Lustmord 2

by Kirk Alex

  “Ace. Forget the feathers, man.” Felix had remained in the hallway. “Let’s get this over with and get the fuck out.”

  Ortiz nodded his head. He wasn’t disagreeing. “Only I ain’t leaving empty-handed.”

  He paused at the door across the way. Opened it. There was not much there: foam mattress on the floor, couple of Salvation Army blankets with frayed ends over it, a pillow, stack of Hustler magazines, portable tv, used VCR, video tapes, and two rats in a cage. The rats made him cringe. The movie posters taped to the cracked and peeling wallpaper were from blaxploitation fare: Dolemite, Super Fly, The Mack, Black Caesar. Couple were from Bruce Lee Hong Kong action flicks. Garbage. Useless.

  Ace Ortiz scratched his crotch to get at the perpetual itch down there. He was ready to turn around, when Felix stepped in, shoving him aside, to get at a toy figure atop the plank of wood that served as a makeshift shelf placed across two cinder blocks.

  He held the toy monk in his hands. Pressed down on the hairless dome to witness the woody spring out down below.

  Felix was grinning. “Check it out. Always wanted one of these.”

  “Yeah? Lemme see.”

  Ace snatched the monk from the other man. Dropped it. Stomped it. Did his best to crush it out of existence by twisting his foot back and forth over it, practically grinding it into the worn carpet.

  “Simple maricon.”

  “Chill, bro.”

  “No, you chill. Didn’t come here to boost no toy monk with a boner. That lame shit don’t play.”

  “Okay.”

  Ace glared at him.

  “I said okay.”

  The junkie stepped back into the hallway. His buddy did the same. They walked toward the front, Ortiz forever ready to use his gun if need be. Door to the living room was locked. Ortiz fired a shot into the keyhole. Kicked the door open. Looked around.

  “Next time I need a color tee-vee and a real nice VCR I know where to come.”

  They ransacked the room in search of drugs and jewelry, and found neither. The stench was tough to get past. Ace took in all the religious posters on the walls and shook his head. “Fucking hypocrite. Can you believe this shit?”

  “Some bishop.”

  “Some church.”

  Ortiz began ransacking the dresser drawers. Indicated to Felix that he check out the closet, and went back to turning over crap inside the drawers: combs and hairbrushes, colognes, shavers, women’s underwear, lots of women’s underwear.

  Ace grabbed one of the cans of air freshener off the top of the dresser and sprayed the air. Didn’t do much good.

  “Like a septic tank in here.” Felix struggled with the closet door that was locked.

  “You said a mouthful.”

  Ace noticed the homie’s dilemma. Walked over. Kicked the door in. Didn’t do it. Kicked it again. The door opened. Told Felix to check under the futon mattress and sofa cushions, while he stepped inside the closet.

  Found shoes, piles of shoes and clothes. Up on the shelf above: pornography, hardcore video tapes. Some of them had pictures of Lana Da Bottom, some had Stella Storm’s big tits on there. Like he always said: Putas had ways. Knew how to make that easy money. While righteous dudes like him and Felix had to bust their ass to make a few pennies.

  There was an empty birdcage on the floor. He stepped out of the closet. Looked around.

  “Find anything?”

  Felix shook his head. He was at the sofa, turning cushions over. Ace walked up. Shoved Felix out of the way. Ortiz had his switchblade in his hand. Clicked the blade into place, and started sticking it into the cushions, repeatedly. Got nowhere. He turned his head. There was the futon, on the Roscoe side of the living room. Did the same with the blade: stuck it in the mattress a few times.

  Found nothing.

  “Dude’s got a couple of books in here. Better than a pen library.”

  Ace opened some of the books, to see if they were fake jobs with the pages hollowed out. It was a good way to hide shit. Got nowhere. Did it with a few more. Came across names of various libraries throughout the city and state.

  Felix did the same. Kept opening books. Chuckled and shook his head.

  “Lots of these was ripped off from libraries and schools from all over the country. Some preacher.”

  “Yeah. Some church.”

  Out of sheer frustration, he began throwing books on the floor, just shoving them off the shelves, and the books went flying. “Fucker’s too smart. We’ll never find nothing without help.”

