One Kill Too Many: Greeks Never Forgive

By Jim Miotke

It was the bodies that were always the problem for Elmer Zakk. Long after death, his targets could still finger him. If he spit on an enemys corpse the DNA would track him down. The bullets were just as bad and could point lead fingers right back to his favorite weapons, a brace of 9 MM pistols never far from reach. He loved those guns and couldnt throw any away. The art of forensic science had been sharpened to the point where the long-term career potential for a contract killer was becoming bleak.

Then he had the idea that turned it all around. What if the victims simply disappeared in a puff of smoke?

The germination of his plan came after having a beer with a bio-hazardous medical wastes truck driver. Zakk was curious about the biohazard emblem on the mans uniform shirt. The driver explained that with the AIDS situation, any medical process that involved body fluids of any kind required all the collateral material to be incinerated. He hauled bags full of materials he didnt ever want to identify and it all ended up as a fine ash byproduct.

Zakk tracks down the owner of the waste disposal firm, a Mister Eli Aragon. He saw that Aragon was not greedy enough to settle for cash so he stalked Aragons family. The two men sit down over drinks after an arranged golf match. Zakk starts to describe Aragons family setting to him, just to prove Aragon is vulnerable. When the man resists Zakk vows to first kill their dog and then make the young son disappear. Aragon capitulates. Zakk is given a fake title and now frequently visits Aragons office. He visits to keep tabs on Aragon but also to be near Sally, Aragons attractive assistant. Zakk feels that she wants him, in spite of her protests. At the office, Zakk has suspicions about Fred Belmont, one of the route drivers. Belmont asks too many questions.

Zakk finds an ideal helper in Thad Stravinski, a cashiered medical student working at an animal research lab in an industrial park. Thad sports a bright red mop of hair worn in Einstein fashion and stays stoked up on a testosterone overload to the point where he has the morals of a cactus plant. He longs to stick anyone anytime. Thad has no problem hacking up dead animals or human corpses and putting the chunks in waste disposal bags. But Thad also has a secret. He cuts the spent rounds from the victims heart and puts them in a test tube with an amputated little finger and a carefully printed label documenting what he knows about the body.

Zakks business is in high gear. He meets, greets, and murders a corrupt politician in Tallahassee. He is struck by the irony of the man extending his hand for graft payment and receiving a Zakk payment instead. His next target is a peacock of a man. The kind of man opposite enough from Zakk to make killing him a pleasure. Theo Stramboulis is tall, dark and polished to a masculine brilliance that has women following his every move. But Theo loves cards more than women. When he is cheated by Cuban gamblers in Tampa he vows to never pay the debt. Zakk gets a contract on the Greek. He watches Theos movements to choose the right time and place for the hit. He notices the slim young man who is seldom more than a few feet away from his uncle. The youth, Christo, worships the man as he would his dead father. The next day, Christo cant find his uncle but fears the worst.

In Orlando, a henpecked dentist goes berserk and murders his shrewish wife. For the last time, the two are nude in the shower while he slices and dices her body to fit into the bio-hazardous waste bags. The bloody slaughter scene forever scars his psyche as he borders on insanity. The killing is unrelated to Zakk except that it signals the start of his downfall.

Things are changing in Zakks l

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 13, 2000
• ISBN: 9781450081092

Jim Miotke

Fictional books are our escape from daily duties, airport delays, and can’t-sleep nights. This story should be the way to handle those tasks. I only hope that you enjoy the reading as much as I did the writing. Lucky me. I’ve always been a lucky guy. My twenty-one-year career in the U.S. Coast Guard took me from Istanbul to Hong Kong and from the North Pole to the Panama Canal. I’ve sailed through the worst of North Atlantic winter weather and through a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico. (The gulf was better.) My luckiest break was when I met Sophia, a Greek maiden, while sailing from Rhodes, Greece, on the CGC Courier. It took about ten seconds to fall in love, and three months later, I proposed. She couldn’t say yes until her father approved of me. This meant I had to learn to speak Greek. I memorized ten new words a day for six weeks. I would’ve learned Chinese Algebra to win her hand. We’ve been blessed with two children, a son and a daughter, who helped me survive the no-fun years of an elderly widower. God needed Sophia as an angel after we’d only had fifty-one years, five months, ten days, and eight hours of our marriage before she died. I see her in my dreams and still love her with every molecule of my being.

