Fat Girl Vigilante- The excerpt of my novel
August 3, 1985I watched as Mama had beaten, cut him and dragged him to the barn she hog-tied and ducts tape him to the chair. Daddy eyes swollen shut, his naked body bruised and bloody. He was breathing heavy, gasping for air, “Help daddy please! Go get someone baby”. I stood there not able to move fear had me frozen. He whispered again,
“ I love you Bunny. It’s okay I know your scared!” Perspiration drip from my forehead, my close damp, the smell of animal feces in the air burns my nose.
My face covered in tears, Mommy stood there and asked him, “Do you love me?” He spit out the blood and in a hoarse voice answered, “It’s been over for us a long time, and you know why, Pat. You are an evil fat Bitch. I love my daughter but I could never love you for doing this to my baby. I hate you.” I looked at Mama and she looked at me. A single tear ran down her face. She took the back of her hand and wiped her tear. She walk to the gasoline can and pour it all over him.
I wanted to stop her, let the words fall out of my mouth and say, “ Mama don’t do this.” Instead like a newborn baby I wept for him. I tried to cover my eyes but she moved my hand. She makes me watch this horrid scene, introduce me to murder at an early age.
“Don’t you dare cover your eyes I’m teaching you something, Child.”
She bent down in front of my Daddy holding his penis in her hand She smiled at him and said “ All I ever wanted you to do was love me the way I loved you. Happy Birthday Honey and rest in peace”.
The knife removed the head of his dick and he screamed. I watch as she picked it up and kissed the bloody head of it and put it in her pocket. It never fazed her that she had taken my daddy away from me. Never fazed her that this day his birthday would haunt me for the rest of my life. The fact that seeing my Daddy bruised, battered and weakens would rewind itself a thousand times in the back of my head. His last words were he loved me. I stored those words in my spirit.
She said to me, “The lesson of the day is as long your fat no man will ever love you. Never let a man hurt you and get away with it. You hear me, child?”
I shook my head and I looked at my father slowly dying. I whispered, “ I love you too Daddy. “The click of the lighter, the bright orange and red light engulfed his body. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. She walks out never looking back at him. I looked back wishing I were brave enough to save him. I no longer had a Daddy. It was over for him but for my mother it was the beginning of the saga for Fat Girl Vigilante!
Today (History repeating itself)
November 14, 2008
Today is the day I get to do what I’ve been planning to do. Murder Markel King I have been so eager to watch this smug motherfucker die. When I was eleven years old my mother said, “ Never let a man get away with hurting you.” I never took it to heart until today. I have dreams of it everyday and had many orgasms about it. I put on my green bra and panties to match my green coveralls. I put on my money green timberland boots, my green wool coat, my gloves and hat to match. I lick my lips laced with raspberry seduction. My skin is cocoa brown; my eyes the color of money and my hair is fire red.
Now that the day has arrived of his birthday November fourteenth he would receive the ultimate payback on the day of his birth which would also mark the day of his death. This is the same date he kicked me out in the dead of the frigid night naked after hours of sexing and sucking his toddler dick. This smug motherfucker beat our unborn child out of me. He spit and beat on me as if I was the scum underneath his feet. Every dog has his day and Markel has earned his.
I pack my tools of the trade pink dildo, duck tape, lighter, hunter knife and gasoline tin and put it in the backseat of my car. I jump in my green Toyota Camry and set the mood for killing. I throw on some inspiration music MJG and eight ball “You don’t want Drama.” I drive down East Delevan until I reach Olympic Avenue. I’ve set up an appointment to view one of his apartments.
The owner of the property was inspire to personally show me the apartment when I sent him a email with a picture of myself in a green thong and green heels. His weakness showed when he emailed me back with a date an time to meet him. Markel King has over 50 rental properties on the east and West Side of Buffalo, NY. Markel’s life was money, power and respect.
Markel is highly intelligent he graduated from University of Buffalo cum Su laude in Business Management and went on to earned a Master’s degree in the same field. He generated a plan long time ago to be the best businessman in the field of real estate. He knew that a black man with a degree, no prison record and a credit score of 790 and the cash flow was invincible at least in his mind. He lived, breathed and drank power and money. It was his breakfast for champions.
He designed a plan to get rich off the poor and homeless by going into Buffalo’s homeless shelters to scout out his tenants. He does this for two reasons, one he looks like a hero saving the day for the less fortunate and two, he’s guaranteed to receive his rent from the Department of Social Services and Section Eight. He makes sure each apartment is met up to code and half ass decent to live in. He is considered to be the pillar of the community, a real humanitarian that saves the lives of the poor and needy.
Yet in reality he only cared about himself and the paper with dead presidents. You fuck around and not have his rent he’s throwing you in the street. He may even get your ass whipped by his hired soldiers. He has secrets and for over two years I was his big fat one. I slept with him did as he said and commanded.
I was this overweight woman two hundred and seventy pounds with no self esteem and just wanting to be loved and liked by a man. I fell for every lie, every game and got so damn drunk off his toddler magic stick. He reminded me every day of all my shortcomings, my failure to myself for being fat. That’s all I ever had going for me was the good sex I gave to him. I turned him on but as soon as he releases his cum he got turn off. The feeling was immediately gone. I was his lust factor and in the same token his personal downfall.
My foolish heart was playing tricks on my mind. I never saw the truth until he put my ass out in the cold. I was so overfilled with illusions I never took the chance to listen to the truth. Some men can make a lie so beautiful, make it so real that you soak it up and absorb it. The truth is ugly especially when it comes to love. I cried about it, I ate until I was a size 26 and almost killed myself over this smug motherfucker. I was the victim but no more.
