by Gerard Denza
I lit up and took a deep drag on my cigarette. For a moment, I heard the sound of a piano playing, but I couldn’t place where it was coming from.
-Marlena wants you to come directly to her place and to bring Yolanda with you.
-Why the change of plans?
-Miss Lake will have food for you when you arrive. I am only guessing now; but, I am certain that she has much to discuss with you that could not be said freely in a public place.
-Are you a friend of Marlena’s?
-I am not a part of her group: that is what you meant to ask, wasn’t it?
-You could say that.
-I know Miss Lake only for a short time. I am not sure that I like her. I do like her daughter, Susan. I do not care for her son. I cannot say that to her, but to you, I may say it.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and continued to smoke. Interesting that she and Yolanda had similar feelings about Marlena’s offspring. From my vantage point, I could see South Beach and what must be the ocean. Some memory in the back of my mind was echoing a warning...a warning about a house? I lost the thread of the thought.
-And, now, I will answer you another, as yet, unasked question, Mr. Mendez.
I looked around for an ashtray.
-And, what’s that, Miss Spender?
-How I come to know Miss Lake; am I correct?
-Keep talking.
-We met in Germany. It was right after the war when things were quite ugly and still are. She came to me, Mr. Mendez. I did not look for her because I had no reason to. I didn’t even know that Marlena Lake existed.
I unbuttoned my top collar and loosened my tie. I was to learn that that statement wasn’t entirely true.
-Marlena sought you out in Germany, Miss Spender? How come?
-Yes.
-What did you have that Marlena wanted?
-Your questions are deceptively simple. You are clever.
-You haven’t answered my question so maybe I’m not so clever.
-First, Mr. Mendez, you must promise me something.
-I don’t make promises.
-Smart man. I am returning to Germany tomorrow morning.
-Why, Miss Spender? Should I care?
-I will tell you why, which brings us back to your question of a moment ago. You see, I have recently lost my sister.
I took a drag on what remained of my cigarette. For a moment, my heart stopped beating.
-I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Spender. What was your sister’s name?
-Her name was Valerie. She was beautiful. And, I can sense that you are affected by this. Do not try to deny it.
-I wouldn’t. It’s as if I feel the pain of Valerie’s death and the actual sound of her passing away.
I did feel the sting of death...the onrushing of another dream and existence on to a new landscape of visions.
-You would have loved her. She was a student of the piano and her talent was exceptional. I can still hear her playing. It was an evil god who took her from us.
-It was your sister, Valerie, who Marlena was looking for; is that it, Miss Spender? Did I get it right?
-Yes.
-Do you want to tell me why? If you don’t, that’s all right. I respect your grief.
-I thank you for that; but, I can feel that you already love my sister. So, I will tell you some of it.
I lit another cigarette. The room’s light faded as I put another question to Miss Spender.
-Did Marlena meet your sister?
-No. Miss Lake arrived too late.
-What was it that Marlena wanted?
-My sister was an innocent. She was sensitive to other presences and felt things intuitively. I am not doing Valerie justice.
-You’re doing just fine. Did Marlena want Valerie’s advice?
-No. She sought Valerie’s knowledge and got what she wanted.
-How’s that? Did your sister keep a journal?
-You know more than you pretend, Mr. Mendez. My sister kept quite an extensive journal and, of course, she confided in me.
-Have you confided in Marlena or don’t you trust her enough?
-I have given her the journal. However, I still keep my sister’s confidence.
-I’m thinking, Miss Spender, of your sister and about her dreams. Don’t ask me why.
-Why do you not surprise me? Miss Lake has selected a worthy new friend.
I got up from my bed. I felt a cold current of air waft over me in what had up until that moment been a cozy and warm apartment.
-Mr. Mendez? Are you still there?
-Yes.
I walked over to the window, picked up the phone and balanced the receiver on my shoulder. I pushed up a few slats of the venetian blinds and saw those same businessmen pass just beneath the window. They must have finished their business and were heading back to the train station. Impulse told me to follow them, but common sense told me that I was outnumbered.
