Killer Dolls, Part 3

by Nisa Santiago

  AZ was escorted in handcuffs out of his million-dollar home and shoved into the backseat of the police car, with his neighbors watching it all from a short distance. AZ shook his head as he slumped in his seat. He knew he’d fucked up.

  Twelve

  The following morning AZ was arraigned in a Maryland court for domestic abuse, battery, and resisting arrest. His $500-an-hour criminal attorney Robert Goldstein was right by his side handling his case. AZ was ready to fight this case and return home to his family, but with his wife being an assistant state’s attorney, things were looking bleak for him. He stood in front of the judge looking cool and collected, while his attorney did all of the talking.

  The prosecutor, Mandy Luigi, a fiery redhead with an intolerant attitude, wanted to throw the book at AZ. Wendy was a friend of hers, and she was pushing for AZ to never see the light of day. Mandy asked Wendy if she wanted to get a restraining order against her husband, but Wendy refused to do so. The prosecutor was shocked. Yes, AZ was her husband, but her face was a mess.

  AZ’s lawyer told the judge, “Your Honor, I request my client be released on his own recognizance. He’s a highly respected businessman, a family man, and this is an unfortunate incident that took place. It was an argument with his wife, and things simply got out of hand.”

  Mandy Luigi shot back, “Simply out of hand? The defendant nearly beat his wife to death, Your Honor, and I request he be remanded without bail.” She glared at AZ like he was scum.

  “This is a domestic abuse case where the defendant has no prior incidents,” the judge said to the prosecutor. “This isn’t a capital murder case. I’m setting bail at twenty-five thousand.”

  “My client would like to post bail immediately, Your Honor,” Robert Goldstein said.

  The judge nodded.

  And just like that, AZ was out of jail. He thanked his lawyer and shook his hand. He was ready to return home, see his kids, and hate his wife. The case wasn’t a concern to him. Knowing his lawyer, he would either get it dismissed or have it dropped down to a simple misdemeanor. AZ was sure there would be no jail time, especially when Wendy was not pressing charges or testifying against him.

  Wendy felt guilty. The way AZ had almost beat the life out of her made her think she was the only one in the marriage cheating. She regretted calling the cops. Now her peers were in her business, and gossip about her marriage started floating around. Wendy had always been a private woman and known to be a hard ass in the courtroom. This domestic violence incident made her look weak. Her face was bruised and swollen, her marriage was in shambles, and her private life was put on display.

  *

  AZ arrived home in a cab late that afternoon to an empty house. The kids were gone, and Wendy was nowhere around. He was angry and bitter toward her. He went into the bedroom and looked around. The hole in the wall looked crazy, and there were specks of his wife’s blood on the carpet and on the wall.

  AZ went into his closet. He needed to change clothes. He didn’t plan on staying home for long. He needed to go out and get his mind right. He wanted to stay away from Wendy. He marched back and forth in his bedroom getting himself ready. He showered and shaved.

  As he stood near his bedroom window buttoning his shirt, something caught his peripheral vision. AZ couldn’t believe his eyes. It was someone from his past. It was Aoki, or it looked like her. She was supposed to be dead. He swiveled his head toward the window to get a better look, and from a distance, she seemed to be gazing up at him with a deadpan stare.

  He took off running out the bedroom, hurried down the stairs, and shot out the front door like a bullet searching for that bitch. But there was no one. His front yard was empty. Was he seeing things? But Aoki looked so real outside his window. It looked like she had been watching him intently. But she was dead, wasn’t she? Oscar had assured him of that.

  He composed himself and decided that it was all in his head. He turned and walked toward the front door. Just as he was about to step into his home, Wendy’s car pulled up into the driveway. AZ frowned. Before she could step out of her ride, he went back into the house and slammed the door behind him. He trekked up the stairs and went into the bedroom, where he continued to get dressed.

