Evolution of a Killer

by Robert Ullrich

  Over the course of the following year, with no war and plenty of time together, Jared and Margaux fell in love. They were married on May 1st, 1948. Together they decided to immigrate to the United States and start a new life. They would never have to worry about money. Jared still had all the uncut diamonds Avraham had entrusted him with, along with the name of Avraham’s contact in New York City, a diamond broker by the name of Isaac Lowenstein. Once they were settled in America, Isaac gladly went into business with Jared after hearing the entire story.

  Jared and Margaux ended up in Iowa purely by chance. Jared wanted to live in the country, believing farming would be good for them. Margaux threw a dart at a map of the United States, aiming for Indiana and hit Anamosa, Iowa right on the button. Two months later they were on their way to Iowa and their new life.

  They both wanted to raise a family, however, after three miscarriages they reluctantly gave up hope. That all changed in January of 1973 when, at the age of 47, Margaux became pregnant for the fourth time. With this pregnancy they took no chances. She spent the first trimester off her feet, finally making it past four months. The doctor expressed concerns due to her age, but as time progressed, he became more confident that everything would be fine. Sadly, that would not be the case.

  Chapter Six

  Lazarus was walking Langston on Bayview Drive early one morning. He spotted a tall woman heading his direction, with what appeared to be a shepherd mix. They were walking south along the sea wall just past 1900 Bayview. There are no houses on the east side of the street from there to the end of Blue Marlin Drive, offering an unobstructed view of Aransas Bay. Lazarus thought of it as a park, though technically it wasn’t.

  The first thing Lazarus noticed was the way she walked, a long stride to match her long legs. She had a lean athletic look, wearing white spandex shorts that hit mid-thigh and a white tank top. The bright white accentuated her olive complexion. Her long black hair was pulled back into a simple pony tail that swung back and forth as she walked, keeping rhythm with her hips. The walk, and the way she carried herself, made him think “Runway Model”, not knowing he was dead on. They were about 15 yards apart when Lazarus noticed her eyes. Their fluorescent blue captivated his attention as she approached, slowing to a stop about 5 feet from him. “What a beautiful Shepherd,” she commented.

  “His name is Langston,” said Lazarus, “and who might this young lady be?” he asked, watching the shepherd mix carefully.

  “This would be Cheyenne, and I’m Angelique,” she added with a very engaging smile, but did not offer her hand.

  “Lazarus,” he said with a smile to match hers, “pleased to meet you and Cheyenne.” He also refrained from proffering a hand, noticing that Cheyenne was watching him like he was either a potential threat or a treat; he couldn’t tell which for certain.

  Cheyenne was striking in color and shape. She had the lean body and long head of a German shepherd, as well as the stance. Her hind legs were extended back, the weight evenly distributed. She was a mirror, though somewhat smaller version, of Langston standing at Lazarus’s side. Her markings were unique; at least Lazarus had never seen anything like them before. For all intents and purposes, Cheyenne was marked like a Rottweiler, all the way down to the eyebrows.

  As they chatted about dogs and the Rockport area, Lazarus learned that Angelique walked Cheyenne twice a day. He also discovered she was married to man by the name of Enrique Garza. Putting two and two together wasn’t much of a stretch, if had to be ‘his’ Enrique Garza.

  Lazarus, and Langston for that matter, quickly learned that Cheyenne was protective of her mistress. She would react when they encroached upon what she obviously considered Angelique’s personal space. Cheyenne didn’t growl or show obvious aggression. She merely moved between them, dropping her tail and flattening her ears against her head. That was enough for Langston, who backed up and lay down by Lazarus, putting Cheyenne at ease, who proceeded to lie down between them. Cheyenne kept her head up, eyes flicking back and forth between the man and the dog. The fact that she didn’t make a sound impressed Lazarus and he made a mental note of it.

  “I see Cheyenne is quite protective of you” Lazarus noted. “Is she trained as a guard dog?”

