The Mayor of Lexington Avenue (2 page)

Sure, they still had the fishermen, but the fishing on Lake Okeechobee was a far cry from what it had been fifteen, twenty years ago. Overfishing and pollution had taken their toll on the old lake. Elena had worked hard those first few years before the new bridge and she’d made good money. And Bass Creek had been a good town to live in. Now it had lost its vitality. Stores on Main Street had been forced to close. McDonald’s and Burger King had built out by the highway and lured back some, but few of them were trickling into town.

The Bass Creek Hotel stood a full three stories high, the largest building in town. Before the new bridge was built, its coat of bright yellow paint had shone like the sun itself in the afternoon light. Part of Elena’s compensation had been a room to live in and meals in the hotel dining room for her and young Rudy. After she had inherited the manager’s position when the old manager deserted the place, Elena took over the large apartment in the back, which had two bedrooms and a full kitchen, and both she and Rudy had loved it. But now the hotel lay hidden from the sun, separated from the rest of the town, a gloomy, desolate place.

“How much is this?” Lucy was leaning on the counter holding a liter of Diet Coke with the price tag clearly visible. Rudy tried to concentrate on her bright white teeth, which were wrestling with a wad of gum, but in her low-cut, body-tight top, Lucy was providing him with a glimpse of something much more exotic. He couldn’t help but steal a glance. The store was now empty.

“How much?” Lucy broke the spell momentarily.

“Oh. Sorry. Ninety-nine cents. It’s on special.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just giving me a special deal, are you?” Lucy leaned all the way over, and Rudy could see the full contour of her breasts. He was thankful the counter shielded him from the waist down, but Lucy knew anyway. The hook was in.

“No. No. That’s the price,” he answered, his voice cracking.

“Well, I don’t believe you.” She crossed her arms tight against her breasts as she leaned. Rudy thought they were going to pop out right there on the counter. His mouth hung open in anticipation. “I don’t take a favor without returning one,” Lucy continued. “You come to my trailer tonight. Forty-four Mercer Street. It don’t matter what time, I’ll be there.” Rudy just nodded. He was too far gone to speak.

As soon as she left he grabbed a pencil and wrote down the address. Rudy was handsome and his smile could light up a room, but he was slow. “Not retarded, just slow,” the doctor had told Elena when she took him to be tested at age four when he hadn’t spoken one word. There was some technical jargon about a lack of oxygen when he was coming down the birth canal but Elena had been too shell-shocked to take in the details. Eventually, she had learned to cope and taught young Rudy to do the same. Writing things down right away was one of his methods. Staying out of dangerous situations was another. Something inside him warned that Lucy was danger but the urgings from another part of his body were all that Rudy heard.

He closed up at eleven and practically ran over to Mercer Street. There were no street lamps and at first he couldn’t find Forty-four but then he saw it, set back from the street in the darker shadows.

As he stood outside her door and got ready to knock, Rudy was as excited as a kid on his first date, which wasn’t too far off. Sure, he’d been out with girls during high school, but there hadn’t been many. He knew why, too. He’d heard the all-too-loud whispers behind his back. Nobody really messed with him because he’d quieted the first couple of kids who called him “Dumbo” or “Dunce” or “Shithead” to his face, but the whispers had never stopped. In fact, Rudy had never even made it to the proverbial second base. It was a part of his life that he tried not to think about, that he kept sealed behind a locked door, a lock that Lucy had picked in a matter of seconds.

She was waiting for him but she didn’t answer right away. “Let the anticipation build,” she would have told her class. Lucy had a doctorate in the subject of men, or so she thought.

She’d put on her ruby red lipstick. She always saved it for nights like this. Rudy hardly noticed. When she opened the door, all he saw was a sheer white teddy barely concealing those wondrous breasts he hadn’t stopped thinking about since she’d first teased him with them in the convenience store. He steadied himself from shaking. Lucy moved closer so he could catch the scent of her perfume.

“Are those for me?” she asked surprised, as she looked down at the bouquet of cheap flowers Rudy had grabbed off the counter as he charged out of the store. For just a moment she was touched: Not too many men brought her flowers. Rudy was so enraptured he’d forgotten he was even holding them.

“Oh, these? Yeah, I brought them for you.”

