by Sa'id Salaam
"What's the meaning of this?" The D.A. barked, as if he were in control. A back hand slap with the pistol opened a gash in his forehead. "Hey! I'm placing you under citizen's arrest! Put the gun down and hands in the air."
"Is this dude serious?" Killa asked his partner in crime before slapping him again. This blow from the gun got his full attention.
"What do you want from us?" Queen pleaded. He sounded just like those clients of his who pleaded for their freedom.
"Me, nothing, but someone would like to have a word with you." Killa replied as he retrieved his phone and pulled up the client's message.
"David Queen and Bob Sheats. It's been a long time." The female's voice stated. She tried to sound tough, like she was in control but the pain was visible just under the surface.
“Fifteen years ago you had my father, Emory Teasly in your court. His life was in your hands and you betrayed him. I sat there and watched my daddy get convicted of a murder committed while we had a cookout. You sold him out, didn't call a single witness. Well, my daddy died in the death chamber last week. Today, you join him."
Queen and Sheats looked at each other in fear. They remembered the case vividly. They knew they went too far in convicting him. They covered their tracks to save their own asses.
"So what now, you, kill us?" Sheats demanded.
"No, I'm only going to kill one of you. I'll let you guys decide who. But first" Killa paused to set-up the recorder on his phone. "I need a confession. It may save lives."
The men misunderstood whose life it could save and candidly recounted sending innocent men up the river for decades. In the recording, they attempted to shift blame back and forth to help themselves. The confession did save their lives, but only for the hour it took to give.
"Well, time for one of you guys to die. Who gets it?" Killa asked nonchalantly.
"Him!" They both shouted, pointing trembling fingers at each other. Killa couldn't help but laugh at their treachery. They wasted no time in turning on each other.
"Like I said, you guys decide who lives." Killa repeated. He pulled two butcher knives from his bag and handed one to each man. They didn't hesitate a millisecond before attacking each other.
"Fuck!" Killa giggled as they viciously attached each other. He had to scramble to start the recording the client requested.
Neither attorney had any defense; they just stabbed and got stabbed. The room was splattered with blood as arteries and blood vessels were ruptured. The action began to slow as the combatants ran out of steam and blood. They both thrust a final blow into each other and collapsed.
Killa pumped a couple of rounds into the back of each man's head as he prepared to leave. Once he was satisfied that all traces of his presence had been removed, he made his exit.
"Well, that was fun." Killa chuckled to himself as he pulled away.
Chapter Ten
"Okay." A nervous CSI tech whispered signaling the arrival of the Chief of Police. The top cop commanded awe in general, but lately he had become a monster.
Chief Flores stepped from his government car, cowboy boot first, like the cowboy that he was. It was rumored that back in the day when he was just a cop, he was on a death squad. Jail, court, lawyers all cost money. For certain crimes suspects were executed rather than arrested.
"What do we have?" He questions when he ascertained who was in charge of the crime scene. He did not speak to underlings.
"It's another one." The lead detective said meekly. By 'another one' he meant another headless girl. Another one, just like the Chief's daughter. The fifth such find of the year. If the scene wasn't grisly enough, the question that twisted the policemen's faces was, 'where the fuck are the heads.'
The chief looked down upon the mangled corpse and shook his head. He had to blink away the vision of his own child's dismembered body. In America, he would not have been allowed to even work the case. Down here, they couldn't stop him. It was well-known there would be no trial for this one. Whoever caught the elusive suspect was to hold him until the chief arrived. He had no interest in a trial or justice. All he wanted now was two things: His daughter's head back and the head of whoever killed her. A commotion behind the yellow tape snapped him from his vengeful thoughts and he went to investigate.
"Que pasa?" Chief demanded, as a hysterical woman rambled in rapid fire Spanish to the pee-on officer assigned to crowd control.
“This woman claims to know who is doing this!" I told her to leave and let the police do their jobs." He said smugly.
