Last Of The Good Guys – Chapter Nineteen

Hertzel Markovitz’s House
Brownsville, Texas
Late Friday Night

It was late and Howie enjoyed wheeling the cruiser through Brownsville like he was the chief. He was cruising his jurisdiction, thinking about what a good job his men were doing out here on the quiet, safe streets of Brownsville. He flashed back on his own desires to be a cop when he was very young – up until he got his first felony conviction. After that he didn’t think cops were that great. Still, he knew he would’ve been a great one.

His mind wandered to the bitch he left at the trailer. He thought he shouldn’t have been so hard on her. He knew she’d fallen for him, he could tell by the way she came on to him. His whole, perverted, macho self knew it. It was obvious. But he wanted it his way, appreciated his skills at forced sex, and knew women secretly liked a man’s violence and the dominance that went with it. He was doing her a favor; he knew she’d thank him for it. Eventually she’d love him more for it. It was what they all really liked, and this broad was no different. Maybe she’d be better than most, once he’d taught her how to like it his way. She could be the right woman at last, and good-looking to boot. He turned her on, he knew that for sure. That was how it was – if it wasn’t he’d kill her. Maybe he would anyway.

Howie was in and out of himself like never before – the taste of blood in an animal’s mouth.

Through it all he worked his way to the far side of Brownsville and out into the sparse suburbs. He said little aloud, beyond laughing or scowling whenever his paranoia warranted it. He reacted only to things happening inside him.

He knew Hertzel well. He knew about his wall safe; knew the money belonged to him. If it belonged to Hertzel, it belonged to him. He was going to let the weasel bastard die slow. He knew how much Hertzel disliked pain. He couldn’t get on the right side of it like Howie – the validity of pain, the enjoyment, and the need for it.

He focused as he killed the lights and pulled the cruiser part way up the drive. “Welcome to Hertzel’s.” He said it out loud, like a tour bus operator on Hollywood Boulevard. “Gotta collect some money, pay some debts.”

He strode calmly up the middle of the driveway, impressed with the isolation of the surroundings. He pulled the phone lines at the side of the house before ringing the bell, standing there as if he was important and expected.

The door opened. Howie slapped the sleepy-eyed giant, Charley, full in the face with one of the pearl handled George Patton forty-fives he’d decided to bring along. It was one of his favourite guns – used only for invasions and outright warfare. Blood, teeth, and a bit of jaw spurted dramatically as Howie drove him backwards, pistol whipping him about the head with each lunging pursuit. The pummelling continued even after Charley had slumped to the floor. Howie never did like the fat man. He gave him a few extra belts for old times’ sake.

“What’s going on out there?” Hertzel got a full view of Charley’s bloodied face as he opened the study door. “Howie!”

Howie smiled back at the horrified look on Hertzel’s face, bent down and put two bullets through Charley’s groin. He straightened up, laughed, and spit on him. He bent over again and jammed the gun into his mouth, about to finish him right then, but didn’t – the pain and terror racing across Charley’s face gave him too much pleasure. Besides, he needed to make it to Hertzel before the panicking prize got away.

By the time Howie walked through the study doors, Hertzel had retrieved a pistol from his desk and stood there petrified, the gun shaking in his hand.

“Hertzel, Hertzel, Hertzel.” Howie smiled. “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Just came for the money.” Smiling, he shook his head as he moved slowly forward. “You ain’t gonna shoot me, are you?” He said the words simultaneously with the gunshot that ripped into Hertzel’s arm. “See. You ain’t gonna shoot me.”

Hertzel couldn’t stop moaning, holding his arm and looking faint as he lunged towards the panelled glass doors to the garden. He was still fumbling with the lock when Howie grabbed him by the back of the neck, squeezing him immobile. “I know I said I wasn’t gonna hurt you Hertzel.” He smashed his head through one of the panes, jerked him back and hissed the words into his face. “But I lied.” He smashed his head through another pane, spun him around and jammed him against the doors, laughing maniacally while he talked. “You like it? Like to play with Howie?” He licked blood from Hertzel’s forehead, his lips and teeth turning red while he beamed a smile. “Bet you’re surprised to see me, eh?”

