The Deadliest Game: An Edward Mendez, P. I. Thriller

by Gerard Denza

  The Deadliest Game

  An Edward Mendez, P. I. Thriller

  Book V

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2021 Gerard Denza

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978-1-7328653-5-8

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, without written permission of the copyright owner.

  Cover Art: Book Covers Art

  Also available digitally.

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR:

  ICARUS: THE COLLECTED PLAYS

  RAMSAY: DEALER OF DEATH

  THE TIME DECEIVER

  An Edward Mendez, P. I. Thriller, Book I

  NIGHT DRIFTER

  An Edward Mendez, P. I. Thriller, Book II

  THE IMMORTAL

  An Edward Mendez, P. I. Thriller, Book III

  TARGET: THE BOGEYMAN

  An Edward Mendez, P. I. Thriller, Book IV

  THE DEADLIEST GAME

  An Edward Mendez, P. I. Thriller, Book V

  Main Characters:

  1) Edward Mendez, P. I. – private investigator who finds himself personally involved in terrorist activities that his own family may be the cause of.

  2) Yolanda Estravades – Edward's girlfriend and aspiring figure skating champion.

  3) Lt. William Donovan – heading the investigation into terrorist activities.

  4) Sgt. Tom Rayno – Edward's friend who finds himself on a suicide mission.

  5) Ginny Gray – an ace reporter and friend of Edward's who will do almost anything for a scoop.

  6) Marlena Lake – a shrewd and resourceful woman who has many contacts in the underworld.

  7) Susan Broder – Marlena's intelligent daughter who knows her mother only too well.

  8) Louis Octavio – a greedy, cold-blooded killer.

  9) Ricardo Montenegro – an unwilling accomplice to terrorist activities.

  10) Nella Mendez – Edward's youngest sister who keeps his accounts straight.

  11) Victoria Mendez – Edward's beautiful sister.

  12) Dottie Mendez – Edward's sister and the last person to see Catrina Mendez alive.

  13) Mrs. Mendez – the Mendez family matriarch who reveals her darkest secret.

  14) Alexandra Raymond – police court stenographer and investigator.

  15) Dr. Claire Ingram – brusque doctor who gives the facts and only the facts.

  16) Sam Eisenstein – a diamond cutter with underworld connections.

  17) Eileen Kobe – an associate of Louis Octavio who discovers that she is expendable.

  18) Professor Moreland – a theorist with a dangerous theory.

  19) Mary Riley – the Professor's secretary.

  20) Linda Silverman – Catrina's only friend who is as callous and self serving as she.

  21) Mrs. Silverman – Linda's mother who is not an invalid.

  22) Rachel Schwartz – a bohemian who may know more than she thinks.

  23) Officer Morgan Andes – a patrolman in Staten Island.

  24) Arthur Corelli – a teenager who asks too many questions for his own good.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  December 1, 1948 The Diamond District Murders

  December 2, 1948 The Subway Tunnel

  December 3, 1948 Fifth Ave. Skyscraper

  December 4, 1948 Friends From the Past

  December 5, 1948 Manhunt

  December 6, 1948 Nor'easter

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  LOUIS OCTAVIO took a last puff on his imported cigarette. He flicked the remainder of the cigarette into the kitchen sink and looked around his studio apartment. He didn't like what he saw. The place was too small even for one man and it was dark because very little direct sunlight ever made its way into the room. He kept the apartment clean but not tidy because he couldn't afford a cleaning woman to come in even once a week. His desk had the accumulation of several days of unopened mail, assorted memorandum and notes that were in no particular order. He never paid his bills on time.

  It hadn't always been this way. Twenty years ago, Octavio had resided in a penthouse apartment in Sutton Place. He led the so-called “good life” until the stock market crash caught up with him and his ill-advised investments. He hadn't taken his own life like so many of his associates had; but, he had taken severe financial losses. And, it was at that point in his life that the former stock broker's hatred of the world began to take root...and he began to take on other “jobs.” These “jobs” paid well, but were sporadic. Octavio splurged these earnings on non-essentials: trips to Europe, expensive clothes and other niceties. He no longer trusted banks and the Stock Exchange, even less, but to put his money under a mattress? Only a peasant would do such a thing. No. The money was better off spent.

  Why had financial ruin even happened to him? He just couldn't understand it. His occult brotherhood hadn't protected him from the onslaught of the crash and the cruel hazards of the mundane world. His occult leader, Manuel Mendez, would have protected him had he been alive to do so! Manuel Mendez...that egotistical bastard whom he trusted was dead and the brotherhood was leaderless and scattered throughout the world. Why hadn't Mendez chosen a successor? Surely, someone within the group could have taken over the reins of leadership...perhaps, even Octavio himself or Richard Aster.

  Octavio's only solace – and it was a slim one -- was that he was not alone in his misery. His good friend, Ricardo Montenegro, had been reduced to live in little more than a hovel in Staten Island. Montenegro's occupation was that of a public school teacher...insufferable boredom. The two men kept in touch, but not often.

