Murdergram, Part 1

by Nisa Santiago

  “Let me just put it in you real quick and feel that pussy raw. I’m good, baby,” Hugo tried to persuade. “I want you so bad.”

  He wanted to fuck either way.

  Cristal looked in his eyes, and for some reason, she trusted him. Why, she didn’t have a decisive answer. She was just in the mood to feel some mind-blowing sex right now. She bit down on her bottom lip and said to herself, Fuck it!

  Hugo grabbed his dick and lined it up with her sweet hole. He slowly thrust himself inside of her. He could feel the muscles of her pussy walls grabbing him before the head was even inside. Hugo held her hips and pushed upwards into her, hearing Cristal cry out from the thick penetration between her soft and delicate lips. Once he was completely inside of her, he pumped his engorged cock in and out of her wet, hot pussy. Cristal straddled him and rode his dick slowly in his pricey car. He stroked and thrust every sole inch of his hard meat inside her.

  He fucked her harder.

  She moaned louder.

  Cristal’s full ass wiggled and bounced up and down on him. He palmed her ass and sucked on her nipples. He could feel the cum in his nuts brewing, and as much as he wanted to cum inside of her, he couldn’t, not too soon anyway.

  “I’m coming!” Hugo cried out, feeling the intensity brewing inside the hot and steamy Bentley as the sounds of wet sex filled the car.

  She was going wild, chanting and moaning and begging for more. And when he couldn’t hold back any longer, Hugo pulled out of her and shot his cum all over her and himself, rubbing his rock hard penis against her shaved pubic hairs and feeling complete bliss. His dick glistened with her juices and Cristal kissed him all over.

  It was good and she wanted more of him.

  The two collected themselves afterwards and continued conversing in the night. Cristal saw something in him that she definitely wanted to continue.

  He came, he saw, and he conquered.

  Twenty-Five

  Once again Cristal and her crew met on the project rooftop in the middle of the night to discuss a few critical things. They talked about their future with the Commission. She updated them about E.P. coming to see her and the things he said. She didn’t want to keep her girls in the dark. But Tamar seemed to have a minor problem with it. She twisted the corners of her mouth into a frown.

  “So he just came to see you in the night like that, and y’all just had a good ol’ social gathering, huh?” Tamar remarked with some sarcasm.

  “Why is that an issue with you, Tamar?” Cristal shot back.

  “It’s not.”

  “Then don’t let it be,” Cristal warned lightly. Her eyes displayed authority among her crew.

  Tamar continued to frown, her and Cristal exchanging unpleasant stares.

  “Who left you in charge?”

  “Do I really need to answer that?” Cristal retorted.

  Mona was left standing in the middle and feeling the tension between her two friends. Mona thought about what Sharon had said to her. They had all changed. And with Lisa being absent, they were all jealous of her being the lone wolf, because she hadn’t returned to Brooklyn.

  “Since E.P. came to see you, did he give you a reason why we had to kill Pike?” Mona asked.

  “We didn’t kill Pike. Tamar and I did, so cut the bullshit guilt trip.”

  “Ain’t nobody tryna to put you on a fuckin’ guilt trip. I just wanted to know why is all.”

  “He was only a test, to see if we could pull it off.”

  “A test?!” Mona cried.

  “Yes, a test, Mona. This is how these people get down. Taking a human life means nothing to them, it’s murder for hire, and that’s the damn life we chose,” Cristal exclaimed. “Now we either can deal with it or not, but we can’t get emotional over every fuckin’ hit, because if we fuck up, then we gonna be the ones with the contract out on us. Do y’all fuckin’ understand?”

  Cristal’s outburst was heard clearly, leaving Tamar and Mona speechless.

  “Now, we need a name to call ourselves and a signature calling card.”

  “Why? What the fuck good is that?” Tamar argued.

  “Why,” Cristal said, rolling her eyes. “Because I said that’s what we need to do, and it will be good for business. There’s already this bitch in our camp, and she’s competition. She’s already moving up quickly in the organization.”