The chief's first words were a back-hand slap that was universal in all languages. In the inner cities, it's what's known as a pimp slap.
"Talking to the people is police job stupid." He yelled, stinging him just as much as the slap. His tone softened as he turned to the woman. "Who is doing this?" He asked soothingly.
“The gringo doctor from the village! The American!" She replied eagerly. She had been desperately warning the people about the man every since her own granddaughter went missing. The villagers didn't want to hear anything bad about the man who provided free medical care. Not to mention, the girl was a known slut; a disposable woman.
"Is this him?" Chief Flores demanded, producing surveillance pictures of Doc from the hotel.
"Si, si!" She screamed at the sight of him. She looked directly in the cops flaming red eyes and nodded. "This is the man."
****
Costa Rica is a beautiful place; God country as they say. As if they don't know everything in existence is His. He created; He shaped it and maintains it. Its tiny stretches of land contained jungles and forests, waterfalls and volcanoes. God's country indeed.
It was good for more than just killing, so Doc got out and explored the sights. He had been surfing, para-surfing and snorkeling. Today he was flying over an active volcano on a sight-seeing tour. The next stop was a huge waterfall where rainbows lived. At the same moment Doc snapped a picture with his camera, his door came off its hinges.
Chief Flores personally kicked the doctor's door open and rushed inside with an assault rifle. The rest of his officers fell back as he stormed the villa. No one even had any handcuffs but there was a body bag on hand.
The chief had so much pressure on the trigger of his gun that a blink of an eye would have been enough to discharge it. Each time he entered a room, he made a silent prayer that the killer be inside of it. Murder has a taste, both bitter yet sweet and it was present on the cop's tongue.
"Clear!" He finally said, feeling dejected once he accepted that the villa was empty. He plopped down on the sofa as the rest of the team swarmed the house.
The house was a buzz in a flurry of activity as CSI techs and detectives rummaged about. They turned the small house upside down and inside out in a search for clues; in cabinets, under beds and dressers; in closets and crawl spaces, even the attic. The attic, that's where they found them.
The chief was immune to the sounds of the search and paid it no mind. It wasn't until the place grew eerily quiet that his head lifted from his hands. The solemn silence sounded like mourning. It was; Bonita had been found. He noticed everyone whispering and going up to the attic. He noticed their faces were different when they came back down so he went to investigate.
“Chief, I don't think you should...." An officer warned, attempting to prevent him from going up. Again with the back-hand like Venus Williams.
Everyone fled the attic once chief arrived. In the attic, there was a shelf. On the shelf there were jars. In the jars there were heads. Each head was perfectly preserved down to the disappointed looks on their faces. All the girls looked sad especially his daughter. The chief plucked the jar containing the missing part of his only child from the shelf and sat down. The proud man broke down in sobs and low wails.
All the police were affected by the grisly find, some more than others. One CSI tech who didn't quite have the stomach for it, ran to the edge of the property to relieve the bubbling bile from his stomach. As he retched over the cliff, so
mething caught his eye. Some things actually: More bodies.
"Oyay!" He screamed and pointed to the vultures feeding below.
"Adios Mio!" His comrade exclaimed and crossed himself as his binoculars revealed what was on their menu. There were ten or more bodies below.
This was now a full blown crime scene. More techs had to be called in along with the National Guard to retrieve the bodies. The small country had never dealt with anything like this before. All the activity alerted the media and in turn the media alerted the Doc.
Doc was actually on his way home when he saw emergency and government vehicles rushing past. The helicopters hovering above made him pull a u-turn that allowed him to miss the check point being set-up just for him.
Doc was a smart man doing dumb shit and he knew he could be caught at any moment. That kept him on point and prepared to flee at the drop of a dime. Any time he left the house, he carried a money belt and travel documents. He raced south, heading to the Panama border and safety. He had found out that one of his victims was the daughter of the police chief and ran for his life.
