Murdergram, Part 2

by Nisa Santiago

  He had everyone’s undivided attention.

  He continued, “Sie haben einen langen Weg von zu hause gereist…für diese grobe chance.” The man gazed heavily into the small gathering of people before him. He stood on the church platform, his strong presence speaking volumes.

  Not a soul in the room understood what he had just said. I didn’t either. Some didn’t even know he had just spoken in German.

  With further reading, the new novel, Killer Dolls, ventured farther into forbidden territory. Tamar’s eyes went wide when she started reading about Pike’s character, who in the book was renamed Traven.

  One particular part of the book read:

  Traven would probably be our easiest target, but yet, our hardest too. It was close to home. He was our friend. I had no idea why he was on the Syndicate’s hit list, but for some reason, they wanted him dead. We thought about the aftermath following his death, especially with Sarah. How was she going to take it? She had fallen in love with Traven, and they had a special bond building. She was our close friend, but we couldn’t dwell on outcomes. This was business, and we were broke and needed to prove ourselves.

  Tandi and I sat parked in a stolen maroon Chevy on the quiet, narrow Brooklyn block and observed Traven exiting his building. He zipped up his jacket in the cool fall air and started to walk down the street alone.

  We each wore large black hoodies, dark, baggy jeans, latex gloves, Timberlands, and ski hats, trying to give off the impression we were two black males seated in the car.

  I was behind the wheel, the .9mm loaded and cocked back on my lap. Tandi gripped the same caliber of gun. We both were ready to get it over with. Our forty-eight hours to do the hit were winding down. We had devised a plan to make it look gang-related. It was no secret that Traven was a drug dealer and womanizer, so his death could have come from anybody from rival dealers or a jealous boyfriend.

  “When you wanna do this?” Tandi asked.

  “When he comes back,” I said.

  “That could be hours.”

  “He won’t be gone long,” I returned.

  “How you know?”

  “I just know.”

  I knew it wasn’t going to be a long wait by what he had on: some sweat pants, sneakers, and a gray hoodie underneath his fall jacket. It looked like he was making a quick run to the corner store.

  “Remember, make it look gang-related. We in and we out,” I said.

  Tandi nodded.

  Tamar stood from her chair and tossed the book in a different direction. Filled with frustration and anger, she wanted to scream. There was no reason to read on, since she already knew how it was going to end. How could this be? How could this author have so much information about her and her friends’ lives?

  The majority of the story was told in detailed first person, though some particulars had been changed slightly. The Dinkins brothers had been fictionalized as the Johnson brothers. One of their earlier assignments, the killing of the groom at his wedding via poison, was written as a baby shower assassination. And the Cristal Clique had been fictionalized as Murder Inc.

  Fucking Murder Inc.? It doesn’t get any more transparent than that.

  Tamar was ready to tear Melissa Chin apart with her bare fucking hands. But, first, she wanted to torture her and find out where she got her information from. What source was feeding her the material? It was killing Tamar to know how the fuck that bitch knew so many intimate details about their operation.

  With everyone from the original crew who knew about the Farm dead, she suspected Mona, while residing in the Bronx, had probably run off her mouth to someone. Maybe it had been to a journalist, in confession to a priest, or to an average Joe crafty enough to jot down all her tales and profit from it.

  Now Mona was dead, and so was Cristal, and E.P. had confirmed that Lisa had been killed at the Farm. So who?

  It hadn’t been until the latest novel, Killer Dolls, that Tamar finally had a face to go with the name. She studied the bitch’s photo intently, scrutinizing every feature, hoping for something to jog her memory. Where did she know this girl from? Did she even know this girl at all? Was she someone from their old neighborhood? A friend of a friend? Maybe, an enemy? Was the bitch somehow overlooked while she was growing up?

  Tamar thought hard. She had never seen the girl before. Melissa Chin was young, pretty, and a dead bitch walking. She just didn’t know it yet. Whoever said the game should be sold not told needed a foot shoved up their ass.

