This morning it was Nitōjutsu. Lazarus spent an hour working on defense and another slicing through the air in combat maneuvers. The longer he worked, the faster the blades moved, whistling through the air, catching the morning light through the patio doors. The reflections made the blades look like silver rainbows dancing in the air.
As was often the case, Lazarus mentally detached from the activity, muscle memory and years of training allowing his mind to wander.
*****
Lazarus’ mother, Margaux, died on October 30, 1973 from a brain aneurysm. It ruptured less than an hour after giving birth. She was holding her new-born son in her arms when she died.
Life wasn’t easy for Jared after the loss of his wife. Her death devastated him to the point he could barely function. If it hadn’t been for his sister-in-law Ziva, Jared may very well have followed his wife in death by his own hand. Ziva arrived two days after the passing of her sister, on the day before the funeral. She quietly went about assuming the care of Lazarus, as well as consoling Jared. Ziva helped Jared through the deep depression that followed the loss of Margaux.
It wasn’t planned, but Ziva never got around to returning to France. The longer she was in Iowa, the fonder she became of Jared, seeing in him what her sister had always known. Over the years, Jared grew to love Ziva in his own fashion, sharing his life and eventually his bed. Lazarus grew up thinking of Ziva as his mother rather than his aunt, because that was how she loved and treated him. Lazarus had never known his mother, other than through the stories his father told, and pictures of Margaux kept lovingly on the fireplace mantel.
Jared died in 1981 – a heart attack while out plowing. It was Lazarus, at the age of 7, who found his father slumped over the steering wheel of the still running tractor. He’d gone to get Jared when he failed to show up for supper. Though the effect on Lazarus was traumatic, he never showed it; swallowing the pain as well as the anger he felt towards God.
They weren’t able to locate any next-of-kin for Jared, orphaned in 1929. The probate judge, in accordance with Jared’s will, gave Ziva custody of Lazarus. He would be her ward until his 18th birthday.
With Jared’s death, Ziva had no reason to stay in the States. Her friends lived in France. What little family who survived WWII, were in Poland. The suggestion they move to France was easy for Lazarus to accept. He thought of Ziva as his mother, and at the age of 7, he wasn’t leaving much behind that was important to him. He’d been calling Bryan Rasmussen “Uncle Bryan” for years. He would be the only person Lazarus would miss.
****
Jared made provisions in his will to provide for his son. Bryan was named the executor. Jared had created a trust fund for Lazarus and Bryan was given management of the farm and fund until Lazarus turned 18. At the age of 18, Lazarus would have the option of taking over the farm, leaving it in Bryan’s hands to manage or selling it. Lazarus went with the second option when he turned 18 in 1991. The value of the fund was over seven million dollars at the time. Lazarus left Bryan in charge of the farm until it was sold in 1998.
Bryan never told Lazarus that Jared was a very successful diamond trader, not just a farmer. Jared began trading with Avraham’s diamonds he brought to the States, brokering them through Avraham’s old contact in New York. Jared was a shrewd trader, with a reputation for quality over quantity that stood him well. In his will, he left the diamond business to Mr. Lowenstein, the broker. Jared added a provision in the business transfer – for the first 10 years, 50% of the profits would go into the trust fund. Lowenstein was shocked when he learned he’d inherited the business. He was so grateful he put 60% of the profits in the fund for the first 5 years.
The trust was structured for Lazarus to begin receiving $10,000 a month at 18. Full control would be transferred at the age of 25, or upon acquiring a 4-year degree, whichever came first.
Lazarus got his first degree in Business Administration, at the University of Iowa in 1995. He went on to acquire degrees in accounting and psychology at the University of Chicago. It was there that he met Dr. Helen Hudson, one of his psychology professors. She had extensive experience with sociopathic and psychopathic personalities and quickly saw the dichotomy in Lazarus, a sociopath with the tattered remnants of a conscience. It was evidenced in his compassion for the less fortunate in the world, a character trait all but unheard of for someone with his personality disorder.
