Evolution of a Killer

by Robert Ullrich

  “It was my Aunt Ziva, who’d come over from France for the funeral, that named me. She told me when I was 10 why she chose ‘Lazarus’. According to the doctor that delivered me, I died shortly after my mother. It took 4 minutes to get me breathing, and 7 for my heart to beat on its own. I was kept in intensive care for two weeks while they ran myriads of tests. My heart seemed fine, my lungs were normal and there were no apparent brain or nervous system issues. Aunt Ziva decided it was a sign from God. That’s why she named me Lazarus, because I died and came back. The fact that my Jewish Aunt gave me a New-Testament name was ironic in a way, but Ziva doesn’t draw those lines.”

  “She never told my father until I was around 6 weeks old, having forged his signatures on the paperwork before filing it at the courthouse.”

  “The truth is, at least as I see it, my father didn’t want to name me, or for that matter keep me after my mother died. It was painful for him, and subconsciously I think he may have blamed me – though I never held it against him. He treated me well, teaching me much and loving me in his own way. Even though I had only seven years with him, I am very much a reflection of my father.”

  If Lazarus had looked at Angelique, he would have seen the tears in her eyes, but he didn’t. He continued staring out into the bay, occasionally drawing on his cigar.

  When Angelique spoke, it was soft, almost reverent. “Thank you, Lazarus,” she said. “Thank you for sharing what has to be a painful memory for you.”

  Lazarus nodded his head. “Yes, it’s painful, but not in a bad way. It’s the pain of the heart that reminds me I’m alive.”

  They sat there together for the better part of an hour, not uttering a word while speaking volumes to each other.

  *****

  Cheyenne started getting restless, so Lazarus hooked the leash on Langston and stood, offering his hand to Angelique to help her up off the wall. Cheyenne watched, but didn’t react. She sensed the change in the air and was no longer quite as wary of Lazarus, though she kept an eye on Langston none-the-less.

  “I’d love to spend more time with you right now,” said Lazarus, “but I have an appointment with a stylist that I must keep.” He ran his hand through his long brown hair as he spoke.

  “I understand,” replied Angelique, “one condition though. You tell whoever is cutting your hair, if she takes too much off, she’ll have me to answer to.” She had a very serious look as she finished.

  “It’s a deal,” said Lazarus, “I’ll pass that along.” He was lying of course, but he did it effortlessly. It was a trait Lazarus developed early in life. He wasn’t particularly happy lying to Angelique, but he wasn’t going to be bothered by it. Sometimes not telling the truth is what you do to protect someone.

  Lazarus stood there by the sea wall watching Angelique walk up Bayview. “Look at that, Langston,” he said, being ignored for a passing seagull. “She moves like a cat. I’ll bet you 20 large she knows I’m watching and double or nothing she looks back.” He won on both counts when she glanced over her shoulder and blew him a kiss, followed shortly by sticking out her tongue. Langston couldn’t have cared less.

  “Well, fuck me running, Langston,” swore Lazarus, shaking his head. “I sure as hell never saw this coming.”

  If you asked Lazarus, he’d have told you that prior to meeting Angelique nothing ever happened in his life that was by chance or unplanned after Lazarus killed for the first time. That run was definitely over, and Lazarus didn’t have a clue how or why she was having such an effect on him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Growing up in France was good for Lazarus in many ways, though not all just like growing up anywhere. One thing to his advantage, he learned to speak French quickly. In less than 12 months Lazarus was speaking fluent French, with only a hint of an American accent. Ziva and her friends were amazed at how fast he mastered the language, right down to the subtle nuances of pronunciation and accentuation to get his point across. By the time Lazarus reached the age of 10, you would have sworn he was born and raised in the South of France.

  One thing about the boy did bother Ziva. Lazarus tended to keep his own company most of the time. Although she was concerned, he seemed happy that way. He didn’t avoid people and was very respectful, even downright charming when the occasion required it. All in all, Ziva decided it was something to watch, but not be particularly worried about.

