by Sa'id Salaam
‘At the condo' was all the text said, causing him to frown. She had been excavating his soul for his feelings and now when he tells her he loves her she replies, 'at the condo.'
He retrieved a fifty caliber desert eagle intended to make a mess of anyone if anything happened to his girl. A bulletproof vest was a last minute addition to his outfit, as he left the house. It didn't quite match but eh...
The ride into the city was pure torture. He wanted to put the pedal to the metal and rush but that would not be a good look with a car full of weapons. A police stop now would make history. Instead, Killa paced himself with the other cars and held his breath.
"Our boy is here." Yolo announced into her Bluetooth when she saw Killa pull up. She was watching through a high powered scope attached to a high powered rifle. One squeeze on the trigger could end this story now. "Let me finish it, please!"
“No! Not yet!" Casper screamed on the verge of one of his hissy fits. "He has to make penance first."
"Oh, ok!" Yolo pouted, showing her age and releasing the death grip on the trigger. "So what now?"
"Nothing. Trust me; our boy will come looking for us. He won't find us but then you can kill him."
"My pleasure." Yolo smiled at both the sight of the handsome murderer and the thought of murdering him. 'He could get it thought.' She mused to herself as he disappeared into the building.
"All that noise! I knew 'you people' would be trouble when you moved in!" The elderly neighbor chided when she saw Killa emerge from the elevator. She berating him with her racist remarks while her lap dog yapped like it was her hype man. It was her Flava Flav barking, 'yeah boyee'.
Killa ignored her, just like he did every time he came to the condo. It never failed. Anytime he visited, she was there waiting. When he rushed into the unit, time stopped along with his heart. If he didn't already know, he would have sworn someone had painted the condo red. Only he knew the smell of blood all too well. He had been frozen in place for so long that he ran out of breath and had to tell himself to take another. He took a deep breath and stepped fully into the unit. Luckily the threat was no longer present because his large gun fell from his numb hand.
"No." He moaned softly at the sight of his Kitty. The lone tear then ran down his face wasn't sorrow. It was rage. The man who killed for fun, killed for practice and killed for pay was now mad. The already red room became even redder from the fury.
He would have expected nice clean bullets to the head. That's murder. But these women were mutilated by a very sick individual. Yolo had hacked the mother and daughter to pieces then put them back together mismatched. The macabre jigsaw puzzle made his stomach bubble. The killer also played in the blood, drawing juvenile pictures on the wall. Killa wasn't sure how long he had been stuck but his business phone restarted time.
"Your fault, you know." Casper teased childishly when Killa answered the line. "Told you to stop playing with me."
"You did" Killa replied softly. "You know I'm coming for you don't you? I will find you."
"Ooh, I'm so scared! Whatever. Look, tell you what. Go finish your job and I'll wait until after you're dead to kill the rest of your family. If not, I'll feed them to you. Yolo cooks a baby like nobody's business." Casper hung up and sent the file.
“Huh?" Killa asked at the surveillance pictures of Doc. The first was of him removing cash from an ATM machine. This was obviously how they found and tracked him. The notion sparked an idea in Killa's mind as well. That is how he could locate the voice and silence it forever.
He watched footage of Doc leaving a rundown bar with a rundown woman. Next was new footage of that same woman being found all over town. Five dismembered women in a short span of time. The documentary jumped from the mainland down to Costa Rica. Someone had done their homework and linked him to the grisly murders there as well. It showed the distraught Chief of Police, holding the jar containing his daughter's head. Killa looked into the man's eyes and felt him. It was the exact same feeling he felt in his heart. The video ended at Doc's front door. It panned out, giving the exact address.
Killa could not and would not leave his woman like that. Thought of strangers collecting her and putting her in a bag didn't sit well with him. Since she would have to be cremated, he decided to do it himself. He went down to the car to retrieve the metal five gallon gas can. The bitter old bitty next door hurled obscenities and 'you peoples' as he came and went. He just smiled knowing she was about to be cremated too. He placed the gas can on an eye of the electric stove and turned it on.
