Deadly Game. R. B. Conroy

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      Publisher:

      CCB Publishing

      British Columbia, Canada

       www.ccbpublishing.com

       Acknowledgements

      Writing a novel takes time, patience, perseverance, and a little help along the way. A heartfelt thanks to all my friends and family for their support and encouragement. You have had a tremendous effect on my desire and motivation to write—your support means every-thing to me.

       My sincere gratitude to my publisher Paul Rabinovitch, who is a bright light in the difficult world of book publishing. He is honest, precise, always on time and a joy to work with. Much appreciation to my talented friend, Jay Overmeyer, for his laser editing. The man can find a needle in a haystack. And last, but certainly not least, with love to my wife Cheryl for her unwavering devotion to my work. Without her guiding hand throughout this project, this book, as well as my other novels, would never have been written.

      Dedication

      In memory of Stan Fox—a caring person, a dear friend and sorely missed.

      Chapter 1

      Branch closings, budget cuts, and staff reductions—it had been another long day for Alex Crane. Exhausted, he spun around to catch a glimpse of the setting sun through the ceiling high windows behind his desk. He soaked up the tranquil scene for a few moments and then looked below at the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument in the center of downtown Indianapolis. He watched as a city worker in a green uniform stabbed at tiny pieces of litter and dropped them in a canvas bag—preparing “the circle”—as the locals liked to call it, for another day. An annoying beep from his direct phone line interrupted this relaxing end-of-day ritual. He reached back and lifted the receiver just in front of the fifth and final ring.

      “Hello.”

      “Alex?”

      “Yes, dear?”

      “Did you forget?”

      Alex rubbed his forehead. “Why…uh no. Dinner with the Everett’s tonight.” He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he remembered the dinner date with their neighbors.

      There was a pause on the other end of the line, a long, exasperating pause which screamed at Alex, I know you didn’t remember, but I’m not going to say anything. “We’re picking them up at eight; it is now seven thirty and you have a twenty-five minute commute.”

      “It’s past rush hour; I-65 should be running pretty well. I should be home in fifteen or twenty.”

      “Hope so,” Nicky sighed. “Hmmm….there it is again.”

      “There’s what again?”

      “That car.”

      “Come again?”

      “That car with dark windows, it just drove by again for the third time.”

      “Lots of cars have tinted windows and there are a couple of houses for sale near us. Probably lookers.”

      “Guess so.”

      “Gotta run babe, bye.”

      “Bye.”

      Anxious to leave, Alex slid his last file into the center desk drawer, typed some morning instructions for his secretary and exited the room.

      Dinner with the Everett’s was important; arriving home late again would not be well received by his very punctual wife. When Nicky said eight, she meant eight. It was a big deal for her to be late and Alex knew it. He hoped traffic would be light on Interstate 65. Parts of the road had been under repair for over a year so bottlenecks, even at this time of day, were common.

      “Hello Will.” Alex smiled warmly at the security guard who was standing with his ample backside pushed against the open elevator door.

      “How’s the big boss man tonight?”

      “Just fine, thank you.”

      “With all these late hours, your wife’s gonna think you’re havin’ an affair or somethin’.” The stout man’s belly shook from laughter.

      “She knows better, Will. Besides, with you here watching me, how could I get away with anything?”

      “You’re right; I probably would have to tell her. That Nicky is one sweet lady,” the good humored sentinel snickered.

      Will was part of the security agreement Alex negotiated with his bank’s board two years ago after an extortion attempt against one of his senior officers. Still chuckling, the guard stepped out of the entryway, laying his hand against the inside of the door.

      “I pushed the main floor Mr. Crane. At this time of day you probably gonna ride all twenty-two without stoppin’.

      “Probably so, Will. See you tomorrow.”

      “Sure thing, boss.”

      The door closed; the elevator jerked to a start, shuddered briefly and then gained speed on its way to the bottom. As Will predicted, Alex reached ground level without stopping. He waited anxiously for the accordion-like door to rattle open. When he stepped out of the tiny cubicle and started to walk through the quiet corridor toward the parking garage, he saw someone hovering in the shadows near the elevators. The dark figure suddenly moved toward him.

      Alex glanced at the security station–it was empty. The guard must have stepped out for a moment. Alone, and without security, Alex suddenly felt very vulnerable. Fists clenched, he prepared to confront the approaching figure. Alex didn’t carry a weapon or mace; such things were unnecessary in the usually secure building in the center of downtown Indianapolis. A pointed object was protruding from the man’s right hand as Alex braced for the coming assault. Suddenly, the night sensor on the security lights kicked-on, illuminating the lobby area. He instantly recognized the man with folded papers in his hand; he breathed a huge sigh of relief.

      “Strom! I didn’t expect you to be here at this time of the evening. You had me back on my heels for a minute there.”

      “Well…uh forgive me Alex, I didn’t mean to alarm you. But Barnes told me you often worked late and I was at a United Way meeting at the Hyatt, so I thought I would run over and see if I could catch you before you left. When I entered the lobby and saw the elevator start from the top floor, I knew it must be you so I found a spot on that bench over there and waited for you to come down.”

      Strom Winslow was a big, imposing man with thick gray hair and bushy eyebrows. He had a large, round face and a broad flat nose. His wide mouth seemed to curve into a smile with the smallest of efforts. Strom was the owner of the largest beer distributor in the Indianapolis area and also on the board of the Midwest Consolidated Bank, making him, in effect, one of Alex’s bosses.

      Alex composed himself and wiped his sweaty hands dry with a handkerchief before vigorously shaking Strom’s outstretched hand. “Well I’m glad you came over my friend, it’s always good to see you.” He looked intently at Strom, begging an explanation for his unsettling appearance.

      Strom continued, “Alex, the reason I’m here is that I think there is something we need to talk about and I thought it important that I talk with you tonight, before the board meeting in the morning.”

      Alex knew what was coming. Still coping with the Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac banking crisis of a year earlier, their losses in the bond market the past year had been enormous. To complicate matters further, the individual mortgages