  Lazarus did so well in school that they decided to test his I.Q. in the 8th grade. When the results came in at 169, they retested him to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t. The second test came back at 167. With Ziva’s permission, Lazarus took summer classes after the school year ended. He fared so well he was moved to the 10th grade at the age of 13. Surprisingly to Ziva, the teachers and not least of all Lazarus, he was well received by his classmates in spite of his young age.

  Lazarus continued his solitary ways so Ziva decided to take matters into her own hands. She thought he was isolating himself, when in fact Lazarus was insulating himself from the pain that came with the loss of loved ones. He never spoke about it, but losing both parents, particularly his father at the age of 7, had a profound effect on him.

  Jared never understood the impact he had on Lazarus by the way he raised him. Early in his development, around the age of 4, Lazarus was becoming more emotional in his responses and actions. Jared saw it as a sign of weakness, unmanly even, and went to great lengths to ‘toughen’ up his son. Unbeknownst to Jared, what he was doing was not necessarily making his son stronger. He was driving the boy’s emotions deeper within him. They began to pool in a mixture of confusion and rage over the years. That was when Lazarus began to detach himself emotionally from people, losing his ability for the most part to empathize with them. He began thinking of people as advanced animals, a detachment that helped shape the killer he would become.

  Lazarus became good at putting up a front. He was so good no one ever questioned his feigned sincerity or seeming interest in others. Lying became the norm, not his second nature. He told people what they wanted to hear, keeping the truth as he saw it to himself. Lazarus was in his twenties before he truly understood the impact of his pathology, and began to temper lies with bits of truth, a compromise he could live with.

  The only person he truly felt connected with was Ziva, who always treated him as an adult, asking his opinions rather than dictating them. That alone wasn’t enough to offset the growing killer within him, though it staved it off for several years.

  The darkness in his soul and the growing river of rage as he thought of it, mixed together with deep depression in the recesses of his mind and heart. Lazarus willingly embraced the dance of darkness and depression, which lead him to the brink of death at the age of 16. The events that led him to the edge of the abyss had devastated him, events even more traumatic than the loss of his parents.

  On January 6, 1990, a cold and rainy night, Lazarus put a 9mm Beretta in his mouth and pulled the trigger. He sat there for hours in a mental fog after realizing he was still alive.

  Lazarus cleared the gun and found the bullet fully dimpled in the primer. It misfired. He never considered suicide again. For whatever reason, someone or something had intervened. If you were to ask, he would have said it wasn’t God that spared him that night. To Lazarus, God was at His best when tearing the people you love from your life. Regardless, he didn’t think of it as divine intervention, but rather Karma, and a destiny that would take shape over the next two years.

  *****

  Lazarus sent Garza a text at 9:30 that evening. He set up another meet at Memorial Park for the following morning at 6:30, telling Garza to meet by the front entrance this time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Garza was 15 minutes early, arriving in the black Mercedes SUV as expected. Lazarus was already sitting at a picnic table when Garza pulled into the parking area by the entrance to the park.

  “Mornin’, amigo,” drawled Lazarus as Enrique approached. “What say we take us a stroll this mornin
’. It’s too damn nice a day to be sittin’ on our asses in a dog park, and I could use the exercise.”

  He surprised Garza by reaching out and patting him on the stomach. “You ain’t all bad for your age, but it looks like I ain’t the only one who needs to be walkin’ off a little belly.”

  Garza couldn’t help but laugh at the big man. He had a way of making him feel at ease, and “Cooper” was growing on him. It was a beautiful 17th of May in Rockport, the temperature hovering around 60 at this early hour of the day. An overnight rain seemed to have washed the park clean of dust, even the grass looked greener. They headed south along the blacktop path that circled through the park.

  Lazarus stopped on the trail behind the baseball diamond, pointing towards an open area to the right from where they were standing. “Look there, Enrique.” Enrique followed his arm and spotted a rather large hawk sitting on what appeared to be a smaller hawk.

  “Ain’t that somethin,” said Lazarus, “the hunter bein’ the hunted no less. Apparently ya don’t want to be messin’ in a red-tails home turf, even if ya are a bad-assed cooper hawk yerself.” Garza simply nodded, not getting the irony of the situation, but then again, he didn’t care much about birds and couldn’t tell one from the other.