"I'm coming for you." Killa voiced, turning around in a circle to speak to the unseen cameras and mics.
Left led to the elevator and out while right took him to the nosey neighbor's house. Killa turned right and used his should to unlock and open her door. She opened her big mouth to scream but the big gun wouldn't allow it.
"Nig..." Was all she got out before the huge triangular barrel was slammed into her mouth. It forced her top dentures down her throat.
Killa snarled just like the lap dog nipping at his heels as he lifted her off the floor by her frail neck.
"Call me nigga now!" Killa dared. The gun was too far down her throat for speech so the feisty old bag called him niggers with her eyes. He pushed the gun further until it touched her spine and fired.
The fifty caliber slug took the back of her skull completely off. It and her wig fell to the ground right before her brain fell out of the hole. That shut the little mutt up.
The sound of the gas can exploding told him it was time to leave. It was time to kill.
Chapter Seventeen
When Killa left the flaming condo building, he was a man on a mission. He drove the car to the train, and then switched to a bus to be sure he wasn't followed.
He ended up in the Eastwyck apartment complex in the Atlanta suburb of Decatur. This is where his cousin, the original Dope Boy, Cameron Forrest once lived. This is where his emergency car was parked. It contained everything needed to go on the lamb, including cash, fake ID, clothes and of course guns.
Killa pulled out of the complex and jumped on Highway I-20 headed west. His destination was Louisville, Kentucky but he was not going for the Derby. No this was where the bank that made his deposits was located. Being in a new city afforded him anonymity, here he was invisible.
This city, like most cities had a black population and a hood. Its hood like most hoods was full of sex, violence and drugs. That of course was right up his alley because Killa like pussy, murder and blunts. An episode of his favorite show, 'The First 48' was shot here once a week it seemed. Its new executive producer was now in town. An extended stay motel would be his home base for his homework.
The First National Bank of Kentucky was a funding source of the compensation for his corporate killings. This was where he would start. Now he had to figure a way in. He could run up in there on some Wild West type shit, jump on the counter and make them tell him what he wanted to know about the sender. That was the old Killa, the less refined Killa. The new Killa was going to fuck one of the pretty tellers and let her tell him what he wanted to know.
Now all he had to do was pick one, not just any one but the right one. There were several for him to choose from in an assortment of sizes, shapes and colors. A jet black, six-footer caught his eye as did a short chubby light skin girl. The lone ratchet girl with pounds of weave stacked high on her head might do as would the flirtatious white girl. He had all but settled on a pretty brown thing until she walked by.
The cute petite woman caught Killa's eye as she walked by. She was the type of chic some superficial dude might not look at since she rocked none of the superficial embellishments superficial women wore. Her tasteful business suite fell just above her knee and was modestly fitted to her small shapely frame. Five two, a buck twenty five-ish with no fake lashes or contacts. The shoulder length hair that seductively veiled one eye was mostly hers but he couldn't tell. And that smile!
Killa didn't even realize he had steppe
d out of line and followed her until he found himself at her desk staring down at her. The name plate on the desk read C. Sampson, Loan Advisor and he pondered on what the C stood for.
"Can I help you?" Ms. Sampson asked, snapping him into the present.
"You most certainly can." He said quickly and took the seat facing her. "May name is Orenthal James." He said gazing through her eyes and into her soul.
"And how can I assist you Mr. James?" She said, feeling a current of electricity surge through her.
“My company is expanding here and we need to secure a small loan to cover operating expenses." He said smoothly.
"Oh, we can definitely help you with that!" She said, flashing that smile at him.
"Great." Killa replied and began filling out the paperwork. The dummy company he had set up had checked out and the loan was quickly approved.
