Killer Dolls, Part 3

by Nisa Santiago

  “It’s the same client, Oscar. They just increased their order.”

  “I see. And this client, they’re from California, an organization called Blaque, if I’m not mistaken, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they go from two hundred kilos to five hundred kilos?”

  “Yes.”

  “You see my problem, AZ, is the sudden increase in your order. It raises some suspicion. As your people say, it raises some red flags.”

  “You can trust me, Oscar.”

  “I never trust anyone, and though I respect your loyalty and admire your ambition, trust is a fragile thing. But this organization from California, Blaque, it makes me wonder how loyal they are to you. And it makes me wonder about their ambition.”

  “Oscar, I told you before that I vetted them.”

  “Yes, you have told me that. But you see, now I need to vet him and his organization and the information you have given me doesn’t check out. I need the contact number he has given you so I can vet this John from Blaque. One of my concerns is an organization growing stronger and starting their own manufacturing operation.”

  “I understand.”

  “And due to unfortunate circumstances with me at war with another cartel, I need to have eyes everywhere, and I need to know who’s buying what and where. And though you work for my organization indirectly, you are still an employee to me, AZ.”

  AZ didn’t want to say his real name, but what choice did he have? Oscar wasn’t going to let him leave until he knew who was in charge of the Blaque organization that wanted to purchase five hundred kilos of his cocaine. Oscar was waiting for a name. He stared intently at AZ. His blood-covered smock was an intimidation.

  “Well, John G., I think, is his government name,” AZ uttered, still lying. “But the streets know him as Mateo.”

  “Mateo,” Oscar repeated. “Mateo is the one you’re supplying?”

  “Yes, Oscar.”

  Oscar was immediately upset. “And you trust that fool? His reputation is trash in this business. And how is he able to suddenly afford such large quantities?”

  “I told you, Oscar, I vetted him.”

  “He can’t be trusted. You, my friend, have allowed greed to cloud your judgment.”

  “Business has been good so far, Oscar. Everything is running like clockwork.”

  Oscar’s look toward AZ was threatening. He stepped closer to AZ. “I don’t trust him. You shouldn’t have either. Mateo’s a snake, most likely working with federal agents.”

  “Moving that much weight, Oscar, it’s unlikely. I mean, he’s a hustler like us. He made some mistakes, but he bounced back and got his weight up. He’s cool peoples. I know. I vouch for him.”

  Oscar still didn’t look convinced. “I once warned you, AZ, to never bite off more than you can chew. Your jaws are fat and protruding, my friend, and you’re not able to swallow, meaning, you’ll soon choke to death if you don’t spit some food out. Mateo is poison. I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him.”

  “You can trust me, Oscar. This deal won’t come back on you. I promise you that. I’m loyal to you to the end.”

  Oscar continued to stare intently at AZ. There was no telling what he was thinking. The man was stoic, and his henchmen were close. One snap of his fingers, and AZ wouldn’t leave the building alive.

  “You know why I wanted you to come alone this time?” Oscar asked.

  “Why?”

  “Because you put too much trust into your friends.”

  “You mean, Heavy Pop?”

  “There’s an old saying that goes, never let your left hand know what the right hand is doing. And I wanted to see if you would listen to my instructions. You came alone as I told you to this place where many men weren’t able to walk out alive, as you can see.” Oscar gestured to the blood on his smock.

  “I see.”

  “I will put together this order for you for one reason, AZ, for you to understand that you never bite the hand that feeds you.”

  AZ nodded.

  “Come. I need to show you something,” Oscar turned around and walked toward the room that he’d come out of earlier.

  AZ followed the kingpin. Though he had relaxed a little, his heart was still beating a hundred and fifty miles per second. He was out of hot water, but the fire was still close.