  Wendy walked into the bedroom looking nervous. Her face was a wreck, but her eyes still looked strong and unwavering. She’d cheated, yes, but what he did to her was unforgettable. “We need to talk,” she said civilly.

  AZ frowned and acted like she wasn’t there. He gave her the silent treatment while getting dressed. The only question he had for her was, Who was the nigga on the phone? He threw on the last touches to his wardrobe and walked by her like she was invisible.

  When he left, she marched behind him, demanding he stop and talk. He got into his truck, started the ignition, and drove away from her in a rush, leaving her pouting on her front steps, her arms crossed over her chest.

  Away from his wife and the house, AZ decided to call Heavy Pop and give him the 411 on what had happened. Since Wendy refused to give up her lover, AZ was determined to find him. He had plenty of resources and was hell-bent on using every last one of them to find the culprit.

  “This clown-ass nigga is fuckin’ my wife, and I want him dead,” AZ proclaimed to Heavy Pop.

  “I’ll be down there first thing tomorrow, and we gonna handle this nigga,” Heavy Pop said. “You know his name?”

  “Nah, I don’t, but I already said too much over the phone. When we meet in person, we’ll talk.”

  “No doubt.”

  AZ hung up. He was sure Heavy was coming down. They were brothers, and if he had problems, then Heavy Pop had problems, and vice versa. Together, they’d been through thick and thin, to hell and back, and there was no problem they didn’t handle together.

  AZ navigated his Benz truck to the nearest bar in town, a place called Brick Top, twenty minutes from D.C. Inside, he took a seat at the bar and ordered Hennessy and then stared up at the mounted TV with the night’s game about to start. There were a lot of basketball fans in the place to watch the Wizards play the Celtics.

  AZ didn’t care for the Wizards or the Celtics. He downed his Hennessy quickly and signaled the bartender for another one. He threw that back quickly too. He released a deep sigh and took in his surroundings. Here, he was just another face mixed in with the growing evening crowd. No one knew he was a drug dealer, gay, or a man with marital problems. He was just a man sitting at the bar with his drink.

  He loved Wendy. He didn’t share what was his. To him, it was about control. Another man coming into his family was intolerable. He thought about his sons. He trusted no nigga, and his wife creeping around was a serious problem. There was no telling who the man was and what his agenda was. He could be using Wendy to get to him. AZ was desperate to know the dude’s name and his whereabouts to get ahead of the problem before it got ahead of him.

  During the madness of cheering and shouting of basketball fans, AZ heard his cell phone ringing. Baron was calling him. It was perfect timing. He took the call into the bathroom to hear him better. AZ was excited to hear his voice. Baron had some free time and wanted to see him tonight. He was willing to meet AZ at a motel in an hour. AZ didn’t hesitate. He was ready to release himself, and his handsome white boy was the perfect remedy.

  AZ walked back into the bar to find the place silent, with fans and patrons shaking their heads. The Wizards had lost by two points. AZ, however, planned on winning by any means necessary—in court, on the streets, and with his love life.

  Thirteen

  Cristal collected her three-dollar tip from the cluttered table and stuffed the cash into her apron. She collected the dirty dishes and sent them packing to the young Latino busboy that always had a smile on his face and a nice word to say. Three weeks into her new job, she was adjusting just fine. Her boss and coworkers were friendly, and the customers were polite and generous. Waitressing at a small di
ner in Idaho Falls, Idaho wasn’t a strenuous job like she thought it would be. The same customers came in every day to order their usual, and she refilled cups of coffee, smiled regularly, and kept conversation with everyone at a minimum.

  Idaho Falls was the epitome of a growing small Midwest town. With a population of 58,000, it had the perfect conditions for Cristal to blend in. It wasn’t too big of a metropolis where there was a lot happening, and it wasn’t so small that she stood out like a sore thumb; it was just right. Crime was low there, and so was the cost of living. And almost everything was closed on Sundays.

  The diner she worked in was a quaint place, the prototypical rail car diner with good ol’-fashioned-style food, near the historic downtown, where Yellowstone Avenue had lots of eateries, wineries, shops, and art centers popping up.