That’s the past and now opportunity has presented itself to end a chapter to this saga. Markel walks in dressed in a Grey Armani Suit and shirt to match and cover in the scent of Egyptian musk. His tall frame of six one, his deep chocolate skin and long wavy hair pulled into a ponytail. I have to admit he is handsome with his deep dimples and cleft in his chin. I step out of my car he looks me up and down and compliments me.
“ You look good. Real good.”
It bothers me all the nights he and I shared he has no clue of who I am. Maybe because I lost a hundred pounds, maybe because I am now I a size fourteen.” I follow him in the apartment and close the door behind me. I sit down my duffel bag next to the pipe. I smile at him.
I greet him by extending my hand to him and softly speak.
“Mr. King I am so glad you took the time out of your busy schedule to let me view the apartment. My, you are one handsome man.” He smirks and comments.
“ Of course I am. I’ve never fallen short of being the finest man in Buffalo. So let’s beat around the small talk do you want to look around or just go ahead and let me fuck the shit out of you?” I wink at him and pull my hand away.”
“ My, My Big Daddy we sure are straight and to the point.” He leans against the wall, folds his arms and crosses his legs. He brags,
“ This man before you doesn’t ever waste his energy on pussy. Shit, I don’t have to. I’m that nigger bitches like you dream about.”
He walks close to me and pushes his full erection on my thigh. I slide my hand down his chest and grab his bulge. I put my mouth near his ear and whisper softly, take off your clothes Big Daddy!”
“ No Bitch, I don’t follow orders I give them. Now you strip me naked and bow before me.” I remove his jacket, his shirt and then unbuckle his pants watch them drop to my knees. I walk around kiss the back of his neck the way I use to. I trace small kisses down his back. He moans as I remove his pants. I grab the heavy metal pipe and place it my hand. I take my other hand and begin to massage his erection. I continue until I feel the sticky film of his pre-cum drip on my hands. His eyes are close, his lips form in an O formation. He said, “ Bitch come around here and suck my dick.”
I grab the pipe and hit him in the back of the head three times until blood soaks his hair. He falls to the floor tripping over his clothes. I hit him in the back. I lift him up and put him in the chair left in the room. He is semi conscious as I duck tape him to the chair. He gathers the strength to say, “ What do you want?” I laugh and answer; “ I want revenge Markel.”
“ For what I have done nothing to you, bitch.” He spits at me and I kick him in the face. I back hand him until his nose is bleeding. I bend down and pull out the dildo stuff it down his throat. He gags and tries to spit it out so I shove it farther down his throat. He spits it out again; his eyes are filled with rage and disgust that I can weaken him to sucking on a dildo. His power rip away from him by a female.
“ Markel, who am I?” I ask.
“ I don’t know who you are but one thing for sure your not getting a dime of my money.”
“Tsch, Tsch Markel I don’t want your money. I want your life. I want to watch you burn in hell.” His eyes open wide and he starts yelling.
“ Listen Lady, I will do whatever the fuck you want. Let’s be rationale about this I don’t even know you” He is shaking now that I pour the cold gasoline all over him. I walk around him again. I pick up the dildo smack the shit out of him with it and stuff it in his mouth again. I move it in and out make him suck it the way he did me. I enjoy watching him performing oral sex with my dildo.
“Good boy Markel. Suck it real good. That’s it, baby just like that. Come on now you have to remember me. Look, I'll make a deal if you remember me I won’t cut your dick off and feed it to the pit bull across the street?” I sound like an eight-year-old girl. For a moment I think he’s enjoying this as much as I am until I see the tears in his eyes, snot is running down his face and his eyes bloodshot red. I remove the dildo he vomits on the floor.
“ Listen, Lady I’m not the man you’re looking for. You are one crazy..." I cut him off by running my hunter’s knife across his dick detaching the head of it. I giggle at his screams.
“ A promise is a promise Markel. Remember saying that to me?" His eyes are open wide, blood spilling on my boots from the opening I created from his headless dick.
“ Let me refresh your memory Mr. Markel King of who the fuck I am. I’m the woman you put out in the cold last year. The woman you beat the fuck out of and humiliated. I’m that bitch that was not good enough to have your baby. Is your memory refreshed now? In fact I’m glad you don’t remember me because it will be easier to do this.”
I pull the lighter out click it twice and turn his body into an inferno. I walk away with out looking back. His screams are deafening. I look at the head of his dick in my hand roll it in between my fingers. Who said revenge isn’t better served warm? Mine is anyway.
November 14, 2007
Markel is in the bathroom washing his dick off again as if I have tainted him after he's spilled all of his unborn children in my mouth. He has been washing his dick for an hour this ritual has been his thing for a year now. I cry silently because he feels I am so nasty. I look at my body in the full-length mirror. I get up and turn the mirror around. I can’t stand to look at myself.
He walks out and then smacks me in the mouth and then spits on me. He screams, “ Put some clothes on you disgust me.” I follow his orders grab my nightgown. I try not to look at him as I dress. I don’t want to anger him. He fixes his pants and belt buckle.
“ Michelle your run of living here is over. I want you out my house by twelve am. Your services of sucking my dick are over. Your terminated and so is your lease.” I swallow hard as the tears are running down my face.
“ Markel, where am I suppose to go? I’ll do anything please don’t put me in the street. I’ll do anything you want me to do. I love you so much please just tell me and I’ll do it.”
“ You fat disgusting bitch what can you do for me? You haven’t got shit. You’re worthless to your self and society. I mean you truly got jokes. Do something for me? Fat Bitch, please.”
