Emergency workers rushed to the scene, but attempts by paramedics to revive Wurzbach were unsuccessful. He died soon after arriving at the San Antonio Medical Center, authorities said.
The killing of Wurzbach could be a crippling blow for the German-Texas movement, Satterfield said. The Fredericksburg politician had raised awareness for his initiatives, but hadn’t consolidated enough legislative support and was raising money for a long-term campaign.
Wurzbach was a graduate of the University of Texas, who majored in business before returning to Fredericksburg and starting the bakery business. He leaves a wife, Marie, and three daughters at home. Two brothers, two sisters and three uncles in Fredericksburg also survive him. He’ll be buried Tuesday in the town’s German cemetery after a 2 p.m. service at the German Lutheran Church in Austin.
CHAPTER 34
Travis dropped off Annie at her house late afternoon Sunday. They hadn’t talked much on the way back from Austin to Houston. She reckoned that Travis still felt shell-shocked. She was worried about the complexity of reporting that awaited them on Monday.
Annie really wanted to talk to Matt Sharpe. Spending time with Jake before and after the shooting had been emotionally exhausting. She was eager to visit Matt at his peaceful apartment, get the detective’s take on the shooting and perhaps go out for a relaxing dinner. She’d texted him about her return and suggested getting together. He’d said he wasn’t working and would love to see her. She thought she’d surprise him, so she drove quickly to his Montrose apartment, ran up the stairs and used a key he’d given her recently to unlock the door.
She opened it and immediately realized she’d made a mistake. The view from the door of his studio apartment left no doubt that he was entertaining a female visitor and they’d probably just had sex. She almost slammed the door and left, but curiosity took over. Matt was sitting up shirtless in his bed, his arm encircling an attractive woman with dark curly hair and distinctive eyebrows. She leaned casually on his shoulder in what looked like a contented post-coital languor. Both appeared to be naked, though they were partly covered with a sheet. Annie thought with a pang that they seemed very comfortable together. Matt looked surprised, but not terribly bothered, by Annie’s appearance. She couldn’t immediately place the woman, though she looked familiar. Something about her shocked expression at Annie’s appearance also held an element of triumph.
“Annie, come in and we’ll talk. Why didn’t you call?” Matt said. “You probably remember Monica Gardiner, the officer I introduced you to that night at the Texas Girls Club.”
“Hi, Annie,” Monica said. “I know this is extremely awkward. Sorry. I’ll be out of here as soon as I get dressed.” She grabbed clothes from the floor and padded to the bathroom, carrying them in a bundle in front to cover her nudity.
Annie realized she felt regretful, but wasn’t really surprised, to see the two police officers in bed together. She’d sensed a connection at the strip club, watching them talk across the room. With a reporter’s instincts, she could usually detect when a man and a woman were lovers just by observing their behavior. She blamed herself for refusing to acknowledge the electricity between Matt and Monica when she met the policewoman. Since she’d gotten to know Matt, she’d let her guard down. He got out of bed, looking resigned to a confrontation.
“Let’s go talk on the balcony, Annie,” he said, pulling on his pants and a shirt. “Want me to get you a beer?”
She shook her head and walked out the balcony’s sliding door, settling herself in a plastic chair facing the backyard trees. It was better than looking toward the apartment where she knew Monica would be scrambling to dress and make herself presentable before leaving. Matt came out carrying a cold beer and took his time to settle into the chair beside her. He wore an appropriately serious expression, but she didn’t detect any remorse. If she interpreted his reaction correctly, it was one of irritation with her for barging in unannounced. His next words confirmed that impression.
“I’m sorry that you didn’t at least let me know that you were on your way,” he said. “I would have gotten Monica out of here.”
“I’m just surprised that she’s here, since you knew I was coming this afternoon,” Annie said, trying for an even tone. “What’s your relationship with her?”
“We’ve seen each other on and off since I separated from Sue,” Matt said. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I was seeing her during the last year of my marriage. Sue found out about it and threw me out.”
“Is she single?”
“She’s married to another cop. He’s a nice guy in the robbery division,” he said with no trace of irony. “They have a couple of kids.”
“What’re your intentions?” Annie thought without humor that she probably sounded like the gun-toting father of a pregnant teenager.
“She’s not going to leave her husband or family to be with me, if that’s what you mean.”
“Her behavior seems incredibly stupid,” Annie said. “Why would she endanger her marriage to be with you?”
“It’s just a sex thing,” Matt said quickly. “And we look out for each other on the job. She’s a good police buddy.”
“You mean a good fuck-buddy?” Annie didn’t like that crude term, but in this case, it seemed to fit.
“Call it whatever you want. Monica’s not a bad person.”
Annie knew she’d made her share of mistakes but wondered about the policewoman. Why would someone lucky enough to find a good husband and father for her children jeopardize something that precious? How many single women wasted their fertile years searching for a decent man?
“Is she the only woman you’re sleeping with besides me?” Annie asked.
“Well, to be honest, no,” Matt said. “I’ve been seeing another woman who’s a little older than me.”
“Is she married too?”
