Murdergram, Part 1

by Nisa Santiago

  Sharon decided to do him one last kindness. She went into the kitchen and cooked him a hearty breakfast—pancakes, eggs and bacon—then walked to serve him breakfast in bed.

  Pike was sleeping on his back butt-naked, dick out and flaccid with no shame in his game. Sharon gazed at him for a short moment and then nudged him awake. Pike opened his eyes to see Sharon standing over him with some hot breakfast in her hand, smoke still steaming from the plate.

  “I made you breakfast,” was all she said to him.

  She set his breakfast on the nightstand near him and quickly left, leaving behind a confused Pike. He was speechless. He removed himself from bed, still naked, and found his place spotless. In fact, he’d never seen his place so clean. He was astonished.

  Pike walked to his bed and stared at the breakfast she made. His stomach was growling. Hungry, he devoured Sharon’s home-cooked meal like a starving slave. He never had any cooking better. But what shocked him more was the note Sharon left behind:

  “Thank you for last night, it was fun!”

  There was a smiley face next to the word “fun,” and her cell phone number.

  Fun? He was befuddled. He had been nothing but rude and mean to her. How could she have had fun and done something totally nice for him? He didn’t understand it.

  Of the dozens of women he’d been with, he never came across a woman like Sharon. She was definitely different in his eyes.

  Pike walked to the window in his living room and gazed outside. It was another beautiful day. He then took a seat on the edge of his bed and read Sharon’s note again, and stared at her cell phone number. He sighed heavily with Sharon on his mind.

  Seven

  Clad in a white terry-cloth robe matching E.P.’s, Cristal sat cross-legged on the large bed eating her breakfast, an egg omelet and crab cakes, two of her favorites. E.P. was posted by the window, talking on his cell phone. It was business. He took a few pulls from his cigarette and then paced around the bedroom. Cristal overheard bits and pieces of his conversation. She really wasn’t paying him any attention. Her focus was on food and BET. He was discussing another multimillion-dollar business merger and something about unions and 401(k)s; it was foreign talk to her.

  A deck of playing cards was scattered on the table nearby; numerous cigarette butts filled the ashtray on the table, along with their food order from a city café and a half-empty bottle of red wine with two empty glasses. Her clothes were on the floor. Cristal was a little more comfortable in E.P.’s presence. It was another glorious morning in his luxurious suite—however, there were more questions for E.P. about some job she had no details or clue about.

  The only thing she knew about this elite position was that it paid well and came with a few perks, including some paid traveling expenses. But this job was more of a mystery than Big Foot. And also, it wasn’t anything sexual.

  Cristal wasn’t concerned about going home anytime soon. She was having a wonderful time experiencing the good life and had not once thought about calling her friends or home. She knew her mom wasn’t missing her; the woman barely knew she existed when she was around. But her friends, Sharon, Mona, Lisa, and Tamar, were a different story. Not a day usually went by without them hearing from each other—or there was some concern.

  Cristal finished off her meal and downed a bottled water. Her pussy was still throbbing from this morning’s early sexual rendezvous. E.P. fucked her six ways from Sunday—position after position; he tore into her good pussy like he was devouring a good meal, and she was sexually drained and satisfied.

  E.P. curtailed his business call. He took a few pulls from the burning cigarette between his fingers and once again focused his attention on Cristal seated on his bed looking like a woman enjoying a slice of Paradise.

  He exhaled some smoke and said to her, “I have another question for you.”

  Cristal fretted a little. More questions. He pretty much had gotten to know everything about her in the past two days—sex, family, friends, et cetera. E.P. didn’t want any secrets kept from him, yet he was the biggest secret of all.

  “Ask away,” she said, coyly.

  “Did you ever get arrested?” he asked.

  Cristal swore he asked this same question before, but in a different form. She answered willingly, like she did with all of his questions.

  “Yeah, for petty shit, though,” she answered.

  “Felonious?”

  Cristal rolled her eyes at E.P.’s use of big words. She got it, he was educated and smart. “Felonious?” she repeated with a puzzled gaze.

