Path of
Deception by
Mickey Josephson
PROLOGUE
Johnny Martine came out from the Marines broke. . . . But he was rich by 1973. . . . He had built his way up, one might say. Do you remember a time like that? When the world was firmly under your feet and you were walking on top of it? . . . It was that kind of day, a bright New York spring day, rain soaked the earth and flowers budded overnight when Johnny went to sign a $4,000,000 lease at the Municipal building in the New York City. ?I?m Johnny Martine,? he said, high stepping toward the American flag.
?I know. We?ve been expecting you,? the New York City Real Estate Commissioner?s secretary replied.
?Uhhhhhhhmm.?
He turned.
?Are those leases ready? I have to go. I have to go,? a flat-faced man said from a doorway.
?Yes,? she replied, glancing at Johnny. She looked back at the flat-faced man, the Real Estate Commissioner, and said, ?This is Johnny Martine.?
?Oh,? he replied, glancing at Johnny?s face.
The phone rang, and the Commissioner glanced into his office. It kept ringing, he grew nervous, ? he motioned the secretary into his office.
The door closed and the ringing stopped. Minutes later she re-emerged and said, ?Here?s your lease, Mr. Martine.?
Two hundred thousand dollars a year rent, yahooooooooo, Johnny thought. Rent to be paid me each year by the City of New York, for twenty years.
?I?ll be back,? the Commissioner said vociferously. Then he rushed out of the office brushing by the American flag.
I wonder why he took three years to approve my lease and only three months for other developers.
. . . Ring. . . Ring. . . Ring.
?I have a meeting, a very important meeting,? he went on, entering the elevator, addressing no one in particular.
The door closed.
?Mr. Martine, show this to the director of leasing. He?ll tell you what to do next,? she said, avoiding eye contact.
He hurried down the hallway to the leasing director?s office, started to open the door then paused ? someone shouted inside. He slowly opened the door, a husky voice was crying out, ?You are hereby under arrest and anything you say will be held against you.?
He pushed open the door. A neatly dressed black man was handcuffing a man behind a desk ? a bible was set to one side. ?Take him in, mon,? the black detective said, as two policemen escorted the man out the door.
The detective frowned at Johnny, ?Come in, mon,? he said, inhaling and exhaling excessively. ?Special Agent Archie Thomas, Rackets Squad, what?s your name, address, and telephone number, please?? he went on. ?And what are you doing here??
Slowly, the big man prowled about Johnny then stopped, removed a well-used notebook and said, ?Speak up, mon.?
?I?m Johnny Martine.?
?Oh, it?s you,? he said, smiling and putting the book away.
?I was told to show him,? he looked at the empty desk, ?my day care center lease.?
?Oh, sure ? you?re building a place for little people to play. Very good, very good. One of those deals, eh ? mon??
?What do you mean??
?Mon, you know this man,? he glanced at the desk, ?long time??
?I ??
?You know him three years.?
?Why?d you ask me??
The detective flashed his black eyes, pushed his brown fedora hat back and sat down behind the Leasing Director?s desk. ?You knew ? you knew what he wasdoing.?
?I had suspic ??
? The phone rang. They both stared, and then Thomas reached for it.
?Hello-hello-hello.?
It went dead, he pressed the disconnect number and dialed, ?There was a call to this number, just now, see if you can trace it.?
?Somebody didn?t want to speak to me, Mr. Martine.? . . . Then he got up and walked straight toward Johnny ? ?I know who you are,? he said, pointing a finger. . . . ?You can leave now.?Johnny walked to the door.
?Your wife is gorgeous, mon.?
?What? ? he spun around.
?I got my eye on you.?
?Why??
?I?m goner get you and Kraemer, mon,? ? his eyes narrowed.
Chapter I follows tomorrow.
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