Using forged documents, he crossed the border as a tourist. A long bus ride later, he arrived in Panama City. There was no time to see the world famous canals. His destination was the airport. Doc was coming to America.
Chapter Eleven
Big Rock was one of the biggest dealers in the city of Baltimore; both physically and figuratively. The six-foot five-inch ex-ball player controlled the cities coke trade. B-more is a heroine city but still had a bustling blow trade. The black mob accepted that it would be too much trouble trying to break into the heroine market. There were too many free agents to contend with and despite Yolo's contention, you can't kill everyone.
Big Rock already had a nice operation going when the black mob made its offer. A classic get down or lay down offer you can't refuse. Sell their blow and live or die and someone else would sell it. He chose to live; smart choice.
It was all good until the Mendez Brothers came to town. The black Puerto Ricans moved in with their superior grade coke and low prices and the impact was felt immediately. Once they got a toe-hold in the city, they wouldn't let go. They wisely recruited locals and paid them twice what they had been making. Make no mistake about it, loyalty is for sale. That's why a woman will stay with a man who cheats and treats them bad if the money is right. Talk about sell outs!
Big Rock being the killer that he was, sent men to kill the intruders but they always came up empty. Either the brothers killed them or hired them. A couple of times, they sent the same killers back at Big Rock. After they killed his best man, the mob decided to send in a girl.
Gabby and Pedro Mendez were freaks, straight tricks. They made their headquarters in a strip club named 'The Body Tap.' This particular strip joint was known to have the baddest and freakiest chics in town. The brothers made it a point to fuck each and every one of them. So you know the new girl demanded their attention, especially doing what she was doing.
The exotic looking girl with dreads was regulated to one of the smaller side stages since she was new but all eyes were on her. It was more than the hard softball sized breast topped by big erect nipples that stood just above her rock-hard six pack. A small waist jetted out to a nice round ass under curvy hips. The dreadlocks obscuring her face added an air of mystery.
"A-yo son, look at this bitch right here!" Gabby practically screamed as he pointed to the slide stage.
“The fuck?" Pedro exclaimed and took to his feet. He and his brother drew near as in a trance. Pussy will do that, especially new pussy.
The girl was causing quite a scene and she wasn't even dancing. Instead, she sat Indian-style making circles on her love button with her finger.
"Get the fuck out of the way." Tank demanded, shoving patrons out of his bosses' path.
The brothers made it to the stage just in time for her to bust a shuddering nut. The gush of juice that dripped when she came sealed the deal, as it should have.
"A-yo, go tell Steve, we taking this bitch with us." Pedro said to Tank.
"Yo shorty, get dressed." Gabby told her, talking to her vagina instead of her face.
"Ok." She purred naively and stood up. She walked slightly wobbly on her six inch heels still shaky from the orgasm. In a flash she returned from the dressing room wearing only slightly more than when she left. The tiny dress only blinked her nakedness away.
"Steve ain't answering his door or phone." Tank repeated when he returned from his task. He had a disappointed look on his face from not being able to complete his task. The large man had the mind of a small child and loved to please.
“Aight yo, stay here until you find him." Gabby ordered over his shoulder.
"Ain't like we need security for this chic." Pedro laughed, as they pushed the girl from the club. "What's yo name lil mama?"
"Yolo" She replied with the lustful look of a lunatic.
The Mendez Brothers rushed to their waterfront loft with the killer in the back seat, still playing in her pussy. She made a small puddle on the leather underneath her when she came again. Pedro pulled into the underground parking lot and skidded to a stop in their reserved spot. He barely put it in park before Gabby sprang free and snatched Yolo from the back seat. Pedro reached back and put his finger in the puddle and into his mouth with his nasty ass.
Yolo's feet barely touched the ground as the brothers rushed her up to their unit. She looked around the plush living room in search of items to use as weapons. Besides her specially made stilettos, she was completely un-armed. Gun or no gun, Yolo was dangerous as fuck. The dudes were about to die from blunt force trauma. That means getting beat to death.