  “It means criminal,” he explained dryly. “Any felonies on your record?”

  She smirked. “Nah, not me,” she replied.

  “Were you ever fingerprinted?” he asked.

  “Nope, not really. Each time I was a minor,” she told him.

  “Did you ever learn anything?”

  Cristal felt the question was irrelevant. She blurted out, “That’s a stupid question!”

  Suddenly, E.P.’s mood changed. His monotone voice became gruff and he barked, “What did you learn?!”

  His question made Cristal shift uncomfortably on his bed, unable to take her eyes off of him. She felt a tinge of trepidation.

  “Well, it wasn’t pleasure if that’s what you wanted to know,” she replied with some sarcasm in her response.

  “Wrong response!” E.P.’s voice deepened and he stared intently at Cristal. “One last time. What did you learn?” he demanded.

  “To never get arrested ever again?” she replied with some apprehension.

  E.P. smiled slightly. “Smart girl.”

  She felt relieved that she got something right. “I have my moments.”

  E.P. took one last pull from his cigarette and dowsed it into the ashtray on the table. He went on with his next question. “What would you do for money?”

  “Anything,” Cristal replied honestly.

  E.P. smiled widely. “I knew I saw something in you that I liked.”

  It was good to hear. She exhaled. For some reason, Cristal really wanted to be down with his clique or organization. There was this sense that dealing with E.P. would place her on top of the food chain called life, and she would become someone of importance. The bottom was no longer a place for her.

  Cristal shifted on his bed again. This impromptu interview was becoming tiresome and eccentric. But Cristal stuck with it. “Is there a job interview I have to go to?”

  He grinned. “We just had it.”

  Cristal was befuddled. “Huh? Those questions were my job interview? But how does that make sense?”

  E.P. was ready to make sense of it all to her.

  “You said you know how to cook cocaine, which means you know how to learn and follow directions. Someone had to teach you to cook coke into crack, and obviously you graduated. You also stated that you’re a professional shoplifter. A skill like that means risk-taking and knowing how to be subtle and stealthy. And it also tells me that you’re good at deception. And you have to be good at putting on an act to walk into high-end stores, especially a heavily guarded and secured area where they keep those expensive dresses.”

  He pointed toward her Herve Leger dress on the floor, and continued with, “And steal from under their noses. I’m familiar with that type of dress, and they keep merchandise like that not only with a Sensomatic, but also with a security chain. Am I correct?”

  She nodded. “I boosted the master key to the lockbox in Nordstrom’s. I can unlock all their shit.”

  E.P. was somewhat impressed. But he remained cool.

  “My point exactly. And key or no key, you can’t walk in there looking like a project chick and expect to be in that place for more than a minute without the entire store being on you like white on rice. So again, in order for you to get away with this illicit act, you would have to be good at deception .
. . creating an illusion, a role,” he explained.

  “Is that helpful?”

  “More than you’ll ever know right now,” he said.

  E.P. walked over to where breakfast was displayed on the table. He had ordered the same egg omelet as Cristal, with some fruit and toast. He took a large gulp from his freshly squeezed, overpriced orange juice, before continuing, “And to throw in that you’re a liar, and that you’re also a fighter pulls you into the front of the line. But what makes you stand out in my mind, Cristal, is your skill with handling a razor and your war stories. To me, it shows that you can be heartless and can defend yourself when the time comes. When it comes to confrontation, you can fight with the best of them…your beauty can be crippling to most, but the fire I see in your eyes tells me never to underestimate you. And when you find yourself in a vulnerable situation, your survival skills will kick in and you’ll do anything to win. And we only want winners on our team.”

  Cristal couldn’t take the anticipation any longer. He was talking in code and she was ready to hear the truth about this job she seemed to be interviewing or auditioning for, for the past forty-eight hours.

  Finally, she asked, “I need to know, E.P., what does your organization do? And why do you want me to be a part of it?”