I look in the mirror and see what he has painted on the canvas. I see my worthlessness. I see the defeat that no man will ever love me. He had threatened to put me out on a regular basic. I never imagined him acting on his words until he kicked on the door and dragged me in the frigid air.
“A promise is a promise.” He said.
Is all I hear him say as he strips me naked and throws me in the street? I don’t put up a fight, I can’t I’m defenseless against this man. He walks past me kick me while I ‘m down in the snow.
“Oh yeah great job sucking my dick” I laid in the cold hoping I froze to death. I hope in that moment that I would just disappear.
In losing sometimes there’s a win. What I lost was hope. What I lost was my soul that was hidden under the layers of fat. For years I had been the outcast. The butt of the fat jokes and so lonely. The frozen pavement on my naked body reminded me that I was never gonna be love by a man. I was never gonna have the privilege of being a wife if I held on to the weight. Out of all that Markel taught me a valuable lesson.
November 14, 2008
I watch as the house is engulfed in flames. My cars radio playing R. Kelly’s when a woman’s fed up. I let his words marinate in my mind daily. I understood perfectly how a woman could be fed up. I sit while the police and the fire department surround the house Yellow tape blocking off the scene, walkie-talkies and voices, the sound of water and glass breaking as they contain the blaze.
The night air is frigid and full of smoke, people standing in the street watching. I see Markel’s wife Tucker run up to the building wearing a full-length mink coat. She screams,
“ My husband is missing. He might be in there. I’ve been calling his cell and he isn’t answering. My God help me please.”
She is emotional body falling to the ground. This bitch is truly phony. I’m laughing hysterically at how she’s performing. This bitch is happier than a faggot in boys’ town is. She has a lot to inherit all of his money and property.
He has one son by another woman who he paid her enough money to escape the ghettos of B-low. All she thinking about is how life has just got sweeter than honey and her bank account would increase. She too had a man on the side so believe me they never married for love but all business. She got the body, the beauty and damn near white complexion. She is in all actually celebrating the death of her beloved Markel. She was aware of her position in his life. She was paid well for being pretty and making him look good.
I’m still holding Markel’s head of his dick. I step out of my car and walk over to the pit bull and feed it to him. I step back in start up my engine and pull off. I pull into my driveway. I walk in and strips naked throw all of my clothes into a bag. I step in the shower and find myself weeping. My tears are running like the water in the shower. I’m not crying for Markel nor for the act of crime I did. Shit, in actually a motherfucker like him deserve to die.
Millions of men cheat, misuse and fuck over women especially us fat girls. They walk freely on this earth getting millions of other victims. They fuck us without lube emotionally and physically. They go home to their wives, there girlfriends and in some case boyfriends. What gets me the most is that in today’s society it’s okay. No guilt, no conscience or care for us fat girls.
Some of us big girls are filled with there cum and empty promises. They run game on how much they love us. How much they care after they had enough of fucking and sucking. After all the years of paying their bills and putting them through college, promoting his career or sending him commissary while he does his bid.
Now this Negro is brand-new and Mr. Hotshot. He’s no longer the pitiful unpaid ass Negro. He is now rich and famous. He is now successful but you no longer fit in his equation. All of sudden your not skinny enough, your not pretty enough or light enough. So he leaves you with a Dear Janet letter and the bad feeling, your not qualified to have the man you was riding and dying for.
You gave up your hopes and dreams just so he could reach his. Now you feel stupid. The feeling of knowing that you're playing yourself and now he’s evaporated into thin air. So you turn to food, to drugs and whatever else just so you can self- destruct. You don’t care how you look or how you feel. In fact you’re numb because you’ve given him your feelings a long time ago.
You go by his house screaming and yelling. Your pleading for the man you love to give you one more chance. To stay but he can’t hear you over the moans of the woman who let’s just keep it real is much prettier, smarter and sexier than you are are. Some of us allow history to repeat itself falling into the same pattern. Loving all the wrong men because in this field of weeds there’s not a rare flower willing to love you.
Some of us work, have beauty and brains but now we are angry at the world. We’re bitter and mistreat the good men because of the dirt all the bad men have done. CSI don’t have shit on how we investigate our men. We searching his socks down to his drawers, smelling his dick and checking for pussy hairs and female’s secretions. Our distrust will eventually run him away into the arms of another woman.
Oh some of us give them babies lots of them. So now your uneducated, unfilled with hope and on the welfare rolls. He denies he’s the Daddy of all these children who look just like him. Now Child Support Enforcement steps in and the DNA said he 99.5% the father. So after he’s tired of “ being raped “ by the weekly support payments.
Then he decides to quit his job so he doesn’t have to hold up to his legal obligations. He leaves you holding the bag again. He runs your very heart through the shredder. So now your not suppose to be angry. Your suppose to move on and let him win.
No man wants a woman with a house full of another man’s babies and the baby daddy drama that goes a long with it. He doesn’t want none of your baggage and the extra weight of your body you carry. So your spirit is no longer just wounded it’s dead.
He has no problem driving around in his car while you walk or on the bus with his babies. Your pussy is beat up and so is everything else. All you ever got was all these babies and his damn tee shirt.
Some of them beat on you and when you get the courage to tell your nothing but the lying bitch. Tell Facebook and the world your lying on them just so you can get a welfare check. Tell me sisters how many of you been there? Are there or right around the corner from it?
Mama’s right when she said enough is enough. When she said it’s time to wipe our tears and take back our lives. We make them pay for not marrying us, embarrassing us, for beating us and neglecting us. Ladies it times to get back our lives. That’s why I lost the weight that’s why I got rid of Michelle for the night. She’d never had the heart to Kill Markel King. Once I step out of the shower Michelle will be back. In our mind this shit never happen. Sarge will disappear until its time to KILL!