Book preview

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

To the people I owe everything to. To my wife, Sophia, who taught me to be a husband. To my son, Kris, who made me a father. To my daughter, Maria, who made me a FATHER. To my granddaughter, Natalie, who has just begun teaching me.

PROLOGUE

Fred Belmont didn’t know that this would be his last nap. The lunch combination of cheeseburger, chili, and beer had left the usual comfortable warm bundle in his stomach. The caloric overload dragged him into the same drowsy state that he welcomed each afternoon along his route.

This was one of his favorite spots. His panel truck crunched over the leaves as he pulled under the large oak tree. He stopped just yards away from the pond, rolled down both windows and unbuckled his seat belt. Fred ran his hand through his thinning hair and then massaged his face to rub away the traffic tension wrinkles. Traffic was getting worse every day on the Central Florida roads. He decided not to think about that right now and concentrated on the two wild ducks that glided among the onion reeds on the pond. He reclined his seat as much as he could in the small truck. He inhaled through his mouth and released a long sigh. The balmy breeze rustling the tree leaves was Fred’s lullaby. The shade pattern from the big live oak tree should last another twenty minutes or so.

He was lucky to have a job like this. He could lunch and park anywhere along his route. The Aragon Biohazard Clean-up people didn’t know that he stopped every day for a nap. They didn’t really care as long as he made his pickups. He started to think about what was bothering him lately about those pickups and decided not to go there. It would definitely destroy his nap. He leaned back and let his eyes gradually close.

He thought about what Alicia was doing right now and pictured her ironing one of his uniform shirts. Yes, it was Tuesday. Then he drifted off to sleep.

Finally! Thought the killer. He crushed out his cigarette in the van ashtray and set the binoculars down on the seat next to him. He glanced out the passenger window and checked both mirrors.

For a minute there I thought our boy Freddy was going to get out of the truck and start feeding the ducks.

The killer stood next to his van and rotated his short body through a slow set of relaxation stretches. He wasn’t going to exercise. He just needed one last inspection of the deserted park. He did this slowly with the same energy-saving movements that always helped him avoid being noticed. It was critical to his career that he always blend into his surroundings.

Once he was satisfied that it was just himself and Freddy in the park, he slipped on the latex surgical gloves. He popped the glove compartment open and removed the faded red bandana that was wrapped around the revolver.

He looked at the gun with disgust.

Cheap crap! Damn thing might blow up in my hand. Well, it’s the kind of gun that Freddy might carry to keep some junkie from stealing medical supplies.

He popped the cylinder and checked the load. The butts of two .38 caliber brass cartridges gleamed in the afternoon light. Exactly enough!

The killer carefully extracted the two rounds and wiped them down with the bandana. He did the same thing to every surface of the gun that might carry a fingerprint. It was a clean piece but the extra attention to detail was part of his routine. It was part of the reason he was still a successful contractor at age forty-seven.

Reaching through the van window, he picked up the large white towel he then draped around his neck. He let the door close with a gentle click. No point in waking Freddy. He made a show of doing some stretching as he trotted while he again inspected the park for unexpected visitors. The costume of a jogger had seemed right for this kill. The gun rested in the workout jacket pocket. It bumped against his side as he trotted down the fifty yards of asphalt to Freddy’s truck. He slowed when he had to leave the road and picked his way carefully through the fallen leaves and overgrown grass. There wouldn’t be any footprints. He bent and picked up a broken branch that he used to dust away any marks from his athletic shoes.

He paused in the blind spot on the passenger’s side of the truck and listened.

Freddy was softly snoring.

Sweet dreams, Freddy-boy.

In one smooth move he leaned in the passenger window and put the gun against the sleeping man’s temple. It was one of those moments the killer would long remember. He pressed just hard enough to see Fred’s eyelids flicker and then he pulled the trigger.