  Eleven

  E.P. and his beautiful acquaintance for the night stepped out of his burgundy Bugatti Veyron 16.4 Super Sport. He had parked in front of a building with dark blue awning protruding from its brightly lit glass doorway on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, 78th Street to be exact. Looking sharp and handsome in his dark charcoal cashmere wool Giorgio Armani suit, he grabbed his date by her slim waist and pulled her closer to him. They both were all smiles and laughter tonight. They had left a special charity event hosted at the Trump Tower, and now, for E.P., the real fun was about to begin. He couldn’t wait to have his privacy with Karen, who was model-beautiful, with curves in the right places and an attractive smile that could light up any room. She was something to take his mind away from the problem shaping as the latest Melissa Chin novel had reached #15 on The New York Times Best Sellers list.

  Karen, clad in a long, shimmery dress that pooled around her high heels, threw herself against E.P.’s shoulder and giggled like a young schoolgirl as they walked arm-in-arm into the bright lobby of the building. They strode through the marble lobby, passing the overnight doorman, looking like a friendly couple, and headed toward the array of elevators waiting to lift them high in the sky to their designated floor. It was after midnight, so with most people asleep, the building was quiet like a cemetery.

  The two stepped into E.P.’s lavish penthouse suite on the top floor, and Karen was immediately dazzled by nearly 7,000 square feet of opulence. She removed her high-heeled sandals and walked through the place with them dangling on one finger.

  “You live here?” she asked in awe.

  “I like the best,” he said, “from my home to my women.”

  She smiled.

  He quickly gave her a tour of the place. E.P. didn’t mind showing off his wealth. He was a rich man and a playboy, so seducing and sexing beautiful women was his forte.

  “This is beautiful,” Karen said.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Karen turned to face him. His handsome face and nice build excited her. Just being close to him stirred up some strong sexual cravings inside of her. Her womanhood was becoming absolutely moist from his touch and his eyes locking into her.

  “What do you do again?” she asked, not caring, but making conversation so she wouldn’t look like a complete slut yearning for some dick.

  “I do a little bit of this, and a little bit of that,” he said faintly.

  Karen smiled. She couldn’t contain the lust bubbling inside of her. She walked closer to the railing of the picturesque terrace to view the illuminated city.

  E.P. got behind her, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and held her closely, making sure she felt his growing erection poking her in the back. He then placed his lips against the nape of her neck and landed a few sweet kisses against her skin. He maneuvered his hand into her dress, pulled out her breast, and played with her nipple.

  He then pulled up her dress. As his fingers probed deeper, her breathing was getting more labored. She was so wet, E.P.’s fingers were coated with her juices.

  She wanted to fuck him right there. She turned to face him again, her dress looking unhinged from her slim, yet curvy, frame.

  Things started to get a little more heated, and they started to kiss intensely. She reached below and unzipped his pants. Her hand extended inside, and she grabbed his dick and started stroking him into a full erection, causing him to moan. Pressed against him on the terrace, she could see his eyes roll back in his head as she squeezed his har
d shaft and started using both hands in a steady rhythm.

  “That feels good.” He grabbed her ass and told her not to stop.

  His breathing became intense as she rolled his balls around in her fingers.

  He was rubbing her clit and biting on her neck. Then he grabbed her shoulders, turned her around, and pushed her against the iron railing. He lifted her dress over her hips and ripped off her panties like they were nothing. E.P. grabbed her hips from behind.

  Karen, her nipples against the cold railing, braced herself for penetration.

  E.P.’s dick was already out and hard. He slammed it into her in one thrust, and she jerked forward. If she wasn’t holding on tight to the railing, he would have pushed her over.

  “Ooooh, fuck me!”

  She let out a moan like a wounded animal, and it was met with a grunt from him.

  She felt his delicious dick sliding in and out of her, hitting her spot, pounding her, and stroking her into a blissful submission. She was backing her ass up on him, which was all she could do to hold on.