  “No, she isn’t,” said Angelique. “She’s a rescue I picked up in Corpus Christi. I was walking through an old cemetery off Port Avenue and found her cowering behind a headstone. She’d been badly abused. There were cigarette burns, numerous cuts, and I found out later, three broken ribs. It wasn’t easy getting her into my car, but I managed.

  “She bonded with me by the time we got to the Rockport Animal Clinic. She didn’t want me to leave the room while they worked on her. She’s been like that ever since.”

  Angelique continued, “Cheyenne doesn’t like children at all, so I have to be careful around them. She also hates little dogs. Two or three of my neighbors have learned to keep their little ankle biters on leash around Cheyenne. She got a hold of a little Pomeranian and it wasn’t pretty. Fortunately, the dog survived. I would have hated to see it die. My neighbor called the police and animal control and tried to have Cheyenne put down. Once I explained to the officer that Cheyenne was on leash and that the little fella was running loose, that option pretty much went bye-bye. My neighbor got a warning from animal control to boot. He reminded her Rockport has a leash law, NOT a leash suggestion.” She laughed at the memory of the look on her neighbor’s face.

  Angelique added, “Cheyenne hasn’t ever bitten anyone so hard that they bled, but she has nipped more than one for getting too close to me.”

  Lazarus commented, “I bet she has one hell of a nip, too.”

  “It’ll definitely leave a bruise, and you’ll know you got away lucky, too,” said Angelique in response, liking the stranger instinctively.

  Lazarus glanced at his watch, “My apologies, but I’d better get going. I have an appointment I need to get to.”

  “Well then, I hope to be seeing you and your boy, Langston, again. Then you can tell me how you came about such an interesting name.”

  Lazarus picked up on the flirtatious tone of the comment. “I’d like that. You don’t think your husband will mind?”

  “Enrique?” she laughed, “Oh good God no. I exist only for his viewing pleasure. The honeymoon has been over for several years, if you know what I mean,” she said with a wink. “Don’t you worry about him; he couldn’t care less who I spend time with.”

  “Then rest assured you’ll definitely be seeing us again.” Lazarus made the statement with such calm self-assurance that Angelique had no doubt he meant it.

  “I’m out here twice a day, usually around 9 am and 7 pm for our walks. I’m sure you can work something out around that.” She told Cheyenne to come as she headed back up Bayview.

  Lazarus watched her walk away, thinking that he’d just met a remarkable and quite frankly, very beautiful woman. Her rescue of Cheyenne, and the love he saw for her canine companion, spoke volumes to him. It put a smile on his face, a smile that actually touched his eyes, something that rarely happened.

  Chapter Seven

  Contacting the Chameleon was not an easy task to accomplish. His reputation had grown by word of mouth alone. There were rumors he was French or Italian, but no one knew his origins. Some believed the Chameleon was an organization, not just one man, and others that he was a myth. Garza finally got the contact information in December of 2015.

  He was vacationing in Costa Rica with Ramon’s lawyer, a German National named Willem Shultz. Schultz was the intermediary for all communications between the brothers. Enrique had to be careful not to show too much interest in the hit man, lest he rouse suspicions. He broached the subject with Schultz after dinner while sharing a bottle of Patron on the balcony of their hotel suite.

  Garza waited until the lawyer was clearly drunk before asking, “Have you ever heard the stories about someone called ‘The Chameleon’?”

  “The Chameleon?” repeated Schultz. “That g
uy is a myth if you ask me. ‘The Chameleon’, like he was some sort of shape-shifter,” he snorted in derision.

  He seemed to be thinking it over for a minute or so, maybe it was just that he was drunk. Schultz took another swig of Patron and began talking in hushed tones, as though he was afraid of being overheard.

  “The story goes: if you want to contact him, you place a personal ad in the Houston Chronicle. You write that you are looking for a woman you met in a bar on Westheimer that loves chameleons, or lizards or some shit. Then you wait. Maybe he contacts you, maybe he doesn’t. Apparently, he’s a picky fucker when it comes to jobs. Either way, I think it’s a crock of shit. I believe the bosses made up those stories about the Chameleon to scare the young punks.”

