Fourteen

Tamar had carefully checked Melissa’s SoHo apartment, but to no avail. It seemed like she had vacated the apartment a few days earlier. Now, she skillfully picked the lock to the front door of her next option, the Boston apartment, and she cautiously entered the spacious oasis.

Tamar slowly crept into the lavish Brookline condo, located a stone’s throw from Fenway Park. The beautifully decorated 1,375-square-foot, two-bedroom condo had artwork hung in the long hallway and the latest amenities. Melissa Chin was living well from her book sales. Dressed in all black, a silencer-equipped .45 in one hand and a goody bag of torture devices in the other, she went through the apartment room by room. She was in the mood to extract information from the author the hard way, yearning to know how she was able to write about herself and the Cristal Clique. Where did she get the information? Who was she?

The master bedroom was Tamar’s last stop. She went searching through the large closet, looked underneath the king-size bed, and tossed aside the tufted gold chairs. Nothing.

The entire apartment was clean—no signs of life—except for another note written by Melissa Chin. It read:

A day late, a dollar short, sorry for your miss. Better luck next time!

Scowling, Tamar smashed the large flat-screen TV to the floor. Boiling over from rage, she crumpled the piece of paper into her fist. Someone knew she was coming, and she wondered who. Someone else was pulling the strings and making her look really bad to E.P. and the Commission. Every day Melissa Chin remained alive was a day of agony for Tamar.

Leaving the apartment, Tamar had an afterthought before climbing into her car. She lifted her head and gazed up at the condo. It didn’t make sense.

Could they be setting me up? Why?

Maybe E.P. was messing with her head, fucking with her mind, making her chase a ghost. What if Melissa Chin is actually E.P.? Being intimate with Cristal, he could have known all the details about her life and mine.

It made sense.

She had to think. She had to be smart. There wasn’t any room for error. She removed a cigarette from her dwindling pack and lit it up, taking a much needed-pull of nicotine, allowing the tobacco to cool her nerves. She exhaled the smoke and lingered near her black Volvo, her conventional ride around Boston.

She couldn’t dwell on Melissa Chin for long, since the Commission had assigned her to a new target, a Mexican drug lord named Hector Guzman.

The last thing Tamar wanted was another drug lord to assassinate. She had killed so many of them, it was easy as swatting flies on the front porch in the south. Too easy. There was nothing praiseworthy about killing these stupid, gaudy men who thought hiding behind their goons and armor-plated vehicles made them untouchable.

What Tamar craved was someone who mattered internationally; maybe taking out a president of a country, even the president of the United States. She wanted to leave her calling card globally, travel all over the world. Anywhere but America. Just as in the book Killer Dolls. E.P. had promised these things would come, but yet nothing. He wasn’t keeping his word. But she continued to be loyal to him and the organization.

...

The Green Dragon was a fairly small place. During the day, sunshine poured in through the large windows, but it got noisy fast. Patriots and Celtics fans found it a popular Boston bar to hang out, drink, and root for the home team. The small Boston bar by the waterfront was filling up fast as it neared midnight, almost reaching full capacity. The balmy weather made sitting outside by the waters pleasant.

The place was lively with the live band on the stage. The band was loud, soulful, and energetic as they performed one of their own songs, making the people dance and drink more. The lead singer was shirtless, heavily tattooed, and was moving around the stage animatedly, his vocals screaming into the microphone as he played his guitar.

Hordes of college kids were there getting pissy drunk, and a few cute girls in their bohemian outfits and partying attitude were becoming extra friendly and flirtatious with the young and old males in the area.

Tamar sat at the corner of the bar, downing a few vodka shots, removed from all the activity around her. She had a lot on her mind. She hated Boston with their ugly accents, confusing street layouts, bigotry, and terrible driving. But she wasn’t in any rush to leave right away.

“Can I buy you another drink, beautiful?” a man asked from behind her. “It looks like you could use some company.”

No matter how discreet Tamar tried to be, she was still a very pretty girl. She felt his hand against her waist, and he was already trying to massage her side without asking her first.

She turned around on her barstool to take in his appearance. Gazing at her was a six foot two mammoth of a man—tall, black, and not so handsome. He had intense eyes, and his voice was deep and brooding. He could easily intimidate anyone in the room with his thuggish, hardcore appearance.

Tamar deduced a few things about him. He had done some time in prison. He wore a sleeveless shirt, and his jailhouse tattoos were obvious and poorly done, and he probably didn’t do too well with the ladies, because he looked like he didn’t take no for an answer.

She looked him up and down from head to toe. He was clad in stripes and plaid together and white socks with flip-flops.

Ewwww!

Despite his tacky appearance and rough pickup line, Tamar decided to give him the time of day. Bored, she wanted to make the best out of her trip to Boston.

“You wanna be my company tonight?” she asked.