“Yeah, her husband travels a lot,” he said. “She’s a librarian and she gets lonely when he’s away. She says I’m good for her because she’s more interested in sex than her husband.”
“At the risk of sounding judgmental, that’s sad and wrong,” Annie said.
“There’s a lot of that going around these days,” Matt said. “Women want what they want.”
“That may be,” Annie said. “But what about you? Don’t you want something better for yourself? Why would you want to waste your limited time with married women who’re just using you for sex?”
“Is that so bad?” he said. “What’s wrong with playing the field?”
“Where does that leave us?” She knew she probably wouldn’t like the answer.
She could see him hesitate, perhaps trying to spare her feelings.
“I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Annie,” he said. “You’re a wonderful girl, but I’m not ready for a relationship now, or maybe ever again. I stayed married way too long.”
“I’m not saying that I’m looking for marriage, or even a long-term relationship with you,” Annie said. “But I don’t want to be part of someone’s harem.”
“That’s a little harsh. Three women is hardly a harem,” Matt said. “I never asked you to be exclusive.”
“I know. Wish I hadn’t seen you and Monica together,” she said. “It just spoils it for me. I’m guessing you’re not going to give her up.”
“I’m not leaning in that direction,” he said. “But why give me up?”
“It’s obvious we don’t see this in the same way,” she said. “Let’s just say goodbye, Matt.”
She stood up, sorry she couldn’t stay. The view at dusk on Matt’s balcony was one of the best she’d found in Houston. She’d enjoy sitting there for another hour, drinking more of the Scotch that burned
her throat, and making love as the lights flicked on across the city. Monica had slipped out while she and Matt were talking. It was time for her to leave, too. Better to do it fast, like pulling off a scab. She walked back through the apartment, glancing at the crumpled sheets on the bed and leaving her key on the kitchen counter. She opened the door and shut it gently behind her.
CHAPTER 35
Zogu steered the borrowed van into the parking lot at the Texas Girls Club off the Gulf Freeway. He hadn’t been there since the Houston Times reporter was found dead behind the club two weeks ago. The police had called it murder and he’d wondered about what really happened, knowing that his boss, Kyle Krause, hated the news media almost as much as he feared the local cops. Would Krause really have the nerve to kill a reporter? Zogu didn’t think so, though he could easily visualize Juliana Souza bashing in someone’s head without a second thought.
It was Juliana the girls had to win over today, and Zogu was jittery about what might happen. Beside him in his brother-in-law’s beat-up van was Genta, calm and lovely as usual, with their nine Albanian girls: Leka, Ardita, Edona, Afrodita, Elvana, Rita, Mimoza, Vera and Bora. A couple of weeks ago, they’d been nothing more than a crew of unruly girls to him. Now despite his resolve to stay aloof, he knew them all by their names, their looks, their favorite foods and their capacity for making trouble. Elvana and Afrodita, for instance, were the risk takers he’d really had to watch. They’d sneaked out to a bar one night last week, met two truckers and spent the night with them in a nearby motel before straggling back shamefaced the next day. Since then, he’d put them in different rooms and monitored their movements more stringently. Vera and Bora were the youngest, just eighteen, and they seemed the most homesick for their families back in Albania. Mimoza was the prettiest, slender with Barbie-doll proportions and big blue eyes. Rita had a fiery temper, knew more swear words in Albanian than most sailors and quarreled frequently with her more attractive cousin, Ardita. Leka was still his favorite. She was the smartest with the most assertive personality. She was the leader they all wanted to follow.
He’d visited their motel rooms every day with groceries and other supplies and marveled at the incredible progress Genta was making in rehabilitating them. Under her exacting tutelage, they’d metamorphosed from loud and messy to polite and orderly – well, most of the time. His wife worked miracles through the sheer force of her will. The girls were afraid of disappointing her and igniting her sudden, lightning-blast temper. Zogu could relate; he felt the same way. Right now she was looking at him inquiringly.
“Let me speak to the girls for a moment before we go inside the club,” she said in a low voice.
Zogu parked in front of the club and turned off the van’s ignition. It was nearly 2 p.m., two hours before the club officially opened for customers. Krause and Juliana had scheduled this time to see each girl dance before deciding where to place them. It was essentially an audition. He couldn’t begin to guess what might happen if any of the girls failed to measure up. What would become of them? Would Krause keep his bargain to find a place for all of them? Above all, would he pay Zogu what he’d promised? Since it was the first time he’d brought over girls from Albania, he wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen next. He knew that in the past, Krause had gotten dancers through the Russian Mafia. But he felt that if he asked too many questions about those shadowy deals, he’d risk Krause’s anger.
Genta had finished her coffee and he could see her preparing to speak. She half-turned and blew the little whistle she wore around her slender neck while she was training them. The girls filled three rows of seats behind her. They’d been talking and laughing among themselves, but they immediately became quiet. She spoke English mixed with Albanian, since she’d discovered that most of the girls remembered bits of English from elementary and high school days. Leka, the star student, had worked for two years as a maid at a tourist hotel in Tirana. She was nearly fluent in English.
