*****
Garza was nervous. He was feeling paranoid and almost certain he was being followed. He’d taken the maid’s Patriot because he assumed the Chameleon didn’t know about it. It gave him a false sense of security. Garza figured it might be a risk, but one he was willing to take. He thought he spotted a tail, a tan Cadillac De Ville coming off the island. It followed him down Broadway; all the way to Rockport Donuts. When he pulled in it kept going south. He would look for it at the park even though he doubted it was tailing him after all.
Garza was dressed as instructed, blue jeans and a red wind breaker with a St. Louis Cardinals logo on it. He was a big Cardinals fan and it was the only red jacket or coat that he owned anyway. He had picked up an A&M hat at Walmart the day before and had it pulled down tight over his head. Garza was also wearing a pair of Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses, which he thought would help disguise him.
He pulled into Memorial Park, driving slowly past the playground, baseball diamond and basketball court. He continued down the tree-lined drive to the secluded parking area by the ponds. Garza backed the Patriot into a spot under the trees. He checked his watch, noting he was about 10 minutes early. He looked around for the Cadillac. It was nowhere to be seen. There were two other vehicles parked there, a white Toyota Four Runner and a brown Ford F150 with Kansas tag. Garza got out and hit the restroom before taking to the trail.
The ponds, which he thought of as small lakes, were home to several species of ducks as well as one huge Muscovy that was completely out of place in Rockport. Muscovy ducks were native to Mexico and were rarely seen this far north. There were also hundreds of red-ear turtles in the ponds. Garza often came there to feed them bread crumbs, but there was no time for that today. He lit a Marlboro red and headed down the trail.
He met two couples and one lone male. The single male was a short black man dressed in Nike sweats walking what appeared to be a cross between a Labrador and something else, perhaps a boxer from the look of her. Garza tried to keep his pace even and nonchalant as he passed the black man, who nodded and smiled a greeting his way. He relaxed a bit and continued on the trail.
As he came around the ponds, the trail wound its way into the trees and brush that covered much of the back half of the park. Garza began to feel tightness in his chest. It seemed as though the trees were closing ranks on him. He arrived at the dog park to find it almost empty.
There are two halves to the off-leash park, one for small dogs and one for larger breeds. Two elderly couples were in the small dog section watching a Shit-Zhou and a long hair Dachshund romp together. Their accents said Winter Texans, though it was getting rather late in the year for them to still be in Rockport. Regardless, they paid no attention to him as he entered the large dog area. There’s one way in and one way out unless you are willing to climb a fence. Garza looked around the area and began to meander through the scattered Live Oaks. He spotted a bench that looked like the furthest from the gate and sat down on the left side, trying to look calm although he was anything but. His discomfort was compounded by the fact he was sitting in a dog park without a dog.
Garza heard the gate open and looked back to see a fairly tall, somewhat overweight white man, entering with a black German shepherd. He estimated the man at close to 6’5” and at least 250-275 pounds, dressed like a cowboy. He was wearing a striped western shirt with mother of pearl snaps, Wrangler boot-cut jeans, a black Stetson and ostrich skin boots. There was a gold buckle on his belt the size of a large saucer plate with a Texas Star surrounded by filigree. His long gray hair was pulled pack into a pony tail and he sported a salt and pepper reddish-brown beard.
He smiled at Garza as he entered the park. The smile seemed genuine and Enrique couldn’t help but return it. He couldn’t picture what he considered an old ‘wannabe cowboy’, to be a hit man.
The man let the shepherd off the leash and set him loose. After making a running loop along the fence, he trotted over to Garza tongue out and wagging his tail. Enrique couldn’t help but smile when the shepherd stopped in front of him, sat down and extended his left paw. He shook the dog’s paw which seemed to delight him. Then the shepherd took off running through the park, sniffing all the trees and watering them as the inclination hit him.
Garza heard the cowboy approaching from behind and looked back.
“Morning’ to ya,” he said in an almost growling voice, but there was nothing aggressive in his demeanor. “Sorry ‘bout the dog.” He went on, “he figgers everone’s his buddy if’n they shake hands.”
Garza laughed. “Not a problem for me. I like dogs and that’s one beautiful shepherd, seems damn friendly, too.”