“Hells, yeah,” he said. “A beautiful woman like you and a fine man like me? Shit, the magic we could make? Wicked!”

He was corny, but he was keeping her somewhat entertained.

“I’ll take another shot of vodka,” she said.

“Vodka, huh? Okay.”

He signaled for the bartender, and she ordered her drink.

Tamar noticed a few ladies gawking her way, not with jealousy, but more like a warning, like they knew something about this guy she didn’t.

“By the way, I’m Jake.”

“Sandy,” she lied.

They shook hands, and it looked like a bond was made.

Tamar tossed the shot down her throat and smiled his way. She was flirtatious and touchy-feely with him, which gave him the confidence to place his hand against her thigh and massage between her legs. She let it slide, knowing he was a pervert.

“Excuse me, I have to use the ladies’ room,” she said. She removed herself from his presence and went into the bathroom.

She wasn’t even in the bathroom a minute before a young lady approached her while she checked her image in the mirror.

“Be careful around him,” the girl warned. “He’s bad news. He’s a monster.”

Tamar looked at the petite, young woman and already knew she’d had a bad incident with Jake. Rape and abuse, maybe. Whatever it was, she took it upon herself to warn Tamar. But Tamar already knew what she was getting into.

Tamar smirked at the girl. “Sweetheart, I don’t need any warnings. I can handle myself, and I can handle him.” She pivoted away from the girl and walked away. She wasn’t a weak bitch and was ready to show it.

She met up with Jake again. “You wanna get out of here?”

He quickly nodded, uttering out, “Hells, yeah!” He dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the bar countertop and couldn’t wait to get to his place fast enough.

He slid into a beat-up pickup truck, and she climbed into her Volvo. She followed him to his home in West End, Boston, a vibrant, ethnically diverse neighborhood tucked behind Beacon Hill. On Storrow Drive, a sign outside the West End Condominiums and Apartments read: If you lived here, you’d be home now.

Tamar paid close attention to her surroundings, like she was trained to do. She was by the river, and it seemed like a quiet neighborhood. She continued driving behind the pickup, which finally came to a stop in front of a building that looked like it had been nice in the past, but needed some urgent repairs. She parked close to the pickup and stepped out, swiveling her head from left to right, looking and watching.

Jake climbed out of his truck and said, “Home sweet home.”

It was far from home, but it would do.

Before she could step inside the building, Jake was already becoming an octopus, touching and grabbing private places. Tamar played along, transitioning into a meek, flirtatious character, giggling and laughing. Up close, he was a big and solid dude, so she knew, once inside his apartment, anything goes.

Inside his place was a train wreck. The place was messy and sparsely furnished with tattered couches, a rickety table, frayed carpeting, and exposed wiring. The walls were peeling off, and an odor of stale cigarette smoke lingered. The master bedroom had a soiled mattress in the corner near the window and dilapidated dressers with missing drawers, and the bathroom didn’t have a toilet seat.

He shut the door and locked it. He smiled waywardly her way, grabbing his crotch. “You ready to have some fun? You’re the prettiest girl I ever brought here.” He was already unzipping his jeans.

Tamar stood in the center of the living room, looking assertive and ready. She was far from flattered by his statement, but she expected this type of behavior from him.

“And what if I say no . . . let’s just talk, get to know each other.”

“Talk? I know you didn’t come here to talk. And the best way for me to get to know you is being inside you.”

“Oh, really?”

He pulled out his flaccid dick. He was hung like a horse, but that didn’t impress Tamar. He stepped closer, stroking his flaccid penis into a long, hard erection, licking his lips.

Tamar took a few steps back from his threatening approach. He’d done this before, rape or forced entry. She knew any unfortunate girl he brought back to his apartment didn’t leave until she had a hard dick thrust inside of her.

He unhooked his belt and came closer. “I knew the minute I saw you, I wanted you. I know that pussy is tight and nice for Jake,” he said, referring to himself in the third person. “Let me see that body.”

“And once again, what if I said no?” Tamar said evenly, toying with him.

His lecherous smile could send fear through any woman, but Tamar remained cool and reserved. He went for her, reaching out for her arm suddenly, his hard dick still gripped in his fist as he jerked himself off.

Tamar stepped back quickly, just barely out of his grasp.

“You think you have a choice? I know you’re teasing me, bitch,” he growled. “You wanna fuck; you wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t. You know what it is.”

“Let’s play a game.”

“A game?”

“Yes, a game,” she repeated, smirking his way.

“The only game I’m interested in is the one between your legs.”

“Well, unless you play this game with me, then you can’t have me.”

He chuckled with a steely glare at her. “Bitch, I don’t have time to play games. I wanna fuck you.”

“You can’t have me.”

“Oh, you think?”

He lunged toward her, but Tamar swiftly sidestepped his charge, tripped him up, and sent him stumbling forward into the couch.

He was clearly embarrassed.