Hertzel just kept whimpering for his life.

Howie dragged him back to his desk, leaned him over backwards and fired a bullet through his kneecap. Howie let go of him and Markovitz slumped to the floor clutching his knee, dragging himself towards a door, whining and pleading.

Howie walked after him slowly, and put his weight on the shattered kneecap. “Wrong way.”

Hertzel’s eyes started to roll back into his head. Howie eased up, didn’t want the man to pass out – not yet. He knelt beside him, his voice full of concern and consideration. “Relax. We’re just gonna open the safe.” He helped him caringly to his feet. “But it’s over here, remember?”

Howie pushed Hertzel across the room, behind the desk. He propped him against the wall and hurled the picture from the front of the safe. “Just one chance here, Hertzel. I don’t have a lot of time.” Howie sympathetically straightened the twisted glasses. “You open it up for me and I won’t hurt you no more. Promise.” He caringly wiped the blood away from his eyes before turning him to face the safe. Hertzel turned the numbers without hesitation. “I didn’t mean to hurt you in the first place, guess I just lost my temper.” Hertzel nodded agreement as Howie watched each spin of the dial.

“Time’s up.” He stood Hertzel aside, held him by the throat with one hand as he turned the handle, and pulled. He stared a long moment at the sizable pile of bills. “Thanks, Hertzel.” He smiled again, as if it was genuine appreciation. “You can sit down now.” He put a bullet through the other kneecap. He laughed as if everybody should get their kicks this way. “Your papers?” There was a business-like tone in his voice as he dumped the contents of Hertzel’s briefcase over him, and emptied the safe in seconds.

“You stupid gringo shit.”

Howie spun and watched the smoke of Enrico’s gun as the bullet hit him. He felt the warm, sticky blood oozing from his side. Screaming with rage and firing without direction, he saw a hole appear in the forehead of Markovitz’s wife as she cowered on the lower part of the stairs. Still screaming and firing, he flailed his way towards Enrico’s second shot – the one that put him down.

Howie’s eyes were still open, his body twitching to the sound of Hertzel’s moans. He watched Enrico’s legs moving towards him, all business, two-handing his revolver like a television cop. He foot-slid the forty-five and the briefcase from Howie’s reach. Enrico stood over him now, laughing for a second before the vicious kick to the face blacked whatever remained of Howie’s senses.

Howie didn’t appear to feel the second kick, kind of an afterthought on Enrico’s part. “Fucking scumbag!” Enrico walked the short distance to the slumped Hertzel.

“Help me.” Hertzel pleaded through his pain. “Get me a doctor, Enrico.”

“Okay, amigo. Just a minute. You aren’t hurt so fucking bad. I seen worse.”

Hertzel kept whining, grabbed Enrico’s leg, blood rubbing onto the expensive fabric.

“My pants gringo, my fucking pants!” He kicked him roughly, looking like he was ready to kill him for soiling the suit. “Don’t touch me.” Enrico kept talking, but in Spanish, mumbling under his breathe as he turned to the desk and picked up the phone.

“Nine one one!” Hertzel yelled. “Just dial nine one one!”

“Oh, that’s very good, amigo.” Enrico’s sarcasm wasn’t hidden by his accent; he kept dialing while he talked. “We could have lots of help then. Ambulances. Doctors. Cops. Lots of help.” He looked down at Hertzel with disgust. “Maybe you should ask how your wife is. Eh, puta?”

Hertzel glanced across at his wife’s body sprawled awkwardly on the stairs.

“It’s Enrico. I must speak to Luis, now.”

“You’re phoning Houston!” Hertzel was irate. “I’m bleeding to death and you’re phoning Houston, you fucking Chicano bastard!”

“Just a moment.” Enrico turned and kicked Hertzel hard in the side of the head.

Hertzel yelped and crumpled as Enrico leaned over slightly, his voice soft. “Please be quiet, gringo. Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” He turned back to the receiver. “Sorry, someone needed attention. I know it’s late.” His voice took on a tone. “Wake him, now.”

As Enrico waited by the phone, some fifteen minutes away in Howie’s isolated trailer, bodies had been sorted, wounds tended and players identified.

