Waiting For The Road Killer

By Neal Chadwick

Waiting For The Road Killer

Detective novel by Neal Chadwick

The size of this book corresponds to 140 pages of paperback.

A murderer traces his bloody trail through the city. His method is very special: he kills in traffic...

A gripping thriller by Neal Chadwick.

Neal Chadwick (Alfred Bekker) is a well-known author of fantasy novels, detective stories and books for young people. In addition to his great book successes, he has written numerous novels for suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, Commissioner X, John Sinclair and Jessica Bannister. He also published under the names Neal Chadwick , Henry Rohmer , Conny Walden and Janet Farell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Casssiopeia-XXX-press
• Release date: Dec 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393646594

Book preview

1

Fog hung deep over the Long Island sound. Milo and I had taken the sports car to a parking lot on the Connecticut coast to meet an informant.

Now we've been waiting fifteen minutes.

Milo looked at the clock.

Brad Mendoza takes his time today!

Let's hope nothing happened to him!

He's careful!

At that moment we heard the engine of a motorcycle howl. It drove along the coastal road, slowed down and then turned into the parking lot. The driver was in a black leather outfit. The visor was dark. He let the engine of his Harley howl again and then raced towards us. At the last moment, he braked. The rear tire broke out a little. A clearly visible trace stretched across the asphalt. He took off his helmet.

Hey, what are you doing? scolded Milo, who jumped to the side to be on the safe side. Do you want to play Easy Rider with us?

Brad Mendoza stroked her curly, dark hair back and grinned broadly. How about Road Killer instead?

2

It's almost 8o miles from Federal Plaza to here, Milo got excited. If you think we're going this way to put up with any kind of tricks, you're wrapped crooked, Mr. Mendoza!

Mendoza twisted his eyes. I'm sorry! he relented. I've had a new machine for two days and there...

Is that a reason to turn off the mind?

It's all right, Milo, I interfered, even though I shared my colleague's anger. I'm convinced Mr. Mendoza wouldn't have called us here if there weren't any important news!

That's right! Mendoza agreed. I've got something really big for you. But if you're not interested...

We're quite interested, I said objectively.

He grinned. Okay! They'll be nmacvhe eyes and I'd say this time there's a little bonus in it!

We'll talk about that when we know what it's about, I decided.

Brad Mendoza was 38 years old and bartender in a club called Latin Pop in Spanish Harlem. The name was program, which concerned the music selection. More or less regularly he provided us with news from Spanish Harlem and the South Bronx. Mainly, of course, through the Puerto Rican syndicate, which had the centre of its activities there.

Mendoza had always supplied us reliably. At this distance, we had no reason to complain about him. However, he also had a penchant for pomposity and self-portrayal, which at some point could break his neck again.

The fact that he could afford a Harley was an indication that he had been doing some crooked business lately.

We haven't heard from each other in a long time, Mr Mendoza, I noticed.

He shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing to report, Agent Trevellian!

But you seem to be well... While I was saying that, I was pointing to the Harley.

You do what you can.

The way I see it, you won't be enjoying your hot oven for long, my colleague Milo Tucker interfered. Your driving style will sooner or later kill yourself or someone else.

Sorry, Agent Tucker! But I have this thing completely under control.

Why did you want to meet us? I said.

I hope your story is as good as the announcement earlier, Milo added.

I wasn't kidding about Easy Rider and Road Killer just now. He looked at me, raised his eyebrows and waited for my reaction. Well, does it ring a bell? It's about the legendary Road Killer...

I was familiar with that name. It was the pseudonym of an unscrupulous wage killer who was blamed for dozens of murders in the drug syndicate environment. The only thing definitely known about him was that he had to be an excellent motorcyclist. In all the murders associated with him, motorcycles had played a role.

Hence the nickname he was given.

He has been on the wanted list for years, but so far there has been no promising investigative approach.

I know for a fact that the Road Killer is currently in New York, Mendoza opened.

Who gave you this? I went after it.

I can't tell you, otherwise my life expectancy is half an hour or so. He grinned. You know the game, Agent Trevellian. But even if you don't know the source, you have to admit that I've never told you crap!

I assume the road killer is here in New York for professional reasons, Milo concluded.

That's right.

Do you know anything about it?

Mendoza nodded. What are you thinking? He's supposed to have an assignment. That's all I know. But if I were you, I'd take that clue very seriously. I wouldn't have come to you if I thought it was just the usual rumors. What about the bonus?

Whether we can pay you more depends on whether the whole thing really proves to be a hot lead, Mr Mendoza, I restricted. As you know, the amounts for informants are very limited.

He put the helmet back on.

For him, the conversation seemed to be more or less over.

I got a little closer to his Harley. Just a moment, Mr. Mendoza.

He lifted the visor.

I really need to get back to the Big Apple. Dates - you understand?"

I thought the working time of a bartender in Latin pop doesn't start until the early evening, I objected.

You still have a private life, Agent Trevellian!

Or business that goes on the side and allows a bartender to afford a Harley?

He laughed. With all due respect, it's none of your business. By the way, I'm just a frugal person.

Of course...

I mean it! I mean it!

How fresh is the information? You'll be able to tell me without telling me your source, won't you?

I heard about this last night. My source learned of it at most half a day earlier. And now count whether that's still fresh enough for you!

We were just talking about rumors.

Yes?

There's talk of a new supplier allegedly trying to establish itself in the drug market. Is that true?

He shrugged his shoulders. I've heard of it, too, Agent Trevellian. But I don't know what the facts are about now. In fact, street prices for heroin would have to fall to the bottomless, but they don't. So if such an action is planned, I don't think it can have started yet.

I see.

Only the one with the Road Killer, that's pretty sure - and if you put both pieces of the puzzle together, it's a picture that makes sense, I think!

He folded down the visor. I'll get back to you when I know more, he promised and roared off with his rear tire spinning. He turned on the gas and ran at breakneck speed towards the exit. A little later he drove back along the coastal road towards the border between Connecticut and New York State.

They should take his license away, Milo said. This guy's a public menace!

I turned my eyes towards my colleague and asked: Are you talking about Mendoza or the Road Killer now?

Milo made a throw-away gesture. We got into the sports car. Finally he asked, What do you think of the story Mendoza told us? Milo asked.

It wasn't more than a tip - but so far you could always rely on Mendoza. So we do well to take this advice seriously.

I don't like that busybody!

If he determines what he says, we'll have a lot of work to do in the field office in the near future, Milo. A foreign syndicate sends a professional killer to get the competition out of the way... I hope Mendoza was wrong!

3

Brad Mendoza hunted with his Harley along the coastal road. There was little traffic at the moment.

The wafts of mist over the Long Island Sound now gradually moved into the shore zone. Normally you could see the silhouette of Queens from here. But now there was nothing but a light gray, impenetrable wall.

And the first swaths now also crossed the road. The visibility decreased dramatically within a short time.

Mendoza slowed down the speed.

The fog was getting thicker fast. Soon he drove into a grey nothingness. Even the coastline was barely visible. The trees at the roadside were only