Murdergram, Part 2

by Nisa Santiago

  The first question would be, “Was the shooting justifiable?”

  The on-scene investigation included all aspects of a serious crime scene investigation, as well as additional videotaping of the scene and the onlookers.

  The lieutenants and captain came out to inspect the scene themselves, talk to Sharon, and come up with their own conclusion.

  The media didn’t delay in covering the deadly shooting. The police commissioner came also. It became a circus, and Sharon felt like the clown, the center of attention.

  With all the pandemonium happening around her, her cell phone rang. The number on the caller ID was unfamiliar to her. She didn’t want to answer at the moment with so much going on around her, but she did anyway.

  The voice on the other end was a surprise. “I heard you’ve been looking for me,” it said. It was Tamar.

  Now she calls, Sharon thought.

  ...

  It had been almost two weeks since Sharon’s involvement in the deadly shooting. Many proclaimed her a hero for saving a three-year-old’s life. The incident made the front page of every newspaper in the city with her picture posted. But while some praised her, there were others criticizing her, only seeing another young black male shot dead by a gung-ho police officer, despite the fact that weeks earlier, the man, with a violent rap sheet as long as his arm, had brutally beat an elderly woman and put her in the hospital.

  There was a lot of red tape involved, and Sharon only wanted to do her job. Now, she had her own story to tell and was worried about repercussions for trying to do her job. The force placed her on light duty until the investigation came to a conclusion.

  Sharon climbed out of her Fiat and gazed at Lindenwood Diner on Linden Boulevard. The place looked retro, but it had some of the best food around. It was early afternoon, and the diner was semi-crowded with a lunch crowd. The parking lot was filling up with cars fast. Sharon walked toward the restaurant dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, her gun and badge concealed.

  Inside the somewhat known diner, the atmosphere was nice, not overcrowded, with soft lighting at the tables and a good wine list, as well as fantastic food and service.

  Sharon looked around and spotted Tamar already seated at a booth near the rear. She’d come like Sharon had asked. There was no smile, only concerns and questions for Tamar. The closer Sharon approached, the more she took in Tamar’s upgraded appearance. Her legs were crossed, with the right leg wagging over the other, like she was edgy about something. Sharon noticed her jewelry—diamond earrings drooping from her ears, with a diamond bracelet and necklace to match. Tamar’s striking beauty caught the attention of a few men nearby.

  Tamar’s attention was on the newspaper in front of her, a section open with the headline about Sharon. Tamar already had her drink beside her, hot coffee. She hadn’t ordered yet. Tamar lifted her eyes from the newspaper and stared at Sharon. She didn’t smile either.

  “It’s been a long time, Sharon,” Tamar said.

  “I know.”

  Sharon slid into the booth and sat opposite her. They had grown up together, but today, they felt like strangers as they sat uncomfortably. They had both changed. It showed right away.

  Sharon was an honest cop, dedicated and committed to making a change in her community, while Tamar had become darker than her usual self, and cold, developing into a megalomaniac.

  “I see you’re famous,” Tamar said. She motioned with her index finger toward Sharon’s picture in the newspaper, tapping her manicured fingernail on her black-and-white photo. “How does it feel to become a killer?”

  Sharon took offense. “That’s not funny, Tamar,” she said. “That’s someone’s life gone.”

  “For good reason, I assumed. You’re a hero in everyone’s eyes. You should celebrate.”

  “I was only doing my job.”

  “Still goody two-shoes and lame like always.”

  “And what have you become?”

  “Me? Better.” Tamar smirked. “But how did it feel when you took that man’s life?” Tamar was like a journalist, eager to know the details, desperate to creep inside Sharon’s head and test her character.

  Tamar always wondered if Sharon had gone with them that day to Long Island, stepped into the church with them, if the Farm would have changed her too. She had refused, assumed the opportunity bogus, and had also found love with Pike. Tamar always danced around the “what if” with Sharon. Would she have survived the process?