November 14, 2008 2:45am
“ Camilla, girl you still can cook your ass off. Now this peach pie is off the chain.” I dip my fingers in the whip cream and lick it off.
She is soaking wet from the gasoline I pour all over her. Her chubby face bruised and swollen from me dishing out a major whopping to that ass for breaking code 0071. She has put on a lot of weight and looks quite pitiful to me. She used to be this fine woman with Coca-Cola curves now this whore got a muffin top stomach, fat spilling all over the place and her thighs have lumps of cellulite. It should be my just desserts right there but no I came here on a mission to kill her for her indiscretions against me. For playing me like a fool so many years ago.
Her chest is heaving in and out, her clothes stained with her own blood and the scent of the pie is still in the air.
She speaks. “Why are you doing this to me? I don’t know who you are. Just take whatever you want and go. I got jewelry and money upstairs just please don’t kill me.” I finish the last bite of the pie and lick the back of the fork, walk up to her and smack her in the face with the plate.
“ Baby girl, I don’t want your possessions and money. All I want is the sweet satisfaction of seeing you die. That’s it sweetie.” I go cut another slice of pie so way against my diet but I have to admit this is some damn good pie. I eat slowly and savor the flavor. I get up and put in the video I recorded two weeks earlier.
“ Who are you? Why me?” I press play and it’s Nicholas performing oral sex on me in their bed.
“ You still don’t know who I am booby cat? That’s sweet. Well for one in that video I’ m the bitch fucking your husband. Don’t I look good girl? I’m in total awe of how he uses his tongue. Did he ever do that to you? Of course he has but any way sweetie. Watch how I cum in his mouth. Damn now that dude right there can drink my pussy juice anytime and anyway. He has a lot of great skill when it comes to eating pussy. Good choice in marrying him.” I taunt her and poke out my lips. Are you mad Camilla?” She screams,
“ You trifling bitch you come in my house and fuck my husband. How dare you?”
“ How dare I? Let me tell you how dare I bitch? Pay back is a motherfucker isn't it Camilla?” I go to the kitchen sink and wash out her plate. I take the fork and stab her in the face. Blood run down her throat and she screams.
“ I don’t remember you at all. You want my husband you can have him. I’m not dying over no man”
“ I know you don’t Camilla. I was hundred and fifty pounds heavier. My spirit broken. It’s me Sweetie Patricia Sergeant. The one who had your back? The one who helped you through school and wrote your papers. Yes, it me! You fucked my husband behind my back and had his baby. You know the one you foolishly keep saying is Nicholas. Now wait before I go any further now look how your man no excuse me your husband is fucking me so good. Did you see how he was stroking my pussy? Just beautiful, any way now that it’s all done.” I flip off the video and throw the remote at her, take a deep breath to finish the conversation.
“Let me finish you played me for a fool. I gave you a baby shower and come to find out my husband is your baby daddy. Stupid me because every one in the projects knew that my husband’s dick was all up in your pussy. You see I knew he was messing around but never in a million years did I think you’d sleep with him, my best friend, my home girl and sister to death. Remember when Nya was standing next to Michelle and all I kept hearing was how much they looked alike. People would say they could pass for sisters.” Remember when it was put out that you were fucking my husband. You denied it and I believe you. Well just before I set his ass on fire and cut off his dick. He admitted you two had an affair. He admitted Nya was his daughter. I mean she looks just like him.
“Please Patricia just listen to me. Please, hear me out.” She exhales and sniffles. She groans and blood runs on the side of her lips.
“ I’m listening." She sobs and clears her throat.
“ I did it okay but I don’t deserve to die for this. I messed up. I’m sorry but let this go please. I’m pleading for you to let this go and forgive me” I stand up and pull the chair close to me. I kick her in the face the chair topples over.
“Forgive you let bygones be bygones. Bitch, are you serious or delirious? You fuck my husband you take everything away from me that meant something and you want me to forgive you. Now that’s just crazy, absolutely ludicrous!”
Flash backs of every nasty word he had said to me play back and further my anger mixed with adrelinane. His words penetrated me in the ass everytime he spoke of how I would never measure up to Ms. Camilla Wright in his eyes. I continue my speech.
“ Michael reminded me for five years how you where prettier than me, that I should be more like you, have a cleaner house like you. I was the dummy fat bitch. I was the underdog. I was so lost Camilla and you played on that like every one else. Do you know how that feels Camilla to be last on everyone lists? Do you know what is to love a man and he doesn’t love you back? Huh? Of course not because you where Ms. Perfect. You remember behind my back you talked about me but in my face you was my friend. I was the butt of your fat jokes. I heard you laughing with Carolyn about how I look like a green eye gorilla. It okay, Camilla. I’m no longer that fat ass girl you talk about. Well today booby cat the joke is on you.”
I pull her down the stairs by her hair making sure her face hits each step. All of the anger I held for the betrayal was running over me like hot lava. My hands cover in black latex gloves I reach for the bat in the corner and begin to beat her in the head. I scream, “ I hate you bitch. This is for taking my husband away from me. This is for humiliating me. This is for making me cry, ” The bat cracked in half her blood splashed all over my face.
Her brain matter oozing out of her ears, her eye out of her socket, her nose smashed in her face, I take my pink dildo and stick it in her mouth and shove it down her throat. I swear that isn’t enough for me so I pour gasoline on the stairs of the basement all the way to the Gas stove. I take the videotape out of the VCR. Turn on the stove knowing the flames, the slam of the door and the gas valve I broke would turn her happy home into an inferno. Tick! Tick! Tick and as soon as the door closes and I take seven steps. BOOM! I see the door I painted Fat Girl Vigilante flies in the middle of the street and flames are illuminating the sky.