The gun’s report was incredibly loud in the enclosed truck cab. Fred’s body jerked away and then slumped forward as the killer watched him closely. This was the time when the killer was most exposed, but he couldn’t leave yet. The job wasn’t finished.

The killer opened the passenger side door and slid onto the truck seat. There was no blood on his side. He raised Fred’s slack right hand and pressed the gun into it several times. Then he wrapped his towel around the barrel and forced Fred’s finger into the trigger guard. Fred’s hand was like warm clay.

The killer raised the dead man’s gun-holding hand and pointed it toward the pond. He reached over with his left hand to help dead-Fred squeeze the trigger. Fred’s blank eyes and slack mouth were just inches away. His right eyeball had been pushed outward from the hydrostatic shock of the bullet. To the killer he looked like a squashed bug.

The report of the gun was considerably muted. The ducks scattered as the round kicked up a small geyser between them. The towel smoldered slightly for a few seconds. The killer listened intently, appreciating the quiet. He extracted the first empty cartridge casing from the gun and left the revolver resting in Fred’s slack hand. The police lab would find the nitrate traces on Fred’s trigger finger.

He slipped quickly out of the truck and closed the door gently, as if he didn’t want to wake Freddy. He backed away from the truck while carefully insuring that there were no footprints to show Fred hadn’t been alone. He brushed the branch against the slightest indentation. When he reached the asphalt he flipped the branch away, turned, and jogged back toward his van.

The jogger was a little man, barely five foot six inches. He looked like just another balding middle-aged man trying to get in shape. A man who could fit in anywhere. Few would feel threatened by his appearance. Not even the string of corpses he had left in several states over the last few decades. A businessman.

CHAPTER 1

Thad Stravinski hummed aloud to the beat of the soft rock music coming from the CD player on the work-bench. Occasionally he would sing a familiar passage. He had a terrible voice but his patient never complained. Besides, he could hardly be heard over the varying whine of the Kurtz-Stresser circular bone saw. When he got caught up in a repetitive chorus of guitar riffs he leaned harder into his work and the stainless steel K-S growled in protest.

Zakk leaned back against the workbench and shook his head in disgust. This fruitcake should be put away for the way he’s murdering that tune. He’s also getting sloppier with the way he’s slicing up the stiffs. Someday I’m going to have to put one behind his ear. I’ve probably watched him use that shiny bone saw enough to use it on him. Zakk allowed himself a tight grin. He loved irony. He rested his hands wide on the bench behind him.

He quickly jerked erect when his right hand slipped in a gooey mess. Zakk snapped his head around and saw the remains of a half-eaten submarine sandwich. Thad was committing culinary suicide. The Italian sub had cheese, thick salami and both mayo and oil. It’s a wonder they could hold the damn thing still long enough to wrap it.

There wasn’t much that bothered Zakk but somehow that half-eaten sandwich did. He yelled to Thad to be heard over the radio and the saw. Hey, Doctor Kildare! I’m stepping outside for a smoke. Why don’t you finish your lunch break? More irony. Thad didn’t want anyone smoking in his lab.

Thad looked up and his eyes wrinkled with humor behind his thick glasses. Hey Zakk-man. Don’t you know that smoking could ruin your pregnancy.

Fuck you very much for the advice. Those greasy lunch torpedoes have got to be more dangerous than cigarettes. Zakk stopped at the door and asked Thad Are the doggie goodies in the same place?

Yeah, the second shelf on your right. Next to the carbolic acid. Thad had already re-started his saw and continued sawing through the thick thigh of the corpse on his lab table.

Zakk felt the usual relief at leaving the lab and welcomed the contrasting stench of the animal pen area. One of the dogs barked excitedly and that started the chimp screeching. He fished around in the yellow plastic jug and came up with two large dog biscuits. The few animals that were there got more excited as he walked between the cages.

He stopped at the last row of cages and considered the large beagle that lurched unsteadily to his feet when he noticed Zakk. The dog sniffed loudly at the extended back of the killer’s hand.

