Aoki took a deep breath and went for her escape out the rear door. She burst into the alleyway preparing to lunge herself into firefight with maybe one, or several gunmen, but there was nothing. She heard the police sirens blaring in the distance. She hurried away from her favorite restaurant with deep regret.
As Aoki had predicted, she’d gone from being the hunter to the hunted. She assumed it was Cristal. It had to be that bitch. Cristal had gone invisible for weeks, and her return cost Ms. Louise—someone Aoki considered a friend—her life.
It was now cat-and-mouse between the two killers. And Aoki refused to be the mouse.
Thirty-Two
Wendy walked into her home with her two sons and looked around. She exhaled with gladness. It felt wonderful to be home again. The place was just how she left it. Her last memory there was AZ attacking her, belittling her, and threatening her life. Now he was dead. She was ecstatic. She’d smiled when she heard the news, but she pretended to be distraught around her coworkers. She had long ago activated a multi-million dollar life insurance policy on him, and being his wife, she was the beneficiary of all of his properties and investments.
Wendy had fallen out of love with AZ a long time ago. She’d only stuck around and stayed married to him for her and the kids’ convenience. He was rich. He spoiled her. He took care of her kids, the children she knowingly had with different men. She loved nice things. The idea of being married to a wealthy businessman sat well with her, and it was a good look around the other ladies and her peers. She sat perched on her pedestal, looking down at the others. She was able to brag about her husband, show off her perfect family, and throw lavish get-togethers at her beautiful home.
When AZ had kicked her out of her own home, she and the kids moved in with her sister. Wendy had to tell a lie about her fight with AZ, and why she had to leave her home. She dared not tell anyone AZ wasn’t the boys’ father, that she was ghetto whore with a law degree. How would it look? They would criticize and judge her. She had to carry herself a certain way. She had to look and remain posh and have the best, drive the best, and be with the best. But inside, she was slumming, and had fallen in love with a gangster named Justice. Now he was dead. Did AZ kill him or have him killed? She would never know.
The coroner’s office in New York City wanted Wendy to come and identify her husband’s body, but she refused. It was too long a trip, and she had work to do. It left the coroner puzzled. Wendy pretended to be too distraught to travel anywhere. Instead, she sent one of her friends to identify his body, not wanting anything to do with AZ. He was gone, and she needed to move on with her life.
Wendy walked around the mini-mansion with a trash bag and, without the slightest hesitation, tossed away all items that belonged to AZ. There would be no reminders of him around her home. She walked into the bedroom, pulled open the doors to the walk-in closet, and threw every piece of his clothing into the trash bag. She would either sell them cheaply or give them away. She stood in the center of her bedroom, spread out her arms and shouted, “I’s free at last, thank God Almighty, I is free at last.”
She smiled and twirled around happily in the bedroom. For a widow, anyone watching would be scratching their heads and puzzled by her action. But Wendy was in the privacy of her home. She had no need to be concerned about prying eyes or intruders.
She plopped down on her bed and looked around. She had to admit, the memories with AZ weren’t all bad. At times, he could be very playful and romantic. They sometimes did have good sex, but she could count those occasions on both hands.
For a moment, Wendy sat in the bedroom thinking. Is it true what they’re saying about my husband? Was he this big-time drug dealer in New York? Was he this violent kingpin? She found it hard to believe. AZ seemed meek and clichéd. He was a smart and wealthy businessman, not this violent drug dealer. Could this come back to haunt me? She was married to the man, but she didn’t know about his hidden life. He had kept it a secret from her, just like he tried to hide his homosexuality.
She shook off the fear of her husband’s past and sighed. It was time to start over. It was time to have her fun, inherit her husband’s businesses, collect on his insurance policy, and continue to advance her career by prosecuting the guilty.
*
It didn’t take long for Wendy to bring a handsome thug into the bedroom she once shared with AZ. Sean was a six-two thug from Baltimore’s East Side and nothing but muscles and a big dick. His tattooed, chocolate-covered skin and his long, stylish cornrows made her pussy throb.