“Why, thank you!” Lucy took his hand, led him through to the living room and sat him down on the couch. “Now you relax. I’ll put these in some water and I’ll be right back.”

She threw the flowers on the counter in the kitchen and was back in an instant, carrying two frosty mugs. She was eager to land this fresh young catch and alcohol always helped.

“I only have beer,” she lied as she handed him the mug. A red flag went up in Rudy’s head. Alcohol was another one of those dangers his mother had warned him about. But somehow he couldn’t say no, couldn’t bring himself to disrupt the mood. He took the beer and gulped down a quick mouthful.

Lucy slithered up next to him and tucked her feet underneath her. Rudy was afraid to look down, afraid to discover if she was really wearing panties. They sat there like that making small talk for a half hour or so, Rudy sipping nervously at his beer and Lucy becoming increasingly impatient. Finally, she took his mug and headed to the kitchen for a refill.

She had no formal education but Lucy was wise in the ways of the world. His first few words had told her he was just a boy in a man’s body, and she had pretty much decided she was going to call it a night. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the excitement in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that kind of anticipation in a long time.
Maybe it will be fun,
she thought.
And he is so beautiful
. . . . She poured a shot of Jack Daniel’s into his second beer.

The Jack Daniel’s did it. Rudy began to relax, touching her face gently with the palm of his hand, massaging her neck, all the while responding to her passionate kisses. He moved his hand slowly to the edge of her teddy, and then, at last, he was caressing those warm, perfect breasts. Waves of delirious pleasure washed over him, and he could feel the blood rushing from his head.

Suddenly it was all too much. He was dizzy, his head was reeling and his stomach was churning. He knew he was about to be sick. He made a mad dash for the front door and the outside air but his knee hit the coffee table as he started to rise, tipping his beer mug over. Already off balance, he tried to grab the mug and caught it just as he hit the floor, smashing it to pieces. The mood was permanently and irrevocably broken.

“I’m sorry,” he spluttered as he gazed at his hand, which was bleeding profusely from a nasty gash and dripping blood onto the carpet. “I’ll clean everything up.” He still felt sick but the accident had erased the sudden urge to puke, at least momentarily. Lucy stared at the broken glass and the blood on the carpet. She stifled the urge to scream.

“That’s okay, I’ll get it. But I think you should go now.” Without waiting for a reply she helped him up and ushered him to the front door, grabbing some paper towels on the way and stuffing them into his still-bleeding hand. “I’ll call you,” she told him as she not-so-politely pushed him out and closed the door behind him.

Rudy staggered down the street a few doors until he could no longer hold it, then puked on a patch of grass that masqueraded as the front lawn of Carlos and Pilar Rodriguez.

Farther south on Mercer Street, Geronimo Cruz was drinking beer with two of his “friends,” Raymond Castro and José Guerrero. Geronimo was from Texas, and he always carried a knife. Ray and José hung around with him only because Geronimo had chosen them and they were afraid to turn down the invitation.

Ray and José had been sitting on the stoop of Ray’s apartment one night about a month before when Geronimo showed up.

“Got an extra cerveza?” he inquired.

“Sure,” Ray responded. That was all it took. They couldn’t get rid of him after that. Every night he stopped by, and every night he was empty-handed. He told them about men he had stabbed, women he had raped, always brandishing his knife with the serrated edge. Both men wished they had never met him.

They knew he was seeing Lucy because he bragged about her. Two or three nights a week, they watched him stroll over towards her trailer after a few beers. They knew Lucy, knew of her affinity for men like Geronimo. They figured she could handle herself.

They were on their third beer the night Rudy came stumbling down the street and started puking on the Rodriguez lawn. Geronimo’s eyes narrowed.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“I don’t know,” Ray responded. “I saw him go in Lucy’s just before you showed up.” The words came out without thinking. Ray wanted to slap himself when he realized what he had done. Geronimo immediately put down his beer and drifted into the shadows, walking towards Lucy’s trailer.

“I’ll see you guys later,” he said without looking back. Moments later he was at Lucy’s door.

“What are you doing here?” she asked when she answered his knock.

“Who was that that just left?”

“None of your business. I don’t answer to you.” He was itching to smack her with the back of his hand but that was too easy. He decided to play her game for a while.