Atta-boy Hercules. You still recognize me. You’re doing pretty good for an old fart. The old dog was just another token animal at the facility. Zakk had picked him up at the animal shelter. Hercules had been one day away from disposal. Zakk always felt that he had no conscience at all but he still felt good about saving Hercules.

He stroked the dog’s ears for a few moments and then offered the dog biscuits with the other hand. Hercules inhaled them both with a little hiccuping sound.

Zakk was patting the dog and saying Good boy repeatedly when he heard the muted squeak coming from the dog’s posterior. Hercules was renowned for his flatulence.

God damn it, Herky! Do you save up all your ass music for me? It was impossible for Zakk to stay mad at the dog when he cocked his head with that stupid-smart look in those brown eyes. Zakk fumbled for his smokes and went through the outer office for some fresh air. He could no longer hear the bone saw.

Inside the lab, Thad mentally filtered out the music and heard the front door of the building slam shut. He looked up at the row of monitors and saw the short bald man shake a cigarette out of the crumpled pack. Thad thought, That gives me a few minutes. He shifted his grip on the saw and slit one long slash through the body’s sternum. It was a move that Thad had seen in a video tape of open hear surgery and he thought he was every bit as good as that cardio-vascular surgeon. He smiled when he remembered that none of his subjects had to fear dying any longer. He then reached under the lab table and retrieved the chest spreader he kept under the dirty linen there. With a quick practiced move he spread the two halves of the rib cage about four inches apart.

The first time Thad had done this maneuver he had fully expected the bones to shatter. He was always surprised at the flexibility of the human rib cage. At one time Thad had aspirations about a career in thoracic surgery but an unfortunate college incident with recreational pharmaceuticals brought a quick end to his school days.

If they could see me now! He grinned and looked up at the monitors again. Zakk was blowing smoke out through his nostrils and scanning the trees.

Thad reached for the large scalpel and forceps. He cut into the tough muscles of the heart with two long slashes. He didn’t have to worry about sewing up that organ again. He probed around with the forceps and extracted both misshapen hunks of lead. He dropped them into the small stainless steel pan. They landed with a little tink. He went over to the large sink and ran a little cold water in the pan that he then swirled as if he were panning for gold. After he had washed all foreign matter off the two bullets he picked them out and dropped them into a test tube.

Thad glanced at the monitors. Still smoking his coffin nail. He wrote the date on a small address label and stuck it on the capped test tube. He fished a small key out of his pocket and walked over to one of the far cabinets on the wall. A dirty lab coat hung on a nail in the door. It was a good way for Thad to cover the small lock on the door. Nobody who knew about the lab would be touching his clothes. He opened the lock and set the test tube in the rack along with the others. He thought about counting the tubes again but when he looked up to the monitors again he saw that Zakk was looking directly into the security camera’s lens.

That startled Thad for a moment and he froze as the killer’s eyes seemed to bore into him. Then Thad managed a short bark of a laugh and he gave the monitor image the finger. He re-locked the cabinet and draped the frock back over the lock. Thad still didn’t know what he would ever do with all those spent rounds. The more bodies that came in the more Thad felt that he needed some kind of insurance. He also cut the right forefinger off each body and dropped it into another test tube. This piece he slipped into the pocket of his baggy pants.

Thad kept a detailed diary of the work he did at the lab, along with descriptions of the bodies and anything he thought might be significant in the event that someday somebody would be picking two 9 MM rounds out of his own heart. He made the feverish entries in the diary while he visited his safe deposit box. The book pointed to the locked lab cabinet and the collection of digits in the back of his apartment freezer.

The secret maneuver was probably what kept Thad from going mad. He had seen enough blood to wash away any normal person’s sanity. Each time when Thad took these small souvenirs a little voice in his head was congratulating him on the way he would someday turn state’s evidence on the bald man he could still see in the monitor. He quickly got back to the body and started humming to the music again.

