by Ashley
* * *
The next day, I received a text message from a number I didn’t recognize: WATCH THE NEWS! I frowned when I read the words, but went into Anisa’s room and told her to turn the channel:
“. . . This is Allison Fisher, reporting for WWOR. Gun violence has once again taken a hold of the Bronx. Thaddeus Johnson was gunned down in his vehicle today on East 142nd Street. Witnesses say that two unidentified females were riding a red motorcycle, when they pulled up to a traffic light next to Mr. Johnson’s car and opened fire. This young woman was the passenger in Mr. Johnson’s car when the shooting took place. “Can you tell us what you saw?” the reporter asked.
The girl’s voice shook as she replied, “It all just happened so fast. All I remember is listening to the music one second, and hearing loud gunshots the next. I was ducked down in my seat. I was too afraid to look up. There was so much blood. I thought that I would die. I can’t believe this happened . . .”
Anisa and I watched the newscast in shock. The girl who was being interviewed was Robyn, and the guy that had been killed was the hit I had given them. Anisa chuckled and said, “She deserves an Oscar for that performance.”
“They pulled it off!” I whispered in disbelief as I sat back against the headboard on Anisa’s bed. Anisa looked at me and shook her head from side to side. My cell phone rang, and an unknown number popped up. “Hello?” I answered.
“So, we’re in?” I instantly recognized Aries’ distinctive accent.
“You’re in,” I replied with a smile. The average type of chick would not have been able to pull off what the three of them had. They were ruthless and conniving. They were just like me, and now they were on my team.
Chapter Fourteen
Miamor
A year passed, and life was good! Anisa, Beatrice, Robyn, Aries and I were lying in the sun on a cruise ship just off the coast of Miami. We had planned that particular trip to celebrate our success. After Anisa and I got to know the other girls, we knew that they could be very helpful in our newfound profession. Before I even knew it, we established the Murder Mamas. At first it was a little joke, but the name was fitting and sort of stuck. We all even got “Murder Mama” tattooed on ourselves to show our allegiance.
It did not take long for niggas to catch wind of us. We had expanded and took jobs from Jersey, Philly, and even D.C. The word spread quickly in the streets, because our phone constantly rang for new jobs. We only took jobs by referral, meaning you would have to know someone that hired us before to even have a conversation with us about our services. We had a secret society, and the only thing we asked for was trust. We sometimes set up clowns that were stunting too hard and robbed them, but we only did that when we traveled out of town. Our main hustle was murder-for-hire. That’s what paid the bills.
The one thing about killing is; just like everything else you do, the more you do it, the better you get. I believe my heart had grown the coldest of our whole crew. I never thought twice about a murder once it was done. The only thing I thought about was the payoff. Some might call it cold-blooded, but I call it just being Miamor.
We all sat, sipping our exotic drinks and enjoying the sun. I looked over at Beatrice, who lay out on the deck with her big Gucci shades on and smiled. “Bitch, you know you don’t need any more sun,” I joked, referring to her dark ebony skin tone. We all burst into laughter, knowing she was the darkest of the crew.
Beatrice held up her middle finger without saying a word as she smiled and continued to sip her Long Island iced tea. She is what you called “ghetto fabulous.” She originally was from BX, and I loved her style. She always told it how it was, and had a tendency to be loud at the wrong times. But it was what it was; she was my girl . . . real bitch.
Robyn was kind of sneaky in my eyes, but I dealt with her because she was resourceful. Her ass was like the sibling that you loved because you had to. She was my sister, but I could not stand her ass sometimes. She was a little older than me, about Anisa’s age, and she knew every hustler in every borough. Don’t ask me how, but she always knew who was coming up on the streets and who was next in line to be “the man.” That was useful for us when we occasionally robbed niggas. But we did have one golden rule—never rob or take a hit on anyone we encountered before. It would be too much of a risk for us.
