Midnight Man td-43

by Warren Murphy

  And hungry.

  But there was no food in the house. Nothing but dry cereal and powdered milk, and he gagged just thinking about it.

  He fell into a chair, holding his head between his hands. What could he do now? He had no family, no friends to turn to for help. He could starve to death and no one would know. Here he had this great invention worth millions. Imagine all the things that could be made invisible. Tanks. Airplanes. An army. Policemen. Burglars.

  Wait a minute.

  He sat straight up in the chair and reran everything that had just gone through his head until he found the one he wanted.

  Burglars.

  Could he do it? Did he have the nerve?

  Was anything worse than starving to death?

  He began to walk to his bedroom, slowly at first, then with more determination. He tripped over his cat. The cat spat. Elmo Wimpler apologized.

  From his closet he took an old shirt and slacks and his only other pair of shoes.

  He hung them on the back of a door and began

  12

  to spray the clothing. He sprayed the shoes black and put them back into the dark closet. As the paint dried, the shoes disappeared.

  He began to get excited at the prospect of playing the invisible man. He ran to the kitchen, again tripping over the cat. This time he did not apologize. From a plastic wrap and an old baseball cap, he fashioned a face screen with a thin slit he could see through. He took it back to the bedroom and sprayed the whole aparatus black.

  He put on the costume, then drew the blinds and old drapes in the room. He stepped in front of the full length mirror on the back of his bedroom door in the dark room and there he was.

  Or wasn't.

  He was invisible.

  He felt a thrill like he'd never felt before, not even when he was watching Phyllis' bottom as she gardened next door. He felt fantastic.

  And scared.

  13

  CHAPTER TWO

  His name was Remo and he feared nothing.

  All men's fears were based on one thing alone— breathed into her ear. "Show me around later?"

  the fear of dying. It was what terrified an embez- His hand touched her back and did something to

  zler; afraid he might be found out, and afraid he

  would have to take his own life. It explained the ter- cushion.

  ror of a child in the dark, or a grown-up hearing the sound of rats inside a wall. Every fear translated

  into the fear of dying. "Sure- Sure-"

  And Remo no longer had that fear. He no longer

  worried about being killed, but only about whom he e later'

  would kill and when.

  He was an assassin, and knowing that he had power over life and death for others had given him a kind of peace he had never known before.

  He felt that peace as he slipped into the hospital, strolled with a casual wave past a guard's desk, and

  nodded to a middle-aged nurse, who took one look This was number one-

  at the slim, thick-wristed, dark-eyed man and

  wished that he belonged to her. nose rebelled at the smdl and his brain at the

  Remo whistled peacefully as he rode in the eleva-

  tor up to the intensive care unit on the third floor burned beans- Then he sat across from the other or'

  and found a linen closet. Inside, a simple change of ^; , „„ , , ,

  clothes made him an orderly. You the man? he asked.

  He loaded his arms up with a pile of towels, walked into the intensive care ward and said to the young peppermint striper there, "How's it going to-

  Remo asked. 14

  night?" "What pool?"

  The young woman took one look into his intense, dark eyes and felt the same shiver the nurse downstairs had felt.

  "Quiet as a mouse," she said. "You're new here, aren't you?"

  "Yup," he said. He leaned over her desk and, as he checked the list of patient names in the ward,

  her that made her squirm on the orange plastic seat

  Sure," she said, and then in case he had misunderstood her statement or its intensity, said again,

  Swell," he said, removing his hand. "Meet you

  Still carrying his towels, he found the orderlies' lounge down the hall. Inside was a tall, dark-haired man, drinking coffee and studying a typewritten sheet. When Remo entered, he hurriedly put the sheet away, but Remo had already recognized it: it was the patient list from intensive care.

  Remo poured himself some unwanted coffee. His

  thought of drinking a mud created from boiling

  "Huh?" the dark-haired man said, his eyes nearly watering behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

  'You know what I mean. You running the pool?"

  15

  "C'mon, pal," Remo said, "I've got to get back on duty. Who's on the list? Mrs. Grayson? What days you got left?"