  He noticed the brown mini refrigerator that sat between the wall with the mirror squares and the futon. He opened it. Fridge contained a couple of pineapple sodas, candy bars, half a six-pack of generic beer. He pocketed the candy bars. Shoved a beer in each shirt pocket, then cracked the top on the third can. Took a long pull. Felix just stood there, staring at him.

  “I can’t believe you, man.”

  “What?”

  “This is how we share and share alike? This is the new you?”

  Ace tossed him one of the candy bars.

  “I want a beer.”

  Ace tossed him one of the cans. Felix cracked the lid. Sucked some beer down.

  “Ransacking is hard work.”

  “You said a mouthful. Makes you wonder if getting a square gig, goin’ nine-to-five might be easier.”

  “This place smells so bad I could puke.”

  “Fucking generic beer.”

  Ace drained the can, and tossed it aside. Got the other can out of his pocket. Cracked the top. Had a good pull. He stepped into the hallway. Felix followed. They lingered in the foyer area. Attempted to pry open the door to the staircase that led to the second floor, and could not do it. Ortiz fired a shot, to no avail. Door was fortified.

  “Using up ammo. What are you gonna do when the man comes at us with that Magnum?”

  They walked away from there. Reached the door to Cecil’s own room. It was solid. Possibly impregnable. User cursed under his breath.

  “Probably need a shotgun to blast it open.”

  Frustrated, they walked down the hallway. Paused at the door to the basement. Yes. Locked. Ortiz was bothered way more than the other guy and wanted the owner of the place to know it.

  “That’s right, cochino, keep hidin’ your sorry ass. Only sooner or later you’re gonna have to come out. I don’t leave ’till you do. Hear me, ‘Eddie Gein’? Psycho son of a bitch.” Added: “Me cago en la leche de tu puta madre!” You goddamned motherfucker! (I shit in the milk of your whore mother!)

  They returned to the kitchen.

  CHAPTER 446

  “Doors are locked.” Felix was speaking to Rudy Perez. “We was able to get in the living room on this floor. Didn’t find nothin’ but a shit load of ripped off library books.”

  Ace collected his switchblade.

  “All we got to do is start bustin’ some of them other doors in. Only it would take tools: crowbar, ball bat. Something. Your girl’s gotta be in here someplace. It don’t really matter if them retards don’t want to give her up.”

  Rudy wasn’t disagreeing, and the three of them were about to walk out.

  “Hey, buddy. I like the color of your money—American money.”

  Ortiz reacted to the foreign-sounding individual in his own typical way: “Fuck you. Fuck him, Rudy. Don’t give him nothin’.”

  Rudy let him have all the paper money he had on him. Even got Felix to contribute what few bills he was able to come up with. Handed the lot over. Ortiz shook his head in disgust.

  “I don’t believe this. I knew you was naïve . . .”

  “I can get you more. Like I said. My brother would understand.”

  “You guess right, buddy. She was here—your lady friend—and then she go. This is what we was told.”

  “I don’t mean that time I was with her. Because I know nothing happened to her then. Did she show after that time? Is she here now?”

  Ace Ortiz jumped in here: “Is she even alive?”

&n
bsp; “Please tell me that no harm has come to her.”

  “I know you do not believe me.”

  “I believe you. I do. What’s the rest of it? Don’t you hold out on me. Nothing is going to happen to you long as you tell the truth. Other people know we’re here. You’ll get help. All of you. You’ll be treated right, with respect. That goes for everyone. You want to get out of here, don’t you? You want to be helped, don’t you?”

  “You do not believe me when I tell you I was architect in Rumania—”

  “Which is it?” Ortiz couldn’t take much more of this bullshit. “Make up your mind: architect or engineer? Maybe you was nothin’ more than a sud buster—”

  “Bullcrap!” Big Tex Leo Nix blurted. “Sumbitch Communist. Always talkin’ outta his hind end. Commies was always like that: Red Menace sack of manure. Drove a bus, more-than-likely, or had him a low-level factory job.”

  “Nobody believe when I tell them. In America, I am nothing taxi—”

  “I KNOW ALL THAT! TAXI DRIVER! SO FUCKING WHAT, MAN? WHAT’S THAT GOT TO DO WITH MY GIRL BEING MISSING?”

  Felix was of the opinion that they needed to do but one thing: bone out. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, Rudy.”