I begin to sing, “ Happy Birthday Camilla, Happy Birthday Camilla. Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!” I walk down Otis Street. I get into my car. The night air is filled with smoke and the sounds of sirens. I timed every thing perfectly the freight train that is a block way comes at 3:45am is blocking them from saving the house and Camilla.
I am a scorn woman seeking revenge on all those who have hurt me. I am angry, bitter and derange which may qualify me as a sociopath. The anger has lived within me since I was twelve years old it’s like a poisonous cancer that has ravage my body and now my soul. What motives me is the fact when I was fat, my heart stuck on stupid and believing folks was my friend and they chopped and screwed me. Something in me broke and it was that day I had no issues with murdering a nigger or bitch. I truly don’t give a fuck anymore. I kill without a conscious and if I had too I had kill my own Mama to get my point across, I will. I’m not afraid of death or jail. Shit, I want to be caught because then I can recruit and train more female warriors to stop a MOFO from ever placing her in the position to be the underdog.
My motives are not all bad though. I want to save our Black women from being what I once was. My goal is to help woman come back to what they have always been beautiful Queens. We who live in the city ghettos are committing genocide on ourselves.
We’re overeating, We’re drugged out and we’re depressed. More and more of our women are living in this culture called “ riding and dying for their men but what is sad while we riding and dying our men are leaving us for the one that’s thinner. It’s a sad ass fairy tale because along the way we forgot to take care of ourselves. We forgot what class and beauty was. I’m tired of seeing people assess stuffed in jeans too small. Shirts showing there blotted guts and nappy ass hairweaves. What the fuck is with these long ass eyelashes that look like bats? Everyone got blond in there hair. We forgot about how good it feels to be proud of our beauty and that scares me.
The men, who molest you, take your panties down and tell you their saving your souls. They don’t think of damage it will cause for years to come because they don’t care. He rips you open take away the one thing you ever can’t get back your virginity. They train you to be whores dress like they want you too, acts like they want you too. The brainwashing of our black women to be what society wants us to become the weaker inferior sex.
No ones wearing a dress and skirts because we’ve forgotten how to be a lady. When we do there short and tight. We forgot that elegance is just as beautiful on our bodies as showing our ass. We changed because some smug motherfucker dictates what’s beautiful and what accepted.
I’m walking in the land of the living dead zombies. Women are giving all there power to their men. The grandmothers acting there shoe size instead of their age. Women breaking code 0071 Never ever sleep with your friend’s man. Women not having enough self respect to realize that acting out in the streets means there only making jack asses of themselves. Some of us are dropping out of school and life because we are lost in the sauce of the ghetto life.
I started the Revolution Gym and rebuilding your life. I’ve tried for three years to get funding for this and every bank in Buffalo has turned me down. One banker said, “ Black women don’t exercise and eat right. That nigger had the nerve to be black. Yet, it is so sad and true a large amount of minorities don’t work out. How sad we neglect ourselves?
I started the revolution gym with the money my father left. My husband insurance and death benefits. In my basement is where I started my own personal gym. I have BS in Nutrition and Health and certified as a group instructor. I teach weekly boot camp classes at Buffalo Athletic Club as well as private sessions. My body is a perfect size six with only six- percent body fat. I’ve rebuilt my body with eating the right foods and hard work. I turned a three- hundred body without fad diets, surgery into a perfect body.
I went around to the thrift stores buying used exercise equipment and DVDS. I handed out fliers of my before and after pictures. I offer free gift cards to every woman who attends the full twelve weeks. At first it was slow but after those first five women came out losing weight women from the community starting coming in.
My groups aren’t just about losing weight but a changed mindset. It’s about nutrition; it’s about self-esteem and a clean living. Not everyone understands the method to my madness. I really don’t give a fuck because it’s our people who are suffering. Our people who are stuck in front of TV living with diabetes, cancer, high blood pressure and every other ailment that exist. More African American women are dying from these diseases.
Yes I walk in the room with my face painted in black and white. In a wife beater and black and white fatigues. Yes, I teach to throw away all the processed foods, stop frying and eating red meat and pork. Yes, I educate them to get off their asses and exercise five to six times a week. What I teach will save their lives; they feel good and never are rejected by a man by merely their physical attributes. I teach them self- defense that if a man hits you once you kill his ass so he won’t do it again no calling the police or getting restraining orders that shit don’t count.
My teachings have changed lives. My method has stop women from getting their feet amputated and having heart attacks at an early age. The women in my group have lost over two hundred pounds to date.
The causalities of this war are a few sorry ass men who deserve to die anyway. We are at war against society, whom still in this day and age believe we should bow down and suck their dicks. We are less than equal to them. In their mind they will always be superior. It does not matter if we make more money, run a household, go to school, raise their asses because some of there Mamas taught them nothing.
At the end of the day if you gain an ounce or fall off what they consider to be beautiful .He will diss and dismiss your ass. Reality is a bitch and then you die. So a woman has to always be ahead of the game and never ever give the man you love the power. To never allow any man or any human being have any negative power over you.
The sirens are loud and I smell the smoke and all I can think about now is how I should of cut off her tits and left them on the ground. Any woman who steals her friend’s man should suffer long and hard the way Camilla did. I sit back and all of a sudden I feel a fire that burns in my loins. My pussy is hot and a rush of warmth and pleasure bubbles in my loins. I cum as I playback images of Camilla dying. I moan out, “ Damn that felt so good.”