  E.P. grabbed both her hips and fucked her like a savage.

  Her head down, eyes closed, Karen could feel her ass cheeks spreading, with his big dick opening her pussy up like a good book. Her knees were shaking, and all she could feel was pleasure overwhelming her.

  Abruptly, he pulled out, stepping back from her and squeezing his dick.

  She turned to see what was going on. With his big dick thrusting in and out of her, she couldn’t even think straight.

  He smirked.

  “Why did you stop?” she asked.

  E.P. took her by her hand and pulled her toward the bedroom. “Let’s continue this inside.”

  Karen followed his lead, anxious to get things under way again. She had been teased and pleased in ways that were most indescribable.

  Both ready to start some fireworks, they pulled their clothes off, leaving a trail all the way to the bed.

  In the bedroom, she lay on her back, her black, wet pussy exposed for him to take again. E.P. climbed on the bed, pushed her legs back, and aimed his hard cock near her entrance and thrust himself inside. He pistoned himself inside of her, missionary-style. Her legs wrapped around his healthy frame, their bodies entwined into one lustful pretzel.

  They were moaning uncontrollably and loudly.

  E.P. flipped her over, grabbed her hips, and started working his dick in and out doggy-style, while she buried her face in the pillow to keep her moans of pleasure from having someone call the police.

  Karen was chanting an erotic mantra. “Ooooh, fuck me! Fuck me! It feels so good! Harder! Deeper! Harder! I love your big dick in me like this. Fuck me! Yes! Yes!”

  With her round ass positioned upward, legs spread, tits plastered against the mattress, and the dick pumping in and out of her, it didn’t take long for E.P.’s hot cum to splash on her back.

  Then they collapsed on the bed, exhausted and drained.

  “I gotta pee,” Karen said, lifting herself from the bed and disappearing around the corner to use the bathroom.

  E.P. lay on his back, feeling satisfied. He shut his eyes, relishing the moment. The sex was good, and Karen was a fantastic woman.

  As he lay naked on his queen-size bed, out of the blue, he thought about Cristal.

  How long had it been since her death? As time went by, E.P. missed her greatly. She had been the only woman that had his complete interest, which was a mystery to him. Sanctioning her murder was one of the hardest things he’d had to do.

  A minute went by, and then five minutes. When ten minutes passed and Karen didn’t come back into the bedroom, E.P. removed himself from the bed, grabbing his .38 that he kept close. Naked and cautious, he walked toward the bathroom, knowing something was wrong. Things felt suddenly still in his penthouse suite. Ten minutes was too long for her to be in the bathroom. He didn’t hear any water running, or any movement in the room.

  He didn’t call out Karen’s name, but he gripped the gun tightly and was ready for the unexpected. He slowly rounded the corner with his arm outstretched and the gun aimed toward the bathroom door. It was shut, its white light tipping out under the door into the hallway.

  Slowly, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, pushing open the bathroom door cautiously and gazing inside. To his surprise, Karen’s naked body was sprawled across the white-tiled floor. Her throat had been slashed, and there was a pool of thick crimson blood beneath her.

  E.P. remained expressionless. Death wasn’t anything new to him. Karen’s murder was more surprising than upsetting. He walked farther into the bathroom, disregarding the body. It was evident he had unwanted company in his home.

  “I guess this makes us even,” a voice chimed from somewhere in the shadows.

  E.P. turned and grinned, knowing the voice. “I guess it does.”

  Tamar loomed from the darkness with a bloody knife in her hand and a cold look about her. Cutting the woman’s throat was easy, like slicing butter with a hot knife.

  “At least I let you finish.”

  “I was looking for a second round with her.”

  “Don’t get greedy.”

  E.P. looked at the bloody knife in her hand. “You bring a knife to a gunfight, I see.”

  “I brought what I needed.”