  Oscar turned the knob and pushed the door open. He allowed AZ to step into the dim room first. It smelled of blood and mold, and there was the naked man he had caught a glimpse of earlier. He was bound to a steel chair, his head slumped toward his chest, his body limp in the chair. AZ didn’t know if he was still alive. It was hard to tell. His body had been mutilated something terrible. There was blood everywhere, and his fingers, ears, and testicles were displayed on the cold, concrete floor. The spectacle could’ve made anyone throw up. Bit by bit, they were tearing him apart with an assortment of medieval tools. It was a ghastly sight.

  “Fuck!” AZ uttered.

  “I guess you’re wondering why I am showing you him. His name is Denardo, and he was once a general in my organization. He was like a brother to me, but I didn’t trust him. He was good for my business. He was a feared man in my country, and I needed him. But he got too greedy and became power-hungry, and decided to betray me to my enemies, so he could take over my position. Denardo wanted to bite the hand that was feeding him. I took care of him, and I made him a god in our country with money, power, pussy, and respect, and yet he turned on me.”

  AZ noticed that the man was still breathing after everything they’d done to him. He was a tough muthafucka. There was a fourth man in the room that was tall and dark. He was shirtless, his upper body swathed with tattoos, and he too wore rubber gloves and was covered in the man’s blood. His eyes were icy, and he gave AZ the chills. The way this man looked at him, AZ felt like he wanted to kill him too.

  “In our line work, you can never put too much trust in one man, or into one organization. If you do, then it will lead to your downfall.”

  Oscar stretched out his hand, and the tall, chilling stranger placed a Glock 17 into his palm. Then he casually walked toward the tortured soul and stared at him. The inevitable was about to happen. Oscar placed the barrel of the gun to the man’s temple, and he didn’t even hesitate.

  Boom!

  Denardo’s brains were blown out, and his blood and flesh scattered everywhere. His tormented frame finally collapsed.

  Oscar didn’t cringe. Murder was something he was used to. His eyes stayed fixed on his gruesome work for a brief moment.

  Oscar turned to face AZ. “So, seeing this, AZ, it’s a warning. Don’t fuck me, because when I fuck you, it will be very painful.”

  AZ couldn’t do anything but nod his head in understanding.

  “Mateo is your problem to deal with. I don’t trust him. But if he fucks you, you better not fuck me.”

  AZ knew what he was talking about—snitching wasn’t an option for him. “I won’t.”

  Twenty-Three

  Mateo climbed out of his precious Bentley Muslanne with his cell phone to his ear and walked toward the boardwalk at Far Rockaway Beach. It was a nippy and brutal day, cold like a nun’s tits, and the wind blowing at twenty-five miles per hour. The beach and the boardwalk were unoccupied because of the December cold.

  Mateo smiled as he walked onto the lengthy boardwalk and replied, “Yeah, that’s good to know. I’m ready for that shipment. I’m a hustler, baby. Let’s get this money.”

  He hung up and continued to smile. Dressed in an expensive black parka, renowned as the warmest coat on earth, and his Timberlands, Mateo was snug from the cold and nasty wind.

  He approached a man standing alone on the boardwalk. This man was gazing at the ocean and was dressed warmly himself, sporting a long trench coat and a wool hat. He stood with his hands in his pocket, his attention f
ixed on the waves as they crashed against the shore. He turned to see Mateo coming his way.

  “You white boys and y’all cold weather,” Mateo said. “We couldn’t meet someplace warmer than out here? My face feels like it’s about to numb up. Shit, give me the Caribbean, a strong cocktail, and some pussy in a skimpy bikini any day over this shit here.”

  The man didn’t care about Mateo’s griping. He was there for one purpose only. He looked at Mateo with icy blue eyes. “You have something for me?”

  “Yeah, I got something for you. I always have something for you. When don’t I have something for you?”

  “When do you meet directly with Oscar?”

  “I’m working on that.”

  “Work faster!”

  “AZ trusts me,” Mateo said. “He just got my five hundred kilos approved. Now it’s just a matter of time before Oscar wants to meet me.”

  The man nodded.

  “Right after I meet with Oscar, y’all gonna pull me out?” Mateo asked.