  “I think about it every day and night since it happened,” Sharon said about the shooting.

  “I bet you do.”

  Tamar looked at Sharon with little admiration. Cop or not, Sharon was beneath her now. She was someone subpar, not to be taken seriously, and she’d been trying to belittle her since the moment she’d sat down across from her.

  Sharon knew Tamar was into something illegal. The fancy wardrobe, the jewelry, and in the parking lot of the diner, she noticed a black BMW 650i parked. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the car belonged to Tamar, especially with BMW keys on the table next to her. Sharon speculated that whatever Tamar was into, Cristal was into the same thing. The both of them were two peas in a pod, and it was probably the reason Cristal was murdered.

  “Do you miss them?” Sharon asked.

  “Who? Cristal and Mona? Yes. Every single day I think about them and wish it was different.”

  “Different?” Sharon raised her eyebrow. “Different how?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t, Tamar. Please elaborate for me. What got Cristal killed?”

  “Her foolishness,” Tamar answered straightforwardly.

  “And Mona?”

  “I’m sorry about what happened to Mona. When I heard about both their deaths, it fucked me up for a long time. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat.”

  Tamar feigned sympathy for her two friends, but Sharon wasn’t buying it. Tamar knew more about their murders than she was telling. The look in her eyes was very unsettling. Sharon just couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “What got her killed?” Sharon asked again.

  “Sharon, you always been a smart girl. Think. Cristal was into all kinds of shit, and loving those type of niggas—drug dealers and bad boys.”

  “And you weren’t, Tamar?”

  “Yes, I was, but you knew she had it bad. Her last boyfriend, Hugo, he was a train wreck waiting to happen. It was drug-related. From what I heard, they found cocaine all over that apartment. She had changed, Sharon. In fact, I’m shocked Cristal allowed her grandmother’s apartment to turn into a drug den and get all those people murdered.”

  Sharon was shocked that Tamar was throwing Cristal under the bus so easily. They all had their flaws growing up, and none of them were angels. In reality, all her friends had done things to survive the streets and put food on the table. But she couldn’t believe Cristal would jeopardize her grandmother Hattie’s safety and that of her other family members so foolishly. She was smarter than that. Cristal loved her family, especially her grandmother. And why was Tamar suddenly speaking so disdainfully about her best friend? It all didn’t add up.

  “Hello, ladies. How are y’all today? I’m Cynthia. Can I take your drink orders?” the waitress said with a warm smile, interrupting their talk.

  Tamar told her, “I’m fine with coffee.”

  “I’ll have some water.”

  The waitress continued to smile, taking down their drink orders. She passed Sharon a menu, but Sharon didn’t have much of an appetite.

  When the waitress was out of earshot, Sharon asked, “And what about Mona? Why was she murdered? Was she into some grimy shit too?”

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree with questions, Sharon,” Tamar replied, sounding a little uptight. “I’m nobody’s keeper. Everyone was a grown-ass woman, making their own decisions, and they didn’t need me always in their business. I had my own shit going on, especially with my mama.”

  The waiter came ove
r with Sharon’s glass of water and another coffee for Tamar.

  “Would you like to order now, ladies?” she asked politely.

  “Just a salad for me,” Sharon said.

  Tamar waved her hand indifferently, indicating she didn’t want anything else.

  “Okay, ladies, I’ll be right back.”

  The minute the waitress was away from their booth, Sharon locked eyes with Tamar. “Why didn’t you come to their funerals?”

  “I couldn’t see my friends like that,” she lied.

  “You were their friend. It would have been the right thing to do. And I honestly feel if anybody knows why Cristal and Mona were murdered, it should be you. You and Cristal were very close.”

  “It doesn’t mean a damn thing,” Tamar spat.

  The rift between them was growing wider. Tamar started to get defensive. Sharon was a cop, so it was in her mind to interrogate someone. The Farm had trained Tamar, and the Academy had trained Sharon.