  He chuckled lightly. How had she gotten into his place, past security in the lobby, and through his security code? He hadn’t even detected her when he’d arrived home. Maybe he was slipping. Or was she that good? Whatever the reason, the Commission had trained her well.

  “And why the reason for this sudden visit?” E.P. asked. “You plan on taking me out too?”

  Tamar stepped closer and fixed her eyes on E.P.’s nakedness. His chiseled body was magnificent from head to toe, eye candy all around. His cool manner in dangerous situations was always appealing to her.

  “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have seen it coming,” she said.

  He smiled. “I see everything coming.”

  E.P. tossed his .38 it to the side, feeling confident he didn’t have a problem with her.

  Tamar didn’t move yet, nor did she toss the knife. She didn’t feel threatened by him at all. In fact, she was truly in love with him. She was there for business, but his nakedness was distracting.

  “I can see something else is on your mind,” E.P. said.

  “Yes, there is. This Melissa Chin,” Tamar spoke evenly.

  “Having trouble with the contract?”

  “No trouble at all. That bitch will be dead by the end of the week. But one thing is bothering me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why didn’t the Commission place a hit on this bitch when her first book dropped? She knows too much about everything, especially the details about my life. And why so little intel on her? She’s a best-selling author. Why is it so hard to locate her? Her business is all over the map.”

  Usually, the Commission always came correct with names, dates, location, and other private information about the people they wanted dead. With Melissa Chin, they only had a name, which they assumed was a pseudonym. With this target, all E.P. gave her was that same name.

  In the beginning, Tamar felt that E.P. was obsessed with murdering Melissa. She wondered why now, after each book dropped, she was the one who felt obsessed to kill the renowned author in a brutal and sadistic way for charting into dangerous territory with her literature.

  “Melissa Chin isn’t her real name,” E.P. said.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “From her picture, we got her prints, and from her prints, we traced her roots back to a small town in Idaho,” E.P. said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “She was a druggie. A problem child with occasional outbursts of rage. Her parents went missing a while back—we presume they’re dead—maybe she had a hand in their disappearance, and since her last book signing, she’s gone missing. She left a note to her fans and friends explaining her sudden absence. We believ
e someone else is pulling the strings.”

  “I figured that too. You know who?”

  “We don’t know yet, but whoever it is, they’re good. They’ve kept themselves hidden. Maybe a ghostwriter. We’ve gotten word that Melissa Chin’s last whereabouts were in Boston. She’s back and forth between there and New York.” E.P. walked into his bedroom all of a sudden.

  Tamar followed.

  He pulled open a dresser drawer and removed some papers and tossed them on the bed for her to see.

  “MasterCard, American Express, Visa, all credit card applications applied for in her name with the same address in Boston,” he said.

  Tamar picked up the paperwork and inspected it. “How stupid can this bitch be?”

  “Very stupid.”

  “I’ll be in Boston the first thing tomorrow morning,” Tamar said. “And I will eradicate the problem and find out who’s the real mastermind behind all of this.”

  E.P. smiled. “That’s why you’re my number-one bitch.”

  “Am I?”

  “No question about it.”

  Tamar wanted to believe him.

  E.P. threw an engaging look her way. His gaze was intense in her direction, quickly making Tamar lose her focus. Now that business was over, he had the urge to play again, and given that Karen was dead on his bathroom floor with her throat cut, he was hoping Tamar would pick up where she’d left off.

  He had always been hard to resist, and Tamar wanted to stay angry with him and leave him completely alone. What they had was a dangerous affair. However, he’d made his intentions clear the last time they saw each other. She wanted to turn from his tempting gaze and walk away, but she didn’t know how to quit him. She wished she could, but everything about E.P. was hypnotizing.

  “Are you in a rush?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer him right away. She wanted to fight the urge to have him. As he stood naked in front of her, his lengthy manhood calling out her name, she averted her look from his. No matter how coldblooded a killer she was, she was still a woman, and her feelings were manifested through her behavior. She continually wanted to prove herself to him.