  “When the time comes,” the man said. “And not before you and Oscar are on first-name basis. Don’t forget this whole sting is about catching the big fish. Years back the feds thought they had him, but he wiggled out from under their grasp and made them look like incompetent assholes. That won’t happen to us. All the red tape the DEA had to go through to approve all that cash for these clandestine drugs deals—Where do you think those millions are coming from? A lot of good programs have to suffer so that we can finally shut down a notorious drug cartel.”

  “All the DEA did was recycle confiscated drug money. You actin’ like that money was pulled from public school meal programs or some noble shit like that. Red tape, my ass.”

  “Look, do your job and stop being a wise ass!”

  “I am doing my job—I handed AZ and Heavy Pop to you on a platter.”

  “We want more. Oscar is a career-changing arrest, and all those involved with taking him down will benefit.”

  “Look, don’t whine to me about upgraded careers when I’m putting my life on the line every day. It was a risk asking for five hundred kilos. You know how fucked-up shit is today. No distributor is going that hard. What if Oscar gets suspicious?”

  “You do what we tell you to do.”

  “And I don’t mind doing it, but c’mon, we pushing our luck with these large quantities of cocaine shipments.”

  “It’ll all be over soon . . . one way or another.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Agent Taylor was DEA, and he was hungry to make a name for himself. He was one of two men that Mateo would report to.

  The DEA had had their eyes on AZ and Heavy Pop for a while, and for years the two men had been cautious and smart. It was a risk thrusting Mateo back into the drug game, knowing his reputation was compromised among numerous organizations in the streets after he was busted a few years earlier. The DEA had to come up with a plan to plant him back into the drug game as a mole. So they fabricated a few documents, erased what was needed, and relied upon the cooperation of other snitches and paid informants to cement Mateo’s newfound reputation and explain his absence.

  Unbeknownst to AZ and Heavy Pop, Mateo’s high-priced Bentley had been wired for sound and video. They’d also installed sophisticated surveillance into the box trucks and cargo vans that transported the drugs from AZ. The DEA had loads of footage of AZ and Heavy Pop, and the drugs stored at the DEA headquarters. They could arrest both men for drug conspiracy and indict them on so many charges they would both get life sentences. But Mateo’s assignment was to get AZ and Heavy Pop talking about Oscar, and to try and have them set up a meet. They figured if Mateo became a major buyer from the duo, then it would grasp Oscar’s attention.

  Plan B was to arrest AZ and Heavy Pop, slap them with the RICO act, and have them turn against Oscar. If they were smart men, they would take the deal. The DEA had the two men right where they wanted them—dead to rights.

  “Until next time,” Agent Taylor said.

  Mateo climbed back into his Bentley and lingered behind the wheel for a moment. He liked AZ and Heavy Pop, but he had no choice. The DEA had him boxed into a corner, and if he didn’t cooperate, then he was looking at two life sentences. The deal his lawyer drew up guaranteed that he wouldn’t do more than ten years in protective custody. When he got out, he could still have a good life. Mateo didn’t want to die in prison. He was too handsome to rot away in jail, and he had his kids to think about. It was either them or him, and it wasn’t about to be him.

  Twenty-Four

  The Commission was a billion-dollar organization with clout worldwide. There was nowhere they couldn’t go and nothing they couldn’t do. Their agenda was to take the ghetto kids, the menaces to society, the unknown and the deeply troubled and transform them from degenerate human beings to trained killers. The Commission molded many young, skilled killers who had nothing to lose and sent them out globally, giving dozens of wayward souls a fresh start at an innovative and diverse life. Nothing like they ever experienced.

  No one had any idea who started the Commission, but they were a board of powerful men shaping the world with the assassination of politicians, drug lords, tyrants, millionaires, and warlords. No one was safe from its reach. So it bothered them that there was a rogue assassin, one of their own who had been defying the odds and had cheated death for so long. With the Commission having a reputation to uphold, Cristal needed to die. Aoki was on the hunt, but if they had to, they were ready to send reinforcements.