“I just was curious, that’s all.” He wasn’t all that convincing but she didn’t want to piss him off too much. Like Ray and José, she had a healthy fear of Geronimo.

“It was the kid from the convenience store. He was drunk. He just stopped over.” She had just finished picking up the broken glass.

“How long was he here?”

“Just a couple of minutes. I sent him home.” Geronimo knew she was lying. She’d worn the same skimpy little teddy the first time she had him over. He didn’t expect the bitch to be faithful, but lying he couldn’t tolerate. Lucy could tell that he was on to her. “Well, I’m glad you showed up,” she said as she kissed him on the lips and pressed up against him. When he put his arms around her and returned her kiss, she hopped up and wrapped her legs around his waist and gave a breathy sigh. He carried her into the bedroom, dropped her on the bed and roughly pulled the teddy up over her head.

Moments later they were naked and at each other. Lucy was on the bottom, on her knees, face down, moaning into the sheets. It was violent, even brutal, but she loved it.

As she was about to climax, the thought hit Lucy that she belonged with a man like Geronimo. At that same moment, Geronimo reached down and slipped the serrated knife out of his pants. As Lucy raised her head for one final scream of ecstasy, Geronimo grabbed her hair with his left hand, yanked her head back, and cleanly slit her throat with one smooth slash of the knife. The force of the slicing knife and Lucy’s instinctive reaction caused her upper torso to twist around to such a degree that she fell back on the bed face up, blood spewing everywhere.

“No bitch is going to lie to me,” he told her already dead ears.

Two

“Get all those people back. Send them home if you can. And I don’t want anyone in here except who I tell to come in.” The barking voice belonged to Sergeant Wesley Brume of the Bass Creek police. He was standing at the door of Lucy Ochoa’s trailer. The place was alive with cops and people from the neighborhood. Murders didn’t happen every day in Bass Creek.

They had gotten the call at six that evening. One of Lucy’s co-workers, Brenda Carrero, had stopped by on her way home to check on Lucy because she hadn’t shown up for work that day. That was highly unusual for Lucy. Her job was to keep track of the pickers’ attendance and their count, so she was pretty fastidious herself about calling in if she was sick or had to miss work. Brenda had knocked for several minutes but there was no answer. She shouted Lucy’s name. Still nothing. Maybe it was the neighborhood dogs sniffing around the trailer or maybe it was the flies, she really couldn’t explain it, but for some strange reason she tried the door. It was open. A whiff of something putrid hit her as she stepped inside, like maybe a rodent had crawled under the trailer and died.

“Lucy?” Brenda called in a quiet, worried voice as she peered into the kitchen, then walked hesitantly through the living room and back towards the bedroom. What she saw next burned into her brain forever, an image that would haunt her nightmare-plagued sleep for months.

Lucy’s bed was crimson. And propped in the middle, lying on her back as if on display, was Lucy. Mechanically, Brenda focused first on the source of the blood, the gaping hole across the throat where flesh and tissue had been sliced clean through. Her eyes moved next to Lucy’s face. The poor girl appeared to have died screaming.

When her mind registered what her eyes had taken in, Brenda Carrero started screaming herself. She ran out of the trailer as if death itself were chasing her, stumbling down the street until a neighbor, Hector Aviles, stopped her.

“What, what? What are you yelling for? Calm down!” Brenda tried to pull away but she couldn’t, so she tried to get it out of her—away from her.

“She’s dead! She’s dead! Blood everywhere. Oh my God! Lucy!” She was screaming and flailing her arms against Hector’s efforts to hold her and calm her down. Then she sank to the ground, whimpering and muttering Lucy’s name over and over again. Hector’s wife had rushed out of their trailer when she heard the commotion and now bent down to Brenda, whispering to her softly, “It’s all right, it’s all right” She looked up with worried eyes at her husband, who set off at a trot down the street towards Lucy’s trailer. His jog slowed to a walk and then he stopped, staring blankly at the trailer’s open door, and the dogs sniffing at the entrance.

The police force of Bass Creek numbered seven officers in total, including the chief. There was no homicide division, just two detectives: Del Shorter, who was assigned to collect forensic evidence, and Sergeant Wesley Brume, who was assigned to direct him in that endeavor. Brume ran the show at every crime scene.