-Mr. Mendez?
-There are four men walking down the street, just outside my window. I have this impulse to follow them. Should I?
-Do not! Tell me what these men look like: businessmen, no? That is, until you look into their faces.
-Yes..
This woman’s fear was contagious. I had a bad case of the “willies” just then.
-Stay where you are and do not allow them to see you. I know of these men and so does Miss Lake.
-That doesn’t surprise me.
-You take to joking on something most dangerous. These men were involved in Valerie’s death. They would have killed me, as well, if they had had the opportunity. And, an attempt was made on Miss Lake’s life shortly after Valerie was murdered.
-I think I’ll head back into the city. Maybe, we can meet for coffee and discuss-
-No. I cannot meet you until tonight. I’ve much to do before I leave for Germany tomorrow morning. And, I want you to stay in your rooms for another half an hour, at least, or until you are certain those men have gone. Promise me that.
-I promise.
-Good. And, now, I must go. Goodbye.
-Hold up. What’s Marlena’s address?
-Yolanda knows where to go. Good day.
I put the phone back on the night stand. I stood there stock still, trying to take in that phone call. If I’d had second thoughts about going to Marlena’s tonight, those thoughts were gone. It bothered me that I had to rely on a stranger for help. But, help for what? I could just walk away from all this, try and get my memory back, and go on with my life with Yolanda, of course. Was that really an option? I didn’t think it was. If just to satisfy my curiosity, I wanted to find out what I was about to become involved in. That conversation just now with Miss Spender had intrigued the hell out of me and so had those four men. Yep. I was going to see this through.
I walked over to the bureau and looked at myself in the mirror. I still had on my trench coat. I took it off and flung it on to the bed. I opened the top bureau drawer and went through the clothes...my clothes. I picked out a dark blue shirt and matching tie, but something caught my attention. Just underneath the shirts and ties, there was a gun which looked like an old German hand pistol: a Walther P38 Semi Automatic. Interesting how that fact just clicked into my consciousness. I picked it up and opened the casing; it’d been fired, but not recently. In the same bureau drawer was a shoulder holster; the kind that goes across the chest. I put it on over the blue shirt and tucked the Walther into it. Better. Now, I felt a lot better. Maybe, I’d been a WWII vet. and this hand pistol was a souvenir. No. This gun was a part of my occupation. I’d used it as a civilian. I knew this had to be true.
I opened up the other bureau drawers and in the bottom one there was a carefully folded dark green leather jacket. Nice. I put it on and it was a perfect fit, just about concealing the gun underneath. Now, I could protect myself and Yolanda. Amazing what a gun can do for a man.
My office was right on the corner of John St. and Broadway. It was within walking distance of the ferry: about a half
of a mile or so. The building was a ten story brownstone. When I walked into the lobby, I had to look at the directory even though I knew the floor number. The elevator man spotted me. I didn’t like his look.
-Forget your floor, Mr. Mendez?
-Just looking over my neighbors. Goes with the profession.
-Going up?
-You guessed it. Tenth floor.
The ride up was slow. I could see that the elevator man was sizing me up. He wasn’t being discreet about it. He must have sensed something different about my demeanor. I pretended not to notice. I didn’t want to risk engaging him in conversation where he would have had me at a disadvantage.
The elevator car stopped with a slight jerk. He turned to look at me. I didn’t like this guy or his arrogant manner.
-Tenth floor, Mr. Mendez.
-Thanks.
-Dan’s the name. Don’t you remember? You feeling all right, Mr. Mendez. You look kind of preoccupied.
-I’m just bad at names. Thanks, Dan.
I walked straight down the hall with my footsteps muffled by the carpeted floor. My office was straight ahead: Edward Mendez: Private Investigator was stenciled on to the frosted glass. I took out my three brass keys and selected the one that I hadn’t used yet. I opened the door and glanced back. Yes. Dan, the elevator man, was staring after me. I waved to the bastard, went inside, and closed the door behind me.