"We can cut a check in a day or two." Ms. Sampson said, signing the paperwork. She then slid it across the desk for him to do the same.
"Chrishawn!" He cheered at seeing what the C stood for. He would have never guessed that. In his mind he'd settled on Chrissy.
"Huh?" She laughed curiously at the outburst.
"Oh, I had been wondering what the C stood for." He admitted. "Can I call you Chrishawn?"
"Um, sure everyone calls me by my first name." She agreed.
"No, I meant can I call you, Chrishawn; on the phone, personal not business?" He offered diving back into her eyes.
Another one of those killer smiles accompanied the head nod that came with her cell number. He called that night and they spoke until that morning. That next night, they starred across a small table in a small Indian restaurant.
"Would you think less of me if I slept with you so soon?" Killa asked seriously. He was seriously asking if he could hit.
"General yes, but I guess I'll give you a pass." She said, answering both questions. "Check please!"
After paying the tab, they rushed back to her apartment and stripped.
"Wow!" Killa exclaimed at the sigh of Chrishawn in the matching black and pink bra and panty set.
"Wow is right." She said equally impressed with his body.
Killa was never big on kissing, until tonight. An hour passed kissing, sucking and tasting mouths, lips and tongues. They groped each other while they kissed and when his finger slid inside of her foreplay time was over.
"Roll over on your stomach." Killa ordered with a mischievous grin. Chrishawn smiled back and complied.
He began with her Achilles heel, giving it a nibble. He planted soft kisses up her calf and licked the back of her knees. Thighs are for sucking so he sucked hers. He then smiled at the small round ass before biting it. The heat from between her legs warned his cheek as he did; reminding him of the hot box they use to deliver pizza. He avoided the tattoo the small of her back because dudes love to skeet on tattoos, especially of other dudes' names. He admired it and another tattoo of designs and stars further up her back.
Using one hand, he guided himself to the entrance of the vagina that would be his for the night. A warm, safe home for the evening. He pushed the hair away from her neck and latched on with his teeth. Killa growled as he pushed inside of her. He learned this position from watching animal planet. This was how lions fuck.
"Mmm" Chrishawn moaned as he sank deeper inside of her. She arched her back, tilting her ass to allow him all the way inside. She even gave up the small crevice she had been saving for someone special. Right about now, Killa was feeling special.
Killa wanted to pull out so he could get a nice stroke going but the thought of pulling out just didn't sit well with him. Instead, he rested against her cervix and grinded in clockwise motion. The move earned another moan and she got in on the act by rotating her hips counter clockwise.
They growled, moaned and rotated until neither could take it anymore. Chrishawn was first to explode and screamed as she came harder than any time in her life, causing a puddle to form under her. Killa contemplated busting a nut inside of her. Fuck it, if she got pregnant, he would just marry her and live happily ever after. But, he knew there would be no happily ever after for him. He was destined to die as violently as he lived. At the last second he pulled out and shot for the stars.
An orgasm is the world's best sedative and Chrishawn was asleep in seconds. She may be a pretty little petite thing but she snored like a biker. As soon as her snores filled the room, he got up and got to work. He installed a password program that made quick work of the system's security. The password turned out to be the tagline of her favorite author.
"I got next." He mouthed as he entered the code. No wonder she made it into one of his books.
After copying files, Killa erased his program and his tracks from her laptop. He slipped the twenty five thousand dollars from the bank loan into her purse and prepared to smash out. Would have been gone if he hadn't looked over at the lovely lady on the bed. He slid back in next to her and kissed her awake. "Round two?"
"As long as I get to be on top." Chrishawn agreed. She didn't wait for a reply, just climbed on board. She rode him hard and fast with the ferocity and finality of a soldier going off to war. Another orgasm wracked her and she fell off to the side.
"Mmm, I think I love you." She moaned and started her bike back up. She laid her head on his chest and went back to sleep.