“Mind if I set a spell with ya?” he asked casually.
Garza hesitated before answering. “No offense, but I’m waiting for someone to meet me here.”
The big man smiled and sat down on the right side of the bench and said softly, “Well pardner, ya jest met him.”
Enrique had to steady himself; his first urge being to bolt from the bench. “How do I know you’re the one I’m supposed to meet with?” he asked instead.
The cowboy, not looking at him, began reciting Garza’s personal information; social security number, date of birth, the day he married Angelique and his Texas driver’s license number from memory. He tossed in for the record, “and not for nuthun, but yer wife has got her the most incredible blue eyes I ever seen, and I’ve seen me a lot of pretty eyes over the years.”
He pulled out what appeared to be a scanner and ran it over Garza. “Just checkin’ to make sure you ain’t carryin’ no cell phone or nuthun” he said matter of fact. “Well, seems yer clean so we’re good to go.”
Enrique wasn’t sure what to say next, but also figured he had nothing to lose so he blurted out, “Are you the Chameleon?”
The cowboy let out a roar of laughter and slapped Garza on the shoulder. “Am I The Chameleon? You gotta be shittin’ me!” He went on, “Damn, me the Chameleon? That’s a good one,” his laughter tapering off.
When he stopped, he extended his right hand with a smile. “Name’s Cooper, Cooper Johnson. Dad was a huge Gary Cooper fan,” he added as though he was used to getting asked why Cooper for a name.
Garza took his hand almost by reflex. The big man’s smile was infectious, and he started to relax a bit. “Please accept my apologies for the misunderstanding. I’m just not sure how all of this is supposed to work. I was expecting the gentleman I reached out to for assistance.”
“No sweat amigo, he ain’t far away. He’s a damn careful sort ya know. He leaves the interviews and what-not to me. I’m here to listen to yer proposal, what it is ya want to do so I can report back to the boss man.” Lazarus still had that infectious smile working and subconsciously, it was putting Garza more and more at ease.
“Very well then, Mr. Johnson,” said Garza.
“Cooper, Mr. Johnson was my daddy,” Lazarus replied.
“Fair enough, Cooper it is. Since you already know my name, Enrique will do fine,” added Garza. “Now about my proposal; if I’m correct this isn’t typical as far as his line of work goes, at least as I understand it.”
“And where, exactly, did ya git this info ‘bout the bosses’ typical line of work?” asked Lazarus.
“An attorney who works for one of my clients by name of Willem Shultz, he’s German.”
“I heard of that snake in the grass shyster,” laughed Lazarus. “Arrogant asshole, if memory serves me correctly.”
“Yes, I would have to agree,” said Garza. “He told me the Chameleon is a myth and that the Cartels use the stories to scare the rank and file, keeping them in line.”
“Yep, I heard that myself through the grapevine. Dumb ass lawyer gonna get his ass shot off someday on principle, ‘according to the boss.” Lazarus was not smiling this time, and Garza shuddered.
“So, Enrique, what is it ya want from the boss? I reckon ya need someone dealt with.”
“Well, as you know, I’m the president o
f Gulf Coast Bank and Trust...”
Lazarus raised his hand to stop him. “No need to git into no specifics we already know. We don’t want nobody hearin’ anythin’ they don’t need to be ahearin’. Even though we’re alone, that don’t mean there can’t be some asshole sittin’ somewhere with a boom mic listenin’ in on us. No offense, but I figure you got a problem needs solvin’. That’s all I need to know about.”
That sobered Garza significantly. “Understood, so what does your boss want from me?”
“Well the way he sees it, you’re the buyer. He needs to know who the ‘seller’ is, if ya catch my drift.
“I understand,” said Garza, looking Lazarus in the eyes. “I’m the buyer and the seller.”
Lazarus leaned forward and laced his fingers together, putting his chin on them as he closed his eyes. Garza started to get a little nervous as the minutes passed, thinking he may have just inadvertently sealed his own fate.
After what seemed like an eternity, Lazarus sat back and let out a long low whistle. “Now that there, Senior Garza, is a by-God-for-sure-never-been-encountered situation as far as I know. And jest to be clear, I’m pretty sure ya don’t want the boss puttin’ ya in the ground, am I right?”