  The thin man blinked several times behind his liJce a squared.off stack of hay

  glasses, then said slowly, "Twenty-first and twenty-

  fifth-" "Gone," Remo said. He looked up from the list.

  "Hell," Remo said. "She'll go before that but give me the twenty-first."

  "It'll cost you fifty," the orderly said.

  "Got it right here," Remo said, reaching into his pocket. But of course his cash was in the pocket of his black chinos, underneath the white hospital trousers he was wearing. So he drove his fingertips through the bottom of the empty pocket, ripping the fabric, then reached through the hole into his chino pocket and brought out a roll of bills.

  As he pretended to count off fifty dollars, Remo said, "I've heard that some of you guys are pulling the plugs on these patients. That doesn't seem fair."

  The thin orderly grinned. "Everybody's got the same chance. If Mrs. Grayson lives to your day, and you pull the plug on her and nobody notices and she conks, well, then you're the winner." He grinned. "It's simple. Everybody's got an equal chance to get the pool."

  Remo held fifty dollars toward the man, who ex-

  tended his hand for it. killing patients.

  went back into the room. He sat at the table with the sheet flattened out before him.

  Another orderly entered the room. He was a squat blond, whose bristled haircut made him look

  'Where's Arnie?" he asked Remo.

  "What day you got?''

  "Nineteenth." The man poured himself a cup of coffee. "How much we collect so far?" he asked.

  "Look for yourself," Remo said. He pushed the sheet across the table. The man reached for it and Remo said, "Arnie's dead."

  "Dead? How ..."

  "I pulled his plug," Remo said. "Like this." The husky blond saw Remo's hand start to move, but he never saw it reach him, never saw the fingers flip out from the coiled fist, never felt them slap away at his throat, deftly removing his Adam's apple and windpipe with no more effort than if Remo had been flicking a saudfly from his wrist.

  He put the blond in the same closet where he'd put Arnie and sat waiting for the third orderly. These three were the organizers; the rest of the bettors were just having some macabre fun. They were content to lose if the patients lived. So far as upstairs knew, none of them had anything to do with

  "Ever wonder?">Remosaid. Arnie was ¿e fest The gecond had been BiUy

  "Wonder what? according to his name tag. That left Jackie. The

  "How it feels to get your own plug pulled? The b&

  man looked up, and met Remo's eyes. Remo smiled, reached out and unplugged the orderly's windpipe. Remo tossed the body into a coat closet, took the

  typewritten sheet from the man's shirt pocket and

  16 17

  door opened and an orderly came in wearing the name tag of Jackie.

  It was a woman.

  Remo hadn't suspected that. But "Jackie" could

  be male or female. He should have known that upstairs would forget to tell him about a minor point like that.

  It didn't bother him. He had killed wom
en before.

  "Where's Arnie and Billy?" she asked.

  "Dead," he said.

  She was too busy looking into his eyes and smiling to hear him. She sat in the chair across from him. "When will they be back?"

  She was pretty. Green eyes, auburn hair, good breasts, and a clean-well-washed smell.

  "What are you doing with that sheet?" she asked, pointing to the paper in front of Remo.

  "Arnie gave it to me," Remo said. "What day do you have?"

  "Eighteenth," she said. "Tomorrow. Guess Til have to pull a plug," she said with a smile. "What'd you say happened to Arnie and Billy?"

  "Ask them yourself," Remo said. Her eyes widened as he unplugged her windpipe. Her eyes really were a pretty green.

  He dumped her into the coat closet with the two men, and stood back to savor his handiwork.

  "That's the lottery biz, sweethearts," he said and slammed the door.

  He waved to the peppermint striper on his way out, dumped his whites into a laundry bin, waved to the older nurse at the front desk and left the hospital.

  The terminal cases could now terminate on their own. It made Remo feel good.

  But not for long.

  He had other assignments that night.

  18

  CHAPTER THREE

  Elmo Wimpler had been frightened of becoming a burglar but he was more frightened of starving to death, penniless, unknown, friendless.

  He had waited until late night, and then had donned his black uniform. He turned out the lights over his front door, then stepped out into his yard.