Killa didn't reply. Just kissed her pretty face and slid from under her. He had to be careful not to look down as he dressed for fear he would never leave. He planted one final kiss on the back of her head and slipped off.
Chapter 18
"Hey handsome." Quiana smiled, taking a seat next to the white man at the bar.
"Um, yeah, hey." Doc replied uninterested. The way the drop-dead gorgeous woman was dressed spelled prostitute. He dismissed the pretty smile with the pretty gap and turned back to his drink. He preferred Latin women and their hot boxes.
"Awww, don't be like that." She pouted at the snub. She really didn't care because he wasn't her type either. This was just a job.
"I'm sorry." Doc said sincerely hearing her tone. "I didn't mean to be rude." He ran his eyes over her thick body and couldn't help but wonder if she tasted anything like her brown sugar complexion. His next question was proof that curiosity kills the cat. "You wanna go somewhere and um, talk?"
"Sure!" She said eagerly knowing the um meant fuck "I have a house out in the country."
Doc was so excited about trying out some dark meat; he leaped from the bar without even paying. He made it two feet before getting an earful from the stud tending the bar. The change from the twenty he allowed her to keep soothed her and off they went. Quiana's ass shifted from side-to side as Doc watched in awe. Ma was putting on a great show, but then again she was a professional.
"So how much is this going to cost me?" Doc asked curiously, not that he planned to pay her, and besides what could she buy with her head chopped off anyway.
“You? Not a penny." She said sweetly with a smile and pat on his leg. They made banal small talk as she drove outside of the city limits; way out where nobody could hear you scream.
The GPS unit gave audible directions that she followed. That was proof that erections and common sense are not present to a man at the same time. He never wondered why she needed directions to her own home.
“Here we are." Quiana announced, pulling into the driveway of the secluded house.
Doc jumped out and followed her in. He could not resist grabbing a handful of ass on the pretty woman. Her reaction at being groped too should have been a warning.
"Don't touch me!" She barked, slapping his hand away. What prostitute does that? He still followed her into the house like a lamb to slaughter.
"In here." Quiana ordered, leading Doc into one of the bedrooms. He was so thirsty; he hadn't even noticed her ghetto accent was gone. She now sounded like a white girl. Her job was done. "Back in a sec."
"Don't make me wait too long." Doc said, batting his eye in an attempt to be sexy a
nd failing.
“Thank you." Quiana said sweetly as she accepted a stack of cash from the client. She wanted to flirt a little with the handsome man but the look in his eyes prevented.
Now, this is the part where it would be cool if this were a picture book because the look on Doc's face when Killa walked in is beyond words. Killa had a pretty shocked look on his face as well finding the man jumping up and down on the bed butt naked.
"Killa?" Doc shouted in mid-air. He bent his knees when he landed, coming to a complete stop. "What are you doing here?"
"Me! Nigga what are you doing here?" Killa shot back, turning a murderous shade of red. "They slaughtered my woman and went after my family!"
"I had some um...I had a few problems in Central America." Doc stammered, climbing down from the bed.
"Problems? Dude, you was down there cutting bitches heads off. You make it sound like your visa expired or you got a rash! What the hell got into you?" Killa demanded. He knew full well what turned him into a killer. It was his home life, his projects, rap music but what happened to Doc?
"What got in to me?" Doc questioned hotly, walking up on Killa. "What got into me? You! That's what, you. You made it sound so sexy to kill. And you know what? It is! I love that shit and I'm not stopping."
"You are obviously not getting the point of my presence. Why I hired the actress to lure you out here away from the watching eyes of the Black Mob. Why you're in this secluded house, way out here in the country."
"What to kill me? Plu-eeze!" Doc laughed. "Killa, you can't kill me, you can't we're friends. Hell, I'm the only friend you got and I saved your life! You saved my life, we're friends."
Killa could not argue with that reason so he didn't try. The man was right he did save his life. They were friends; no one on earth knew or understood the other like they did.