Garza breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, you are definitely right.”
“Okay, what do ya mean?” asked Lazarus.
“I want to disappear; to make it look like I died, and then be relocated with a new identity. That’s what I’m hoping he can do for me.”
“Well shit, amigo. Not for nuthun, but this here’s a bit over my pay grade. I reckon it can be done; the boss’s gotta ton of damn resources. I just can’t make the call, ya understand?”
“I guess, yes, sort of,” replied Garza, “so now what?”
Lazarus put his arm around Garza and gave him a shake. “Fer starters don’t go gettin’ yer knickers in a twist. Ain’t nobody gonna do nuthun’ without the boss makin’ the call, so ya got no worries fer now. I’ll talk to him and lay it out. Ya got a destination in mind?”
“Yes, I do, Argentina.”
“Purdy country,” nodded Lazarus. “The US’s got an extradition treaty with Argentina, but then again they do with purdy much all of South America. Still, with the right paperwork and all I reckon it’s doable, but I still gotta talk to the boss first.
I’m figurin’ someone wants ya gone?”
“Well, not at the present, but they will sooner or later, most likely sooner.”
“Anybody we know?” asked Lazarus.
Garza hesitated, not wanting to say anything about his brother. The Chameleon might already know, but Enrique didn’t want to cross that bridge quite yet. “I’d rather not say,” he said, looking down at his shoes.
“Fair enough,” said Lazarus, “but if’n the boss needs to know, then yer gonna have to explain it to him.”
“If he wants to know, I will,” answered a very resigned Garza. “I know I’m asking a lot, but I’m prepared to pay well for the services.”
Lazarus smiled, “but ya ain’t even heard a dollar amount amigo? How can ya say that?”
“Because it’s my life on the line and I know that something like this won’t be cheap. I listed 250 thousand dollars on the application, but assure your boss that I’ve got the funds, whatever the cost might be, to cover it. I’ve been planning this for some time.”
“I can do that. In the meantime, try keepin’ to yer normal routine as much as ya can. Until we decide this one way or the other, I’ll be keepin’ an eye on ya.” Lazarus noticed a shudder from Garza. “It’ll be to keep ya safe, not to harm ya,” he assured Enrique. “That’s how the boss operates. Yer the buyer, and we do whatever needs bein’ done to keep the buyer outta the shit storm.”
“Will that include my wife?” Garza asked.
“Yep, that goes for the wife, too. Got any kids?” asked Lazarus.
“No, no children, just the wife and her maid Rebecca,” said Garza.
“10-4. I’ll git someone on them, too. Boss has a few of us on the payroll that does protection. I may not look like much, but I did me two tours in ‘Nam as a sniper. I can shoot the wings off a fly at 200 yards with open sights.” Lazarus winked at Garza, whose mouth had dropped open. “Just shittin’ ya ‘bout the fly, but I was a sniper, Marine at that, and I don’t miss whatever the fuck I’m aimin’ at.”
“Thank you, Cooper; that means a lot to me,” said Garza smiling.
“No sweat, amigo. Go on now, jest keep doin’ what ya usually do and don’t say nuthun to the wife or no one, ya might queer the deal or worse yet, find yerself pushin’ up daisies.”
Garza stood just as the German shepherd trotted back up to them. He extended his hand to the cowboy out of reflex, feeling an odd connection to the big man.
Lazarus took his hand. When Garza went to release, he squeezed it tight and put his other hand on top of both of theirs. “Enrique?” Lazarus said with an edge to his voice.
“Ye-yes,” stuttered Garza.
Lazarus leaned in close, whispering in Garza’s ear, “Enrique, next time ya come in yer own fuckin’ car or the shit’ll hit the proverbial fan. The boss don’t like surprises and he damn sure holds no truck with deception. This here’s some serious shit and he ain’t lasted as long as he has lettin’ somethin’ like that go, comprende?”
Garza tried to stifle his fear, but Lazarus felt his body shudder. To his credit, Garza stood as straight as he could, pulled his shoulders back and looked him in the eyes. He spoke in a chastised tone, “Understood,” said Garza. “Please give my apologies to your boss. I won’t deviate again. You have my word.”
