by Gerard Denza
-Same here.
Edward started back to his car when a voice stopped him.
-Mr. Mendez? It's Barton Moran, again.
-That was fast. What's up?
-A high school kid that I'm kinda' friendly with. He's sharp and curious...sometimes puts his nose in where it shouldn't be.
-What's his name?
-Don't know the surname.
-I'll take the first name.
-Arthur. I know he might have been on that train that pulled in this morning -- the one that your man was probably on. He was visiting his uncle in the city. Mind you, Arthur didn't get off here. He goes to school at some place down the line.
-Know where Arthur lives?
Barton Moran shook his head.
-Here 'bouts; but, I couldn't give you a street.
Edward looked down the street at the teenage boys.
-He wouldn't be one of those, would he?
-Can't really make out the faces; but, he just might be.
-Barton, you get back to your booth. And, thanks, again, pal.
Edward walked to the corner candy store. The teenagers were still there and flicking baseball cards. They stopped their game when the P. I. approached. Edward took out some chewing gum and stuck a piece in his mouth.
-Boys? Name's Edward Mendez. Would any of you happen to know a teenager by the name of Arthur?
One of the boys spoke up in a defiant voice. He was a kid with a crew cut and had elected himself as a spokesman for the group.
-What's he done?
-Not a thing, young man. I just happen to need his help.
-What kind of help you looking for, Mister?
Edward could see they were pretty harmless if a little arrogant and defensive.
-I'm working on a case that's pretty important. And, I could use Arthur's help if he's around.
The leader looked over toward the kid with the black, plastered hair and asked him.
-So, what do you think?
The kid with the slicked back hair spoke up.
-I'm Arthur, Mister. You a private dick or something?
Edward handed over his pack of gum to the “leader.”
-Help yourselves. And, yes, Arthur, I'm a private investigator working with the police.
Edward now had Arthur and his friends' complete attention. And, Arthur was pretty eager to help.
-I'll bet I know what you want to know. It's about that man I talked to on the train this morning, isn't it?
-Tell me about that man, Arthur.
-He said he was a stock broker and heading out to see some customers. I thought people called up stock brokers and not the other way around.
-What else did he say?
-He wasn't trying to say anything. He didn't want to talk.
One of the teenage boys shouted.
-But, you twisted his arm!
Edward and Arthur ignored the boy's comment.
-Arthur, was he carrying anything with him?
-Yeah. He was. A briefcase. Nice. He was holding on to it pretty tight, too.
-Keep talking. You're doing just fine.
-Why you asking about him? Is it about that bomb going off in the subway tunnel? I'll bet it is.
The “leader” spoke up.
-Hey, Arthur, you better come clean, man.
Edward spoke.
-Where did he get off? Do you remember?
-Don't know. I got off before he did. He was still on the train. I'm pretty sure about that. But, wait...Mrs. Zimmerman could tell you. She got off at Myrtle and Wyckoff on the opposite side. She works in some ladies dress shop right on Myrtle Ave. She was just getting off her train as I was getting off of mine. I talk to her once in awhile. She's nice enough.
Edward had two more questions.
-Did the man mention his name?
-No. I didn't expect him to.
Another boy spoke up who was tall and had red hair.
-Is he the guy who blew up that train. Is he a Communist or something? Or maybe a Nazi? I hear there are some of them in hiding right here in America.
-Maybe to all three questions.
Arthur spoke up.
-He had initials on his briefcase in gold.
-Arthur, baby, what were they? Give!
-L.O.
Edward clenched his fist and patted Arthur roughly on the head.
-Man! Arthur, I want you to come with me.
-To the police?
-Yes. But, first we stop off at your place and let your mom know where we're going. Okay?
The P. I. spoke to the other boys.
-Gents? I want you to stick together and keep real quiet about this. Think you can do that?
Before anyone could answer, a shot rang out and Arthur fell to the pavement. The other teenagers fled for their lives down the block. Edward ducked behind a parked car and got off a couple of shots at a moving gray van. He was aiming for the rear tire, but just missed it.
The candy store owner ran out and knelt by Arthur whose plastered hair was smeared with blood and gray matter.
-My God! Who did this? Mister, did you see who did it?
-No. Is there a phone I could use in your store?
-Right inside.
-You tend to the boy. He might still be alive.
-Look at his head... My God! Arthur? Arthur, can you hear me?
Once inside the candy store, Edward dialed for an ambulance. Then, he placed a call to the 86th St precinct. Miss Raymond answered.
-Edward Mendez, Miss Raymond. Is Lt. Donovan or Sgt. Rayno there?
-Both are out on assignment.
-I don't have much time, so listen. Has anyone heard from Ginny Gray yet?
-Not yet. I was just trying to get a hold of her when you called, Eddie.
The familiarity didn't pass over Edward's head.
-I hope I'm not stepping on toes; but, it might be a good idea if you went to Ginny's office and sat at her desk until she gets there...whenever the hell that will be.
-I like that idea, Eddie. It's a good one. I'm on my way; but, some of the boys are already there.