November 14, 2008 2:45 am
It’s twelve degrees out here and the Fat Girl Vigilante has struck again. We’d recently caught the bike path rapist and sent him to prison for 75 years to life, yet we still couldn’t catch up to the woman who had been terrorizing Buffalo for two years. Sanchez was caught on January 15,2007. His DNA and confession solve a case my Captain had been dying to solve. It was the one case that haunted him for years knowing that he outsmarted you.
Mine was catching up to Fat Girl Vigilante, she is slick and it said that it's harder to catch a female serial killer. She left her victims without a dick and burned to a crisp. Tonight she leaves another victim with his blood on her hands.
Markel King, a fifty-six years old was found burn and the head of his penis cut off. Same pattern this time it's affecting the community. Markel was one of the city's philanthropists and real estate tycoons. What is their connection? For the past two years several men have turn up dead by fire and their penises cut off.
The Mayor, the Governor, the chief, and the community are on my ass to solve this case. His wife is sobbing uncontrollably. I walk up to her and touch her shoulder; she jerks away from me.
“ Mrs. King I know this is an awkward time but I like to talk to you for a moment. My name is Detective Jones and I’m…” She looks at me and rolls her eyes, blows her nose in a monogram handkerchief and drops it on my boot.
“ My husband is dead and you Officer Friendly think I killed my husband. Are you serious?”
“Well as stated before my name is Detective Jones and no one said you was a suspect yet. I need your cooperation.” She wipes her eyes.
“ Go ahead with your questions so you can leave me alone.” She blew into her leather gloves.
“ Was your husband having an affair?” She sucks her teeth.
“ Look at me Officer Friendly. Why in the hell would he cheat on me with a fat girl?”
I look at her and think to myself maybe because her attitude sucks to hell. I throw on my fake smile. She is indeed beautiful, fair complexion, sandy brown hair and hazel eyes. She had a nice body and the attitude of a true diva.
“ Your right Mrs. Tucker. I apologize. Does your husband have any disgruntled tenants or enemies whom in the past or recently threaten his life?
“ Yes, of course he has disgruntled tenants. That’s a dumb question. He’s had to throw tenants to the curb whenever they didn’t pay their rent, Officer Friendly.”
“Any of them overweight? Any one so angry they wanted to take his life?”
“Half of Buffalo is overweight. Only the men he usually had issues with but not where they wanted to kill him.” I hand her my card.
“ Again my condolences Mrs. King. I f you have any more information give me a call.”
I walk over to Hernandez my partner. He responds before I even ask,
“ No one has seen a thing. One old lady said she saw King pull up in the Driveway and go upstairs but never saw him again. She said he was alone. So you think the wife could have murdered him?”
“ I’m still investigating. She was quick to confess her innocence. Very defensive.”
“ So we keep our eye on her. I mean she had the motive. His money was real long. I’ll check out some background info on her. I’ll see if she had any lovers on the side.”
I pull out my cigarette and light it. I listen as the fire Marshall and his staffs are talking. They said they found a burnt up gas tin and a dildo stuck in his mouth. The medical examiner explained the majority of the burns were on his head, face and upper torso. The head of his dick was missing so most likely she took it as a consultation prize.
Markel is the third victim in two years. Lester Jones, Raheem Grant and Leontaye Saxton all died on their birthdays. The day I started the job was the day of the first murder. Raheem Grant found dead in his bed with his dick stuffed in his mouth, glass shoved in his ass and his body badly burned on his birthday. The next victim Leontaye Saxton was just a petty drug dealer found with his head decapitated with a pink dildo stuff in it , dick cut off and body burnt. The last one was Lester Jones taxicab owner of Buffalo Eveready cab service was found stab in the face and dick stuffed in his mouth found burned up in his Mercedes Benz truck. She hasn't broken her pattern with the killings.
When I was offered the position of lead Homicide detective I never thought I have to investigate. I came here to get away from my past. I walk in the door to the death of Raheem Grant. Two more killings of men all on their birthday, their names written in blood on the door. She is overweight killing for a reason. I’ve gone through our files and no one fits the profile or has a tight alibi. I’m looking at every angle and plus size woman hard to figure out who she is. All in the same token understanding the Queen city area.
Living and breathing the life of a detective in LA. I’ve become accustomed to death; it has circled around me like buzzards and black crows waiting to eat it’s own flesh. I left L.A because I accidentally killed a little girl when a drug lord used her as a personal shield. I never saw her; the sick bastard took a child who was sleeping, covered her head to protect his life. Thoughts and nightmares chase me, why and what ifs where my buzzards eating at my conscience. The black crows ate at me not the media, my family or the community.
My father who spent his entire career chasing the bad guys of LA bred me to be a cop. my grandmother said my calling was to minister the community and work for the Lord. Yet, it was the first time playing cops and robbers. It was the pride I felt seeing my father step out his patrol car. It what I knew I wanted to be at six years old an officer of the law. Maybe it was why my grandmother instilled in me the journey of the Lord. She kept me in church. It was fear that if she could not stop my father she would stop me from risking my life everyday. Sadly, my journey was different from what she expected, the day I graduated from the academy and she didn’t show up. I knew I had broken her heart. She named me as soon as I came out of my mother’s womb, Bishop Ezekiel Jones and I was a grandma’s boy.
My heart is where my father’s was an officer to serve and protect. So I went with my Father’s dream of becoming a cop. Living by that motto has some setbacks of losing what counts like a family, a life outside of a cop’s world. It has always been my belief a cop should never married, because your work life will take over your personal life. I walk the beat, earned every accolade base on my own merit versus this life being handed down to me. I was a man’s after my father’s own heart. My brother despises cops. It was him who took on a different path of becoming a counselor trying to keep the gang bangers from dudes like me.