  *

  The day Cristal arrived, she walked into the diner for some coffee and a sandwich. At the time, the place was sparse with customers during the late-morning hour. She sat at the countertop looking unassuming. She was famished after a long trip from Washington.

  She quietly watched the cook prepare her sandwich as it grew on the plate and sipped on her hot coffee. She had noticed the “help wanted” sign placed on the window. Becoming a waitress was a different job to her, but she was a different person.

  Cristal had now changed her name to Julie Norman. Julie Norman was from Detroit, and her reason for moving to Idaho was love. She’d followed her boyfriend to the place with the hope of getting married, having a family, and starting over someplace new and away from Detroit. She was happy and in love, but her boyfriend suddenly had a change of heart. He left her a week after they’d moved to the town and took everything she owned. Now a broken-hearted Julie was stuck in a different city far away from home, with no money or a place to stay. It would be the story she told people if they asked what brought her to Idaho.

  Cristal ate her meal slowly and lingered inside. She managed to strike up a conversation with the owner and told him her sob story. He was a white male, average height, clean-shaven, and well-spoken. Being a Christian and a church deacon, he wanted to help her out. He asked if she had any experience in waitressing, and she told him no. He decided to try her out anyway. Then he told her that her meal was on the house and gave her fifty dollars for a cheap motel room. She was to start early the next morning.

  The people in Idaho Falls were nice and caring. Their lives were typical: work Monday through Friday, recreational events on Saturday, and church on Sunday. They looked out for each other, and some folks had known each other all their lives. The only downfall to the city was that it also attracted tourists who visited the nearby Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. The last thing Cristal—or Julie—wanted was to run into a familiar face. But the odds of that happening were slim.

  The diner owner and church deacon, Mark Morrow, helped Cristal get a small room with a thin window near his church place for cheap. She had to share a bathroom in the hallway, but it was cool. The place couldn’t get any more inconspicuous and modest than that.

  *

  Her shift was almost over, and her day’s total in tips was thirty-eight dollars. She took a seat at the countertop and rested her feet. It was slow, and they were closing in another hour. Hector was finishing up a customer’s order, a simple cheeseburger and fries, and Mark was mopping the kitchen floor. Though he was the owner of the diner, he worked like he was an employee, and Cristal respected that.

  Sheriff Harrison waltzed into the diner. Sheriff Harrison stood six one, had been sheriff for four years, and was a young, slim white man with a narrow face, a dark goatee, and piercing blue eyes. He threw his authority around like someone shoveling snow after a blizzard. His uniform was meticulous from head to toe, and for some reason, he took an interest in Cristal, or Julie as he knew her by. From day one, he’d been subtly interrogating her like she was a terrorist.

  Cristal frowned at his presence.

  “Hey, Mark,” Sheriff Harrison said. “Things good tonight?”

  Mark smiled and nodded, waving a quick hello before going back to mopping the kitchen floor.

  Sheriff Harrison then shot his sharp eyes at Cristal and said, “Coffee. Black. You know how I like it.”

  Cristal removed herself from the stool to pour his coffee. She set the cup on the countertop in front of him and walked away.

  Sheriff Harrison’s eyes lingered on her as he took a few sips. “So, Julie, what part of Detroit are you from again?” he asked impulsively.

  It’d been three weeks of this shit—his random questions and lingering stares. She considered him to be a racist cop.

  “I’m from Greektown,” she replied casually.

  “Greektown, huh? Sounds like an ironic place for Detroit.”

  “It’s home.”

  “Lots of coloreds in Greektown?”

  The word coloreds coming out of his mouth made her skin crawl. She thought he was a bigot stuck in the fifties and sixties. She was surprised he didn’t walk around with a swinging noose in his hand.

  “It’s Detroit, home of Motown,” she replied sarcastically.

  “Yeah, that boy Berry Gordy—that’s his name, right?—definitely made a lot of money off of colored talent.” He smiled.

