to the copy machine at the other side of the room.
“Your puzzle solving ability is extraordinary,” Lentz said.
“I’ve been doing the Sunday puzzle for years,” Sam admitted. “I actually constructed a number of 21 by 21's for Gene Mazurski.”
“Yes, Mr. Mazurski,” Lentz repeated the name, “he was a legend. It seems I’m always being compared with Mr. Mazurski. Usually not favorably.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Sam said to be polite. He really believed that Lentz’s puzzles had become far too esoteric, and were a reflection of his snooty attitude. “How long have you been with the Herald Gazette?”
“Four years,” Lentz replied.
“Has it been that long since Mr. Mazurski died?”
“Yes, Mr. Sonn.”
“And before that you worked . . ..”
“For the Chicago Sun,” Lentz replied.
“You were the crossword editor there?”
“No. I was editor of the Op-Ed page.”
“How is it that you made the jump from editorials to crosswords?”
“Well, I’ve always been a crossword enthusiast. When Mr. Mazurski died, I applied for the job and here I am.”
“It’s been an honor to meet you, sir.” Sam folded the solution to the puzzle and put it in his pocket. He hesitated before leaving. “I have my car parked outside. Do you need a lift?”
“That’s kind of you, Mr. Sonn, but I have my car. Why don’t we walk out together?”
“Sure,” Sam said. Lentz seemed to have something weighing heavily on his mind. He left the solution to the puzzle on Detective Ward’s desk and raised himself out of his seat with the aid of his cane. The two men walked down the steps and through the lobby of the station house. Neither spoke. At the exit was a large insulated vestibule. Two glass doors opened automatically, pelting them with a blast of steamy Manhattan air saturated with fossil fuel emissions. It was an unusually hot day for the middle of May, the temperature hovering near ninety. Sam reached into his shirt pocket and put on his Richaud Polaroids. Lentz tilted the brim of his safari hat.
“I’m parked in the officers’ lot across the street,” Lentz said.
“So am I,” Sam replied.
They waited for the traffic to clear on 4th Avenue before crossing. An old oriental woman sitting next to a pushcart of sundries approached Lentz. She was holding a white gardenia. Lentz handed the woman a dollar bill and pinned the flower to his lapel. By that time the traffic had abated, allowing them to cross the street.
“I’m over here,” Lentz said, pointing to a white Mercedes.
Sam began to raise his hand in a parting gesture before walking away.
“Mr. Sonn,” Lentz called out at the last possible second.
“Yes,” Sam replied, turning back to face Lentz.
“What are your politics?” Lentz asked.
“My politics?” Sam was caught off guard.
“Yes. Your politics. Are you a Republican or a Democrat?” Lentz elaborated.
“I’m a registered Democrat,” Sam replied.
“That’s surprising,” Lentz said. “I would have taken you for a conservative Republican.”
“Why’s that?” Sam asked.
“You’re a highly successful entrepreneur and then there’s the way you dress, the way you conduct yourself—typical Republican. The reason I asked is that I’d like to sponsor you as a member of my club. It’s composed of a group of intellectuals from all over the country. We meet in New York on 62nd Street between Park and Madison at the Regency Hotel. We even have a few Democrats.”
“I live only a few blocks from there, on Central Park South,’ Sam replied.
“We only sponsor men and women of substance,” Lentz said.
“What do you mean by substance?” Sam asked.
“You must have the wherewithal and the courage to wager. You see we play games of intellect for high stakes.”
“It sounds interesting. I love risk. But right now I’m afraid that I’m forced to decline.”
“Why don’t you come down anyway? I’m sure the group would love to meet you. Perhaps they’ll succeed in convincing you to join. They’re very persuasive, you know.”
“I’ll bet they are. But I don’t think so,” Sam said.
“Take my card in case you change your mind.” Lentz scribbled something on the back before handing it to Sam. “A pleasure, Mr. Sonn.”
Sam took the card and put it in his pocket. It was getting late. He had a luncheon date with Esther and she didn’t like to be kept waiting. He walked briskly across the newly tarred parking lot to his black Volvo. The early afternoon sun was baking the tar and the vapors were very strong. Sam was anxious to immerse himself in the air-conditioned comfort of his 940 turbo. He took a quick peek back at Lentz who was still fiddling with some papers on the passenger seat. Sam inserted the key into the ignition slot on the steering column and adjusted his seat belt. As the cool air rushed out of the vents, he took a second to adjust them to point away from his face. Then he placed his right arm on the headrest of the passenger seat and began to back out of the space. But as he turned his head, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, Lentz’s Mercedes jolt backwards at high speed.
“What the . . . ?” Sam muttered. Lentz’s car rammed into the Japanese import parked behind him. Sam shut his engine and ran out of the Volvo toward the Mercedes. Lentz was slumped over the steering wheel. The Mercedes was spinning its wheels, pushing against the Japanese import. Lentz was unconscious, his leg locked, and pushing full force on the accelerator pedal. Sam reached into his shoulder holster and pulled out his silver Colt 2000 9mm automatic. But before he could aim and fire, the Mercedes succeeded in dislodging the small Japanese car. It barreled backwards, sideswiping the Japanese car twice, speeding undeterred across an open area of the lot, before crashing at about 60 mph into two parked cars. The force of the impact caused the gas tank to rupture. The rear of the vehicle was engulfed in flames. Sam ran full speed after the runaway Mercedes, pistol in hand. He shot out the passenger window and unlocked the front door. Lentz was still slumped over the wheel. Sam could feel his own flesh cooking like a hamburger as he reached across Lentz’s body to unlock his seat belt; but it was fused solid from the intense heat. Sam carefully aimed his pistol at the belt clasp and fired. He succeeded in breaking Lentz free and pulled him from the burning car just before it exploded. Sam was knocked to the ground from the fury of the explosion; Lentz lay lifeless beside him. Lentz had died instantly of a massive coronary. Nothing could have saved him.
Thirty minutes later. Detective Morgan, Ward and Sam stood off to the side, as the ambulance drove away, taking Lentz’s body to the morgue. The parking lot was filled with police and tow trucks.
“I can’t believe it,” Ward said. “He was just with us. He looked and acted fine.”
“It’s a pity,” Morgan said, “the way it ended so suddenly. You’re lucky Sam. You could’ve been killed by that explosion.”
Sam nodded.
“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Morgan said. “They’re going to need a new crossword editor down at the Herald Gazette. Whoever it is will have some mighty big shoes to fill.”
Sam didn’t reply. Nor did he make any overt gesture of agreement. He was still trying to make sense out of what had happened.
Chapter 2
The Good Ship Constitution