York but Melvin, he wanted to retire to Florida. He’s gone now, may he rest in peace. Never made much money but enough to buy this place. Now it’s worth half what we paid for it and I can’t afford to leave. So who are you, anyway? And don’t give me that Christopher Travers crap.”
“No crap, Ms. Kravitz,” I said. “My name’s Josh Henson. I’m a reporter for Public Interest. It’s a group of investigative journalists all over the country. I’m working a story that involves Armando Gutierrez and I was hoping you could give me some information about him. Anything you know would be a help.”
Marilyn Kravitz considered that, then handed me a glass filled to the rim with Johnny Walker Black.
“Drink.”
I drank.
“That’s good. I don’t trust a man who doesn’t drink. And I’m not Mizz Kravitz anything. I’m Marilyn. You’re Josh. You are Josh, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s a good name. Sit.”
I sat.
“So you want to know about the Shitheel. What’s he done?”
The Shitheel. This was going to be good.
“He works for a so-called security company here in Miami with ties to right-wing organizations. Basically, he’s a thug. He goes around the country beating people up, staging ‘accidents’—mostly political stuff. Except now he’s graduated to murder. He’s in jail in San Francisco; he and some buddies beat a friend of mine to death. I’m trying to find out about the people he works for, who they work for. What the hell is going on here.”
Marilyn took a big gulp of her vodka. “I’m sorry about your friend.” She sat quietly for a moment. “The Shitheel—that’s what everyone in the building calls him—is a real nogoodnik. The kind who bumps you with his shoulder in the hall if you don’t get out of his way. He’s not here very much but when he is he hangs out with a bunch of other schnooks just like him. Every night it’s a party—that horrid rap music, drinking, drugs. I think they smoke marijuana. It goes on until five, six in the morning. No one can get any sleep but they’re all afraid to complain. I’m not, though. I’ve got a .38 Police Special—”
“And I’m sure you know how to use it.”
“Damn straight. He’s got a girlfriend too. She lives in the building, two floors down. Nice girl. Pretty. Gaby. Gaby Lopez, I think. He beats her.”
Jesus. A real class act.
“You know anything else about her? Or the guys he hangs out with?”
“She’s Colombian, I think. I heard her say once she works in a law office. I’m a nosy old woman but that’s all I know. I don’t know anything about his shitheel friends, either. But one time I saw this little guy rip him a new one.”
“Do tell.”
“I was in the parking garage. It was late, after our girls’ poker night. I waxed that old biddy Nadine Terwilliger good. She thought she had me with two pair but I had a full house. Took her for twenty bucks. Thought she was gonna shit her pants right—”
“The little guy, Marilyn. Ripping the new one.”
“Oh, right. I was in the parking garage. My reading glasses had fallen out of my purse, beneath the seat. I was down on the floor looking for them when I hear another car pull in. The Shitheel gets out—”
“How did you know it was the Shitheel?”
“What, you think I’m stupid? I’m a nosy old broad from The Bronx; I peeked over the dashboard. And stop interrupting.”
I sighed. “Yes, Marilyn.”
“That’s better. So the Shitheel gets out, and this little guy gets out too. He’s shorter than me. Gray hair, gray beard. You know, that kind of beard that just looks like stubble. He says something to the Shitheel and the Shitheel says something back. Then the little guy slaps him across the face, slaps him really hard. The Shitheel didn’t do anything, like he was scared. The little guy started yelling at him about keeping his
“No crap, Ms. Kravitz,” I said. “My name’s Josh Henson. I’m a reporter for Public Interest. It’s a group of investigative journalists all over the country. I’m working a story that involves Armando Gutierrez and I was hoping you could give me some information about him. Anything you know would be a help.”
Marilyn Kravitz considered that, then handed me a glass filled to the rim with Johnny Walker Black.
“Drink.”
I drank.
“That’s good. I don’t trust a man who doesn’t drink. And I’m not Mizz Kravitz anything. I’m Marilyn. You’re Josh. You are Josh, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s a good name. Sit.”
I sat.
“So you want to know about the Shitheel. What’s he done?”
The Shitheel. This was going to be good.
“He works for a so-called security company here in Miami with ties to right-wing organizations. Basically, he’s a thug. He goes around the country beating people up, staging ‘accidents’—mostly political stuff. Except now he’s graduated to murder. He’s in jail in San Francisco; he and some buddies beat a friend of mine to death. I’m trying to find out about the people he works for, who they work for. What the hell is going on here.”
Marilyn took a big gulp of her vodka. “I’m sorry about your friend.” She sat quietly for a moment. “The Shitheel—that’s what everyone in the building calls him—is a real nogoodnik. The kind who bumps you with his shoulder in the hall if you don’t get out of his way. He’s not here very much but when he is he hangs out with a bunch of other schnooks just like him. Every night it’s a party—that horrid rap music, drinking, drugs. I think they smoke marijuana. It goes on until five, six in the morning. No one can get any sleep but they’re all afraid to complain. I’m not, though. I’ve got a .38 Police Special—”
“And I’m sure you know how to use it.”
“Damn straight. He’s got a girlfriend too. She lives in the building, two floors down. Nice girl. Pretty. Gaby. Gaby Lopez, I think. He beats her.”
Jesus. A real class act.
“You know anything else about her? Or the guys he hangs out with?”
“She’s Colombian, I think. I heard her say once she works in a law office. I’m a nosy old woman but that’s all I know. I don’t know anything about his shitheel friends, either. But one time I saw this little guy rip him a new one.”
“Do tell.”
“I was in the parking garage. It was late, after our girls’ poker night. I waxed that old biddy Nadine Terwilliger good. She thought she had me with two pair but I had a full house. Took her for twenty bucks. Thought she was gonna shit her pants right—”
“The little guy, Marilyn. Ripping the new one.”
“Oh, right. I was in the parking garage. My reading glasses had fallen out of my purse, beneath the seat. I was down on the floor looking for them when I hear another car pull in. The Shitheel gets out—”
“How did you know it was the Shitheel?”
“What, you think I’m stupid? I’m a nosy old broad from The Bronx; I peeked over the dashboard. And stop interrupting.”
I sighed. “Yes, Marilyn.”
“That’s better. So the Shitheel gets out, and this little guy gets out too. He’s shorter than me. Gray hair, gray beard. You know, that kind of beard that just looks like stubble. He says something to the Shitheel and the Shitheel says something back. Then the little guy slaps him across the face, slaps him really hard. The Shitheel didn’t do anything, like he was scared. The little guy started yelling at him about keeping his
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