  Cristal sighed and shook her head, knowing this man wouldn’t last one minute in Brooklyn, or anywhere else on the East Coast. The wolves would have definitely torn him apart for his racist attitude. She stood in front of him with a straight face and asked, “Is coffee all you want?”

  “Yes.”

  She placed his two-dollar check on the counter and walked away.

  He took a few more sips and then decided to ask, “This boyfriend of yours, why did he leave you stuck here in the first place?”

  “Because he’s an asshole.”

  “What was his name again?”

  “Is that really relevant, Sheriff? I’m trying to forget the past.”

  “I guess not. I’m just making conversation with you.”

  Keep cool, she thought.

  Mark looked at Julie and knew she was upset. It was obvious to him that Sheriff Harrison had become the local bully to one of his waitresses. Mark couldn’t understand why. Julie was a sweet girl and becoming one of his best workers. Hector saw the upset look on his coworker’s face too. He’d been living there for three years now, and the sheriff had never come at him with questions like that.

  “Hey, Sheriff, we’re about to close soon. Do you want anything from the grill before Hector shuts it down?” Mark asked, interrupting the harassment.

  “No, I’m okay. I’m not hungry tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  The sheriff stood up and reached into his pocket to pay for the coffee, but Mark quickly shrugged him off. “No, Sheriff. It’s on the house.”

  “It’s a wonder how you stay in business when you keep giving out free meals, Mark.”

  Mark smiled. “The Good Lord keeps me in business.”

  “Amen to that.” The sheriff spun toward the exit and marched out.

  Cristal exhaled with relief. The farther away he was, the better. She managed to say, “What’s his problem?”

  Mark answered, “He’s just a young and lonely man, that’s all. That badge is the only thing he has in his life.”

  “He needs a girlfriend,” she said respectfully in front of Mark. What she really wanted to say was, “He needs to find some business and stay the fuck out of mine,” but Mark ran a clean and decent diner and didn’t like cursing in his establishment.

  “I guess so. That and Jesus.”

  Cristal smiled. She respected Mark a lot. In a way, he reminded her of Daniel. They both were kind, smart, and always knew the right thing to say. Damn, she missed Daniel.

  Mark went back to cleaning the kitchen and prepping for closing. Things were normal again. Every night things we
re quiet and normal. Idaho Falls was Mayberry for Cristal.

  She grabbed her coat and got ready to leave.

  *

  Sheriff Harrison sat in his police car near the diner with a direct view of Julie moving around inside. He pressed a small pair of binoculars to his eyes to capture her face in closer distance and watched her readying to leave work. His view stayed glued to everything she was doing inside. He was intrigued and wanted to know everything about her. Where did she come from? What did she like to do? What were her likes and dislikes?

  He went into the diner almost every day and asked her questions because he had a huge crush on her. She was black and pretty, which was uncommon in a place like Idaho Falls. But he wasn’t a ladies’ man and didn’t know the first thing about talking to a beautiful woman. He’d spent his life alone, in a small town. He would get nervous around Julie, and so he did what he was known to do best—ask questions roughly and looking like he was interrogating her, when he simply wanted to know more about her.

  Sheriff Harrison wasn’t a racist, though he came across as one. He didn’t know anything about Julie’s past, or black people. And he didn’t know how to go about asking her out. His parents were racists and hated what the blacks were doing to their country: taking good jobs meant for whites; thrusting themselves into leadership positions; fueling terrorism; and tearing America apart with crime, disease, poverty, and ignorance. To them, President Barack Obama was a Muslim terrorist who was ruining the lives of good Christian white folks in America.

  Harrison had been fed this ideology since he was a little boy. His parents made sure that their beliefs were his too, but he saw himself as different. He started to despise their values, and felt himself becoming more intrigued by black people and their culture. In his eyes, they were creative and talented. But part of his parents’ negative lingo stuck with him. It’s what he was used to hearing in his household.