  They walked slowly, not saying much, enjoying the morning as they followed the trail past the basketball court to the far northeast corner of the park. Lazarus sat down at a vacant picnic table and Enrique went around to the other side.

  Lazarus had decided that Enrique wasn’t going to have a good start to his day. It would be payback for withholding the financial information. He wasn’t going to admit he knew about the money in the Caymans, so he took a different tack.

  “Well now, Enrique, let’s cut to the chase as they say.” said Lazarus, appearing dead serious. “Why do ya want the boss to kill ya?”

  Enrique reacted like he had been punched in the gut. He couldn’t breathe. He was caught completely off-guard, precisely what Lazarus wanted. He turned to Lazarus and saw a concerned look on his face, though somewhat puzzled at the same time. To Garza, it seemed as though the man was truly confused by his reaction.

  “N-no n-no,” stuttered Garza. “I don’t want him to kill me. Please understand that, please?”

  This time Lazarus feigned surprise, as though they’d never spoken in the dog park. “What the hell? I reckon ya best git to explain’ yerself, cause I’m pretty much lost here.”

  Garza swallowed hard. “I thought I’d made that clear at our first meeting, so I’m really confused myself.”

  Lazarus responded, “Ya sure about that? I swear ya said you was the buyer and the seller both. I know ya did.” It was all Lazarus could do not to laugh at the look on Garza’s face. Payback truly was a bitch when Lazarus was delivering it.

  Garza sat there, mouth agape, unable to say anything. All the color had drained from his face. He looked like a man who had just received a death sentence.

  Lazarus started scratching his head, looking as though he was trying to pull something out of it that he couldn’t quite get. Then he slapped himself on the forehead.

  “Well, shit,” said Lazarus. “Now that I think about it, I do seem to recall somethin’ about ya wantin’ to be disappeared – makin’ it look like ya was killed.”

  Garza still couldn’t find words, so he nodded his head rapidly.

  “Son of a bitch, I’m thinkin’ I done screwed the pooch on this one,” said Lazarus as he took off his Stetson and ran his fingers through his hair. “I mean, REALLY screwed it.”

  He stood up and started walking around in circles, muttering to himself and swearing repeatedly, “Cooper, ya stupid idiot.” After a couple of minutes, he put his hat back on and walked over, leaning both fists on the table across from Garza.

  “Look here, Enrique, gimme five minutes to make a call and I’ll try to git this shit squared away. I’m really sorry ‘bout the fuck-up. Worst thing is, the boss is gonna have my ass for dinner now. Jesus H. Christ I’m a fuckin idiot,” Lazarus said again, with his head hanging so Garza couldn’t see the smile on his face. “Ya’ll sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

  Garza stayed put as Lazarus pulled out a cell phone and punched in some numbers. He was calling himself, but Garza had no way of knowing it. He walked far enough away to appear he was looking for privacy but made sure he was up wind so his voice would likely carry back to Garza.

  “Hey, boss, it’s me,” Lazarus said almost sheepishly. “I done screwed up on the information ‘bout the buyer. He don’t wanna be dead, he just wants it to LOOK like it, and git relocated.”

  Lazarus pretended to listen for about 5 minutes, shaking his head from time to time while he bit on his fingernails. To the world he looked like a kid getting reamed out royally.

  “Argentina,” he said at one point. “Yes sir, Argentina. That’s where he wants to end up.”

  He listened for another two minutes before saying anything again, taking his hat off and smacking himself on the thigh a couple of times.

  “Boss,” Lazarus said loud enough to make sure Garza heard him. “I can fix this. I screwed the pooch, and I give ya my word it was my fuck-up. The buyer is dead-assed serious, and well funded. I need to git this fixed for both of ya.”

  He listened for a couple of minutes. “Yes sir, boss, I got this.” Lazarus waited some more. “Yes, sir, I’ll git this fixed and fixed right.” After another pause, he continued, “I really appreciate this, boss.” Another pause for effect, “Damn straight I will. You’ll have the whole she-bang by noon. I swear it on my momma’s grave.”