  He looked down at himself. He could barely see the outline of his feet and legs. He understood that he was slightly visible in silhouette because of the lights reflecting around the street. He would have to remember that he was most effective in pitch darkness.

  He cut through backyards, behind houses, once passing only inches from a sleeping German shepherd who did not stir as Wimpler walked by. With each step, Elmo felt the power growing in him.

  He knew what house he would hit. It was in the Park Slope section only a few blocks from his home. He had often walked by the house, a big brick and stucco English tudor design with a long, black Cadillac parked out front.

  Elmo slipped around the back of the house and waited on the darkened porch, trying to calm his nerves and still the thumping of his heart. He might be invisible but his heart was making so much noise he could be heard a block away.

  Finally, he tapped lightly on the doorbell and

  19

  moved off to the side. A few moments later, a young black woman dressed in a maid's uniform came to the door and looked out.

  "Who's there?" he could hear her ask through the * master

  glass.

  He held his breath. Finally, she opened the storm door and stepped out on the porch, holding the door open behind her. He slipped through the door as he heard her mutter, "Damn fool kids."

  Inside, he moved quickly into a darkened corner and waited for the maid to come back inside. His heart was racing. Suddenly he was overcome by terror.

  What if he was caught?

  If the maid turned on a light, he would be as visible as if he had been dressed in neon.

  In the future, he would have to plan his jobs Some dream.

  more carefully.

  But the maid walked by him without turning on a light. She went on and stepped into the living room.

  "Who was that, Flo?" a man's voice asked.

  Wimpler moved quietly along the hall, as he heard the maid say, "Just some kids, Mr. Mason."

  "I hope they didn't wake Mrs. Mason."

  As Wimpler reached the door, he peered in from the shadows. The man was getting up from the sofa. He was fortyish, well-fed, and prosperous looking. "I have to go out, Flora," the man said. "Don't wake Mrs. Mason."

  "Yes sir. You'll be back soon?"

  Mr. Mason put his hands around the maid's rump and pulled her to him. He kissed her heavily on the mouth. "Soon enough," he said. "Soon enough."

  Flora giggled as Mason walked toward a coat

  rack near the door. Wimpler slipped quickly upstairs. If they had jewels, they would probably be in the

  Only one of the upstairs doors was closed. Waiting outside, Wimpler could hear the sound of soft breathing. He opened the door, stepped inside, and saw a figure on the bed. He caught his breath.

  Mrs. Mason slept atop the covers, in the nude. She wasn't as full-figured as Phyllis, his next door neighbor, but she would do. She was in her thirties and well-kept, with large breasts and long slim legs.

  Wimpler found himself starting to get excited, imagining the things he could do to her while she slept. And if she awoke and saw no one in the room, she would probably think she had been dreaming.

  Wimpler almost laughed.

  But first things first. With an effort, he turned away from the woman and began searching the room. He found what he was looking for in a top drawer of the dresser. A jewelry box was filled with necklaces and bracelets and rings. He took them all - and put them in a small, cloth bag he had brought with him. Then he secreted the bag under his invisible clothing.

  He turned back to the sleeping, nude form of Mrs. Mason.

  But fear overcame his lust. It was time to leave. He reached down and playfully stroked one of Mrs. Mason's breasts. She smiled in her sleep. Then he whispered in her ear, "Your husband and your maid are making it, dear."

  The smile slid off her face and Wimpler went

  quickly to the door and went down the stairs. 2021

  „„,_„ , , ,. , , treating back, he knew what was going to happen.

  When he finally got back to his own house, he ^ ^ bacfc ^ derk wag * *Q ^

  heaved a sigh of relief. He removed his black night oor r

  suit and dumped his take out on the bed.

  The diamonds sparkled and shone and he let wi ler tumed ^ r£m from stor

  them wash through his fingers as he played with dowQ /m Street tQ ^ gu station

  them on the bed. How much, he wondered. Ten J

  telephone and call the police. Inside of thirty seconds, the store would be surrounded.