-Miss Raymond, it'd be better if a female voice answered that phone. It might put Octavio off if he hears a man behind the receiver.
-You are smart. I'll get right down there as soon as I hang up with you.
-Hold up just one second, Miss Raymond.
-Alex. We're on the same team, aren't we?
-There's been an attempted homicide out here in Canarsie. A teenage boy by the name of Arthur-
Edward turned to the store owner who had come in.
-Hey, Mac, what's the kid's last name?
-Corelli. Arthur Corelli. He's dead.
A crowd was gathering outside the candy store and amongst them was a police officer.
Edward turned his attention back to his phone call.
-Arthur Corelli was his name. And, it's no longer an attempted homicide. The boy's dead. He had plenty to say before they gunned him down.
-Terrible. You're going to be tied up over there for a while then.
-Looks like it. I'll have to give my statement. And, by the way, Louis Octavio is our man, for sure.
Edward gave his statement to the Canarsie police. He didn't know the names of the other boys at the crime scene, but the candy store owner probably did. By this time, Lt. Donovan had gotten in touch with the Canarsie precinct and verified who Edward Mendez was. An A.P.B. was being put out.
Mrs. Harriet Zimmerman was escorted by patrol car to the precinct. She was upset about Arthur's death and wanted to do anything she could to help. She was the matronly sort, but well dressed and attractive. She'd gotten a lift home earlier that day because no one was sure when the trains would start up again. How people take the subway system for granted. Mrs. Zimmerman would never make that mistake again. Yes. She recalled the man who Arthur had spoken to and pointed out to her. Could she give a description of him? Of co
urse. She was in the clothing industry and sizing up people – if you'd pardon the expression – was her livelihood.
The man in question was tall and thin with a clear but sallow complexion. Thin lips and a Romanesque type nose...yes...it was big. Dark piercing eyes. You could tell that he took care of himself. In a good light, he could pass for a man in his forties; but, Mrs. Zimmerman was positive he was either pushing sixty or pulling on it. He was wearing a Hamburg hat, but she could see that he had salt and pepper hair. And, yes, the briefcase...it was a dark burgundy with gold trim. It looked rather thick. Dark overcoat and a matching suit. Wing tip shoes. Of course, she would guide the police sketch artist in his depiction. Oh, and by the way, this madman -- what else could he be? – looked rather nervous.
Edward spoke to the officer on duty.
-As soon as she's finished...
The two men suppressed a laugh. But at the same time, they were impressed with the woman who'd only gotten a cursory glance at Octavio.
-Send that sketch out to every paper in town and every precinct. But do me a favor?
-Name it.
-Send one copy straight off to the 86th St. precinct in Manhattan: attention Lt. William Donovan or I'll never hear the end of it.
-I understand. That'll be the first copy to go out.
-I owe you one, pal.
Twelve
EDWARD SWUNG his Ford on to Third Ave. and proceeded uptown. The time was closing in on 5 P.M. He just avoided an intense rush hour. Without the aid of the N.Y.C. Transit System, the traffic was fierce. Every cab in the city was taken and it looked like every car had hit the streets.
He pulled up in front of the 86th St precinct house and went straight on up to Lt. Donovan's office. Lt. Donovan was waiting for him along with Miss Raymond who had come back from Ginny Gray's office. Sgt. Rayno was in his patrol car on duty. The Lieutenant waved a copy of the police sketch of Louis Octavio.
-Have a look.
Edward took the sketch. Mrs. Zimmerman and the sketch artist had done a decent job. He took the chair next to Miss Raymond's and told his story.
-To my mind, the initials on the briefcase cinch it.
-Good work, Mendez.
Edward was curious.
-What happened at Ginny Gray's office, Miss Raymond?
-Alex. She finally came back. What held her up was decontamination. She and her photographer, Fred, I think his name is, had to go through a couple of hours of it. When I left he was developing photographs. No phone call came; at least, not when I was there.
Lt. Donovan put out his cigarette.
-So what the hell is Octavio waiting for?
-Maybe, he's got his own orders to follow.
-Whose orders?
-The men in the gray van. The ones who gunned down Arthur Corelli and followed Marlena Lake. The one I spotted outside my building. Let me see that sketch again, please.
Lt. Donovan handed it over.
-Here you go.
Edward examined the sketch.
-I've seen this character. Yesterday morning on the train heading downtown. He saw me, too. I spotted the bastard looking at me. Hold up! Today...I saw that bastard today down near Nassau St. I drove right past him.
-That's good, Mendez. That confirms this sketch's accuracy and the fact that he's still in the city. He's probably holed up someplace and biding his time.
-Should we notify police HQ downtown? We might just come up with Octavio himself.
-Get on it, Miss Raymond.
-I'm on my way.
-And, if you bump into Sgt. Rayno, send him on up.
-I will.
Miss Raymond left the office.
Lt. Donovan turned his attention to Edward.
-We're not doing half bad; but, I wish Octavio would make that call. He's got to, damn it.
-What about the radiation level in the subway tunnel? Any word on that?
-Not yet. But, tell me more about this gray van.
Edward shrugged his broad shoulders.