  He gazed at Cristal for a moment, after that he took another gulp of orange juice. After that, he removed a cigarette from the dwindling pack and lit it. He seemed to be taking his time answering Cristal’s question. E.P. took a long drag from the cancer stick, exhaled, then gazed at Cristal like he was about to tell her the meaning of life with his voice cavalier. “Murder. We do murder.”

  Eight

  Sharon was floating on cloud nine when she walked out of her project building on Vermont Street. She couldn’t stop thinking about Pike for some reason. Despite being treated rudely by him, she still liked him and wanted to see him again. What was it about the bad boys that attracted good woman like herself to them? It was the age-old question. Leaving her cell phone number on the nightstand, hoping he would call—she didn’t see it as desperation, but an invitation into her life. He was going to call; she felt that she’d left a good impression on him. She could only be herself and she wasn’t changing for anybody.

  With the sun shining brightly and the weather feeling like the Bahamas, Sharon decided to walk to meet with her friends in the park near the projects on Linden Boulevard. She passed Smokey and his crazy crew loitering and rolling dice on Cozine Avenue, and saw New York’s Finest jacking up a few brothers with police harassment on Flatlands Avenue. It was another typical summer day in the hood.

  Looking comfortable in her white shorts and white Nikes, and sporting a Beyoncé Live in Concert T-shirt, Sharon felt different. She strutted across the football field toward the playground and handball courts where her friends lingered on the rotten wood benches on the regular, smoking cigarettes, eyeing the shirtless cuties on the basketball courts nearby and talking shit to each other. Tamar was the one holding court near the playground—the loudest one in the bunch, telling her friends some crazy story about some nigga she fucked with like she usually did.

  Mona was boldly rolling up a blunt in public, knowing police had a routine of patrolling the area either by foot or squad car. She didn’t care. Her weed was always more important than worrying about being arrested. And Lisa was her casual self like normal. The stigma of the bloodshed that happened a few days ago because of Tank still lingered in the park like a bad taste. The ball players that were brutally murdered in the park, blood still stained the concrete courts. Some felt unsafe in the Brooklyn park.

  Despite what happened there—shootings, police harassment, fights and murders, it didn’t deter the girls from hanging out there and having a good time. It was summer, and there weren’t many places for them to hang out. The park was one of their favorite spots where they were known.

  Sharon walked toward her crew with a smile more gigantic than the Titanic. She was weird like that with the persona of trying to always be optimistic—and though the other night with Pike didn’t go too well, she always kept a positive attitude about things.

  “So this bitch-ass nigga gonna come up to me like he some pimp, wit’ his run-down, Harriet Tubman lookin’ boots and gumbo haircut and gonna try an’ play me and have the audacity to disrespect me,” Sharon heard Tamar say to Lisa and Mona from a distance. “So I slapped the nigga like the bitch he was . . . damn sure did, slapped the dog breath outta that nigga’s mouth.”

  “Damn Tamar, you hit him like that?” Lisa asked.

  “Fuck yeah, I ain’t scared of no nigga, and I dared the nigga to put his hands on me. I got niggas that will fuck him up,” Tamar exclaimed.

  Sharon looked around and noticed there was one missing, Cristal. She walked into the middle of Tamar telling her crazy story. Tamar had everyone laughing. The girls greeted each other with love, always excited to see each other.

  “Where’s Cristal?” Sharon asked.

  “We haven’t seen her since we left the party. She’s probably still with E.P. gettin’ her brains fucked out, cuz I know E.P. is slingin’ some good-ass dick inside of her,” Mona said lightheartedly.

  The girls laughed.

  “He is one fine-ass muthafucka, I would love to be a squirrel so I could climb that tree, ya feel me?” Tamar shouted humorously.

  “Girl, you and me both,” Mona agreed. “Lisa, you shoulda came, E.P.’s party was off the fuckin’ hook.”

  “I cosign on that,” replied Sharon.

  “Damn, it’s been two days too, the bitch better come back pregnant by the nigga, so the bitch can eat and live,” Tamar said uncouthly.