  He d find out tomorrow when he went to 47th

  thousand? Twenty? He got off the subway at 42nd Street where he

  ^^^ ^ he had ^ ^ beWnd Sq

  Street m Manhattan to sell them. - j. hnpiarv career

  As he got off the subway at 47th Street and Ave- Rewa¿¿fthe streetsHe d six hot d vend.

  nue of the Americas, he was surprised to realize his ^ izza ^ ^Donalds, a *B

  heart was pounding again ^ Chinese ^^ f()od sh food stQres b

  What if someone called the pohce? the dozen, noticed and counted only because he was He took a deep breath and walked into the first

  starving.

  He fished in his pocket. He had fifty cents. In New York, it wasn't even enough for a sidewalk hot dog. And besides, he wanted to go home. He went down to the subway platform, took the train back to Brooklyn, got off at Atlantic Avenue and walked down to the docks.

  wholesale jeweler he saw.

  "May I help you?" a clerk asked. Was that suspicion in the man's eyes, Wimpler wondered. He almost backed out, but then cleared his throat and said, "I want to ... er ... sell some jewelry. It was ... my mother's. She's dead now."

  May l see i . I ^ f^gj. j^d aiwayS told him that a man ai^^

  Wimpler dumped the contents of his cloth bag on I ^ when ^^ ^

  the counter He could feel the sweat running in nv- I had ^ ^ Life had been a 1qssfof ¡^ &¿

  ulets under his arms ¦ j and now fae wag m tQ cut those losseg He

  Lovely pieces, the clerk said. F stoodg filthy water, wondering if he

  "Mmmmmm," said Wimpler afraid to say more would ^^^ nerve > himse]f¿^

  because his throat was so dry that he might not be ^ He walked ^^ doc

  able to get any words out. ° > j o

  tiem for interminable sec-

  „.,„, „ , �
��, . j crate and listened.

  Til have to call the manager, he said. „„ , . . . y, „ . . ,

  "Why? Wimpler sputtered out. Whats ... fe

  "He has to appraise them," the clerk said with a

  buüd up his nerve, when suddenly he heard voices.

  The clerk looked at them for interminable sec- c F Új_*juu-ji i •

  i uk ^iwi v/ For some reas0I1) jje Parted behind a large packing

  suspicious smile. As Wimpler watched the man's re-

  23 22 i

  say. "There's no way around it. If Romeo testifies, we're all cooked."

  "Yeah, sure," the other man said with disgust. "But try to do it with all that freaking, federal security around him."

  "If he testifies . . ."

  "Don't tell me what I know already, Tony. Shit. I offered this hit to everyone in town. Nobody wants to touch it. I think we're gonna have to put together a squad and go up there and take the whole place out."

  But he wasn't. Not any more. What he was now was the best hit man money could hire.

  "Don't let appearances deceive you," he said. "I can do what you want done."

  The two men looked at each other. Tony shrugged.

  24

  "The man won't like that, Jack. Too much bad press. A lot of blood, a lot of bodies, a lot of reporters, and a lot of feds."

  "You know another way?"

  Suddenly, Elmo Wimpler knew that he was not going to take his own life. Suddenly, he knew that his days as a wimp were over. Suddenly, he felt power. Power over life and death.

  He took a deep breath and stepped out into the view of the two men.

  "What? the . . . ?" one yelled.

  "Who are you?" the other snarled.

  "The answer to your problem," Wimpler said with confidence and a sureness he had never felt before. "Whoever it is you want iced, I can do it."

  "Wha ... ?" said Jack.

  "You?" Tony asked, unbelievingly. Elmo knew

  what they were thinking: that he was a clown. He s™, , „ . , . „ „ „,.

  u a u 11 a n n, i a Thank you. Tomorrow night. Two a.m.," Wim-

  had been called all those names: clown, nerd, wimp. Jb '

  "Whàt've we got to lose, Jack?" he finally said.

  Jack sighed, then nodded. He looked at Wimpler. "How much?"

  Elmo cleared his throat. He hadn't thought about money.

  "Would a thousand dollars be too much?" he asked.

  "You do the job, you get ten thousand dollars," Jack said.