Aries was a sweetheart. She had a heavy Barbados accent, and it was hard to understand her at times, but I managed. She was petite, with beautiful shoulder-length twists in her hair that fit her exotic personality perfectly. She was one year younger than me, and kind of quiet. But don’t let that fool you. Aries was a killer. I noticed that she didn’t hesitate to kill if the money was right. She was the closest person to me, besides Anisa, because we were just alike. She was an asset to the squad for sure.
We all enjoyed the sunrays and sounds of the churning waves as we relaxed and conversed. In the midst of our conversation, the phone rang. We all sat up, recognizing that particular ring. I had all the calls from Murder’s line forwarded to a cell phone used only for our hits. I put my finger over my lips to signal the girls to be quiet before I picked up. They all stared at me as I flipped up the phone and placed it to my ear. I remained silent and just listened.
“I have a job that requires your services. I want you to listen, and listen very closely,” a man said with a deep Russian accent. He continued, “I have a problem that needs to be resolved. I want this done within thirty days. The contract is worth one-hundred-thousand-dollars. Half will be given up front, and the rest will be paid upon completion. You can find the information on the target in locker number 1356 at the Grand Central train terminal, and you can find the key under the station’s bench, eight rows down.”
I quickly reached into my purse and grabbed a pen and a small piece of paper to jot down the information. I just listened and wondered what type of job this was. I never had someone come so organized, and also we mainly only dealt with ’hood niggas. This was far from a ’hood guy” that we were used to handling business with. He paused, and there was a brief moment of silence on the phone before he continued.
“I take it that you want the job, since you haven’t hung up,” the Russian said before he let out a small chuckle. “Very well then. The money will be placed in a bag in the locker along with the information. Good day,” he said before he left me with the dial tone.
I slowly closed down the phone and looked at my girls, who were all staring at me, anxiously waiting to see who had called.
“Well what did he say?” Anisa asked as she threw her hands up.
I took my time before I spoke, almost too excited to let the words come out of my mouth. “One . . . hundred . . . stacks!” I said as I jumped up and watched as my girls cheered and slapped hands. This was the payday we were looking for. That was about $20,000 apiece. Usually we would have to split $50,000 for one hit. Twenty to ourselves sounded real good. It was the last day of the cruise, and we were all eager to get back to NY to get that money . . . the Murder Mama way.
* * *
We sat in our condo in midtown Manhattan. We all moved in with each other a couple of months back. We didn’t want to live in the ’hood, now that our operation was booming. Everyone sat and waited patiently for Anisa to return. She went to the station to retrieve the money and information. She told us that she wanted to go alone, just in case it was a setup by police, considering that we had never done business with this mysterious Russian guy before. She said there was no reason for all of us to do down. “Do you think it’s legit?” Beatrice asked as she split open a blunt and began to fill it with kush weed. That girl knew she loved her weed. She was a bigger weed head then me, and I had learned from the best, being that Murder and I had shared at least three blunts a day before he was arrested. “I don’t know. I hope so,” I responded as I looked down at my watch. “Where is she? She should be back by now,” I said, noticing that she had been gone longer than expected. Just as the negative feelings began to invade my thoughts, Anisa came
through the door with a duffel bag and a big manila folder. “What took you so damn long?” I asked as I stood up. “I had to think about if I should take the money or not,” she answered. All of us grew confused looks on our face.
“What chu mean?” Aries asked as she put her hands on her hips. Obviously, she already had plans for her share of the money, as we all did.
“Look at this,” Anisa said as she threw the folder on the coffee table.
I picked up the folder, and when I saw the face of the man in the pictures, I quickly understood what Anisa meant.
“Fuck!’ Beatrice said as she looked at the picture along with me. It was Joell, the owner of the club, Tenders, and also Robyn, Aries, and Beatrice’s former boss. Taking this job would be breaking our golden rule: never hit someone we know or had ever encountered before.
“Me no believe dis’ shit!” Aries exclaimed as she flopped down on the couch and put her hands on her head.
“He used to be our boss! He knows us!” Beatrice exclaimed. “We can’t hit anybody we know, remember!” she said in total frustration.