“Girls, we have worked hard for two weeks in anticipation of this day. This is the time for you to look your best – and to dance your best,” she said. “Your hair and makeup are perfect, your clothes are nice and we have practiced our dance steps enough that you should know them well.”
She paused, fixing her magnetic gaze on each of them in turn. As usual, Zogu could see that they were spellbound – and so was he. What a woman she was!
“Please remember that you are dancers, an honorable trade. You can perform with grace and show your beautiful bodies without losing your dignity,” she said. “You must always act mysterious and a bit out of reach. Men will value you more and give you bigger tips if you hold yourselves apart from them.”
The girls nodded sagely, taking in Genta’s message of empowerment. Zogu was proud of his wife and her wisdom, but also baffled. Would her advice work in a strip club where things could get down and dirty awfully fast? Could the girls refuse the salacious imperatives of the VIP room? It was all too confusing. He found himself hoping that Genta’s words would help keep the girls hopeful and unsullied. He didn’t like the thought of them being pawed by drunken refinery workers and pot-bellied old men. But he’d worked in the strip clubs too long to ignore their reality. What were they here for, anyway?
The girls cheered and spilled out of the van, carrying their makeup cases containing an abundance of mysterious female paraphernalia. Zogu rang the doorbell and nodded to Bobo Simmons, the club’s sleazy bouncer. He hated the tattooed, ill-tempered giant with a passion he reserved for the worst of Texas rednecks. He glared at Bobo for leering at Genta and the girls before he directed them to dressing rooms behind the stage. Zogu’s dirty look didn’t seem to faze the bouncer. He just led Zogu to the table where Krause and Juliana waited.
In contrast with the curt behavior Zogu recalled from their previous meeting, Krause rose and shook his hand. Juliana threw a half-smile in his direction before motioning for him to sit down at their table.
“Time to see if this little investment pays off,” Krause said. “Hope the girls are up to the challenge.”
“My wife Genta has worked very hard with the girls,” Zogu said. “They are all blondes now and looking good. They know dance steps and many English words.”
“Bring them out as a group and let’s look at them all together first,” Juliana said. Though she was a shade friendlier, Zogu resented that she directed everything at him as an order and never said please.
“Of course,” Zogu said. He tipped his head and walked backstage.
Genta had picked out all of the music, so he would tell the deejay what to play for each girl’s performance. Zogu watched with pride as they paraded onstage in a group, smiling and waving. Genta and her two friends had helped the girls select cheap but attractive clothes to show to advantage their physical attributes. Mostly, they were decked out in short black skirts, flattering tops that revealed some décolletage, and sexy black heels. Each girl took a turn strolling down the runway, pausing, smiling and turning around, displaying a rear view before disappearing offstage. Zogu could see Genta directing things on the sidelines.
It reminded Zogu of the carefully scripted beauty contests his wife enjoyed on TV, like the Miss America pageant. What would these girls have to do next? Twirl fire batons, model bathing suits or convince a host that they really wanted to save the world? The girls were trying so hard, he realized with a pang of admiration mixed with guilt. But at least it appeared to be paying off. Krause and Juliana looked impressed.
“Your wife should work as a beauty pageant consultant,” Juliana said. “These girls look so much better than when I first saw them.”
Now it was time for each girl to strut and dance on the runway, as she’d do at whatever place she’d be assigned to work. Genta had decided that Zogu’s favorite, Leka, would go first because her natural confidence would give th
e other girls courage.
The deejay shouted her name into the microphone, his reedy voice resounding through the room. Leka thrust herself into the spotlight and Zogu was thrilled at her transformation. Gone was the girl he’d despaired over with the muddy complexion, unibrow and wobbly thighs. Her honey-blond hair fell in soft curls below her neck, her artfully embellished brown eyes looked enormous and her legs were long and toned. Genta had been especially impressed with Leka’s self-discipline. She’d dieted conscientiously and excelled at tedious boot-camp exercises like planks and squats. She looked like she’d lost ten pounds and gained muscle in all the right places.
She danced un-self-consciously and smoothly, stripping down to a black girdle-like garment and shedding her black bra at the end. Her performance came across as provocative, but somehow escaped looking sleazy. The other girls, taking it in anxiously from the wings, applauded with gusto. Leka dipped her head modestly before bounding offstage with her winsome smile.
One after another, the other girls danced and stripped with varying degrees of proficiency and style. Throughout their abbreviated appearances, Zogu tried to decipher the reactions of Juliana and Krause. Juliana scribbled a continuous stream of notes and Krause conferred with her in whispers. By the end, they both looked slightly glazed, but had given a decent amount of attention to each girl’s performance.
Finally, to Zogu’s relief, the music ended and the stage was empty. Krause asked Zogu to bring the girls out again for a last look. Genta appeared with the group and he proudly introduced her. The girls arranged themselves around the stage and smiled hopefully. He could see Bobo loitering at the side of the room to leer at their legs.
“So this is the woman who runs the Albanian charm school,” Juliana said to Genta in the snarky tone Zogu hated.
Winning Texas Page 18