Dr. Hudson, in addition to teaching psychology, spent much of her time working with criminals at the federal prison in Marion, Illinois. It was there she met Darnell Weatherspoon, who’d grown up in Chicago. Darnell had dropped out of school at the age of 8 when his father was murdered to support his mother and baby sister. At that young age there were few legal options available on the streets of Chicago’s south side. Darnell quickly found a place in the Dark Lords, first as a lookout, then later as a dealer. He continued to grow until at the age of 19, Darnell reached 6’7. He started working out regularly and soon bulked up to almost 300 pounds. Darnell did whatever he needed to do to support his mother and sister. Most of the money he made went to their care. He was satisfied with a small garage apartment and his black 1985 Cadillac Deville convertible.
Darnell was approached by the head of the Dark Lords, shortly after his 20th birthday, with an offer to take over enforcement for the gang. Darnell knew what that meant. Some day he would be required to take a life. Death was a part of life on the streets. His father had been murdered by a junkie in the course of robbing a liquor store – wrong place at the wrong time. Darnell accepted the job that came with a six-figure income. He bought a house for his mother and sister, moving them to a safer part of Chicago. Darnell soon became the most feared member of the Dark Lords, proving very effective in his position as the enforcer.
Darnell was convicted of manslaughter at the age of 21 for beating a man to death. The victim had ripped off a Dark Lord’s drug shipment. Darnell’s strength and temper got the best of him. His assignment was to beat the man, not kill him. He broke the man’s neck in the process, hitting him too hard. Darnell was sentenced to 7 years for manslaughter and incarcerated at the Federal Prison in Marion. It was there he met Dr. Hudson. Helen saw intelligence in Darnell that intrigued her. She had him tested, discovering an I.Q. of 147.
Darnell was released on parole after 5 years for good behavior. With Dr. Hudson’s encouragement, he went to tech school and became a diesel mechanic, opening his own shop in 1997. Darnell not only became an excellent mechanic, he fell in love with Helen and they were married in 1998. He never broke ties with the Dark Lords and continued as their enforcer. Helen knew it and accepted it as a part of Darnell’s life. Helen had her own violent past which very few knew about, from her days running with the Devil’s Brood.
Helen Hudson ran away from an abusive step-father at the age of 14, making it her personal goal to put as many men like him in the ground as possible. She hooked up with the Devil’s Brood, a motorcycle club based in the Twin Cities. Minnesota was just somewhere to go, far away from where she started her life. Helen became a very efficient killer, earning the respect of the club. Even the most hardcore bikers cut her a wide berth when she was pissed. She put 13 men in the ground, at least that the club knew of. The heat started coming down over the murders, so the bikers brokered a deal with the Dark Lords for her protection. The Brood had a working relationship with the Dark Lords, hauling meth to Chicago and bringing pot back to the Cities. With Helen’s reputation, the Dark Lords had no reservations about taking her in.
Helen moved to Chicago and started a new life. She acquired a degree in psychology at The University of Illinois and her masters at The Chicago School of Professional Psychology. The Minnesota police were never able to gather enough evidence on the murders to prosecute anyone in the Devil’s Brood, removing the dark cloud over her head.
Helen and Darnell became a major force on the streets of Chicago, particularly the South Side where the Dark Lords held court. They made quite the couple with Darnell
, 6’7” and black as ebony in the night and Helen, who wore heals to get to 5’ and weighing in at less than 100 lbs. The capper to the bizarre combination was Helen’s propensity for purple highlights, so incongruous that they looked good with her otherwise bright red hair.
After two years, the Dark Lords officially inducted Helen into the gang. In less than four she had risen to the rank of General, the first and only female to ever achieve that status in the D. L.’s. It was her calm demeanor in the face of adversity, coupled with her expectations that her word be taken as law that earned her the nickname “HH”. Not because her name was Helen Hudson, but for “Her Highness”. When “HH” spoke, people jumped. It was a nickname that stuck with her the rest of her life.
*****
Lazarus glanced at the time as he stepped out of the shower, toweling off. He put on an Egyptian cotton bathrobe and went into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, letting Langston out to do his morning business. Lazarus knew there was a “leash law” in Rockport, so he clipped a 6’ leather lead onto Langston’s collar before letting him out the door.