  When Sharon’s salad was placed in front of her, the talk somehow drifted to the topic of Pike. Tamar wanted to know if the cops had reopened the investigation about his unsolved murder. Sharon lied and said to her, “It was never closed.”

  Sharon didn’t know why she lied to Tamar, but she did. She was personally trying to investigate his case and bring about justice. She believed that one day his killers would be found, tried, convicted, and sent to a lengthy sentence. She wanted to meet Pike’s killer or killers face to face, not knowing his killer was seated directly in front of her, feigning innocence about everything that went on.

  “I really liked Pike. I knew y’all two would have made a happy couple.”

  “I think about him every single day.” A moment of sadness overcame Sharon, thinking about her loss.

  “What kind of gun was he killed with again?” Tamar casually sipped her coffee. She knew the question would taunt Sharon.

  “Does it matter?” Sharon retorted.

  “It doesn’t. Just talking and asking a question.”

  “Why would you ask me that, anyway?”

  “Don’t take it personal, Sharon. Pike was my friend too. And he is missed. I hope they do find his killers.”

  “I hope so too, because whoever killed him will pay for it. I promise, they will. There will be justice.”

  “I know there will be, and with you being a cop now, I guess you’re going to become part of that justice, huh?”

  “Damn right, I am.”

  Tamar smiled. “Keep hope alive. Just remember, they still haven’t found who shot Tupac.”

  Is she with or against me?

  Tamar was trying to bark on Sharon, but Sharon wasn’t having it. She wasn’t a punk, and Tamar wasn’t either. They both thought they could take each other if things escalated between them.

  As Sharon took a few bites of her salad, she had a few questions to ask Tamar. There was one thing that had always bothered her.

  “You know, ever since the four of y’all went to Long Island to do that interview, things were never the same,” Sharon said. “Right around the time y’all returned was when Pike was killed, and Lisa never returned with y’all at all.”

  “What are you implying, Sharon?”

  “What really went on there? I don’t believe Lisa ran off with some man and left her good home and loving parents. If I remember correctly, everything fell apart and got strange right after Pike took us to that party and E.P. came into the picture. How could so many friends in one crew get murdered or go missing?”

  Tamar remained nonchalant. “Proves what you know, Sharon. I’ve heard from Lisa throughout the years.”

  Sharon raised her eyebrow. “You have?”

  “Yes.”

  “So where is she?”

  “She’s happy. Brooklyn, it was draining her dry.”

  “So you’re the only one she’s contacted in the past few years?”

  “And why wouldn’t she?”

  Sharon knew Tamar was lying through her teeth. Nothing she was saying fit Lisa’s profile. She knew Lisa would never leave without letting her parents or her friends know where she was. Sharon and Lisa were close, like Cristal and Tamar were close, and she wouldn’t just run off with some man and not be heard from years later. Everything Tamar was saying was causing more questions to form in Sharon’s mind.

  Tamar pushed her coffee aside. She was finished talking to Sharon. “Look, it’s been an interesting reunion between us, but I have things to take care of. It’s been cute.” Tamar smirked. She began gathering her things. Before leaving, she went into her purse and dropped a hundred-dollar bill onto the table. “The meal’s on me, plus the tip,” she said with a smug look. “Let’s keep in touch.”

  And leaving a hundred-dollar bill on the table for a meal that only cost ten dollars was a quite a statement from Tamar. She was saying something to Sharon loud and clear.

  Sharon simply stared at Tamar, as she sashayed from the table toward the exit, catching some attention from other diner patrons. Sharon didn’t know what to say. She got up herself and left.

  The second Sharon walked out of the diner, she noticed Tamar getting into the 650i. She was dead on.

  Tamar started the car, backed out of her parking spot, and rolled the window down. Slowly driving by, she waved at Sharon, showing off.

  Nine

  Cristal sat in the public park enjoying her moment of solitude. It was a gorgeous day with an attractive, cloudless blue sky above the city of Boston. The green grass was blowing gently in the summer breeze on the beautiful strip of green that ran beside the Charles River Basin.