Sean pounded his thick, fat, hard dick inside of the assistant state’s attorney like it was his God-given right. He wanted to make her feel every inch, and his strokes were on point and fierce. Doggy-style sex made Wendy have multiple orgasms, leaving her breathless. She couldn’t get enough of him. He was the total opposite of her late husband in that he allowed her to come several times before he even got his first nut. And when he did, he couldn’t help himself. He tore off the condom and spurt his come all over her back.
She exhaled in his arms as they lay nestled in the bed. Her body felt content. She had the weekend to spend with Sean. The kids were with her sister, and work at her office had been put on hold until Monday morning. The only thing Wendy wanted to do was have sex with Sean inside her house. It was only Friday night, day one of their two-day weekend.
If only AZ could see the way Sean violated her body on the bed he bought. The nigga had spread his man juice all over the sheets and all over her—and once inside of her. She couldn’t resist. The dick felt so good in her, she allowed him to come in her.
*
Wendy repeatedly called the insurance company to check up on her husband’s multi-million-dollar policy. It had almost been a month since his death, and she hadn’t received one red cent. She wanted to know what the holdup was. She had already liquidated all of AZ’s assets, netting over three million dollars, and then she started to examine his paperwork. Shockingly, his paperwork was leading to an investigation not just from the IRS, but the feds too.
*
It was two months after her husband’s death, and Wendy’s life was good. Her sex life was even better. Sean was the truth. Why was she so attracted to that type of flavor? Shit, if she’d known about AZ’s pedigree, she might not have strayed. Come to find out, her deceased husband was the biggest thug of them all.
She sat behind her large polished oak desk mulling over the extensive paperwork in a double homicide in Park Heights. The office was buzzing. Monday morning was always busiest, with people back and forth from court, clerks filing paperwork, and phones ringing off the hook. She skimmed through a few depositions from some key witnesses in her criminal case. Her glass doors were closed, and she was focused. Until she looked up and saw the commotion near the elevators.
She narrowed her eyes and could see several men marching her way. They wore flight jackets with FBI embroidered in the back in big yellow letters.
FBI? Her worrying eyes fixated on their approach, she stood up, befuddled by their presence.
They marched into her office forcefully and shoved some papers in her face and exclaimed, “Wendy Manson, you’re under arrest for conspiracy and racketeering.”
“This has got to be some kind of mistake!” she cried out.
One agent removed his handcuffs and took a strong hold of her wrist. Everyone in the office was watching the display, and the gossip started to flow.
“I’m an assistant state’s attorney for Baltimore!” she shouted. “I did nothing wrong! This must be some kind of mistake!”
They handcuffed her and marched her out of her office like a regular perp.
Wendy lowered her head, her eyes glued to the floor, as two agents escorted her toward the elevator and out of the building. She could feel everyone’s eyes watching her. She was embarrassed. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and fought hard to keep from crying.
Once outside of the building, it became an even bigger spectacle. Cameras flashed repeatedly, and reporters thrust microphones in her face and spewed out question after question. An assistant state’s attorney, married to one of the biggest drug dealers in New York and arrested for conspiracy and racketeering was front page news and the night’s banner.
Cameras continued to flash as she was shoved into the backseat of an unmarked car. Reporters swamped the car, but Wendy kept her head low and avoided eye contact with everyone.
This was it. She was ruined. Her arrest would soon go national and viral. Wendy couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Once the car started to drive away, she burst into tears and cried out hysterically.
Her marriage to AZ had come back to haunt her.
Thirty--Three
On the twentieth day on The Farm, the young recruits learned about computers—various software, hardware, spyware, encryption, and viruses. They were expected to pass numerous psychometric, psychoanalytical, polygraph, and aptitude tests. The rigorous instructors on The Farm taught the candidates the skill of espionage, covert operation protocols, and intelligence gathering techniques. The candidates were trained thoroughly in surveillance exercises; it was the perfect boot camp for assassins. Aoki graduated top of her class.