  Octavio picked up yesterday's clothes off the floor and tossed them into the hamper in the bathroom that had no bath tub, only a shower stall. He went to put his overcoat on, but first he had to check his leather briefcase: the one with the small lead lined box containing the “doomsday” stone.

  He took out the box and opened it. Good. He closed the box and locked it. Finally, fortune was about to smile on him. He placed the box back in the briefcase and let out a most hearty laugh. What fools women could be. Miss Eileen Kobe believed the stone had been stolen right beneath their noses last night. It had, in fact, been stolen by Louis Octavio. And, he was now on his way to a gemstone cutter in the Diamond District of Manhattan. The doomsday stone had to be cut into three pieces to fit into his plans.

  He shut the lights in his apartment and stepped into the hallway. He left the building unseen and walked the short distance to the Lexington Ave. subway. He took the train downtown to Grand Central Station. The train was practically empty because it was not even five o'clock in the morning.

  Stepping out of the subway, he walked uptown to 47th St. and then crosstown to 5th Ave. It was still dark and the overcast sky framed the city in a blanket of mist; one might call the effect, atmospheric. There were a few people walking to work or rushing into the all night eateries for a quick breakfast or a take-out.

  He continued down the north side of 47th St. and glanced at the buildings' addresses. It took only a minute to locate the correct address, but the front door was locked. He rang the buzzer and waited and watched. The front door was reinforced glass so Octavio could at least see into the dark hallway. The lights in the hallway were off but was that the night watchman coming to answer his
summons? It was.

  The night watchman went to unlock the door. With the exception of Mr. Eisenstein and himself, no one else was in the building.

  -Yes, sir? Can I help you?

  -You may. I've an appointment with Mr. Eisenstein.

  -Come on in. He's upstairs in his office.

  The night watchman walked over to the front desk and rang up the gem cutter.

  -Man down here to see you. Okay. I'll send him on up.

  -Thank you. I know where Mr. Eisenstein's office is. I'll just walk up the one flight of stairs.

  -Straight ahead, then turn right. Can't miss it.

  Octavio took the stairs two at a time. Yes. He was anxious and didn't want to wait for an elevator that would take him only to the second floor.

  Eisenstein's office was the first on the right. Octavio rapped hard on the frosted glass causing it to rattle in its frame. The door was opened and Mr. Eisenstein greeted the man he thought was his friend.

  -Good morning, Louis. You want me to cut an unusual stone, no?

  -Yes. I am pressed for time.

  -Aren't we all?

  -Of course. I don't mean to be rude, but may we dispense with the pleasantries?

  -We have known each other a long time. The stock market crash still lingers in my mind, as well as yours, I'm sure.

  -In a manner of speaking that event is an indirect cause of my being here this morning.

  -Here. I am all set up. So, where is this unusual stone?

  Octavio opened the leather briefcase and took out the box. He placed it on the table by the gem cutting implements and backed away.

  -You may open it.

  Mr. Eisenstein hesitated.

  -Go on. It's only a stone. Can't hurt you.

  A lie.

  Mr. Eisenstein opened the box and withdrew the stone: a blue-gray rectangular stone.

  -Interesting. I don't recognize it.

  -It has no name. It has yet to be classified. Its value goes beyond anything you can imagine. You are to divide it into three equal parts. I will wait outside your office to give you privacy and a minimum amount of distraction., Please, proceed.

  Octavio left the gem cutter's office and stepped into the hallway. Yes. He'd hidden his contempt for his “friend.” Of course, Mr. Eisenstein wouldn't live much longer once he cut into the stone. In a matter of days, he would succumb to its lethal radiation. What of it? Why should he care for this Jew? He lit a cigarette and waited.

  Within half an hour, Mr. Eisenstein opened his office door.

  -The job is completed.

  -Excellent.

  -The stone had an almost brittle quality to it. Its composition was unusual.

  -Have you placed the stones back into the case?

  -No. Should I have?

  -Yes. Do it now, please.

  -Why should I? Is it so dangerous? Is it deadly? When I cut into the stone, my fingers felt-

  -Strange?

  -Yes.

  -You're smarter than I gave you credit for, Jew.

  -What is that you say?

  Octavio took the handgun from the back of his trousers.

  -Listen, put those pieces back into the box and lock it. Do it now and you'll live a few more days.

  Mr. Eisenstein walked back into his office and did as he was ordered. Octavio closed the office door, but left it slightly ajar to keep an eye on the gem cutter. There was a phone in the office and Eisenstein tried reaching for it. Octavio flung open the door and shot Eisenstein point blank in the back. He collapsed to the floor...dead.

  Octavio put the box back into his briefcase. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

  -Must be that over-the-hill guard.

  Octavio stepped to the side of the door and waited. The guard came in and rushed over to the dead man on the floor. Octavio aimed and fired. The guard fell on top of the gem cutter.

  Two dead men and the sun hadn't even risen.