  “Who is she?” Tamar asked.

  “We need to be worried about who we are—our damn reputation! If y’all wanna keep going unnoticed while there’s no telling what this bitch and her crew are making, then we ain’t gonna make real paper.”

  “What kind of name?” Mona asked.

  “I don’t know, something like the Cristal Clique,” said Cristal.

  “The Cristal Clique? Are you fuckin’ serious?” Tamar protested.

  “Y’all have any better suggestions?”

  “What are we, killers or a bunch of R&B bitches on a fuckin’ pop tour?” Tamar griped.

  “What do this other bitch go by?” Mona asked.

  “Something called the ‘Killer Dolls.’”

  “Sounds like a bad B-rated horror movie to me,” Tamar said.

  “We could be the Gucci Girls,” Mona mentioned.

  “What the fuck, we the Kardashians all of a sudden? What kind of fear will that put in our enemies?” Cristal said.

  “And the Cristal Clique is a better name?” Tamar exclaimed. “Hell no, that ain’t right. How we gonna be named after only you?!”

  “Not me, you ass!” Cristal retorted. “After the champagne.”

  “And who’s gonna think that? No one, because you spell it the same way.”

  “And how is that my fault? The name is classy and it represents what we do, get money. Cristal Champagne is the best, as are we,” Cristal proclaimed.

  Tamar and Mona were still against it, no matter how much Cristal justified the meaning. But Cristal was adamant about keeping the group’s name the Cristal Clique. Without her, they wouldn’t be where they were today. And they owed her a lot. She was the Head Bitch in Charge, and no one was going to tell her any different.

  The girls continued with their meeting on the rooftop and it was made clear what they had to do next: become the best at their job! There was a feeling that there was nothing else for them to do—having regular jobs was out of question because they were now under the Commission’s thumb. They were willing to make a name for themselves and become rich women. Cristal was a big influence on them, and with E.P. in her corner, she felt they would become unstoppable. She wanted to rival the Killer Dolls and match them kill for kill, national or international.

  She yearned to be internationally known.

  The first thing Cristal did when she was back in her apartment was Google daggers and murder to get a better understanding of their work done so far. She found some international murders of high-ranking officials that were brutally killed with a dagger, and she knew it was her—the nameless girl, the killer doll.

  The next several days, Cristal took to conditioning her body and her mind, honing her skills in killing techniques she’d learned on the Farm, especially with a chrome-plated razor blade that she wanted to become exceptional with. She mastered concealing the razor inside of her mouth, hiding it under her tongue while still being able to carry on a conversation without someone noticing it. It was a dangerous thing to do, but Cristal mastered the skill.

  It was important for her to stand out. She also needed a calling card after each of her victims was killed. It had to be something that suited her perfectly. It came to her one day while she was shuffling a deck of cards and came across the Queen of Spades. She researched the meaning behind the card and saw that it was a short story by Alexander Pushkin about human avarice. The Queen of Spades also represented that she was at the top of her game, right underneath the King—the head
of her clique—and the Spades represented her black heart.

  Cristal was ready to display her bloodthirsty skill, cause serious fear among her victims and get paid handsomely for her services. Now the only thing she needed was another murdergram from the Commission.

  ...

  The second murdergram came a week after their rooftop meeting. It arrived the same way as before, in a manila folder placed strategically on her bed when she arrived home one late night. The messenger was once again undetected, and the target this time was Daniel Davidson, a thirty-eight-year-old Caucasian male from the city who was soon to marry his fiancé of five years, Leslie. The wedding was in forty-eight hours, and the Commission wanted him dead within forty-eight hours.

  Why the Commission wanted him dead wasn’t any of her concern. She had a job to do, and she was ready to carry it out.

  Cristal was well prepared this time. She wasn’t about to fail the organization. Forty-eight hours wasn’t a long time. She didn’t have ample time to stake out the target. She figured the best way to strike was at his wedding. It was risky, but it was the only way.