  “He knows something, only he’s too scared to tell us.” Rudy faced the Rumanian again. “I’m right—and you know I’m right.” He looked at Norbert Fimple. “He’s holding out, ain’t he?”

  Norbert Fimple kept eating that stew, never acknowledging anyone in the kitchen. Rudy tried Ionesco again.

  “You’re scared. They’re scared.”

  Ortiz was agreeing with Perez for a change. “Scared and screwed up mentally. If you get the picture. Buncha mental midgets.”

  His buddy Felix admitted to being a little scared himself. “Don’t mind sayin’ so, nether.”

  “They’re scared, I tell you.” Rudy insisted this was the reason why they wouldn’t come forth with anything. “The taxi driver’s scared something is going to happen to him if he talks.”

  “I am not taxi driver. I drive taxi temporary to support my wife, my sick wife. Anastasia wash dishes in hotel in Beverly Hills to support me when I don’t find work in Los Angeles for long time. And I support her when she get cancer; tumor in the pancreas. . . . Was in bed in much pain all the time. . . . Life is nothing. . . .” Tears filled Julian Ionesco’s eyes. “I was architect in Rumania. I love my good wife. She was good woman, people. . . . She was history professor. . . . In America they say to her we have ‘good job’ for you: in hotel kitchen, wash dishes. . . .”

  “You’re afraid of Biggs, aren’t you? All of you. What’s he done with Liv?”

  “I remember now.” Ionesco wiped his eyes. “She leave with you. What they tell me that time. We don’t see her after that.”

  “Bullshit. She didn’t leave with me.”

  “You just lost thirty bucks, Perez.” Ace Ortiz shook his head. All Rudy could do was let go with a deep, long sigh.

  “Big Tex” Leo Nix cleared his throat. Wiped stew juice from his mouth with a red kerchief. It was enough to draw Rudy’s attention.

  “What do you got to say? You got something to tell me, sir?”

  “I left Texas for this? Buncha crap. I’m homesick, that’s what it is. Homesick. Don’t nobody gets it. Long way from home. Miles from the old homestead, that’s for dang sure.”

  “What’s your name, Midnight Caballero?” Ace Ortiz was the one doing the asking this time.

  “Leo Nix. Friends call me Big T., Tall T. I can’t believe I left Texas for this.”

  “I can’t either. Not that I got any idea what you left behind in Texas, only this dump sure don’t smell like no Nevada whore house.”

  “You sound like a reasonably intelligent cowboy to me, Mr. Leo Nix. Can you help me?”

  “If you can help me, sir, I can sure try to help you out.”

  “You got yourself a deal.”

  “Get me back to Texas.”

  “You got it.”

  “I can’t believe I left Texas for this.”

  “You got yourself a deal. Got my word on it. I’ll get you back. Not only that: we’ll put the Communist on a jet plane, too. Make everyone happy. How’s that sound? Is she in this house somewhere?”

  Big Tex was studying the photo in Rudy’s hand.

  “Don’t know. What I do know is Bishop poked her eyes out. That box he made, put it on her head, and shut the door on her pretty face and locked it, and them two nails on the inside of that door musta gone right through both eyeballs. Damned shame. Good lookin’ young filly. . . . He done it so she wouldn’t run off like Tillie Marie. Tillie Marie run off when she was carryin’ the padre’s baby. . . .”

  Rudy could not hold back the tears.

  “Leastways, that’s what he said he was gonna do.”

  It was difficult, but Rudy did his best to show some control now. He did not know what to think.

  “Is she alive?”

  “Get me back to Texas. I got your word on that, partner.”

  “IS SHE ALIVE?”

  “Tillie Marie? Course she is. Sends her alimony every month. Judge’s orders.”

  “No, Olivia Duarte.”

  “Who knows? We don’t know what goes on. Bishop keeps us in the dark most of the time. For our own good. Puppet Master runs the show. We ain’t nothin’ but puppets. Some of us know it and don’t mind it. Makes things look good when them city officials come snoopin’ around. That’s the way it is, partner. Last I heard, your lady friend was breathin’. Don’t know where her fate done took her.”

  Back door startled them all when it slammed shut. Caused Sassounian to drop his plate. Stew spattered. Norbert Fimple’s wooden spoon broke off in his mouth. Ace and Felix ran out of the kitchen. Attempted to pry the back door open. Realized quickly enough every effort was nothing more than an exercise in futility. Door was solid. Shut tight. The gun would do them no good, either. That was obvious.