  December 1, 1948

  The Diamond District Murders

  One

  EDWARD MENDEZ was taking the IRT train down to his office on Fulton St. and Broadway. He boarded the train at the 23rd St. station and had to stand up. It was the start of the rush hour and the train was crowded. Edward was holding on to one of the leather straps and looking out the window at the black and grimy darkness of the tunnel The window provided a faint reflection of the passengers behind him. No one particularly interesting or even pretty, so he kept staring out the window and shifting his weight from side to side.

  The train pulled out of 14th St. when the P. I. noticed him. The man in the overcoat with a leather briefcase on his lap was staring up at him. Edward pretended to be still looking out the window. He didn't recognize this man, but the man recognized Edward as the private detective who brought down the serial killer, Angel Correa.

  Neither man acknowledged the other, but Edward cataloged the man's face and general appearance in his shamus' mind. He knew the criminal type when he saw it and wondered what this man's story was and his crime.

  Edward got off at Fulton St. and made his way out to the street and to his favorite delicatessen to pick up breakfast: a container of coffee and some scrambled eggs and bacon. The young woman behind the counter gave him a warm greeting and a generous serving. She liked the P. I. He always gave her a tip.

  He crossed the street, entered his building and rang for the elevator. His glanced out to the street and noticed the gray van that was parked just outside the building. He thought nothing of it.

  The elevator arrived. He stepped in with some fellow tenants and nodded to the new elevator man; an elderly gentleman. Edward hoped that he'd last longer that the previous two.

  Once inside his tenth floor office, he sat down to have his breakfast. He hesitated. He turned around to look out the window and down at the street below. That gray van was still parked out front.

  The phone rang and he picked it up.

  -Edward Mendez.

  -Hello, Edward Mendez. Sgt. Tom Rayno here.

  Edward reached over for his coffee.

  -What's up, Rayno, old boy?

  -Heads up on a double homicide in the Diamond District: a gem cutter and a night watchman are headed to the morgue.

  -The Diamond District? Isn't that off your beat?

  -It is. But, there's something a little weird about this case.

  -So you thought of me, you bastard?

  Both men had a good laugh. Edward took a bite of his sandwich. Not bad.

  -Okay. Give. What's so weird about it?

  -Well, there were traces of what they think might be radiation at the scene.

  -Radiation? Like in the atom bomb and uranium isotopes? You know, the stuff that kills you.

  -Don't really know. But, when the boys arrived at the scene, the top of the dead man's work table was glowing blue.

  Edward was about to pick up some bacon and stopped.

  -What the hell kind of radiation is that? Could be just harmless phosphorous. The guy did play with stones.

  -You are smart, 'cause that's what the medics thought, too. It turns out that one of the tenants in the building had a Geiger counter to test mineral deposits. He heard the commotion downstairs and tested the work table with his machine. Christ! The needle went through the roof, Eddie. They've evacuated the building and set up police barricades. Nobody gets in without radiation gear.

  Edward sat back and put his feet up on his desk. For some reason, he thought about that gray van parked outside. He turned around to look out the window, again. The van was just pulling out of its parking space.

  -Edward? Eddie, you still there?

  -I'm here. I take it you want me to head uptown?

  -That was the general hint. Technically, I can't get involved.

  -I'm winding up a couple of cases; but, they can wait a couple of hours.

  -Good man. Keep me posted.

  Edward hung up and finished his coffee.
He wrapped the remainder of his sandwich before depositing it in his bottom desk drawer. It was starting to snow outside. He got up, grabbed his Fedora and put on his overcoat. He hadn't taken off his shoulder holster or checked his gun. He did that before he left his girlfriend's apartment that morning.

  The P. I. shut off the lights and locked up. This was his way of putting off the paperwork and billing that had piled up on his desk. The last couple of months had been profitable and not in small part to all the media coverage he'd gotten viz-a-viz the Angel Correa case..

  In another twenty minutes, he was walking down 47th St. on the exact route that Louis Octavio had taken earlier that morning. There was a large crowd of people milling about the front entrance of an unobtrusive five story building. It was an old brick structure predating the First World War. Police barricades had been put up blocking pedestrian traffic. Automobile traffic was being re-routed and no car was allowed to enter 47th St. between 5th Ave. and 6th Ave.

  The crowd's conversation was a mixture of annoyance and intrigue.

  -But, who will pay me for my lost time? That is what I want to know.

  -The Mayor sure won't. Forget it. Not that cheapskate.

  -I can't see why they go to the trouble of blocking the adjoining buildings. Must be pretty serious.

  -It had better be.

  -I'll say! My friend, Herb, says two men were killed in that building just this morning. Shot like dogs.

  -But, how? I heard it was radiation poisoning. Maybe, we should all run for our lives.

  -You get infected with that stuff and that's it. You're dead, for sure.

  Edward noticed some newspaper men trying to push their way past the barriers. He recognized one of them: a woman named Virginia Gray: a real rugged, tough-as-nails type. She stood about five foot, two inches, had a stocky build, short sandy hair and a not unattractive face that always had a slash of red lipstick on it. She was forty, but swore she was only twenty-nine which nobody believed. He approached her.