  ...

  The Midtown Loft and Terrace was an elegant place for a huge wedding for the CEO of MRC cooperation—Miller, Reye & Comer—a vast hedge-fund firm in downtown Manhattan that had made 11.5 billion for its investors last year. Daniel Davidson was becoming the world’s most successful hedge-fund manager. His wedding was nothing less than extraordinary. The lavish location by the water accommodated over two hundred for a seated dinner. There was little need for decoration with the natural ambience and brand-new SoHo lounge-style décor. The venue brought the most unique vendors of flowers, music, and décor, as well as photographers and AV equipment. An exclusive red carpet made guests feel like celebrities when they arrived at the wedding.

  Their target, Daniel, was handsomely clad in a three-button notch-lapel tuxedo; his groomsmen were drinking and laughing by his side. He was now a happily married man. His bride, Leslie, looked marvelous in her flowing wedding dress—a gorgeous sweetheart neckline gown. She danced with her bridesmaids on the dance floor. The smile plastered across her face indicated that she was the happiest woman on earth. She was now Mrs. Davidson, the wife of a fine-looking millionaire and the perfect guy with his tan skin, lean stature, and blond hair. It was her day, the perfect day, and there was nothing that could ruin it for her, or them. They seemed blissful together—their holy matrimony sealed forever.

  The bride didn’t count on Cristal observing the happily married couple from a distance. It was going to be a shame that she had to transform this blissful day into their worst nightmare. There was no emotion coming from Cristal; it was nothing personal, only business.

  Cristal disguised herself as one of the well-dressed staff serving the wedding crowd. She blended in perfectly with the employees, moving about the jovial Jewish crowd in a white buttoned shirt, white gloves, black bowtie, and black slacks. Her dark hair was in a long ponytail, and the fraudulent smile she wore while serving a silver platter of hors d’oeuvres gave her a low profile. No one noticed that she was a threat to the groom.

  The hired band playing was lively. Their guitars, drums, piano and the lead singer moved the revelers like in a nightclub. The 1994 hit “Hold My Hand” by Hootie & The Blowfish blared throughout the venue. The guests were so caught up in having such a good time and celebrating Daniel and Leslie’s new marriage that the food and drinks being served and eaten were unwatched.

  Cristal saw her opportunity to strike. She carried a fatal dose of cyanide, 300 milligrams concealed on her person. She planned on blending the fatal dose in the groom’s drink. His glass of champagne was left unattended as he danced with his lovely bride on the floor. All eyes were on the bride and the groom as the couple found they were out of step with the music, but they didn’t care. It was their day. Their love.

  Cristal watched and waited patiently like a snake lurking in the high grass for its prey to devour. She had to be aware of her surroundings and be precise when she made her move. This wasn’t like gunning down Pike on the Harlem Street and making it look gang-related. This target was a completely different ballgame, and one slip could cost her dearly.

  Tamar and Mona weren’t truly needed for this hit. They couldn’t look too obvious in a sea of mostly white faces at a high-end event in midtown Manhattan. So they waited for Cristal to execute the contract from afar. They would be her backup and her getaway.

  Tamar felt a twinge of jealousy when Cristal volunteered herself to pull off the job. They were a team, but it felt like Cristal wanted to get all the recognition and accolades for the job. Tamar didn’t like how it played itself out. Cristal took charge because she was connected with E.P., but Tamar felt she was just as highly skilled and deadly as anyone. And she wanted to prove herself too. Why should Cristal have all the fun, including fucking E.P. and having better perks?

  When the moment presented itself, with most of the wedding guests dancing to “It’s Electric,” Cristal removed the fatal dose of cyanide from her person with the tray of food still in her hand and maneuvered toward the bride and groom’s table. She craftily poured the 300 milligrams into the groom’s drink, mixing the untraceable, deadly toxins into his glass. She went unseen. Now it was show time.