In the same year of 2005 my woman dumped me and aborted my unborn child. I’ll admit it I was more in love with chasing criminals and I didn’t know how to put family first. She told me to choose her or my career. When it became clear to her I was unsure of what I wanted she made the choice for me and left. Now that I look at it her leaving me was the best thing she could have ever did. My heart was with my career, it was with the motto, and it was the very reason I woke up in the morning. She and I knew the departure was for the best.
My grandma died in that same month and after me killing that little girl. Again, I saw the black buzzards and crows over my head. That year was when I saw death more than I saw life. My nights were restless so when the position became available in Buffalo, NY. I ran for it. I needed a change of scenery and slower pace.
When I step off the plane two years ago, the way I was welcome was called to duty immediately by being introduced to Ms. Fat Girl Vigilante. Lately Buffalo’s became Buck em down town. I would see more bodies cold and their eyes close. It was my passion to put away the murderers and killers. It’s what I do well. Yet, one woman has me questioning my ability as a detective. She is the pursuit I’ve been chasing. I’ve lost sleep over this one bitch that has become untouchable.
The agony of being two steps behind her every move, to know that I have missed every clue. I’m fucked up and the unrest is I have not a clue or inkling who she is. I drive around aimlessly, looking for a lead to who she is. Every big girl is a suspect and this shit is crazy. My gut doesn’t clinch and for me my gut feeling never lies.
The architecture here is beautiful but nothing like Los Angeles. I research the city of Buffalo and learned it was once a city with the population of a million people. There where jobs but as factories and steel companies closed down, people began to run out the city. Buffalo is full of mini mansions and homes abandoned now. The streets of the East Side and the West Side are those of abandoned property. I bought a house here for less than thirty thousand and rehab it. Where in LA these prime rate properties would go for millions.
As I drive from the scene of crime. I realize I’m homesick for LA and have this huge craving for Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles. My home is LA. My family and friends are in LA. The Watts and the East Side of Buffalo are no different except for the gang banging. I take the scenic route as I hit Delevan and turn right on Jefferson Avenue. I look at the neighborhood. I see potential here and hope. I see prosperity despite what the media and other folks say. I pull into the TOPS Plaza and notice that TOPS is twenty four-hours now.
I go in and walk to the back grab a whole cooked chicken, some macaroni and cheese. I grab a Pepsi and some cornbread. I walk up to the register and ask for a pack of Newport 100s. The woman looks at me and said, “ Is that your real eye color or is that contacts?” I can’t tell you how many times I get that question asked about my eyes. My eyes are baby blue. I answer,
“ My eye color is real.”
“ So which one of your parents are white?”
“ Neither one of them. They’re both African American.”
She laughs and whisper to her friend, “ Mama was creeping for sure.” They give each other a high five. I pay for my groceries and walk out. I see this beautiful woman with bags she drops her purse. I tap her on the shoulder. She turns around and said, “Yes.” I pick up her purse and hand it to her.
“You drop your purse.” Her hair is a fire red, her skin cocoa brown and her eyes a beautiful green. She is dressed in an olive green trench goat and her deep dimple peak through her as she responds, “ Thank you.”
She walks away without looking back. My stomach tightens and I get in my truck.
November 15, 2008, 9:45 am
As soon as I walk into the office the phone is ringing. I answer,
“ Detective Bishop Jones Homicide.”
“ I know the daughter of Satan who has use men of sin for sacrificial offering. I know who she is.” I clear my throat, rub my temples because the day has just started and already bullshit is calling me up.
“Really. So who is she? I say sarcastically.
“She is the daughter of Satan? God told me to call you because you are the Messiah who would deliver us from evil. Can you do this Bishop Ezekial Jones?”
The phone clicks and the dial tone returns. My gut instinct tells me to research this. How did she know I was investigating this case? I called the number listed 716-555-4614. I let it ring and the third ring she answers,
“ Praise the Lord, Bishop. I knew that God lead me in the direction of you for a reason.”
“ Why did the Lord lead you in my direction?” She has gospel music playing in the background.
“Yes the Lord and Savior ask me to contact you so that you may stop the evil that floats in this woman’s life. I live at 508 Monroe Street come so I can inform you of what the Lord has ask me to reveal to you.” I rub my lips and think for a minute.
“ What is your name Ma’am?”
“ M’yama Grant.” I plug her name in the database and her name appears she was arrested for burning a cat in 2009 and several mental hygiene arrests. I realize I need to have Hernandez come with me.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I call for a patrol car to drive me there. I have another follow and park at the corner. I walk up and her house is painted white, there are dozens of crosses filling her yard and baby dolls lying on top of the snow. She is standing in the yard and I notice she has a white wrap scarf on her head. She dressed in all white , her skin as black as tar and her feet are bare. She is a woman of about three hundred pounds and stands at about 5’11. Her face is full of tears. I think to myself that maybe I got in way over my head. I walk in the gate I introduce myself and show my badge.
“ I’m detective Bishop Jones. Are you M’yama Grant?” Her clothes are wet, her white dress is stained and dingy.
“ Bishop you have hair just like wool from the lamb. Skin beautiful like Jesus. You are a handsome man. I will not hurt you for I need you to save the world from Satan’s daughter. Please if you want we can talk on the steps but I prefer in my house. It’s holy in there I dare not taint my home with sin.”
I follow my instincts and walk in. She has pictures of Jesus covering the wall. On the left side where bible verses written all over, the wall the smell of rotting meat fills the air. The verses written in red and is dried on the wall. I stand and I hear Hernandez dispatch my radio. I cover my nose and cough the smell is choking me.
“ You cool Bishop? I’m coming in with you.”