-Man! What the hell was his problem? And, that look on his face...was it one of pure contempt? I think it was. I’d better keep an eye out for him.
I walked past the small, wooden desk and looked out the window. I scanned the horizon and then looked down on to the street below. Cars were moving southward along Broadway and pedestrians were rushing back to work from their lunch hour. The AT&T building was right across the street. And, was that Dan going into the building? It was. The bastard was up to something, but I had no time to waste on him now. I wanted to look through my files before heading back uptown to pick up Yolanda.
I turned to face the file cabinet which was right behind my desk and to my immediate left.
I was organized. Good. I liked that.
I started rifling through the files: manilla folders that were kept in alphabetical order. There were case files on clients: divorces, separations, suspected extra-marital affairs, some local break-ins. Nothing earth shattering, that was for sure. And, none of it was familiar. Not even the slightest disturbance of a subconscious memory.
I glanced over to my left. The old wooden desk, which was my desk, was clear of any papers; only the green blotter was there with a glass ashtray in the right hand corner. No photographs. No mementos. I guess I wasn’t the sentimental type.
I was now at the bottom drawer of the file cabinet and about to call it quits when a folder marked World War II Artifacts caught my interest. I pulled it out and sat down with it at my desk. I opened it up. Inside were newspaper clippings of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and a list of names. Now, I was getting somewhere: people who I could look up and investigate about...what? Christ!
The names on the list were: Ramona Chen, Werner Hoffmann, Sr. and Werner Hoffmann, Jr., a father and son most likely, Nella Mendez, Dorothy Mendez, Victoria Mendez, and Catrina Mendez. Were these four ladies my relatives? Must be. But, why were their names listed in this file with regard to World War II? Intriguing. And, there was one last name: Marlena Lake. Why wasn’t I surprised?
I copied each name. Yes. It was my handwriting, all right...well, my print. With the exception of Marlena, I couldn’t place any of these people, not even the four ladies who shared my surname. I took out a cigarette from the fresh pack that I’d just bought at the newsstand outside and lit up.
Names on a piece of paper.
Newspaper clippings of two devastated cities.
And there were some black and white photographs of an actual atomic blast. It started with a photo of the initial drop made by the bi-plane and went right up to the mushroom cloud spiraling upward toward the atmosphere. In this last photo, there was a small white speck and a “fold” in the upper left hand corner? A flaw in the lens? Over exposed film? I opened the top middle drawer and found what I was looking for: a magnifying glass. I examined this last photo with the lens. No. I still couldn’t make out the object or the reason for the “fold,” but the more I looked at it, I could feel my blood turn cold.
I put away the magnifying glass and shoved the photos back into the folder. There was no time to think about any of this. It would have to wait. Some inner voice “told” me, though, that one day, if I lived long enough, I’d have to face some new horror connected to these names and photographs.
I’d lost track of the time. It was just past four-thirty. I was riding the Uptown Lexington Avenue Express. Where the hell had the time gone? The uptown bus would’ve been too slow and I didn’t want to keep Yolanda waiting. For some strange reason, I had taken out those Atomic Bomb photos from my file again to have a second look at them. My “eye” had kept focusing on that last photo with the “fold” in it. I wish to hell I’d had the actual negative which might have told me something. On the back of the photo, there had been a handwritten name: Ortiz and the stamp of the actual photographer: Maxwell. Two more names to look up. I was warming up to my job as a private investigator.
I was riding in the middle car and standing up. I had a newspaper folded under my arm and was holding on to one of the leather straps. I was wearing my leather gloves. It was funny how I’d found them in my apartment. The weather was getting colder outside and I just automatically reached into the drawer of the night table and took out the gloves. Maybe, if I put myself on “automatic,” my past would come back to me.
