Left for Dead

By Howard Jencks

While investigating the murder of a suspected serial killer in the Lake Tahoe basin, Detective Michael Garrett is lead back to the small desert border town he once called home, where he uncovers a violent drug cartel that has begun expansion into the United States, and discovers the frightening reality that he has now placed not only himself, but his family and others in harms way.

Driven by tourism, the last thing the city of Stateline, Nevada wanted to do was announce the presence of a serial killer. Driven by the laws of nature, the last thing Rosa Jimenez wanted was to become his next victim. Called to assist with a gruesome fi nding, Detective Garrett fi nds himself entrenched in an investigation he cant walk away from. Recognizing Rosa from his past, he was resolute that justice be served. As the investigation leads Garrett south, he seeks the assistance of an old friend and current Vice-Detective with the LAPD, David Ross. When Ross is unable to open doors in the Los Angeles area, Garrett realizes his next stop is his hometown on the Mexican border where he stumbles on a link to Los Zetas, a Drug Cartel that has formed an alliance with the Mexican Mafi a. Used to operating with impunity in Mexico, the cartel targets Garrett and his family as his investigation begins to threaten their business. In a daring attempt to make things right, the detectives cross the border to confront the man directing the cartel henchmen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469190952

Book preview

Prologue

South Lake Tahoe was a little warmer than usual for August. With average temperatures in the high seventies to low eighties for the month, this year was an exception with most days in the low nineties. The ninety-three-degree Thursday afternoon was almost a record. The heat did strange things to people. Tempers were shorter, and for those people prone to outbursts, violence was more likely. And at 6,260 feet above sea level, ninety-three degrees was downright hot.

The area’s primary industry was tourism. With seventy-two miles of shoreline, six casinos, and 182 ski trails, it was an adventurer’s dream. People came from all over for some of the best skiing in the world during the winter months at resorts like Heavenly, located near the California-Nevada state line in the heart of the city, or Kirkwood, just a short jaunt over Luther Pass to Highway 88. Not much changed in the summer; people still came from around the world to hit the slopes and trails. They just did it on full-suspension downhill mountain bikes or with a pair of hiking boots. Of course, there was always the draw of the Lake itself. Locals and tourists could see anything from classic wooden 1947 Chris-Craft Runabouts to half-million-dollar Donzi ZR luxury performance boats on the cerulean water almost every day, not to mention the plethora of sailboats, fishing charters, and rentals heading in and out of the marina.

The casinos, just across the state line, provided plenty of options for nightlife, keeping the city going twenty-four hours a day. They had all the requisite banquet rooms to host conventions, private parties, and weddings. They kept people coming year-round. Although it was also the casinos that brought some of the less savory element to the area, they were the biggest moneymakers. Rain or shine, hot or cold, people could be found at the tables and slots trying to win big. Everyone knew the odds were against them, yet they kept trying, telling themselves that someone had to win, and it might as well be them.

It was transient populace that made for a small but lucrative prostitution and call girl business. There weren’t many streetwalkers; most found their clientele within the casinos and hotel bars. The better-looking women had the luxury of working as call girls, meeting clients in their hotel rooms. These arrangements were generally made by their handlers. They would hang out at the casino nightclubs like the Lavish Green in Montbleu and watch for the guys who just couldn’t seem to get it right. They would strike up a casual conversation with the man and, when the timing seemed right, offer to help him out with his troubles. If interested, the handler would signal a couple of his girls to come over. They were always on the dance floor, dancing and mingling but watching as well, waiting for the signal. Brief introductions were made, and the client and his newly found date would then be left alone to discuss any further arrangements. If an agreement was reached, sooner or later, they would make their way to the client’s room to seal the deal.

Nicklaus Walkley knew how the system worked. He’d taken advantage of the high-priced hookers on more than one occasion. He wasn’t a handsome man by any standard, nor was he what women would describe as homely either. He was just an average guy with an average build. At 5’11" he wasn’t so tall that he stood out, but he wasn’t short either. He had light brown hair that just fell flat to his head and hazel eyes that looked more green or brown depending on his attire. He kept his hair long enough that he could change the style from one day to the next, parting it on either side down the middle or just combing it straight back. He made it a point to do this, just as he often wore different styles of nonprescription cosmetic glasses for the same reason. He didn’t want to be recognized from one day to the next as a local or regular patron to any establishment he frequented.