  Enrique decided not to ask about the stories and let it go. He joked that Willem was probably right about the whole myth thing. At Shultz’s demanding, Garza swore he would never bring up the subject again, especially around Ramon. He had however, made mental notes of the process. Garza knew what to do now if he decided to reach out to the specialist.

  *****

  Garza debated for three months before placing the ad on March 15th. He purchased what he believed they called ‘a burner phone’ at Walmart for a contact number, paying cash. Two weeks later he got a text message that read, “Call this number in exactly 30 minutes. Be on time.”

  Enrique sat on the back deck of his house counting the minutes. He was having second thoughts. He was a little afraid that if he made the call there might be no turning back. Regardless, he knew he had to do something before his brother discovered his treachery. Tossing back a shot of Crown to settle his nerves, he punched in the number. At exactly 30 minutes he pressed send, almost hanging up when the woman answered.

  “You must be the guy I met in Houston,” she said without preface. Her voice had a slight oriental accent, but nothing definitive. After a few seconds, he swallowed hard and answered, “Yes, that was me.”

  “I’m glad you found me,” she said, “but I have to make sure you’re him. I need an email address to send you a questionnaire before we proceed.”

  Garza thought it over for a moment before answering. “I’ll have to make an account on yahoo or Gmail first. I’m not sure how all this works, but I do know I can’t give you my work or home address. Someone else might catch it before me.”

  “You have ten minutes to text me an address,” she responded firmly. “Exactly ten or you won’t be hearing from me again.”

  “Understood,” he answered. “You’ll have it in five.”

  “Very well then,” she replied and ended the call.

  Garza created an account on Gmail with a fake name and texted it to the woman. He was still sitting at his desk when an email arrived from JC Investments.

  The email read:

  “Please see the attached document regarding your interest in JC Investments, LLC. We look forward to working with you to broaden your portfolio through diversification.

  Regards,

  Customer Service, JC Investments”

  The attachment, for all intents and purposes, was a very professional questionnaire. It included a request for how much you were considering investing in the company’s mutual funds. The application was prefaced with the following:

  “This questionnaire must be completed in entirety to determine your feasibility as an investor. Failure to complete all sections of the questionnaire will result in declination. Please return the completed document within 24 hours for prompt attention.”

  Enrique spent the next hour going over the application. It was extremely thorough. It required his social security number, date of birth, banking information, marital status, job history, etc. He had to admit it was very clever. Nothing about it was incriminating or suspicious, even under close scrutiny. The last line of the questionnaire/application stated:

  “If your application is approved you will be contacted by one of our sales associates to arrange a face-to-face interview.”

  Garza was no fool. He knew why the Chameleon wanted all this personal data; insurance. He had 24 hours to decide whether or not he was willing to take the plunge so to speak, or gamble on the chance his brother wouldn’t find out. Garza was a cautious man, but he was also very greedy. He knew his brother would show no mercy if he found him out. Even so, he decided he would finish off the Crown and sleep on it.

  *****

  Garza awoke the next day with a mild hangover at around 1:00 in the afternoon. He hadn’t slept well, in spite of the alcoholic sedative. He dreamt of his brother coming for him, eyes like burning lumps of coal with knives where his fingers should have been. He awoke in a cold sweat, dreaming that Ramon was cutting his heart out with his bladed hands. Garza took that as a sign from the Blessed Virgin, going directly into the den and filling out the questionnaire, leaving nothing out (well, almost nothing, that is). He stared at the completed PDF for the better part of 30 minutes before he smiled and hit send.

  He was surprised when he received a response 3 days later.

  “Your application has been reviewed and approved for personal consultation. One of our associates will meet you on Sunday, May 1st at the Veteran’s Memorial Park in Rockport. Be there at 10:30 am. Wear a red jacket, blue jeans and a Texas A&M hat. Park your Mercedes in the back lot. Walk counter clockwise along the trail that circles the pond, to the dog park. Enter the large dog area and take a seat on the bench furthest from the gate. You will be met there by our associate. Do not bring a cell phone or any other electronic device with you. Delete this email and close your account. Do not use this address or yours again.”