The subway car was crowded with evening commuters. I’d gotten on at Chambers St. and had just made it on to the train as the doors were closing. I’d gotten a seat, but had given up my seat to an attractive young woman. I didn’t have the time to start up a conversation with her, so I unfolded my newspaper and scanned some of the headlines. Russia was pushing forward with its atomic bomb testing. So much for a once trusted ally.
The train was zooming past Astor Place when i glanced over to my left. In the next car down, I spotted him: Dan. Now what the hell was he doing on this train? As if I had to ask!
I let go of the leather strap and pushed my way through my fellow passengers. I reached the connecting door and yanked it open. He saw me and took off down the car. I stepped over the gap between the cars and pulled open that connecting door. I now had one hand on my gun. I released the safety catch. Without apology, I shoved my way through the crowd. The bastard had a head start on me and he was a smaller man who could more easily weave his way through the commuters.
The train was slowing down on pulling into Fourteenth St. I moved to my right to get a look out the door. The platform was jam-packed with people. Was that him getting out? I think it must have been. He ran up the downtown stairwell and got lost in the crowd. I decided to stay on the train. If I ran into this character again, I’d have a few questions for him. I put the safety catch back on the gun.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A WARNING
DOLORES WATCHED YOLANDA skate. The young girl admired her friend’s athletic ability and dedication. She called out to her.
-I still haven’t seen you do a double-axel jump. You’ll have to, you know, if you want to stand any chance of winning the Nationals. Are you afraid to try it without your coach here?
Yolanda ignored Dolores’s remark and did a double toe-loop jump. It was well executed with good height and momentum and the landing was well placed.
-That wasn’t a double-axel. I know the difference, even if you think that I don’t.
Yolanda did her front extension with her right leg and this brought her to the edge of the rink and face-to-face with Dolores. She was breathing heavier than she wanted to.
-Is that all you know how to do is to criticize? I know what I have to do. I don’t need you to tell me. And, besides, that was
a double-toe loop.
-Where is your coach today?
-Fridays are his days off, so I do as I please and perfect the jumps I know that I can do.
-I was only teasing you. Don’t you know me by now?
-Too well. Hand me that towel, please. I don’t want to stop too long. I’m starting to sweat.
-Sweating is very unbecoming to a woman, but I love it on a man, no?
-Oh, yes...very much so.
-Did Edward sweat last night?
-Yes. In all of his right spots, too.
Both women laughed as Yolanda dabbed at her forehead.
-He was lovely and hard and strong and the hurt that he caused was sweet.
-Yes. Your jumps are high today.
-Thank you.
-And, what of your other friend?
-I have few male friends.
-I should be insulted that you take me for such a fool. I know that you’re avoiding my question.
-I know who you mean. What do I care? I don’t.
-You should, Yolanda. He pays for everything. I wouldn’t want you to lose him.
-You want him? Maybe, I’ll give him to you.
-How brave you are today. Tell me, has Edward given you such strength?
-Maybe and maybe not.
-I think he has. I like him; but, can he afford to keep you? What are his prospects?
-He has money, but how much I don’t yet know. He’s a private investigator.
-Are you serious? That’s pretty risky, no?
-Yes. But, it can be profitable, too, with the right clients.
-And, what about your other-
-I don’t want to speak of him. He’s unimportant.
-I don’t believe that.
-Oh?
-You’re too easy for him.
-And, just what do you mean by that?
-He calls and you’re there, always. He must have spies on you, Yolanda. And, what would he say about Edward?
-That’s none of his business.
-He wouldn’t agree with you and you know it.
-I have to skate. Talk to me. I can hear you from the ice.
Yolanda glided toward the center of the rink as Dolores watched. She did some of her straight-line skating that she knew would be required of her to compete. It might bore her friend, but she needed to work on it. She skated the entire length of the rink on both sides and kept careful watch on her form and extension. Not bad. Not there just yet, but not bad.