  A gentle breeze blew through her hair as she sat on a park bench beneath a shade tree a slight distance from the other park-goers. She watched a dog running to catch a Frisbee from his owner, and then a ball. Kids were laughing and playing, and a few joggers were repeatedly circling the area, trying to keep themselves in shape. She looked up to observe squirrels chasing each other up and down the tree. The moment was picturesque.

  She was alone and thinking. She’d received the murdergram the day before, and already she knew everything there was to know about her target, Chow Ling Tao—his family, his kids, his habits, his flaws, his likes, and his addiction. In a few hours, she would be on the red eye to JFK Airport. From there, she planned on meeting with her handler, someone who would provide her with the toys she needed to do her job.

  She spent another hour lingering in the park, keeping to herself, wishing her life had turned out differently. But harboring regrets about her past would only stir up emotions that she couldn’t afford to have. Being nostalgic could not only affect her job; it could get her killed.

  She stood up and walked away. The sun was gradually fading behind the horizon. The day at the park was soon about to become a memory. She needed to go home and finish packing.

  ...

  She walked into her apartment and went straight for her desktop. She powered it on and sunk her bottom into the black task chair and focused on the screen. Microsoft Word came up. She was working on another book—a bonus edition. So far, three chapters revealed what went down at her grandmother’s place. The words poured out, the horror she felt, the betrayal, her anger and her survival. It was hard to write, but it gave her an escape.

  She quickly wrote a chapter about Hugo, her fingertips rapidly drumming against the keyboard, bringing thought to life. She wished she could bring other things to life. The words came out of her like a torrent.

  Two hours later, two more chapters had been completed. She felt proud. The words on the screen were so real to her, it made her suddenly get up and walk out onto her balcony for some fresh air.

  ...

  The American Airlines flight’s wheels came screeching down on the tarmac at JFK Airport. The red-eye flight had just landed in the pre-dawn hour, and over a dozen passengers were ready to exit from the plane. The city was gradually coming alive. Terminal 8 wasn’t congested with departing and arriving passengers yet. It was still in slumbe
r for the moment.

  Cristal strode off the plane with her carry-on in hand, moving quickly toward the exit of the terminal. For her, the red-eye flight was the best: less people, less traffic, and she wasn’t aggravated by the late-night travel. She didn’t suffer from fatigue, but was cool and ready to handle her business.

  She strutted through the terminal and outside, where cabs waited to pick up passengers. Cristal remained low key, looking casual and unassuming, wearing a pair of jeans, flats, a fedora hat, and huge shades. She hurried toward the nearest cab and jumped inside.

  “Welcome to New York,” the Hispanic driver greeted, smiling and looking animated. “And where are we headed today?” He glanced at Cristal through his rearview mirror.

  The fedora she wore was pulled low over her brow, and she looked like a shadow in the backseat. “Manhattan. Waldorf Astoria on Park Avenue.”

  “Manhattan it is,” he said.

  What is he so happy about?

  Traffic outside the arrival terminal was sparse. A little over two dozen passengers were on the curb with their luggage and waiting to head toward their destination in the city.

  “First time in New York?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied, being short with him.

  She remained distant as the yellow cab navigated through the intricate roadways of the airport. JFK Airport was a labyrinth of overpasses and winding highways leading in and out of Queens. Cristal sat back into the backseat, staring aimlessly outside the window.

  Cristal had never been too familiar with Queens. Brooklyn and Harlem were always the preferred places to be and hang out while she was growing up. She’d always thought that Queens was a corny borough, filled with houses and parks; it was the suburbs she could never relate to while growing up in and around the projects.

  While on the northbound Van Wyck Expressway, her mind drifted toward Sharon. In Boston, before boarding her plane, she’d seen Sharon’s picture in The Boston Globe with the caption, “New York Cop Considered a Hero.”