*
Aoki put her skills in surveillance and computers to good use. She had gone underground; retreated to someplace far from the city to regroup. Ms. Louise’s death had done something to her. She couldn’t fight the guilt and regret. Although Aoki hadn’t known her for that long, Ms. Louise was like a mother to her. There was an attachment and chemistry between them. The woman wanted better for Aoki, and she actually believed in her. To see her gunned down like that was jarring, but Aoki had shed her tears and continued to stay focused and alert.
Ten weeks turned into four months, which meant her deadline had completely expired. But she was still determined to execute the contract, no matter what. It was about pride.
It was mid-March, and the winter weather had started to thaw in certain areas. Where Aoki hid out, the snow and ice still covered many areas, and the trees remained barren. Alone with some much-needed solitude in the icy hills of northern Canada, she did some investigating. Through an experienced hacker friend she knew from The Farm, she was able to hack into sensitive files from The Commission. She was able to obtain covert information from their servers and transmit it to a thumb drive on a brand-new laptop, clear of any incriminating data.
Surprisingly, Oscar’s name came up in their files. Why was he in their files? Reading through the documents, she learned that Oscar was once on The Commission’s hit list, and was supposed to be assassinated years ago. Once a name was on The Commission’s list, it was never removed until that target was dead. Yet this Mexican drug lord still remained breathing. Why so? They had lied to her. This man had almost killed her. He’d left her for dead.
Aoki continued to read on until it all started to go black. A virus was disrupting the documents, and at the same time revealing her location to them. They’d employed a backdoor Trojan virus to her setup, trying to identify the malicious program that’d given her remote access. They had no idea it was she who’d had hacked into their files, she assumed. She’d left no trace for them to finger her for any betrayal.
Aoki was simply being curious. She had done so much for The Commission and was one of their top assassins. But there was no telling who The Commission would send to the mountains to investigate the hack. She hurriedly packed her things and fled the area. She had what she needed.
*
Aoki still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as she entered East River Park in Manhattan. The park was a 57-acre public location on the Lower East Side, with wide views of Manhattan, Williamsburg, Brooklyn Bridge, the East River, and Brooklyn. With it being mid-March, the weather was still fierce in New York and biting like a rabid dog. She walked toward the promenade huddled in a black parka, a Glock 19 hidden on her. From her position she had a sweeping view of everyone, and she stayed clear of any open areas.
Soon Muriel strutted her way dressed in a mid-length Burberry trench coat and leather gloves. Muriel already seemed upset and standoffish about something.
Aoki didn’t want to waste any time. She looked at Muriel and asked, “What make Oscar still breathe when him been targeted years ago by De Commission?”
“He is none of your business. You should have stayed in your place.”
“Bullshit! Him tried to kill me ah few years ago,” Aoki reminded her.
“I already know the details,” she replied nonchalantly.
“Me want him.”
“Little girl, you had one job to do, but yet that bitch is still alive,” Muriel replied gruffly.
“Her very evasive.”
“And you’re supposed to be one of our best, but yet you have failed us.”
“Me gon’ bring her down. Me promise yuh dat.”
“It’s too late for that. You’re dismissed from this assignment. We’ll find someone more suitable for the job.”
“Me suitable. Fuck you and fuck De Commission. Me don’t give up!”
“You’re just a stupid little bitch.”
Aoki scowled at Muriel. She wanted desperately to slit her throat and spray her blood on the concrete. “Fuck you, bitch! You don’t do dis to me!”
Muriel looked at her like she was second-rate. She stared at Aoki intently, cutting her eyes into the young girl’s soul. She reached out and placed her leather-gloved hand on the side of her face, almost motherly like. She flashed a quick smile and then abruptly grabbed the back of Aoki’s long hair tightly, yanking her neck back.
Aoki swiftly felt the cold steel blade against her throat. She squirmed in her grasp, but she was defenseless.