  CHAPTER 447

  They returned to the kitchen in time to witness Sassounian go after Rudy Perez with a beer bottle. Ortiz fired a shot that shattered the bottle in the former carpet cleaner’s/psychologist’s hand and left him with the bottleneck.

  “Ja ja. Senor Sassy don’t like it when noise make him drop his dinner.”

  “What’s the matter with you, Perez? You ain’t got to take no crap off these chupacabras.”

  Sassounian glared at the intruders through strands that hung over his eyes: the slamming of the back door, his attempt to lunge at Perez with the bottle, and Ace Ortiz firing the gun—Sassy’s reaction to it all had caused the female scalp that sat on his head to shift perceptibly and added to his demented countenance.

  He spit at the floor, then brought the broken end of the bottleneck close to his face. Pressed the jagged edge against the left temple and began pulling down on it, cutting his face open, drawing blood. He continued on this way to his lower jaw. Rudy and his companions watched. Flabbergasted.

  “Sassy got revelation now. Sassy this way all the time. Ja ja. He like it.”

  Rudy Perez whispered something to himself.

  “What the . . .”

  Sassounian licked at some of the blood near to his mouth, then stuck the bottleneck into his right eye with a short, albeit high-pitched cry. He staggered back against the sink and sank to the floor.

  His cries went on, but they were muffled sounds that he did his best to contain, sounds that escaped through clenched teeth.

  CHAPTER 448

  “Madre de Dios.” Rudy Perez stared in shock.

  “Hell, don’t worry about him.” The cowboy shrugged. “Some folk got peculiar habits. At least he ain’t poked my eye out with that bottleneck.” Cleared his throat. “See the dark stain on his dress? Biggs told him there was no funds for his sex change he’s been wantin’, so Sassy attempted to cut his sexual machinery with a piece of broke glass. Sad, ain’t it? Man wantin’ somethin’ that bad.” Big T. stared at them for a bit. “You’re Feds, ain’t you? Bishop sai
d FBI was keepin’ tabs on him. Looks like he was right. G-Men, ain’t you?”

  “What?” Rudy hadn’t completely recovered from what had transpired with the bottleneck. Sassounian had lost a substantial amount of the red stuff. “I’m a car mechanic.”

  “I’m a bronc-buster myself. In my spare time, you understand?”

  “I’m a car mechanic, and those two are ex-cons.”

  “Don’t call me no ex-con, Perez. I don’t like it.”

  “CIA and FBI.” Julian “Pinko Punisher” Ionesco was the one underscoring with it. “Beware, Cecil explain to us everything. FBI and CIA watching not only ones here, they watching everybody. They give to my dear wife cancer because they say we are spy and we knows much.”

  Felix Monk couldn’t hold back any longer. “You know what, creep? What would the FBI want with a bunch of fruitcakes like you, anyway?”

  The one from Texas was of the opinion that the army was after the bishop. “Army; FBI, too. Bishop’s worth money. IRS on his ass. They all claimin’ this here church is a tax sham. You don’t think we know? We know what we need to know, amigo.”

  Ortiz reminded him of what he’d insisted a moment ago. “You just said you didn’t know nothin’.”

  “Never did. We know what counts.”

  “When you gets lots of money, government take it from you.”

  “Hey, this ain’t Bulgaria.” Rudy was clearly losing patience and tired of this outsider’s un-American take on things.

  “RUMANIA call to me. RUMANIA. All of my family call to me. I hear my family inside here, my head, every day. From far away, they call to me every day—”

  “Or Rumania. You’re in America.”

  “It’s cold in here.” Patience McDaniel made the statement and was directed at no one, as she shivered at the table, pulling her robe about her.

  Sassounian was coming to. Slowly extracted the bottleneck from his eye. He seemed to be waiting for something, the right moment, then flung the bottleneck at Ace Ortiz, his oppressor, and watched Ortiz attempt to deflect it with his left arm—and was only partly successful, in that it left the heel of his hand with a nice gash. While Ortiz was busy cursing and seeing to it that no shards were imbedded, Marvin Muck took the opportunity to scramble out of the kitchen. Ace spun in the direction. Fired a shot. Missing.