The image of the leash dragging along behind the dog amused Lazarus, and he laughed at the image. “Letter of the law, Langston!” he hollered. Langston looked back and shot him a quick growl. “Remember buddy, it isn’t about being innocent, it’s all about being not guilty!” He laughed at his own joke and headed out to the back deck with the Corpus Christi Caller-Times.
Lazarus lit a Gurkha Beauty, his favorite morning cigar, and settled in with a cup of coffee. Langston bounded up the steps 5 minutes later and Lazarus removed the lead. He was still smiling at his own joke when his satellite phone rang. Katsumi had heavily encrypted the phones as a precaution against listening ears, and Lazarus was comfortable with the level of security.
“Good morning, Kat,” he answered.
“Good morning, Sir,” replied Katsumi. “How are you today?”
“I am very well young lady, very well indeed, enjoying a Beauty with my morning coffee on the deck. I assume you’ve had some success?”
“Yes, I have, Sir.” Katsumi continued, “I emailed you the information on the Jeep, including the maintenance history and financing options you requested.” Lazarus could picture the big smile on her face as she spoke. Not only had she found the money, she’d done it in less than 24 hours. The ‘financing options’ was the indicator.
“Excellent work, Kat,” said Lazarus. “I’ll check the email after breakfast and let you know how I want to proceed. Oh, before I forget, I don’t anticipate needing anything else for at least the next 2 to 3 days. Why don’t you take that red-headed man of yours and go get some fun and sun in your life.”
“As you wish, Sir!” replied Katsumi with a laugh. The ‘red-headed man in her life’ was a 5-year-old Golden Retriever by the name of Baxter. Lazarus had given Baxter to Katsumi for companionship while he was away. In less than 2 hours, she had everything in her 2009 Toyota Sequoia and was headed north.
“Always with the ‘as you wish’,” Lazarus remarked to Langston, who ignored him. “Fine, let’s get some breakfast and see what Kat’s discovered about our favorite bank president.” Langston perked up at the mention of breakfast and headed towards the kitchen, looking back at his master as if to say, “Let’s get with the program, boss man.” It was turning out to be a very good day indeed.
Chapter Eleven
Lazarus changed into brown cargo shorts and a long-sleeved orange performance tee. He slipped on a pair of Real Tree camo sneakers before sitting down to a breakfast of lox and cream cheese on a whole wheat bagel. Nearby, Langston inhaled his food in less than two minutes. When he was through eating, Lazarus opened the encrypted email. Langston had finished way ahead of him on breakfast and was lying down on the rug by the door leading out to the deck. The email was in a code Katsumi had developed for communication on financial matters.
“The 2011 Patriot has a clear title, owned by a Rebecca Newton. The title number is 16743107. I verified the VIN as 1J8RCB2W08A795165.” That told Lazarus two things. First, Garza had an account at the Royal Cayman Bank, (RCB) numbered 08-795165. The second piece of valuable information was the title number. There was 16.7 million dollars in the account.
Lazarus thought out loud to Langston, which he often did. “Langston, old buddy, it looks like Mr. Garza has been holding out on us – that bad boy.” Langston lifted his head when he heard “bad boy”. When he saw his master wasn’t looking at him, he snorted, put his head back down and closed his eyes.
“No, Langston, I’m not talking about you,” remarked Lazarus, rolling his eyes at the dog. “However, Mr. Garza withheld this financial information from us, and that is something that’s going to cost him dearly. Good job, Kat,” he added as he copied down the information before deleting the email.
Lazarus checked the time. It was 8:30 on another surprisingly cool May morning in the Coast Bend – the temperature hovering in the low 50’s. “Time to hit the street, big boy,” he said to Langston. “We’d better get moving if we’re going to catch Angelique and Cheyenne on their morning walk.” He grabbed the leash as the shepherd leisurely stretched to his full length before weaving his way through the kitchen to the front door.
Even at 100 pounds, Langston was lean. He often ran on a treadmill next to Lazarus when they were at home. At 4 years old, he was in his prime. Few people were willing to approach Langston, even if he was just lazing around in the sun. There’s just something about a 110-pound coal black German shepherd with bright green eyes that tends to make you stop and think about losing an appendage.