  “Tamar, you too much,” said Lisa.

  “I’m just sayin’…fuckin’ wit’ a nigga like E.P. is an opportunity of a lifetime. And if I was Cristal, hells yeah I would be tryin’ to take advantage of the situation and get paid! I would have a nigga pop a baby in me…child support!” Tamar stated excitedly.

  “And yeah, you ain’t too worried about getting an STD, huh,” Sharon chided.

  Mona and Lisa laughed.

  “Whatever bitch!” Tamar spat, flipping her friend the middle finger.

  “Tamar, you know I just care about y’all,” Sharon replied.

  “Anyway, what’s the dirt on you and Pike? Damn, that nigga was on you like Ike on Tina,” Tamar laughed. “I know you went back to his apartment after the party and spread your legs like wings to a 747. Shit, you talkin’ about STDs, I hope you ain’t fuck that nigga raw,” said Tamar.

  “We didn’t fuck,” she revealed.

  “What? You were at Pike’s place and y’all ain’t do shit! I don’t believe you. Pike had you alone in his dungeon and he ain’t show you the dragon?” Tamar continued.

  “Dragon, cute,” Sharon replied lightheartedly.

  “He was really feelin’ you, Sharon,” said Mona.

  “He came on to me—showed me his dick and everything. But I didn’t want to fuck him, not that night anyway. I want it to be special between him and me,” Sharon said.

  “Special?” the girls laughed.

  “Bitch, you stupid. I heard Pike got a mean sex game and that dick is good, and you turned that down. Shit, you tryin’ to marry the nigga?” Tamar hollered.

  “Damn, Sharon, you fucked that up,” Mona chided.

  “Yes, she did,” Tamar agreed.

  “If Sharon wanted her night to be special, then I commend her for that. Pike’s a dog anyway, ain’t no telling what type of diseases that nigga has,” Lisa said.

  “That is why they have condoms for sale,” Tamar countered.

  “Y’all crazy,” Sharon said.

  “No, you crazy…out here lookin’ for love instead of some good dick. Pike ain’t the loving type of nigga, Sharon.”

  “He damn sure ain’t,” Mona cosigned on that, and slapping Tamar a high-five
.

  “See me, I’m the type of bitch that need some of that good dick in her life, cuz you know if Pike was comin’ on to me like that, I woulda fucked his brains out and got me some money for it. True indeed,” Tamar proclaimed proudly. “Cuz I gots to get me some good sex and have some paper in my pockets.”

  “Okay!” Mona shouted with accord to Tamar’s speech.

  “Well anyway, we got into it because I wouldn’t give him any ass, and he threatened to kick me out at four in the morning,” Sharon revealed.

  “What? I told you he was a jerk,” Tamar uttered.

  “Oh, but you was just ready to fuck him a moment ago,” Lisa scolded.

  “We ain’t all the Virgin Mary like you, bitch,” Tamar countered.

  Mona laughed.

  Sharon wanted to finish telling her story.

  “I didn’t leave, though. I told him about himself, said he was a selfish, self-centered asshole that was going to grow old and die alone, and that I was the realest bitch he was going to ever know,” Sharon proclaimed.

  “And he let you stay after that?”

  “He told me I could sleep on the couch but I had to leave early in the morning.”

  “How charitable of him,” said Tamar.

  “So what he do? Got up and kicked ya ass out early in the morning?” Mona asked.

  Sharon decided to tell them everything that happened, even if they were going to judge and clown her for it.

  “Not exactly,” she started. “I couldn’t sleep, so I cleaned up his apartment and cooked him breakfast before I left.”

  “What?!” the girls exclaimed simultaneously, not believing what they just heard.

  “Sharon, I know you ain’t just cleaned this nigga’s place and cooked this nigga a good meal after he disrespected you like that. Are you stupid?” Tamar spat.

  “It was a mess, and I figured he would be hungry.”

  “See, that’s what the fuck is wrong wit’ you. You too damn dumb!”