  She slipped away into the crowd to continue with her serving job. She smiled at the groom’s mother in her long gown and offered the bright-faced woman a drink. The mother happily accepted.

  To spite the bitch, Cristal went out of her way to say, “Your son looks happy with his new bride. I’m sure they’re going to have a long life together.”

  “Thank you,” the mother replied.

  Cristal floated away from her, smirking. She yearned to see the nightmare begin. A true assassin didn’t leave until they were confident their target was dead. And it was going to be a pleasure to see her work carried out in front of everyone.

  After the song, the father of the bride walked onto the elevated platform with the band to make his special announcement. He quickly drew everyone’s attention as the music stopped playing and with him having everyone’s undivided attention. Cristal stood off to the side with the other servants in the back and watched.

  “Hello, everyone,” the father of the bride started with his jovial smile and holding champagne in his hand. “I want to thank everyone for coming out on this celebrated day. And I also want to thank you, Daniel, for taking my daughter off my hands. My credit cards needed the rest.”

  Everyone laughed at the joke.

  “Daddy,” the bride uttered with a smile.

  “Hey, sweet cake, I know you’re in good hands now,” he said.

  “She is, Mr. Abrahamson,” the groom said, holding the tainted glass of champagne in his hand.

  The man continued his hearty speech while Cristal kept her eyes on the groom. The minor distractions kept him from downing the drink. The bride’s father was holding court on the stage talking about love and longevity and how he was happy to gain a son-in-law like Daniel. He praised the man and was extremely happy for his daughter’s happiness.

  When the speech was over, Mr. Abrahamson raised his glass in the air and said with glee in his voice, “I wish you all the best and excessive happiness and many, many grandkids, maybe not the Brady Bunch, but maybe something close. To the bride and groom.”

  “To the bride and groom,” the wedding crowd repeated with their glasses of bubbly raised in the air, and then everyone downed their drink.

  Cristal watched the groom down the champagne, inhaling the lethal concoction while standing next to his beautiful bride. He kissed her deeply and smiled. “I love you, Leslie,” he announced wholeheartedly.

  The chemical was commonly produced in a salt form and tasted and smelled like bitter almonds. The groom had no idea he had just digested the poison into his system. Everything was fine so far. It wasn’t going to take long before the cyanide t
ook aggressive action in his system. It didn’t take long for it to be immediately present in the blood going to the brain and everywhere else in the body. Cyanide reaching the brain causes it to cease functioning virtually, instantaneously.

  Once ingested, the cyanide could kill someone in five minutes.

  One minute had passed.

  Cristal noticed the sudden change of expression in the groom’s face. His good-humored appearance quickly transformed into panic as the chemical, once absorbed, slowed down his respiration system. His breathing seemed sparse. He started to sweat profusely. He quickly undid his bowtie to breathe better. He clutched his throat, triggering a worried reaction from his bride.

  “Baby, are you okay?” she asked with grave concern.

  Suddenly, the groom couldn’t speak. His sudden illness caught the attention of the best-man and a few others. Daniel wobbled toward the table, trying to keep his balance. All of a sudden it was hard for him to stand on his own two feet as nausea set in. He used the table to support himself. His mother came rushing over.

  “Daniel, are you okay? Sweetie, talk to your mother. What is wrong with you? Tell us something, please,” she exclaimed with frightened uneasiness.

  He started to vomit; this was followed by a seizure, confusion, and lack of consciousness. The celebrated wedding moment turned into pure panic. Daniel passed out and collapsed in front of his bride, and there was a collective screaming and concern. Everyone rushed to the groom’s aid.

  “Somebody call 911!” the bride screamed.

  A doctor tried to perform CPR, but the attempt to help him would be futile, because Daniel was already dead.

  Cristal remained unemotional. With the satisfaction of fulfilling the contract given to her, while the place was erupting into chaos, she placed the tray of hors d’oeuvres onto the table next to her and tossed her signature card, the Queen of Spades, onto the floor next to the dead groom.