  Lazarus turned and walked back over to Garza who commented, “I over-heard a little of the conversation. Sounds like you’re in a pretty big bind with your boss.”

  “Yeah, I am, but it’s my own damn doin’,” Lazarus said sourly. “I got my ass drunk the night we met the first time, and I totally screwed it up.”

  “Well, is everything okay now?” asked a still visibly shaken Garza. “Does he understand I don’t want to die?”

  “He’ll have the whole story by noon. Nuthun's going to happen right now anyways. He tole me it was back to square one, which means I got to sell him on the job all over agin.” Lazarus looked at Garza with pleading eyes. “So, can you run this whole thing down for me agin?” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a note pad and a pen. “I’m gonna write the generalities down, no names, so no worries, okay?”

  Garza nodded. “No worries.” He took a long deep breath and let it out slowly trying to calm himself down. Then he said, “For what it’s worth Cooper, I’m sorry you got your ass chewed over this. Maybe I should have been clearer.”

  “No, no, no. This ain’t on you, this here’s on me. I fucked it up, not you. I appreciate what ya said, it helps more than ya know that ya ain’t gonna hold this agin me.”

  Garza smiled broadly, his confidence restored. “Never, my friend,” he said magnanimously. “I believe you want to do right by me, and I appreciate that. Let’s go over it in detail so we can get your butt out of the fire.”

  Lazarus smiled, he had him now. Garza not only trusted him, he thought he was saving his ass from his ‘Boss’. Game on. They walked back through the park, taking the path that paralleled Pearl Street. Garza went over the plan he had concocted. Lazarus made notes as they walked, occasionally thanking Garza again for saving his ass. When they arrived back by the vehicles Garza asked, “Well, Cooper, what do you think of my plan?”

  The big man settled down at a picnic table they were passing and looked over his notes before responding. “It’s a good plan Enrique, a damn good one from what I see. Ya got this here well thought out. It lowers the chance of blow-back on the boss, which is another good thing, least wise nothin’ I can see anyway.” Lazarus pondered for a bit before speaking again. “I think he’ll go for it. I’m goin’ to bat for ya ‘cause of ya being so up front with me. I ‘preciate the hell outta that.”

  “So, what happens now?” Enrique asked.


  “Now I put this together best I can and call the boss. If’n ya don’t mind sittin’ a spell, I wanna do this right now.”

  “Sure, no problem, I can make a couple of calls while I wait.”

  “Ya brought yer phone with ya?” asked Lazarus feigning concern.

  “Yes, but it’s in my Mercedes. I wouldn’t have dreamt of carrying it in with me.”

  “Fair enough, go make yer calls and I’ll be back in 15. I even got me a couple of Dos Equis in my truck. If everything goes good with the boss, I’ll bring ‘em back so’s we can drink on it.”

  “Works for me,” said Garza. “See you in about 15 minutes?”

  “Yep, I’ll meet ya back here,” said Lazarus, heading to the Expedition and climbing in.

  It was a good plan. Garza simply didn’t have the resources and connections to pull it off. He needed someone like the Chameleon to execute it. Garza’s offer on the application for the job was listed at $250 thousand. Lazarus decided it would be half a million. It was going to cost him one of his identities, and that was not an inexpensive procedure.

  Having made up his mind, he pretended to talk on the phone another 10 minutes. Lazarus grabbed two beers out of the cooler and headed back. Garza was waiting for him at the table. Lazarus popped the tops off both and handed one to Enrique. Just as he was ready to speak, he spotted a hawk sitting in the tree above them. He pointed it out to Enrique. “That there’s another cooper’s hawk, Enrique.”

  Garza responded, “A cooper’s hawk? If you say so, I’m not much on birds,” he admitted.

  “Yes, sir, that’s a cooper’s, probably the mate to the one the Red-tail was tearin’ apart over by the ball diamond.” The comment seemed irrelevant to Garza, but he nodded in agreement though he had no clue if it was or not.

  “The boss’ll take yer job,” Lazarus said without preamble. “One catch though, and it’s a pretty damn big one.”