Trevellian And The Cruel Revenge: Thriller

By Neal Chadwick

The size of this ebook is equivalent to 114 paperback pages.

 

Several men, all involved in shady deals, are cruelly tortured to death. At first, the investigators believe in power struggles within organized crime. But eventually it becomes clear that there must be a personal motive here.

It's about a gruesome crime from the past - and the equally gruesome revenge for it.

 

A thriller by Neal Chadwick

 

Neal Chadwick is the pseudonym of the author ALFRED BEKKER, who became known to a large audience primarily through his fantasy novels and books for young people. He has also written mystery and historical novels and co-authored numerous suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, John Sinclair and Kommissar X.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BEKKERpublishing
• Release date: Dec 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215731338

Book preview

Trevellian And The Cruel Revenge

Thriller by Neal Chadwick

The size of this ebook is equivalent to 114 paperback pages.

Several men, all involved in shady deals, are cruelly tortured to death. At first, the investigators believe in power struggles within organized crime. But eventually it becomes clear that there must be a personal motive here.

It's about a gruesome crime from the past - and the equally gruesome revenge for it.

A thriller by Neal Chadwick

Neal Chadwick is the pseudonym of the author ALFRED BEKKER, who became known to a large audience primarily through his fantasy novels and books for young people. He has also written mystery and historical novels and co-authored numerous suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, John Sinclair and Kommissar X.

1

The factory hall was in semi-darkness. Only through a high row of windows did some light fall in. The smell of used oil hung in the air.

It was cool.

John Delgrew shivered in his thin Cool Wool suit.

He looked around. With his left hand, he carried a diplomatic pouch; his right was always close to the Beretta stuck in his quick-draw holster.

Hey, Menendez, where are you? he called out. In an area shone by the light, he noticed a dark red stain on the concrete floor. Fresh blood...

A whirring sound made Delgrew flinch. He pulled out his gun. Someone had activated a hoisting crane.

A bundle visible only as a silhouette hung on the hook.

Slowly it was lowered.

When the light fell on it, Delgrew's face froze into a mask.

Menendez!

2

The body was covered in blood. Dozens of bullet holes had torn Menendez's clothes. The face, however, was unharmed. For this reason, Delgrew had recognized it immediately.

Shit, he whispered, taking a step back.

Put the gun down! a voice bellowed from behind. Delgrew whirled around, glancing into the shadow zone on the other side of the hall. Panic sprouted inside him. Delgrew fired his weapon, drawing the stab again and again. He fired blindly, stopping in the shadow zone at the top of the balustrade.

His pulse was beating up to his neck.

A split second later, he was fired upon from the other side.

There was also a zone there that was in the shade.

An MPi rattled off.

The muzzle flash flashed in the darkness.

Bullets slammed into the concrete floor close to Delgrew's right and left, blasting out small pieces.

Delgrew thought for a moment about running back to the front gate. But his fear was too great. About twenty meters lay between him and the gate. Twenty meters where he would have been an easy target. Delgrew dropped the gun.

Don't shoot! he screeched.

Put the suitcase down! another voice instructed him.

A female voice.

Delgrew swallowed, let his eyes wander and tried to see something in the dark shadows.

In vain.

You're keen on the money, are you? he shouted, holding up the suitcase. Here it is! Take it! I've nothing against it! But let me...

Another MPi salvo was fired.

The projectiles whizzed over Delgrew's head and perforated the hall door.

Delgrew was trembling. He put the suitcase on the floor and raised his hands.

Half a million dollars, it went through his head. If I ever get my hands on those bastards, they won't have anything to laugh about!

Once again, a whirring sound could be heard. A second hoisting crane had been activated. It moved on the rails fixed under the ceiling and positioned itself so that it came to a stop pretty much above Delgrew's head. The hook was lowered. Something was hanging from it. Delgrew saw something metallic sparkle briefly in the light.

Handcuffs!

The hook lowered to about Delgrew's eye level.