“ I’m alright if any trouble I’ll call you.”
“ Alright but I’m still coming in!” Hernandez walks in and immediately covers his nose with the napkin, he coughs, and his eye water. I look around and hear the sounds of water hit the wood floors. She screams and begins to speak in tongue. I pull out my gun and point it towards her.
She speaks; “I love Jesus more than I love myself. Yes I do, I need, and I need to set my soul free. I’m bound by Satan’s hold on me.”
“ So M’yama let me help you. Talk to me.”
She wipes her nose with her hand and like a addict doped up on coke she slurs as she speaks.
“ I know who commits the sin murder. She leadeth me free the way the serpent led Eve to the unforbidden tree. She gave me the forbidden apple and I bit it and now I am filled with sin.”
“ She is Sergeant of Arms. Her eyes are colored with greed and money. She does not love the Lord as I do. Her mission is to destroy all mankind.”
I pull out my pad and write down the name. She is as crazy as bedbug but crazy sometimes solved cases. I hold my breath because the stench of piss, rotten meat and blood is choking me. I inhale and then exhale.
“ I need her name M’yama. I feel like you are wasting my time. So a name?”
“ Listen to me Bishop she runneth to Satan instead of the Lord. She taught me death and destruction of men. I took the Lord’s will and put it in my hands. She told me to kill Raheem, my husband. She told me to drench him in gasoline naked. I would purify his soul and take away the sin. I castrated him for performing perverted sex on my daughter. He was kissing and touching her Nancy. She was special Bishop and he put his mouth on her vagina. Not the police, not society or no one else believed me because he used his mouth on her. They let him free. I waited and waited. I fought and I lost….”
She is sobbing. She opens the drawer and pulls out a picture of her daughter and hands it to me. From the picture you can tell she has Down syndrome. She is still crying as she is grieving. I clear my throat and feel that salty taste in my throat and tear forms in the corner of my eye. I wipe my face. I ask,
“ Where is your daughter?’
“ She is home with the heavenly father where her soul belongs. This cruel world took her from me. I woke up one day and went to her bed her eyes was close, in a deep sleep. They say she had a heart attack but I know it was Jesus took her home with him.” She rocks back and forth speaking in tongue. I let her calm down and I speak,
“ So you kill your husband Raheem for hurting your little girl.” She looked up her eyes red and cold.
“Yes and that bastard of sin deserved to die. Yet, I knew better than to act out of anger. I should of let my Lord handle him. I sinned and now no matter what I will dwell with Satan because Jesus he hates murderers. There’s no forgiveness for that.”
The sound of r water hits the floor again, I look down, and I see it run down the wood floor touching my boot and it is her urine. She sits back and she looks in the sky, folds her hands and tells her story.
“ Bishop, I waited and plotted the way I would destroy that sick sinner. I let Sergeant of arms coax me into the perfect murder. His birthday May 19th, was the day he would die. I followed him and waited till he was good and sleepy. I watched him shower, defecate and shave. I hid in his closet the way he did my precious baby. I let him take his sleeping pills and a drink his forty-ounce.” She stops and picks up his picture looks at it and throws it back down. She continues her story.
“He fell asleep at 12:35 am. Thirty-five minutes after his birthday began. I grabbed a butcher knife, cut off his penis and stuff it in his mouth. I pour gasoline all over him. Satan took over me and told me to beat him until I could see blood pouring from every orifice. I broke glass and turned him over and shove it up his behind. Once he was bleeding out the sin, he committed. I set him on fire. I was enraged in anger and possessed. Sweet Jesus I’m sorry father for I have sinned.” She rocks and shakes. She lets her eyes roll to the back of her head. I call back up,
“ She is having a seizure. I need an ambulance at 508 Monroe street also she needs to be sent directly to psyche for evaluation.” She is defecating all over herself. The ambulance, my back up and the fire department.”
“Listen she just confessed to murdering her husband, get forensics in here to pull whatever you can about this. Don’t notify the media yet until we have 100 percent proof of this murder. My partner Hernandez said,
“Bishop would you check out this here.” I look at the jar. I study and shake my head.
“ Exactly my words. She has a dick in this jar.”
“What the hell is going on? Is she the serial killer?” Hernandez shakes his head.
“ Maybe she is the Sargent of Arms. Maybe she is the Fat Girl Vigilante.”
“ I don’t know. I have a feeling she isn’t.”
“ Bishop the bloody scriptures on the wall, the motive and the man’s penis in the jar. Once you take this to the Captain he going to the press. Every city official has been on our ass. Man, she admitted to cutting her husband dick off and setting him on fire. She is Fat Girl Vigilante.”
“True, but if she had enough balls to call me up to tell me she murder one man then she has enough to say she did the other dudes in.”
I look at the scriptures written on the wall. I keep staring and it’s smeared blood. Maybe my gut is wrong. She admitted to killing Raheem. She trusts me depending on this whole ordeal and whether she lives. This case is more complex than it seems She keeps speaking of this Sergeant of Arms. Is she the leader and why is she setting out to kill all these men?
“Hernandez investigate Raheem Grant and the sexual allegations. What ever information you can find on M’yama, relatives living and dead.”
“ I’ll get on it” Hernandez said.
The paramedic, the firemen, forensics is combing the apartment with a fine toothcomb. I look over at the picture of M’yama smaller and that woman I saw her before. I pick up the picture with a paper towel and it’s the woman I saw at TOPS supermarket. Wrap it in more hand towel. What if these two have a connection? I feel my gut contract. This story isn’t over.
© 2011Tamyara Brown -Tamluvstowrite
Author Tamyara Brown
My love for writing is unconditional. It is my sanity in this crazy world.