-Don't know anymore. I'm heading into Brooklyn and I might get a few answers.
-Good luck with that traffic outside.
Lt. Donovan had a thought as Edward was about to leave.
-Mendez, I take it you're going to question your mother some more about the stone. Take Miss Raymond with you. I want your mother's statements taken down verbatim. Normally, we'd have her in for questioning; but, I'm taking her age and health into consideration.
-I'm grateful, Lieutenant.
-Miss Raymond can take that machine of hers along and transcribe the notes here. Do you mind driving her back?
-Not at all. I'll be coming back to the city anyway.
-Good. And, if you have to, pressure your mother. We need answers.
Edward and Miss Raymond were facing Mrs. Mendez in her living room. She decided to leave her bedroom.
Miss Raymond finished setting up her stenotype machine and sat down next to Edward on the sofa. Mrs. Mendez sat in her usual armchair.
-Mrs. Mendez? I'm so sorry to hear about your daughter. It must be very difficult for you.
How many times must she hear these obligatory condolences? It was becoming tiresome.
-Thank you, Miss Raymond. An interesting machine you have there. Are you to take down my statements verbatim?
-Yes. But, just pretend that I'm not here. Sometimes my machine makes people a little nervous.
Mrs. Mendez was making Miss Raymond a little nervous. The matriarch had a penetrating gaze.
-Mother? This won't take long. Just a few questions.
-Is it a matter of life and death, Edward?
-Yes, it is.
-Then, we should begin.
-What do you know about the stone...or weapon, if you would...that Catrina stole from this house?
-The stones have been locked away in the cellar ever since.
Edward looked real hard at his mother.
-Stones? Just how many are there?
-Two stones of equal length.
-And, you-know-who has one, but who has the other stone?
-Most likely, a place called Romo-Ark.
Miss Raymond spoke up even though she shouldn't have.
-I've heard of them. They have headquarters right here in the city.
Mrs. Mendez nodded.
-They are an international corporation, my dear.
Edward resumed his questioning.
-And, mother, you think they may have the other stone? Because when I was down in the cellar that vault of yours was empty.
-Terrible. Terrible. What has Catrina done?
Edward felt his anger rising.
-Tell me, what exactly are these stones?
-They're an ancient artifact used in the War of the Gods. The ancient texts detail this war. The stones were stolen from the gods who were in reality extraterrestrials. They have been passed down through secret brotherhoods ever since. Your father was the last initiate to possess them.
-What did my father want you to do with them?
-To pass them on to his son.
-But, you didn't.
-You went into the Army and chose another path in life. You had to guide yourself to your intended destiny.
-Can the stones be destroyed?
Mrs. Mendez laughed.
-Only when they destroy half the world. They must be either buried in the deepest crevice in the earth or somehow propelled into the sun.
-Mother, the authorities should have been notified about this long ago. You know that.
-To what end, Edward? To examine them? Unthinkable. Any tampering with them would trigger off the radiation.
Mrs. Mendez took a deep breath and continued.
-Edward, would anyone have believed me? An occultist's gift from a secret brotherhood? Wars of the Gods of heaven? We would be laughed at.
-You've got a point there. Just one more thing...some gray vans have been spotted
in the city lately. I saw one myself parked right outside my office building. Would you know anything about this?
-They target people. And, when those people have been targeted, they either disappear or are found dead.
-Who operates them? What's their home base?
-Trained killers operate them. Men who are outcasts from society. Their home base? I really don't know. I don't want to know. I have reason to believe that Romo-Ark is involved.
Edward took a deep breath.
-I think that just about does it for now.
He turned to Miss Raymond.
-You got all that?
-Every incredible word. You're very articulate, Mrs. Mendez. You've made my job easy.
-You're very gracious, young lady.
Mrs. Mendez left the room.
Miss Raymond handed over her typed transcript to Lt. Donovan. He read through it twice.
-Reads like some Hollywood movie: complete with an eccentric matriarch and a doomsday weapon.
He tossed the transcript on to his desk.
-Who the hell is gonna' believe this? I'm even having a hard time with it.
Miss Raymond picked up the transcript.
-It's pretty incredible all right. Mrs. Mendez believes what she's saying. I can tell you that much.
-And, what about Mendez?
-I'm not so sure. I got the impression that he thought his mother was holding back. Was his dad, Manuel Mendez, an actual occultist?
-And, the head honcho of some secret brotherhood from what I've gathered.
-That's incredible. Eddie seems so down to earth.
-His methods are pretty solid. And, he's a damned good private dick.
-But?
-You know the story. Stay with him.
Thirteen
A LONG day for Edward Mendez was almost at an end. He was sitting in Marlena's living room sipping a much needed whiskey and soda and admiring the new decor.
-Is Susan behind the redecorating? Nice job...cozy and warm and...
-Sedate?
-That's it.
-You look tired, Edward.
-Not too tired. But, I could sure use this. Where's Susan?
-Fixing dinner.
-I'm starved. Could use a good meal, too.
He swirled the whiskey in his glass. He felt like taking off his shoes, but resisted the temptation.