Nicklaus was paranoid for a reason. He was thirty-two years old and had moved five times since his twenty-eighth birthday. It was on his birthday four years earlier when he met his first prostitute. Her name was Star, or so she said. He met her at Wild Woolly’s, a bar in Chula Vista just seven miles from downtown San Diego and seven miles from the Mexican border. She approached him and initiated a conversation that quickly became very flirtatious. Nicklaus enjoyed the attention; he wasn’t used to it. He told her it was his birthday, hoping it might help. He was already anxious to get lucky. It had been—He couldn’t remember how long since he’d been with a woman. They talked for nearly a half hour, and soon the talk became sexual. Star told him what she would do to him if he would only give her the chance. She was very explicit and promised to make this birthday one to remember. Nicklaus felt the excitement in his stomach. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time.

He couldn’t believe what was happening; he never had such luck. That was when Star dropped the bomb. She told him she would do everything she said but needed to know he had the cash. Nicklaus couldn’t believe it. He felt stupid for not realizing she was a prostitute, but she had gotten him so aroused he didn’t want to go back to his dumpy apartment alone. He told himself he wasn’t spending another birthday alone, shit, not another night alone; it just wasn’t going to happen. He found himself starting to negotiate with her. They finally reached an agreement and headed out. He fully intended on taking her back to his place, but while they were walking back to his Toyota, something happened.

Nicklaus was overcome with fear, fear of getting caught and having to explain to his mother why he was with a prostitute. He told Star he was too nervous, and the deal was off, but she insisted everything would be okay and kept saying, Just relax. I’ll make it worth your while.

They kept walking and were soon behind the bar, still headed toward his vehicle. Nicklaus told her to forget it, starting to get angry that she kept following him. It was then that she grabbed him, calling him a pussy, telling him that if he couldn’t seal the deal, that was his problem, but he owed her fifty bucks for the time she wasted on him in the bar. Nicklaus remembered the instant rage he felt; the nerve of that hooker bitch to say he owed her. She hadn’t done anything but trick him. That was when she tried to grab his wallet. He pushed her back as hard as he could. She tripped in her ridiculously high heels; he remembered thinking that should have been the giveaway. She started to scream.

Nicklaus didn’t know why he got so angry, only that he had to walk away. Even if someone stopped him, even if it was a cop, all he had to do was explain how this fucking prostitute tried to dupe him into taking her to his place, and he’d be done, and she’d be going to jail. But he didn’t; he looked around to see if anyone was looking. There was not a soul in sight. He couldn’t remember what she was saying, just that she was calling him something fowl, challenging his manhood. It didn’t matter; he didn’t care. He knew he could get it up. In fact, his dick was harder than he could ever remember.

He stepped toward the hooker, who apparently recognized the change in his demeanor. She must have seen something in his face, something he had never even seen in himself to that point. Her words turned from an all-out assault on his manhood to terror-filled pleas for mercy. He remembered the fear in her voice; as it had fled his body, it must have entered hers. She was sitting up on her butt when he started toward her and began pushing herself backward, trying to get away, but the worthless slut was too slow, and he was on her. He didn’t intend on fucking her anymore; it was much more than that.

He grabbed her throat and squeezed with all his might to silence her screams. No one had heard her yet, and he didn’t need that to change now. He trapped each of her arms, placing his knees on her biceps as she collapsed beneath him. He remembers thinking how all the years of sitting at home alone, watching the Discovery Channel, helped create the killer he was at that very moment. Just like a lion from the Serengeti, he grabbed his prey by the windpipe and clamped down, cutting off all breath and silencing its screams.

Nicklaus kept squeezing and felt her trachea completely collapse in his grasp. He never felt more powerful as he watched the whore’s face go flush as she tried to draw in a lifesaving breath. The blood vessels in her eyes ruptured under the pressure, and the whites of her eyes disappeared, turning dark as the night. When she stopped struggling, he held on for another fifteen seconds, just relishing the power he felt. His manhood throbbing between his legs, hard as a post.

He finally let go and stood over her. He remembered how perfect her body looked at that very moment. Legs draped one over the other, with her short skirt having ridden up to where he could almost tell whether or not she was wearing panties. He knew she wasn’t. Her spaghetti strap shirt stretched out just enough to reveal her right breast, with her arms up as if submitting to him. That’s what was wrong, he thought to himself; she needed to put her arms down. Nicklaus bent down and grabbed her left arm, pulling it down, positioning it at her side and bending it at the elbow so her forearm and hand rest provocatively under her exposed breast.