“I didn’t kill your brother. Is that why you shot me?” Bobby queried as Jesús bandaged the leg with strips of semi-clean sheeting.

Rachel felt foolish. “No. I thought you were Howie Morgan. I think he’s coming back here.” He looked directly at Bobby. “But if you had murdered my brother then yes, I would have killed you. With pleasure.”

“Howie murdered your brother. I was there, but not when it happened. You’ve come a long way to get bad news.” Bobby silently noted her bruises as he motioned for Jesús to get her something to put on. “And it looks like you’ve suffered a little, too.”

“I want that pig dead. I want him to get what he deserves.”

“Me too.” Bobby said it matter-of-fact, but there was a lot more in it than words.

Rachel pointed to Bobby’s leg as she dressed. “Sorry about that.”

Bobby just smiled dryly. “I’ve had worse. I guess you owe me a drink.”

Rachel seemed to move with some pain as she slid a little closer to Tanya. “You just take care of our business here.” Her eyes told him that more words were unnecessary. “Get me to an airport and I’ll get us all out of here – and the drinks are on me. She managed a smile at the tearful little girl who sat sobbing quietly beside her bleeding father. “Come here honey. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was your daddy. I’m sorry.”

Tanya looked over at her father. He nodded for her to go to Rachel. She slid herself across the floor and into Rachel’s arms.

“Do you know where he went?” Bobby tested the leg as he spoke. It hurt, but not so much he would lose his agenda.

“He muttered something about getting his money from the junk dealer. Making him pay up. Markovitz, Hertzel Markovitz. I met him this morning. A fast-talking shyster scumbag.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Can’t be more than a half hour. You missed him by minutes.”

Bobby looked at Jesús. “I guess I’ve got to go over there to collect as well.”

Jesús nodded. “I tell you long time ago I don’t like these gringos, amigo. We go together now, I think.”

Bobby looked back at Rachel, noticing for the first time the beauty under her bruises. “You okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Will my girl be okay here with you for a little while. I think we better catch up to him before he gets back here.”

Rachel squeezed Tanya like a mother, smiling down into her face. “We’ll be okay, won’t we honey.”

“You come back soon, daddy.” She was worried, but a lot of her fear seemed to be absorbed by the warmth of Rachel’s grasp.

“Daddy will be back real soon. Then we’ll all leave, and never come back here, honey. Never.”

Tanya nodded despite her battle against more tears.

They were at the door when Rachel spoke. “I’ve got a friend out there from New Orleans. I’m not sure where he is, but knowing him, I’ve got a feeling he’s close by and looking for me.” She looked hard at Bobby. “He’s driving a limo. Don’t mistake him for someone else.”

It took only ten minutes with Jesús behind the wheel, including the stop at the phone booth for Markovitz’s address, before his flatbed sat quietly behind the cruiser. By this time the house sat in complete silence, giving no indication of trouble, past or present – except of course for Howie’s borrowed cruiser.

“It’s appointment time, amigo.” Said Jesús.

Bobby watched Jesús’ still outline sitting across from him. “Give me ten minutes.” Opening the cab door, he winced with the dull throb of his leg wound, hurting enough to make him wonder about his ambitious intentions. He pushed the thought away, finding relief in the fact the bleeding had stopped. Thank God for small caliber handguns, he thought.

“Amigo, what if you no back in ten minutes?” Jesús’ face carried a smile that belied the seriousness of his question. “You want I should come looking?” The smile broadened. “Cost you more for search service.”

Bobby paused. He hadn’t wanted to think of the possibility. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, leave.” He paused again. “Take Tanya back to the Sister Maria like we agreed, and get the woman to an airport.”

“You a strange hombre amigo.” Jesús shook his head. “You think I leave you here. I owe you too much for too many times you take care of me in the old days.” He shook his head. “Honor amigo. I cannot live without my honor.”

Bobby smiled at the his companero “Honor man. Honor among thieves.” Both of them chuckled as he limped off into the darkness.