Muriel placed her lips closer to Aoki’s right ear and uttered her reality. “You raw, little whore. I keep you around because I might want to fuck you one day. But don’t test me. Don’t test The Commission. You’re good, but you’re still our pawn. Remember that. We move you where we want to move you. And if you ever talk to me like that again, I will personally make sure you don’t see your twenty-fifth birthday.” She released her grip from Aoki’s hair and took the blade away from her throat.
Aoki massaged her neck and continued to frown. Muriel had made her point loud and clear.
Muriel pivoted away from Aoki and marched out of the park, leaving Aoki with a bitter grudge.
*
Aoki went back to her Manhattan apartment and did some counter-surveillance of her own. Someone was still following her. She felt them. She put eyes everywhere and rigged her apartment and the hallway and the outside of her building.
It took her only three days to find the culprit that had been stalking her from a distance. Shockingly, it was Rihanna. Crazy Ri-Ri. Only, crazy Ri-Ri wasn’t really crazy at all. Or, she suddenly had regained her sanity. The entire time Ri-Ri was in the loony house, she sat stewing. She had grown a hard-on for Aoki. She strongly felt that if it had not been for Aoki, then her sister Tisa and her mother Gena would still be alive. Aoki stupidly had confessed everything to her during her visits, and Ri-Ri deduced all that confessing was for Aoki to clear her conscience. Aoki assumed Ri-Ri’s mind had been completely gone. Both were wrong. It was hard for Aoki to swallow that her friend Ri-Ri might come against her. But why not? Everyone else was turning against her. She had no more friends, and her past was trying to come back to kill her.
It was late evening when Aoki walked into her apartment and flipped on the lights. Her place was still and undisturbed. For a moment, she lingered in the foyer and looked around. Her “spidey-senses” were going off. Though everything looked normal and in place, something was definitely off, and she knew exactly what it was.
She walked into the living room, and at once her intruder emerged from a room and trained a gun a
t her. Aoki turned carefully around to face her. She kept her cool and locked eyes with Rihanna.
“You killed my sister,” Ri-Ri uttered with contempt.
“Tisa, she was a snitch.”
“You destroy my family, Aoki. Why?”
“Me did what me had to do to survive.”
Ri-Ri had tears trickling from her eyes as she glared at Aoki and held the gun to her head. “I trusted you, Aoki. I sat there in that fuckin’ place listening to your confessions, and hurting. You know what you did to me?”
“Yuh need to calm down, Ri-Ri,” Aoki said calmly.
“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to calm down!”
“How did yuh leave dat place?”
“I had to perform a few sexual favors on some staff.”
Not surprising. They were bred to do what they had to do to survive and to get their way. Ri-Ri was determined to find Aoki and avenge Tisa’s death.
Ri-Ri felt she had the drop on Aoki, but Aoki wasn’t nervous at all. There was no way Ri-Ri could match her. Her skills were far superior. Ri-Ri had no idea what treacherous ground she had stepped on. But because she was a friend, or used to be, Aoki decided to give her a chance to save herself.
“Leave now, Ri-Ri, and me will forget all dis.”
“You were my friend, you bitch!”
Aoki stared into her eyes, and she could see the tenacity. There was no way Ri-Ri was going to leave without seeing bloodshed. Too bad it would be her own. Though Ri-Ri had killed before, back then they were complete amateurs to the game. Ri-Ri wasn’t ready for what happened next.
Aoki read her signals and continued to remain cool. It was about timing. It was about body language, and the advantage would belong to Aoki.
Like a sudden flash of light, Aoki moved from out the line of fire.
The gun went off—Bak! But Ri-Ri missed.
Aoki tossed a blunt object at Rihanna’s head, and it struck her. She winced from the pain, her forehead bleeding. For a split second she was blinded by pain. It only took a split second for Aoki to have the upper hand. She lunged at Rihanna with several punches to her head, causing her to wobble and then a fist thrust into her chest, and Rihanna found herself on the floor in pain and unarmed. The gun had slid across the room. Aoki stood over her friend now with a dagger in her grip.
Killer Dolls, Part 3 Page 19