There, he said to himself. Now she’s perfect. He took one last look, wishing he had a Polaroid to capture the moment. He had never seen a more perfect picture than what lay before him, and he created it. He knew at that very moment he would have to do it again. He also knew he had to leave. He walked to his Toyota, not looking around anymore, got in, and drove away. He could hardly wait to get home to take a shower and masturbate. He had never felt so alive.

That was four years, five moves, and twelve prostitutes ago, or at least he figured they were prostitutes by the way they dressed. If they weren’t, they were stupid for being out at night walking the streets. Any respectable woman would stay home with her family or have a car.

Today he wasn’t nearly as nervous as he had been back then, but he still found nothing aroused him more than the kill. It had been too long, and it was needed; he had to feel that rush, the adrenaline that came with the hunt, the predation. It let him know he was at the top of the food chain. He had to find someone, and it had to be tonight.

One

She looked at the clock; it was nearly seven thirty at night and still a sultry ninety degrees outside. It was unusually hot for an August evening in South Lake Tahoe and most people hated it. The local residents were drawn to the area for the beauty of the Lake, which was only enhanced by the surrounding Sierra Nevada Mountains that jet into the sky around the basin. Summers were mild, with the high temperatures generally in the 80s. Winters were cold, with average daytime highs in the mid-30s, dipping into the teens or even single digits at night. Mild if you were from Minnesota, but out-and-out glacial if you were from the low deserts of Southern California.

Rosa Jimenez hadn’t been there long enough to experience the winter weather yet. As far as the summer and tonight’s heat, she was indifferent. Rosa didn’t look at the Tahoe area and recognize the beauty the region had to offer. Where others, new to the area, would be in awe of the majestic granite mountains visible to the southwest with peaks reaching 10,000 feet, or the lush green of the surrounding national forest the city was nestled in the middle of, Rosa simply existed.

Despite the many natural and man-made resources within a stone’s throw of her tiny dwelling, she never ventured outside the incorporated area of the city. The hundreds of lakes and reservoirs, river canyons carved through granite bedrock, and miles of trails including a portion of the Pacific Crest Trail, were lost to Rosa. She did nothing more than what was necessary, what was demanded of her by her employer.

Rosa was watching television, not really paying attention to what was on. She drifted away in thought, thinking about what her life had been like before. Before she had been taken and forced into a line of work she never fathomed to pay back a debt that her father could not. She loved her father deeply but hated him at the same time for what had happened to her. Her father had taught Rosa and her older brothers, Javier and Daniel, the value of family. They were supposed to take care of one another help one another no matter what. Never in a million years did she think helping her family would come to this. She told herself, This couldn’t be what he meant.

At twenty-four, Rosa was the youngest of three children. Her parents, Enrique Jimenez and Martha Jimenez Lopez, had immigrated to the United States after the birth of their first son, Javier. They had been living in the country illegally for years but decided it was necessary for their family’s future and became naturalized citizens.

As Rosa was thinking of better times, her cell phone rang, bringing her back to the reality of her life. She looked to see who was calling. When she saw it was Carlos, her employer, she thought of just letting it ring but knew she couldn’t. The last time she decided she would make him wait, she ended up in the emergency room at Martin Luther King Hospital, peeing blood after the beating he gave her. She hit the Accept button on the touch screen of her Samsung, sliding it over to answer the call.

Hello, she said with no enthusiasm.

You are working Vex at Harrah’s tonight. I’ll pick you up in half an hour, Carlos said and then hung up.

Vex, she said to herself as Carlos had already signed off. It was a high-dollar nightclub at Harrah’s located on the Nevada side of Stateline. Vex ran nightly shows of its own on Friday and Saturday with sexy Vegas-style women performing high-flying aerial stunts in flashy costumes. Rosa knew she would have to dress the part to make the men think that she might just be one of the performers.

Rosa looked at her phone to see what time Carlos had called. It was already eighty thirty. She had to hurry if she was going to be ready by nine. It was one thing when she had to work floors; she could throw on just about anything and play the part to get the guy. Vex was a different story. She knew she had to put on something special if she was hoping to trick the men into thinking she was a performer, especially one they could take back to their room. Her trousseau would have to fit the part, and it was a high-paying part. She also had to be careful she did not end up looking like a cocktail waitress trying too hard for a tip.

Rosa got up and went into her bedroom. She pulled a teal-and-purple sequined dress from the closet. It was a low-cut gown, which gave Rosa ample opportunity to tease potential customers by bending over just enough so they could see more of her breasts than she really wanted. It draped below the knee, ruling out the cocktail waitress theory; although a slit that ran up her left thigh would leave no doubt that she was looking for a good time. She had used it with great success before, bringing in $3,500 for the night.