“You ready to play my game?” she repeated calmly.

“Fuck your game!”

“Then you can’t fuck me.”

Jake stood up and charged at her again. Tamar foiled his attack again, spinning around and kicking him in the back, sending him flying into the floor.

“You’re a big boy,” she said. “A girl needs to be careful around you.”

Jake screamed from pure frustration.

“Now, are you ready to play my game?” she asked simply, grinning down at him.

He stood up and towered over her. Scowling, he clenched his fists, his eyes brimming with anger.

“Now, the rules to my game. You take me out, then it’s all yours—pussy, my mouth, even my ass—no limits.”

He laughed. “You serious?”

“Like a heart attack.”

“You want to wrestle with me?”

“Like WWF, sweetheart,” she replied.

Jake smiled. He was ready to play; he was sure he could easily take her down. He figured that one punch from him would have her unconscious. And unconscious or not, he was still going to fuck her.

Tamar was ready to show off her skills and have some fun with him. It had been a while since she’d had any hand-to-hand combat. She needed the exercise. Besides, tonight, Jake needed to be taught a lesson. His brutal way with women was about to come to an end.

Before Jake could move, she moved swiftly and punched him with her closed left fist full across his face, rocking him.

He took a step back and then steadied himself, blinking his eyes and staring at her. He didn’t even see that simple move coming. Blood trickled from his lips. He licked it away quickly and said, “Oh, I’m gonna definitely have some fun with you.”

He threw a punch, and she dodged it, and then she retaliated with a swift kick into his side, her shin crashing against his ribs.

Jake tumbled backwards from the whack, and she punched him again, this time with her right fist to his jaw, causing him to stagger forward. He remained on his feet, blinking heavily.

“You still wanna play?”

“You’re mine, bitch!” he hollered.

He stood erect again, his face flaring up like a firecracker, while Tamar stood ten feet from him, still looking unperturbed.

Jake charged like a bull, ready to impale his fists through Tamar, but she rolled her hands down and away with a minor Wing Chun deflection, and snapped his head back hard, popping his jaw like a rat trap.

He flicked again, and this time, Tamar hit him in the Adam’s apple. He clutched his throat, his face turning bright red.

“You still wanna play?”

It took him a moment to regain his composure and rise to his feet. Like a brute, he shook off the pain. He charged again like a fool.

This time she lifted herself vertically, with him rushing forward, and smashed an elbow into the side of his skull, the soft spot high on the temple. It sent him crashing face-first into the floor, this time leaving him completely dazed.

Tamar went over to him while he rolled over onto his back and slapped her right palm down on his face, shattering his nose. Blood spewed everywhere.

He hollered.

She looked delighted. “Are you having fun yet?”

He hunched over, on his knees, his blood leaking onto the frayed carpet. He was clearly no match for Tamar. But he wasn’t about to give up, not yet.

“You’re dead, bitch!” he hollered, his mouth and nose coated with blood. He suddenly had a knife. “I’m gonna cut you up really good, you bitch.”

Tamar moved away from him. She now had to be extra careful. But she wasn’t afraid.

As he started toward her, she took another step back and slid her belt out of her pant loops. She looped it around her left hand so that the buckle end swung loose.

Jake pounced toward her wildly, swinging and throwing the knife madly her way, and she moved away from the sharp blade with precision.

Finally, she went from playing defense to offense, hitting him with the belt buckle in the back of his head. Then when he tripped up, she hit him with a left hand in the V under his ribs, where the sternum ends, paralyzing his diaphragm.

He doubled over, gasping, and then pitched forward onto the floor. He couldn’t move. His blood continued to drip as he exhaled and inhaled. He inched his arms under himself and pushed himself up on his hands and knees with his head hanging like a winded horse.

Smirking at the defeated brute, Tamar stood over her handiwork. “I guess you don’t want this pussy bad enough, huh?”

Jake couldn’t speak. He was done for.

“You thought I was like them—fuckin’ weak. You thought you were about to take this pussy like you did the others, huh?”

He didn’t answer. He could barely move.

“How many women have you taken advantage of? Raped and abused? Took something from them because you thought you could, using your size and strength to dominate them?”

He didn’t answer.

“This was fun, though. I haven’t had this much fun in a while.”

“Please,” he finally managed to utter.

“Please? You want mercy from me?”

As Jake stared up at her, suddenly looking defeated and pitiful, Tamar raised her heeled shoe and slammed it into his jaw. The only sound beyond the crack of his skull on the ground was the soft exhalation that escaped his lips.

He whimpered like a bitch.

Tamar wasn’t done with him yet. She didn’t come to Boston to leave empty-handed. Since she couldn’t get Melissa Chin, he would do. She had a bag of goodies in her car, and they were about to be put to good use tonight. She was about to make tonight the worst night of his life, a night he would never forget. And she planned on leaving with a parting gift afterwards—his testicles.