Bobby got around behind the house to the double doors leading into the study. The carnage was obvious. Bobby’d never seen the man on the phone. Howie was lying very still on the floor and Hertzel was whining for help – Bobby knew them too well. He decided it wasn’t a good idea to enter through the study doors and headed further along the back of the house. The warm wetness on his leg told him he’d started leaking some blood again. Howie’s painkillers didn’t let him notice too much else.

Once inside he followed the dull sound of voices, passing the body of a dead woman on the stairs as he stepped over Charley’s unconscious form. He knew the whine belonged to Hertzel and the Mexican-American accent to the stranger on the phone, but he wasn’t close enough to see them yet.

“I understand Mister Estaphan.”

Bobby was very close to the study door now, getting himself an unobstructed view.

“Everything will be taken care of.”

Bobby wondered who was on the other end of the phone.

“I will be in Houston tomorrow morning.”

The man put the phone down and turned to Hertzel. “Don’t worry my friend.” He sounded callous. “Mister Estaphan knows our situation.” He smiled coldly. “He’s concerned about all the questions the police will ask.” The smile disappeared and his face took on no discernible expression.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Enrico. I’ll tell them anything you want me to, just get me some help.”

“Don’t worry Hertzel.” The snake-like smile returned. “Mister Estaphan knows you. Told me I should make you my biggest concern.” He bent over, his head nodding as he extended his hand to help Hertzel to his feet. “He told me to take very good care of you, my friend, do something about your pain.” Enrico grabbed the top of Hertzel’s head with his extended hand, jammed the gun through the terrified man’s teeth and fired two shots that exited the back of the his skull. Hertzel didn’t even twitch.

“Si, amigo, I’m sure that takes care of your pain.” Enrico stepped back, grinning with his words. “No loose ends.” He broke into a sick laugh as he leaned over and wiped the barrel of his gun on Hertzel’s tie.

Bobby was debating his move when a hard slash across his wrist knocked the gun from his hand. Another vicious hit and Bobby careened across the floor, almost to Enrico’s feet. “This prick was spyin’ on ya.” Charley staggered into the room, bleeding from the groin and in obvious pain. “What the fuck happened here?” He saw Hertzel slumped against the wall. “Hertzel?” He looked at Enrico. “Is he dead?”

“That fuck Howie killed him.” Enrico motioned to the study doors. “It’s okay I took care of him.” He reached down and pulled Bobby up by the throat. “And you, who the fuck are you? You come looking for money, too? The only thing anybody finds here today is bullets.” He raised the gun to Bobby’s mouth just as Bobby caught a shadow by the window. “And I will give you all you can eat, mi amigo.”

Bobby winced suddenly, thinking the gunshot was coming into his face. Instead, Charley was the recipient, jerking awkwardly backward before spinning around and firing blindly behind him. Jesús fired three more shots into the giant’s chest as he kicked his way into the room. Charley stopped suddenly, swaying with an aimless motion before falling heavy and awkward to the floor.

Enrico pulled Bobby up close to him like it was a slow dance. “Put the gun down, or I’ll kill this fuck!” In the moment of hesitation Bobby grabbed his gun hand, clutched a letter opener from the desk and jammed it deep into Enrico’s ribs, driving it up towards the heart with all his strength. The two of them danced a macabre promenade as Enrico fought for breath and the strength to turn his gun back on Bobby. Bobby’s leg gave out and the two of them crashed to the floor, Enrico on top, eyes bugging.

Enrico’s dead weight pinned Bobby motionless, their faces pressed close together. Bobby didn’t have the strength to roll him off, the man’s weight on his bulleted leg hurting through the painkillers. A long second passed before Jesús’ roughly pulled the hood’s head up by the hair and twisted the body away.

“You okay, amigo?”

Bobby nodded weakly.

“I think maybe this hombre love you very much.” Jesús’ smile broadened as he helped Bobby to a sitting position. “The way he try to kiss you like that.” He shook his head. “Amigo, people will talk.”

Bobby smiled back without much enthusiasm. “It’ll be our secret, okay?” The respite lasted seconds before the sound of an engine roaring to life threw Bobby’s eyes to the spot Howie had quietly vacated. Bobby wiped Enrico’s blood from his face.

Like Lazarus from the dead, Howie had risen and gone – him and the briefcase.

*