  Garza did as he was instructed. He wasn’t sure what would become of this, but he knew one thing for certain, he was hungry as hell. Thirty minutes later he left the house in his black Mercedes G550, heading out to Port Aransas for dinner at the Spaghetti Works.

  Chapter Eight

  Lazarus took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before heading back to the Rover. It was time to meet Enrique Garza. He put the truck in gear, backed out onto Bayview and headed north off the island. He drove to the storage facility next to Walmart and switched vehicles, driving the Ford to the La Quinta where he had rented two rooms. One was registered under the name of Cooper Johnson and the other in the name of William Ronnebaum, one of his childhood friends. Billy had died at the age of thirteen in a traffic accident. It was one of the three aliases that he used a picture of himself. The photo on the license showed Lazarus with shorter hair, glasses and a beard. No one ever challenged him on the image, assuming he had grown his hair and cut his beard. It allowed Lazarus to come and go without raising suspicions. He parked by the back entrance and took the stairs up to the room. Once in, he changed clothing and altered his appearance until he was unrecognizable as Lazarus Solaris.

  Lazarus drove back to Key Allegro and down Barbados. Garza’s home was located on the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. The house covered half the lot, the remainder featuring thick well manicured thatch of St. Augustine carpet grass. The property was landscaped with over a dozen Mexican Palmetto, as well as Sago and Pygmy Date palms. Numerous shrubs, evergreens and various floras added character to the landscaping. Bougainvilleas were located at the four corners of the house. There were plumeria of various colors scattered throughout. Rose bushes lined the back of the property along the canal with pink oleanders running the length of the east property line. It was an impressive structure with a location to match.

  A large six-sided cupola topped the light blue, three car garaged stucco structure. There were two large porches on the back of the house, both with separate access to the second floor. A 32’ Hunter sailboat was docked on the north side with a swimming pool to the south. Little Bay wrapped around the property, reminding Lazarus of home in the Keys. He parked up the street where he could see the house and waited. It was 10:00 and Garza should be coming out shortly.

  One of the garage doors opened and Lazarus glanced at his watch – 10:05. He thought maybe Garza
was getting an early jump on things.

  It wasn’t the black Mercedes, but rather a white Jeep Rubicon with the top off and a cargo net on the rollover cage. Angelique was behind the wheel with Cheyenne hanging out the passenger window. She glanced his way as she drove by and he caught those fluorescent blue eyes for just a second. Her long black hair was hanging out the back of a Corpus Christi Hooks baseball cap. He watched in the mirror as the Jeep disappeared around the curve and then turned his attention back to the house, waiting for Garza to show. Lazarus absentmindedly adjusted the Italian Tanfoglio 9mm that hung in a shoulder holster, enjoying the feeling of power that infused his fingertips. He rarely had cause to use it, but never went anywhere without it.

  At 10:15, another garage door opened, and a green Jeep Patriot backed out. Garza sped by without so much as a glance as he passed the white Expedition. The Jeep was unexpected, and Lazarus didn’t like that. He jotted down the license number and made a note to have Katsumi run it. This vehicle wasn’t listed on Garza’s application and that didn’t sit well.

  He followed Garza through Rockport, keeping plenty of room between them. Garza drove the speed limit and appeared to be taking the long way to the park, turning south on Broadway coming off the island. Maybe he was looking for a tail, but Lazarus wasn’t concerned. The least anomaly and he would simply abort the meeting. He smiled to himself as Garza turned into Rockport Donuts. Lazarus had visited the doughnut shop his second day in town, becoming quite a fan of their glazed old-fashioned donuts – not to mention their cherry fritters. He drove past the shop and pulled into an empty bay at a car wash a block up the street.

  Five minutes later Garza drove past with a glazed doughnut in hand. Lazarus waited until the Patriot turned north on Pearl Street, heading towards Memorial Park. He took a left out of the car wash, heading to Rockport Donuts. Lazarus ordered a glazed old-fashioned and a dozen doughnut holes. He knew Garza was on his way to the park, so he took his time, enjoying the pastries before heading out to meet him.