*    *    *

Zakk saw that his van was in a nice well-shaded spot inside the range of perimeter alarms. He leaned against the fender and lit up his second smoke. No other car but Thad’s in the lot. Business as usual. The muted hum of distant traffic on the county highway was the only sound that filtered through the song-birds and the breeze rustling the oak trees of the bucolic setting. They’d chosen this site well.

The intrusion alarms were well hidden. The dirt road leading into the lab facility had four sets with increasingly high pitched tones when any vehicle approached. There were 360 degrees of protection via motion detectors around the building itself.

Zakk thought that at least they hadn’t put up machine gun towers and electric fences topped with razor wire. Even the careful Thad was capable of some restraint. Zakk had to admit that the only time the alarms were on was busy times such as the present moment, when Thad was operating.

He exhaled the smoke through his nostrils, hoping to clear out the recent scents of the lab and the animals. Zakk was tired. He hadn’t slept in thirty hours. He thought about the man who had been living in the body that Thad was now sectioning.

Ed Lambert had been a crooked politician who would eat off anybody’s plate for almost any cause. He had been making too many promises that he couldn’t keep. Those clowns in Tallahassee often started believing their own press after a while. It was a miracle that Lambert had survived that long. The politician actually had his hand out for more graft when Zakk put the 9 MM rounds through the small maroon flower on his tie. Zakk smiled at the memory. Sweet irony.

The biggest problem he’d had with Lambert was getting him into the back of his van. Lambert must have been nationally ranked in the indoor lasagna eating contests. Zakk was already fatigued when he began the six-hour drive from the state capitol. He set the cruise control at three miles above the limit and concentrated on not adding to the road kill figures for night creatures. He had never been stopped when he was hauling a target and he didn’t want to start now.

Zakk had just crushed out his cigarette when he heard Thad coming out. Thad took off his glasses and was rubbing his blinking eyes to adjust to the daylight. Zakk assumed that he’d washed his hands. Thad quickly massaged the wild mop of hair that seemed to grow out of his scalp in every direction. The bald Zakk hated that gesture and guessed that Thad did it for his benefit.

Thad stretched and said Well, our friend is all packed up. Ready for his little trip. Although he knew the answer he asked Zakk Are you going to stick around and meet the new driver?

Zakk considered the remark. Is he making innocent talk or is he throwing in a reminder that there was another driver making these stops before? Zakk decided that he was being paranoid. There was no way the Thad could know about Freddy. Still he couldn’t rebuke himself for a little healthy paranoia.

No, I don’t think so. I’ve got to get some sack time. Did you turn off the alarms?

Yes sir! I did it on my way out of the lab. As a matter of fact I’ll be leaving right after this pickup. Got a date with some hot nookie!

Zakk restrained himself from making a remark about not bringing along the bone saw. Thad was probably dating some 400 pound near-sighted retardo. What the hell! Thad might be freaky but at least he was one person who knew Zakk for who he was. Zakk didn’t have any friends but Thad was at least a close acquaintance. No false pretenses here.

Why was I even thinking about giving him a lead sleeping pill? Who else is there that I can really trust? But why do I need to trust anybody? I must be getting old.

Better wear one of your rubber gloves, Thad. He’d leave Thad to decide where to wear it. I’ll see you later. Zakk field stripped the cigarette butt and started for his car.

Thad waved absent-mindedly, put his hands on his hips and leaned back as far as he could stretch. Thad was gazing at the treetops when he started whistling the song Zakk recognized from the lab CD player. Zakk hopped in his van. Zakk backed his van out and took off with a little spurt of gravel. In his rear view mirror he could see Thad watching him leave.

CHAPTER 2

Jarod woke up at exactly 6:30 AM, the same way he had for over thirty years, but he wasn’t ready to open his eyes. Maybe it was all a bad dream. He let his right hand slide across the empty sheets in a useless search. He felt his heart tighten in his chest. The only sound in the bedroom was his own breathing. He winced at the realization.

She really is gone. Gone forever!

He slowly opened his eyes and stared up at the bedroom ceiling. It was covered with the rough texture of the popcorn paint finish she had loved. It had been the decorating rage in the