*****
They caught up to Angelique and Cheyenne at the intersection of Lauderdale and Bayview. Angelique was seated on the sea wall while Cheyenne romped in the water at the end of a 50-foot nylon rope. It was Cheyenne that spotted them. She zeroed her attention in on the pair, walking out of the bay as they approached.
“Hello, Lazarus,” said Angelique without looking back, “and a fine good morning to you, Mr. Langston,” she added.
“Good morning, Angelique,” Lazarus replied. “I see Miss Cheyenne has been keeping an eye out for you.”
She laughed, “Always, Lazarus, always. No one has snuck up on me since I brought her home.” Angelique turned her head towards him. The sight was breathtaking; backlit by the sun, her blue eyes flashing through the shadows.
“You look beautiful this morning,” commented Lazarus as a matter of fact. He wasn’t trying to flatter her, it simply needed saying. He was taken in by the beauty of her profile, her hair loose and dancing with the wind.
Angelique was wearing black this morning, a striking contrast to the white she wore the day they met. All black from her Nike walking shoes to her form fitting tank, topped off with a Lone Survivor Foundation cap. Her hair was pulled through the back, hanging loosely over half way down to her waist. Lazarus thought to himself how good that hair would look spread over white satin sheets. It was at that moment he decided he would have this woman. It’s how his mind works. Lazarus didn’t question it, he accepted it. Now, as he was fond of saying, it was simply a matter of time and logistics. Enrique was already out of the picture as far as he was concerned, therefore nothing stood in his way.
“Mind if we join you?” Lazarus asked.
“By all means, please do,” Angelique replied, patting the seawall next to her. Cheyenne jumped between them before he could sit down.
Lazarus put about four feet between them, which seemed enough to satisfy Cheyenne. Lazarus unclipped Langston’s leash and nodded towards the water. He was off like a bullet into the bay. Cheyenne was not impressed. She settled down beside her mistress, putting her head on Angelique’s thigh. She kept her eyes on Langston, racing up and down the shoreline like he was on crack.
“Pretty fond of the water, is he?” asked Angelique with a straight face.
“Nope,” Lazarus replied with the same dead-pan look, “hates it.”
“Aren’t you worried he’ll run too far?”<
br />
Lazarus whistled two short notes followed by a third that was longer and higher. Langston changed direction in mid-stride, almost doing a back-flip, hitting the ground without losing speed. In seconds he was out of the bay and standing next to Lazarus with a curious dog-like expression.
“Wow,” was all Angelique could say. “That answers that question.”
“He’s a good boy, and well trained. I trust him more than any human I know,” Lazarus said as he scratched Langston behind the ears.
Angelique saw something at that moment that triggered a primal reaction. She’d never be able to explain it, but she found herself irresistibly drawn to him. If you asked her what it was, she would have said, “His confidence and self-assurance.”
Lazarus smiled and asked, “Weren’t you going to ask me about my ‘interesting name’?”
“I was,” said Angelique, “but then it came to me. Lazarus Solaris, founder and primary benefactor of the Second Chance Foundation.”
He gave her an exaggerated sitting bow, “Yes that would be me.”
“I did a little reading up on you the last few days.”
“Oh, did you?” asked Lazarus.
“I did. However, I still couldn’t find out how you came about the name Lazarus. It isn’t common, although it seems to fit you quite well. May I ask?”
Lazarus thought about it, his eyes taking on a soulful look as he stared out across the water. After two or three minutes had passed, Angelique realized she had broached a painful subject. When Lazarus answered, his words conveyed a sense of fond memories tempered by a sense of loss.
“My mother, Margaux, died from a ruptured brain aneurysm less than an hour after giving birth to me.” Lazarus stared at the waves as he spoke. “My father, Jared, was devastated. I was three weeks old before a name was added to my birth certificate.” He paused, pulling a Gurkha Park Avenue 44 from his pocket humidor, savoring a few good draws. Angelique sat patiently waiting for him to continue.
Evolution of a Killer Page 7