Take the handcuffs! came the instruction, this time again from the male voice.

Delgrew obeyed. He thought of Menendez dangling dead from the other hook. Panic paralyzed him.

You don't have a chance, it flashed through him.

He racked his brain over who he had stepped on so much lately that he had devised such a cruel revenge. Delgrew snapped the handcuffs into place.

The voices - have you heard them before? Delgrew asked himself. He couldn't remember the female one, but he could remember the male one. Damn, if I only knew where and in what context, it flashed through him. Must have been a long time ago...

The next instruction followed. Again from the male voice. Put...the...intermediate...piece...of the handcuffs...into the hook!

The choppy way of speaking caught Delgrew's eye.

Damn it, what is this? he clamored. There's half a million dollars in that suitcase! You can have the Greenbucks!

The MPi rattled off again. Delgrew flinched. The projectiles hit within a hair's breadth of him. None of them had hit him. Obviously they don't want to kill me, he thought. Not yet...

He obeyed, placed the intermediate piece of the handcuffs in the hook. With a whirring sound, the hook was pulled up.

What are you trying to do? he shouted.

Seconds later, he had lost his footing and was hanging from the hook with his hands chained together. He screamed. The handcuffs cut into his arms. It hurt like hell.

When Delgrew was hanging about six feet off the ground, the crane stopped moving upward.

For a few moments, nothing happened.

Hey, you guys aren't going to leave me hanging like this, are you? screeched Delgrew.

No answer. He heard footsteps.

A woman with white-blond hair stepped out of the shadows. She approached Delgrew.

Her footsteps echoed on the bare concrete floor. She wore a skimpy leather coat that exposed just about everything of her long, shapely legs. With her left hand, she held an Uzi-type short-barreled MPi.

She stepped into the light so that John Delgrew could see her very clearly. She examined him with a cold smile.

Don't you recognize me? she asked.

Beads of sweat stood on Delgrew's forehead. No, I don't know who you are!

I'm Candy! Now don't tell me you don't remember me...

Damn it, put me down here! My hands are dying!

Haven't they ever told you that you go to purgatory for your sins, John Delgrew?

Hey, how do you know my name?

You've already gone to hell, John!

What?

You just don't know it yet. By the way, I'm a little ahead of you in this regard. I've already been there...

Shit, what are you talking about?

From hell!

The woman, who had called herself Candy, jerked her MPi up and fired.

She stopped in Delgrew's direction.

Dozens of bullets made his body twitch and writhe. His death cry quickly died away.

Candy's pretty face became a mask of hatred. She fired until the last bullet of her magazine was shot.

Then there was silence.

John Delgrew's body dangled slightly back and forth.

3

Milo glanced at his watch.

I was also getting impatient.

John Delgrew seems to have changed his mind, my colleague commented.

I shrugged, letting my eyes wander.

We sat in a sidewalk café in Greenwich Village. Delgrew had suggested this meeting place.

He was part owner of a posh discotheque called Bailando in Spanish Harlem. Despite his English-sounding name, Delgrew was anything but an ordinary Anglo-White American. His mother was from Puerto Rico, his father from Argentina.

We had become aware of the Bailando in the course of the investigations against some bosses of organized crime, who apparently preferred to use the Latino glitter store for money laundering.  In addition, the discotheque served as a drug transshipment point. Besides the inevitable cocaine, there were mainly so-called designer drugs. Artificially produced substances, in a sense chemically tailored for the consumer, most of which were illegal.

However, the judiciary lags considerably behind in banning such substances, as new chemicals are constantly being thrown onto the growing market.

Most often they are sold in the form of tablets.

Ecstasy is the best-known example of this.

Few people know what side effects they can get when using these drugs. Permanent brain damage, loss of reality or changes in personality are not uncommon.

Unfortunately, we did not know who was the big supplier that supplied the Bailando and a few dozen other discotheques with the dangerous pills.

Allegedly, John Delgrew also knew