almost white.”

“Screw my skin! Get me a fuckin’ fix,” Sheila screamed and then slowly sank to the floor shivering and crying. She held her stomach and rocked slowly back and forth.

Ginette arrived at the kitchen a second later, still rubbing her eyes. “What’s all the racket?” she asked sleepily. “Are we having a party or something?”

Carla turned back to Ginette. “It looks like our ‘puta pequeá±o infermo’ is feeling better and looking for the stash.”

Debbie cautiously entered the kitchen, followed by the others. Making a wide circle around the woman who might be her friend Sheila, she reached a hand behind the refrigerator she produced a small bag of white powder.

“Hell, girls! We’re all up. Let’s do some while we can.” The chorus of cheers was unanimous.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 4, 12:15 A.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

The apartment door slammed open as John came storming in. “If you bitches are in here partying instead of out on the streets,” he roared, “there’s gonna be some dead whore meat lying around this shit hole!”

“I’m in here.” A muffled voice called out from one of the rooms.

“In where, bitch? Get out here now!” he screamed. Fuming, John stood in the center of the living room fists clenching and unclenching.

“Where are the others and why the hell ain’t you out makin’ money?”

Sheila came out of a bedroom wearing a long white bathrobe and a thermometer in her hand. “They’re all sick, John. They got whatever I had. They’re burnin’ up and shiverin’ and throwin’ up.”

“Who the hell are you, bitch?”

“It’s me, Sheila. I changed while I was sick,” she told him as she pirouetted, the hem of the bathrobe flaring out as she showed him her new look.

“You’re Sheila?”

“Ya, John. It’s me,” she smiled happily, waiting for him to compliment her on how good she looked.

“So it’s your fault they can’t work tonight, bitch?” He slapped her hard. “They can’t work, and there’s no way your going to make your nut and theirs. What the fuck did you do to them? Huh, bitch?” He slapped her again even harder and she fell to the floor crying. “And what the hell happened to your skin?” He kicked her on her butt for good measure. Sheila slowly struggled onto an elbow using the other hand to wipe the blood off her face. Her lip was split, swollen, and bleeding profusely. She could barely speak.

“I don’t know, John. It just happened.” She wiped more blood from her face.

John was clearly trying to control his anger. His face was ruddy and his fists continued to clench and unclench. Suddenly there was a spasmodic quiver, his fists unclenched and he smiled. The red slowly began to drain out of his face.

“Well, bitch, I guess we’re all taking a day off.” He stretched out his hand to her ignoring it when she flinched. “Get up, bitch. Go clean you face and make youself look pretty. It’s time you reminded me why I keep you.”

Without taking his hand, she slowly got up and limped off to the bathroom.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 4, 1:55 A.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

John was shirtless, lying on Sheila’s bed, propped up on one elbow. “Get me a scotch straight. Then get in here. You can test out that new body of yours. I want you to show me how good you can make me feel, baby.” He lay back, head on the pillows, hands tucked behind his head waiting. Noticing the beat up, plastic clock radio on the cardboard box Sheila used as a nightstand, he flicked it on and pounded on it twice when it produced nothing but static. Suddenly clear, an announcer finished his description of the next jazz set and the music started.

Sheila was standing and watching him. “Get the hell out here already, bitch,” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

“Be right back, John honey.” The door opened and Sheila slunk in wearing a red, see through, baby doll nightgown with slit-at-the-crotch panties. There was still a trickle of blood oozing from her split and swollen lip, but she looked hot regardless, very hot indeed. She sashayed enticingly up to the foot of the bed and posed a bit before placing his drink on the nightstand and crawling up over John, who lay back to enjoy the show. Rubbing her breasts over John’s chest, she bent to kiss him on first one nipple and then the other.

“Oh baby, are you a hunk,” she said between nibbles as she rested herself sideways partially over the naked man, rubbing his thin, hairless stomach.

“You know, I’m gonna need some new clothes and shit. A lotta what I got ain’t gonna go with this new body.”

“Shut up and lick me bitch,” was John’s only response.

She began licking as she slowly moved up towards John’s head. Her one hand moved towards John’s belt to undo it while her other hand began playing in his hair. Sheila began kissing John’s face while she finished with the belt and moved on to the zipper. With that last major obstacle eliminated, she began to rub him through his underwear.

“Feels good, babe. Keep it goin’. Make me feel REAL good,” John ordered.

The hand moved inside the underwear and began stroking something that began to uncoil and grow. Sheila’s kisses moved on to John’s lips and then her tongue began playing with John’s teeth. He grabbed her head and began thrusting his own tongue into her mouth. Saliva, blood and mouthwash mingled. Meanwhile, the thing in Sheila’s hand had grown hard and long. She licked her way down to his stomach and slid his pants and underpants off. Her mouth moved lower and lower.

John moaned, “Do me now, bitch. Do me fuckin’ right now!”

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 4, 2:05 A.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

“You were wonderful John, honey. Can we do it again?” she asked in a husky whisper as she gently rested her head against his chest.

“Ow!” He jerked his head away.

“What’s the matter honey?” Sheila raised her head to look at him with concern.

“Nothing, bitch. Just a cold sore. Get off me. I got business to do.”