"Heads or tails?" Pedro announced as he flicked a quarter turning it n the air.
"Heads!" Gabby called out watching it ascend and descend. He wanted first inside of her mouth. He, like a lot of men, this author included was a head junky. Someone needs to make a patch for that, a rehab or support group or.....
"Heads it is!" Pedro lied when the coin toss came back tails. He wanted to fuck her first so he gave his brother what he wanted.
An unseen and unheard starter pistol was fired and the race to get naked was under way. Yolo won easily since all she had to do was drop the straps from her shoulders and let the flimsy dress fall to the ground. Both brothers snatched off their designer jeans and boxers in one swift motion. Shirts were pulled over heads and they were as naked as their guest. Their erections bobbed in the air as they moved on her.
Yolo didn't complain when she was shoved roughly onto the sofa. She figured why complain since she was going to murder them anyway. Gabby rushed over and pressed his dick against her lips. She took the head inside her mouth as she popped the balls off the heels of her stilettos, revealing the super sharp dagger like ends. When Pedro pulled her legs sky high to enter her, she thrust them at his face. The knives entered both eyes just as she clamped down on the dick head with her teeth.
Pedro screamed and grabbed where his eyes use to be and stumbled back. He tripped on the glass table and fell through it, shattering the glass. His screams were nothing compared to the high pitched ones of his brother.
"Yeeooow!" Gabby belted out an opera worthy note. Yolo covered up like a boxer against the ropes and he wailed away with heavy blows, trying to dislodge her from his penis.
It was to no avail because she had locked on like a pit bull. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he flopped around to shake her off. He finally got free when her teeth met all the way through his meat. If he had a horse, he could now be called the Headless Horseman. Ok, that may not have been funny but it was when she spit it at him.
"Here!" Yolo said through her bloody smile when his dick head bounced off his chest. When he went for it, she went for the heavy glass ashtray on an end table.
"Bitch I'mma...."
"Ugh!" Yolo grunted as she swung the ashtray. The blow knocked the threat back down his throat along with several of his teeth.
S
he beat him unmercifully until he dropped to one knee. His head lowered in front of her like an offering and she took him up on it. Yolo swung with all her might and split his wig and cracked his skull. You could put a fork in him because he was done.
"You don't look so good." She teased Pedro as he wallowed in the broken glass.
"Fuck you!" Gabby, kill this bitch!" He yelled for his brother who couldn't hear shit. Well maybe harps.
"Uh uh, the bitch killed Gabby." She laughed, giving him a stomp that stabbed into a lung. It got good to her so she stomped him again. Finally she mounted him and jumped up and down with her deadly high heels. She stopped about a minute after his heart did.
"That was fun." She gushed looking around to bloody room. She didn't even bother to clean the blood from her before slipping back into the dress. On the way out, she blew out the pilot light on the gas fireplace and turned the gas on high. When the condo was full of gas fumes, the pilot light in the stove would do the rest.
Yolo fished out the keys to her new Benz from Pedro's pocket and left. She was several blocks away when the orange explosion shook the night. The blast was large enough to destroy all units next to it along with their sleeping occupants.
****
Back at the club, Tank was still guarding Steve's door, waiting for him to return. It was futile because there was no coming back from where Yolo sent him. Earlier in the day, she came in and asked about dancing in the club so she could get close to her targets. She could dance and had no problem auditioning for the job. It could have been simple until his dick came out.
"Look shawty, I ain't got time for you to be prancing yo lil ass 'round my office. Let me see what that dome talking 'bout." He said, waving his dick at her.
"You want some head huh?" She asked, coming around his desk for a reply. He leaned back and handed it to her. A minute later, she handed it back.
"What the fuck is th....." He started to protest until Yolo shoved one of her spiked stilettos into his throat. Death has a way of ruining a conversation. Who really feels like talking once they're dead?