“Fuck that! I’m about to get this money, with or without y’all. Me and Miamor don’t know this nigga,” Anisa exclaimed.
I remembered encountering Joell back at the strip club a while ago, but I remained silent, because I wasn’t ready to give up on that money just yet. “Just hold up a minute. We are talking about one-hundred-thousand-dollars, ladies,” I said, trying to weigh our options.
“You said it was a Russian guy on the phone, right?” Beatrice asked as she squinted her eyes, letting us know she was thinking hard about the task at hand.
“Yeah,” I responded.
“I remember one time at the club, two Russian men burst in and put a gun to Joell’s head in front of the whole club. Remember that, Robyn?” Beatrice asked.
“Yeah, I remember that shit. They were yelling about him owing them some money. You know Joell got that gambling bug bad,” Robyn stated.
“That’s the reason why they are at his ass,” I added, as things started to make more sense. “I know we said we can’t hit anybody that we know, but think about it. This is a lot of money. It is enough to move out of this grimy city. Miami looked real good this past weekend, ladies. Think about living near an ocean and not having to worry about karma catching up with us. If we stay in New York, we will always have to look over our shoulders. This is our way out,” I said as I grabbed the duffel bag from Anisa’s shoulder and dumped the stacks of money on the coffee table. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the money, and it provided a sort of adrenaline rush for everyone. We were all paper chasers, and at that moment, I knew they would be down to kill Joell. The looks in their eyes told it all.
Anisa and I looked at each other and smiled, knowing that they were game. If they weren’t, then Anisa and I would have done it by our damn selves, I’m sure of that.
It seemed as if all the tension left the room and everyone had small smirks on their faces. We were about to put a plan in motion.
* * *
Three weeks passed, and we were in the perfect position to take care of Joell. Everything was going as planned. Come to find out, Joell was sweet on Beatrice, but she never gave him any play. I told her to approach him as if she had a change of heart, so we could get close to him. I told her she would have to give up the pussy, and it was all in the game. Beatrice was smart, and she always lived by money over everything, so she wasn’t hard to convince. Her deep chocolate skin, slim waist and extraordinarily large ass was eye candy to any man, so when she presented that to a sex fiend like Joell, he took the bait with no problem. Joell was a hard man to hit, I must admit. He knew there was a contract on his head, so he moved accordingly. He never went anywhere without his goons. Even when he met Beatrice at a hotel, he had two goons standing outside waiting for him. This hit was far more difficult than any of us imagined, but we were not called the best for nothing.
Beatrice spent every day with him for weeks, softening him up for the inevitable. She eventually convinced him to take her to Connecticut for a weekend at the world famous Clearwater Hotel and Spa, without his goons. I don’t know how she did it, but she got him to do it. I guess she was putting it on him in the bedroom to get him to step out of his square. However, she did it, I didn’t care. The only thing I knew was that we were about to be one-hundred-thousand-dollars richer.
I pulled into the luxurious spa parking lot alone. I arrived there six hours before Beatrice and Joell were scheduled to get there. I wanted to get there early and scope the scene, preparing myself for the hit. I got out and checked myself into the hotel. I carried my Gucci luggage to the front entrance and walked with a model’s precision across the immaculate marble floor that made up the hotel’s lobby. I wore a blonde wig and big shades, trying to avoid the chances of me being identified on camera. I checked in under an alias with the help of my fake ID and credit card. I told the other girls to stay home and let me do this one on my own. I didn’t want all of them to come to the spa. It would only draw more attention to us. Too many black mu’fuckas in Connecticut was sure to raise somebody’s red flag. Only Beatrice and I were going to complete this job, and would return to them once it was over.
Anisa and I argued over who would be the one to actually go with B to do the hit. She didn’t want me to go without her, but we all agreed that I was the most ruthless of the crew, and she had to fall back. I assured her that Beatrice and I could handle it. B was going to ride up there with Joell, and I would kill him later that night while he was naked on a masseuse table.
* * *
Make it quick. In five minutes, come in. The door will be unlocked.