She hung the dress over the bedroom door and went into the bathroom to put on her makeup. She didn’t have as much time as she would like, but it was sufficient. She matched her eye shadow to the dress and applied a lipstick that complemented her naturally tan skin. She grabbed the dress and slipped it over her face, making sure she didn’t get any makeup on it. She looked in the mirror and decided to add a few curls to her normally straight black hair. She didn’t have much time left, but a little on each side would give her the look she was going for.

She finished what she was doing and took one last look. For the briefest of moments, she thought of how she used to enjoy the thought of getting dressed up for a night on the town. It was something girls liked to do once in a while. Now she despised the fact that she had to do it at all and swore that as soon as she was done, and her father’s debt was paid, she would never wear a dress again.

There was a knock at the door; Carlos was there. Rosa grabbed a small black leather purse that she carried with her everywhere. It went well enough with everything she wore and gave her a place to put the money. She also carried a small fixed-blade karambit knife in it. The knife had a three-and-one-fourth-inch razor-sharp blade shaped like a tiger’s claw. She had sewn its KYDEX sheath into the liner of her purse and carried it with her everywhere since she had been raped by a John in Los Angeles. She swore that would never happen again. Her only comfort in the matter was that Carlos found the man before he got away and dealt with him. Not because he raped Rosa, but because nobody had her for free.

Rosa had witnessed the ordeal. It only lasted a few seconds. She couldn’t believe the efficiency Carlos demonstrated with the knife he carried. It was the wickedest knife she had ever seen, exactly like the one she carried now. Carlos had walked up behind the rapist, grabbing him by the right wrist with his left hand. Carlos jerked the man around, pulling his right arm up and away from his body. All in the same fluid movement, Carlos brought the blade of the knife up under the man’s arm, drawing the blade swiftly through the fat, muscles, tendons, and blood vessels on the underside of the arm where it attached to his body.

The man instinctively tried to reach across his body to grab his wounded arm, which was now dangling like a limp noodle at the side of his body, when Carlos slashed at his left arm, slicing into the V created on the inside of the elbow. The rapist tried to pull his arm back, but it was too late; it happened so fast the pain hadn’t even set in yet. His left forearm hung toward the earth with the pull of gravity as Carlos had severed the muscles and tendons in it as well. Pools of blood began to form on either side of him as the blood drained from his body with every beat of his heart. At that, Carlos turned and walked away, returning to Rosa. He told her never to let that happen again. In the only gesture of kindness he had ever shown, Carlos told Rosa he would get her a knife and educate her in the art of how to handle a blade.

She opened the door, and Carlos walked in. He looked at her, eyeing her from head to toe. He nodded, giving his approval. That should get ’em hard. Now let’s go, I’ve got to be somewhere.

Ignoring his comment, Rosa simply grabbed her things, locked the door on her way out, and followed Carlos to his vehicle. She looked back at the fourplex she currently lived in. It was a dumpy little place nestled in some trees near the corner of Pioneer Trail on Fern Rd. She looked to the east and could see Harrah’s from where she stood. She was less than a half mile from the casino and Vex and was starting to wonder what the evening held in store. She climbed into the passenger side of Carlos’s 2009 Buick Regal. She wondered how much of her earnings went to pay for his car. She let it pass because there was no need in getting more upset before she even started.

Are you coming up to Vex with me? she asked.

Not tonight. I have other business I need to deal with.

Okay, then. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

Send me a message when you hook up. I want to know where you’re going to be, he said hardheartedly.

Okay, she said as Carlos pulled into the drop-off area at the front of the casino.

Rosa got out of the vehicle. She had hoped Carlos would not follow her around tonight. Going to Vex really meant she only had to pick up one client. Men paid top dollar for a woman like her in the high-end clubs. She could make enough for the entire night, even if it only took the client ten minutes. So she hoped to spend a little time on her own before she went up to the club. Eat a nice dinner and have a drink to try and relax. It always helped her cope with what lay ahead.

Rosa walked into the casino’s main entrance. She walked across the floor, heading for the west exit. She hated the smoke-filled atmosphere of the Nevada casinos but took her time nonetheless. Of all the things that were wrong with California, one of the few things the state did right in her opinion was ban smoking in public buildings. Once she reached the west-side door, she hesitated for a moment before exiting onto Stateline Road. She was nervous Carlos might see her; consequences for deception were harsh, but Rosa had reached a point in her life where death was welcome despite her hopes of someday returning home. She took a breath and peaked out the door. She checked to make sure Carlos wasn’t anywhere watching and then casually walked out and across the road into the Heavenly Village shops on the California side.

