Criminal logo

Americano

Coffee to Die For

By Patrick SandersPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
Like
Americano
Photo by Fahmi Fakhrudin on Unsplash

Everyone has a little black book. A book, or a phone app, or a mental list, where they keep the names and numbers of exes or people they’ve dated. But most people don’t have a little black book quite like mine.

It all started when I finished college. My psychology degree never did me any favors; I finished school as an average student who had amassed a pile of federal student loan debt, just like so many of my peers. I wrote my thesis on what interested me most: female serial killers. But they weren’t just serial killers for the sake of killing. No, they killed because they had to. Take, for instance, Giuila Tofana, a 17th century Italian who helped women get rid of their abusive husbands. I like to think of her as an early Mary Kay consultant. Giulia made her own poison—a mix of arsenic and belladonna—and sold it disguised as a makeup serum she called Aqua Tofana. She would sell Aqua Tofana to these women who would use it to slowly poison their husbands after they slaved all day over the oven making the feasts that would inevitably be their husbands’ ends. Giulia seemed so careful, too. She really wanted to help these women and she made sure that the ones she worked with wouldn’t snitch. But one woman fell victim to a guilty conscience when she served her husband a bowl of poisoned soup and confessed before he took the first sip. It all eventually got back to Giulia, who was later executed for her crimes. She killed over six-hundred men, leaving behind her an epic legacy of being a prolific female serial killer with a heart of gold.

And here I was, a Starbucks barista with a useless four-year degree that did nothing for me but shadow me with debt with an absurd interest rate that I would never be able to pay off. Or so I thought. I walked home from work one day when a payphone I pass each day started ringing. I know, I thought payphones were all dead, too. I don’t know why I did it, but I paused, and proceeded to answer it.

“Hello?”

I heard breathing at first, followed by warped metallic voice. “Do you want to make some money?”

I didn’t know what to say. I almost hung up, but something compelled me not to. “Yes?” I said finally, unsure.

“I have a job for you.”

The voice instructed me to go to the post office and access a P.O. box. I was told to find the key to the box buried just in the edge of a potted rubber tree just inside the door to the post office. Hidden in plain sight. I opened the P.O. box and removed a small package and went home. Inside the box was a ring and a small vial of liquid. The real work would begin the next day.

At first, I felt sick at the thought of doing it. Was it ethical? Maybe. The voice said it was for a good cause, so that’s what I clung to for validation. That, and the promise of twenty-thousand dollars.

I waited for the “secret code” during my next Starbucks shift. I was making drinks and I could hear my coworker take the woman’s order: a grande Americano with extra espresso, not too hot. The name? Adam. Those were the exact words the voice on the phone told me I would hear today. The woman paid in cash.

I began preparing the drink, sweat beading on my forehead. I wore the ring I found in the package on my right hand and made sure to place two drops of the liquid inside the ring’s tiny compartment. I filled the coffee almost to the brim of the paper cup. I added the extra shot of espresso. I flipped the ring, carefully flicking open the top and the two drops trickled into the cup. Then I snapped the lid on the cup.

“One Grande Americano for Adam!” I shouted. The woman apprehensively stepped forward, wrapped her hand around the cup. I could see she had a black eye. She was scared. I smiled at her and she smiled back, weakly.

Adam was my first kill. The voice told me that this was a new kind of poison, something that would instantly kill its intended but look like they had a heart attack. There would be no trace of poison at all left in their system. It coincidentally worked similarly to Aqua Tofana. It almost seemed too coincidental that I happened to pass by that phone booth when it just so happened to ring. And that the voice chose me, seemingly by chance, to work for him. Maybe it was just all in my head. But something told me deep down that the voice knew who I was and had read my thesis and chose me, not because I’m some sort of genius or anything, but because he knew that I would have the guts to do it in the end. Not because I wanted to help, but because I needed the money.

I wrote Adam’s name down in a notebook and then crossed it out. I did as I was instructed next, which was to buy a burner phone and to call the voice again. I received my next order. My next name. I destroyed the phone, knowing I would need to buy a new one for the next call I made. Soon, my list began to grow.

Maybe one day I’ll get caught. Maybe one day one of the women will feel guilty. The pressure building of knowing that she caused someone’s death until she couldn’t take it anymore and it will come all crashing down on me and I’ll be put to death like Giulia Tofana. But I don’t really care, not really. The truth is, I have to make payments on my loans or they will never go away. Until then, I’ll do what I need to.

fiction
Like

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.