I looked at Beatrice’s text on my cell phone and took a deep breath as I prepared myself mentally, focusing on the goal at the end of it all . . . money. Beatrice and I had gone over this plan the previous night at least fifty times, and we both knew the drill. First, she was going to get him drunk and relaxed. Then, she was going to offer an erotic massage on a masseuse table, naked of course, so he wouldn’t have access to his gun that he kept on him at all times. I would sneak in and hit him with two hollow points to the back of the head. “In and out, like a robbery,” as we would say. He would never see it coming; rock his ass to sleep . . . Cha-ching!
I looked at the clock, and it was a couple of strokes past ten p.m. My heart no longer beat rapidly before I killed someone. Repetition had taken away all of my insecurities when it came to my murder game. I looked at murder as if it was a job, not a sin. I went about killing just as a doctor would go about performing surgery, with expertise and precision. I was meticulous about every detail and never allowed my nerves to rattle me.
I carefully placed the bullets in the clip of my small .25 caliber pistol. I wore gloves to avoid the possibility of leaving any prints on the bullets. I had music playing in the background to get me in my mood, and bobbed my head to the rhythm while loading the gun. After I was locked and loaded, I removed my gloves and put them, along with the gun inside my purse. I had on a black business suit, the blond wig, and my stilettos on. My life wasn’t a damn movie. You couldn’t wear all black—mask and gloves—when you went to murk someone. You have to blend in, so people wouldn’t look at you twice when you’re leaving the scene. So I looked into the mirror and gave myself a once over before I exited the room. I had already put my bags in the car, and Beatrice and I were planning to make a quick getaway after the dirt was done.
I slowly walked out of the room and closed the door on my way to the top floor where Beatrice and Joell were. I then removed my gloves from my purse and stuffed them into my pocket as I headed toward the elevator. While on the elevator, I avoided facing the camera, turning my back to it as I pulled out my phone. First, I texted Beatrice and confirmed that I was on my way up, and then I dialed Anisa’s number. I surprisingly had service on the elevator.
“Hello,” Anisa said as she picked up the phone.
“Okay, I’m about to take care of it now. I l
ove you,” I said to her just as I always did before we took care of business.
“I love you too,” she said back to me.
With that, the bell rang, signaling that I had reached my floor. I hung up the phone and walked out of the elevator. I reached the room, and just as promised, the door was slightly open and ready for me to sneak in. When I stepped in, I heard smooth jazz playing and the sounds of running water as I crossed the threshold of the door. The aroma of lavender scented candles danced in the air as the flickering candle lights illuminated the spacious presidential suite. My girl had set it up so nice for me. Beatrice was always on point like that. The lights were low, just like I anticipated. He would never see it coming. The room was so dark that I could barely see anything. The steam from the hot tub had it all foggy inside. I stepped a couple of feet in and I pulled out my gun, expecting to see Beatrice rubbing down Joell, but before I could even react, I felt a strong arm grab me from behind, and then I felt the cold steel of a gun pressed to my head.
The lights came on, and what I saw would be sketched in my mind forever. Beatrice was tied to the chair with blood running down her neck. She had been cut from ear to ear, and her eyes were staring aimlessly. She was dead. I then saw Joell smiling as he held a bloody knife, alongside three of his goons. The goon that had me at gunpoint quickly relieved me of my weapon and gripped me tightly from behind, placing me in a tight chokehold.
“Well, well, well! We have been waiting on you,” Joell said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out Beatrice’s cell phone and looked at it. He obviously saw the texts that I had sent her the whole time.
I had walked straight into a trap. I was speechless. The sight of Beatrice’s bloody body was devastating. I felt my knees getting weak, and my heart seemed as if it was about to beat out of my chest.
The goon walked me over to the bed and forcefully pushed me down on it. “Beatrice!” I yelled as I crawled to her and hugged her tightly. Her lips were purple and her body was ice-cold. She was long gone, and somewhere in the plan, we had failed, and this was the end result. I couldn’t believe she was dead.