She was casually walking through the village, enjoying the eclectic mix of shops and eateries, when she came upon the Fire & Ice Bar and Grill. It looked promising, and she was getting hungry. Rosa stepped inside and was met by a smiling young girl who asked, How many tonight?

Just one.

Right this way, the hostess called as she led Rosa to a small table near the large cooktop in the center of the restaurant. Rosa thought the place was pretty busy for a Thursday night. She took it as a good sign.

Here’s your table. Your server will be with you shortly.

Rosa looked around, enjoying the fact that she was free for the moment. The environment looked like fun, and she wished she could stay longer but knew she should eat and get over to Vex before she missed the prime time. There was a knack to picking up men, and Rosa knew it. Despite her hatred and revulsion for what she did, she had become very good at it and was a top earner for her handlers.

Rosa needed to get to Vex before the men got too drunk, and all the other women began to look good to them. She needed to get there while they only had a few drinks, were getting horny, and would be loose with their money. This would allow her to slide in with her sequined dress and play the part of the showgirl, providing the allure of what every man who went to such places wanted, bragging rights to say they banged a Vex girl. And once they thought they had a chance, it was time to talk money. Rosa was great at sealing the deal.

Have you ever dined with us before? came the question from a young man with a buzzed head and small black framed glasses.

No, this is my first time.

Great, you’re gonna love it. We have a wonderful menu. You get to mix and match anything you’d like, he said. My name is Nate, and if you’ll come with me, I’ll give you the tour.

Rosa got up and followed the waiter as he led her to what was referred to as the marketplace. This is where you can work your magic, make a masterpiece of a meal. We have fresh vegetables, seafood, chicken, beef, udon noodles, pasta, and more. All you have to do is take a bowl and pile it high with whatever you want, add a little sauce, and you’re golden. Nate grabbed Rosa by the hand and led her back to her table, pointing at the large cooktop that was surrounded by a bar full of people waiting for their food. Then all you have to do is bring it over here, and one of our chefs will prepare it any way you want it. Now, can I get you started with something to drink?

Do you have any recommendations?

I’d go for the Frozen Raspberry Lemonade. It’s a sweet little blend of rum, Chambord, and lemonade. Perfect for a hot summer night.

Okay, I’ll take one.

Nate was off to get the drink while Rosa went back to the marketplace to pack her bowl with fresh vegetables and chicken. Her job required she look good, so she tried to eat healthy most of the time. She splurged once in a while but not often. She also worked out regularly. It not only helped keep her figure, she also found it to be a tremendous way for her to relieve stress from day to day.

She gathered her meal, took it to the chefs, and, by the time she had it back, Nate had delivered her frozen drink. Dinner was good, but the drink was better. She contemplated having a second but decided against it. She needed her future client to be tipsy, not herself. Rosa asked for her bill and left enough cash on the table to cover it and the tip before heading back to Harrah’s.

Two

It was turning out to be a beautiful night in the Tahoe basin. The mercury had dipped a tad since the sun settled behind the Sierras. It was perfect, Nicklaus thought to himself. He needed to be able to blend in, or so he thought. The reality was that nobody ever really paid much attention to him anyway. His paranoia told him different; as a result of which, he had become a master at being inconspicuous over the years. He would study people at his various jobs to see what he could do without drawing attention to himself. When someone would notice his quirky behavior, Nicklaus would just tell them he had a muscle spasm or thought he saw a wasp. It never made sense, but then again, most people didn’t really give a shit anyway.

Nicklaus was prepared for the hunt. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting cargo pants with a lightweight Western-style button-down shirt. The clothes were brand-new, resembling nothing he had in his closet. He had a pair of cotton workout shorts on under the pants and an in-vogue T-shirt with a little smiling stick figure on the back under the button-down. His Merrell cross-trainer shoes went well enough with either outfit. He wanted to be able to change his appearance quickly in the event someone saw him before he could get away cleanly, not to mention be able to run if needed.

He owned a four-by-four dark green 2004 extended cab Toyota Tacoma. It was one of the most common vehicles in the area, slightly trailing Subaru in popularity. Nicklaus left his rental home on Knox Avenue and drove down to Raley’s grocery store on Lake Tahoe Boulevard at Park Avenue, a couple of blocks west of the state line. He parked in the grocery store parking lot and walked over to the Starbucks on the corner. After ordering a tall Americano, Nicklaus took the cup of Joe and headed out. He wanted to make sure he didn’t get reported for parking in