  *

  Cristal sat in the warm, soothing tub with her eyes closed and just thinking about her life. Near her reach on the tiled floor was a fully loaded 9mm pistol with the safety off. The split seconds it took to take a weapon off safety could mean the difference between life and death.

  The bathroom was silent, but her heart was heavy. How long would she be in New Orleans? Why did she come here? Where would she go next? Maybe she would go abroad and start her life somewhere far away from America. She thought about Australia, China, and Europe, where maybe she could settle in a small northern Italian town surrounded by rolling hills and green pastures and live a life of anonymity.

  But it meant leaving Daniel. Hadn’t she already left him, though? Why try to hold on to something that was almost impossible to have? If only she could take him with her. How good would that be to once again join the man she had fallen in love with, be able to hold him and kiss him, and to hold hands and walk somewhere peacefully. To laugh and converse, and to make love to him again. Oh, she missed making love so much.

  Cristal hadn’t had sex in months. It’d been so long, she almost forgot what it felt like to have a man inside of her. She used to love having sex.

  Sitting in the tub, soaking her flesh, her body started to ache for it. She positioned herself inside the tub, spreading her legs wider, and then placed her hand between her thighs and slipped two of her fingers in her vagina. She started to finger herself in a repeated pattern, closing her eyes and moaning from her own pleasurable touch. She toyed with her clit, thumbing it gently, and cupped her breast. It was the best she could do for now. There was no denying it, she was in heat—hornier than a teenage boy.

  After ten minutes of pleasuring herself, she removed herself from the bathtub and toweled off. She couldn’t come. She’d tried, but it was a daunting task. She was used to having dick in her life.

  Stepping out of the bathroom, she removed the towel, opened the blinds, and stood naked in the window with the lights on. Why was she doing this? She had no idea. Maybe it was exhilarating teasing some unknown stranger out there who could be watching her from a distance and jerking off to her enticing body. For several minutes she stood naked in the window. It was insane for a marked woman. So why was she doing something so stupid? In Idaho she did everything simple and didn’t take any risks in exposing herself. But in New Orleans, she became bored a
nd needed something to do. So she decided to take a chance and do something she hadn’t done in a while, which was go out to a nightclub.

  *

  Wearing a sexy curve-hugging dress with a deep V front and stilettos, Cristal looked truly amazing when she walked into the jazz club. Her place of choice was the Balcony Music Club between Bourbon Street and Frenchman. It was a groovy atmospheric club that offered live performances from famous and up-and-coming musicians. The special thing about New Orleans, especially the French Quarter, was that it was always alive and vibrant with music. Cristal simply wanted to escape and switch things up.

  Cristal had a lot of eyes glued on her when she entered and walked to the bar. She ordered a Shirley Temple, a non-alcoholic mixed drink traditionally made with ginger ale, a splash of grenadine, and garnished with a maraschino cherry. Drinking alcohol and becoming intoxicated was a chance she couldn’t take, since she needed to stay focused and alert.

  Several men approached her and asked for a dance, but she turned them down. None of them was her type, and she was only there to enjoy the show and take in some good music.

  But there was one stranger in the jazz club who caught her eye. He was tall and dark with a thick goatee and haunting gray eyes. He was dressed in a gray suit that highlighted his muscular physique. He was a spectator in the crowd as the band on stage played phenomenal jazz. The guitars were strumming excitedly, and the horns were entertaining the crowd. The revelers threw back beers and liquor, and the atmosphere erupted in cheers and loudness. All that was heard was music and joyous shouting.

  Cristal stood by the bar watching everything and everyone. She took in the scenery like a hawk and read the individuals close to her. Nothing or no one seemed to be a threat to her. But she had come with protection—knives in her clutch and a small Derringer fastened to her inner thigh under the red dress she wore. She ordered another Shirley Temple and happened to lock eyes with the tall stranger across the room. He smiled her way, but she didn’t smile back.