Lazarus stared into the Garza’s eyes for several moments before giving him one more shake of the hand. “I’ll pass that on. I’m also gonna tell him I seen the commitment in yer eyes. Ya mean to do business and do it his way. Now git along and I’ll be in touch, sooner than later.”
Garza thanked him and headed out of the dog park back to the Patriot.
*****
Lazarus lingered on the bench for 15 minutes thinking it over. When he was ready to go, he let out two short whistles followed by a third longer one. Langston trotted up to where he was sitting. He hooked the leash and left the dog park. Lazarus took his time walking to the Expedition, taking a leisurely stroll along the trails, enjoying the chatter of the squirrels and sounds of nature that surrounded him. Thirty minutes later he was back at the truck. He tossed the black Stetson into the back seat while Langston took position as shotgun and headed for the La Quinta.
Lazarus mulled over the information he’d gathered from Garza during their meet. It was the mention of Willem Shultz, the German lawyer that had given him the substance of what he was looking for. He knew Shultz was Ramon Torano’s personal attorney. Now Los Zapatos were a part of the equation. The fact Garza knew Schultz meant he probably knew Torano as well. Most likely Torano was the ‘client’ he’d referred to. Lazarus punched up a number on his encrypted satellite phone and hit send. Katsumi answered on the second ring.
“Good morning, Sir,” she answered. “I assume the meeting went well since you’re calling me already.” Katsumi or Kat, as Lazarus and ONLY Lazarus called her, always sounded cheery when talking to him.
“Yes, Kat, it went well enough. Now, I need two things done today. First, send a message to Ramon Torano through Mr. Black in Juarez. Ask him to contact Ramon and tell him the Chameleon said his lawyer talks too much. I want Mr. Black to tell him if I ever hear my name mentioned again in a conversation of Schultz’s, he’ll need a new fucking lawyer. Kat, quote that word for word for me.” Lazarus knew Katsumi hated to use profanity, but she would do exactly as requested.
“Second, I’ve got a gut feeling Garza has money hidden offshore, probably in the Caymans. That’s where a lot of U.S. businesses are banking money these days. My instincts tell me we are looking for an amount in 7 to 8 figures, most likely 8. If you locate it, don’t do anything other than flag the account for movement. I also need a breakdo
wn on the corporations he is using to account for the funds if possible.”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered. “Will there be anything else?”
“There is. Garza showed up in a green Jeep Patriot. I need all the information on that vehicle.” Lazarus gave her the license plate number. “And, Kat, please stress to Mr. Black that I would appreciate the message being delivered today, with confirmation. As for the money, I’d like to have the information by Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest.”
“As you wish, Sir,” she responded, and ended the call.
Chapter Nine
Katsumi Tanaka was very good at what she did. She was one of the best hackers in the world, never leaving a trail or claiming responsibility for her work. Other hackers knew there was someone out there, so did the government, but they didn’t have a clue if it was a man or a woman doing the work.
Katsumi was born in Chicago on December 21, 1987. Her parents were a young unwed Japanese couple attending college. Rather than face the embarrassment and wrath of their parents, they decided to leave the newborn baby girl on the steps of St. Michael the Archangel Catholic Church on South Shore Drive. Katsumi was taken in by the Sisters of Providence convent on Claremont. She lived under their watchful eyes until the age of thirteen, when she ran away, tired of all the restrictions and like any teenage girl, wanting to explore the world around her.
Katsumi made her way to China Town. There she was befriended by a young Chinese man. Unfortunately for Katsumi, the man who introduced himself as Tommy Cho was a member of one of Chicago’s Chinese Tongs. Within three weeks, she had been beaten down, forcefully addicted to heroin and pressed into the sex trade business under the guise of a massage therapist. Katsumi was soon one of their biggest earners. She was 5’7”, slender with rare green eyes, a genetic gift from a Portuguese ancestor, and small breasts. At the age of thirteen, dressed in a Catholic school girl outfit, she became one of the hottest commodities in Chicago for the more perverse clientele.
Evolution of a Killer Page 5
