Midnight Man td-43

by Warren Murphy

  He laughed aloud with happiness. From sheer joy, he took the light oscillating device from his pocket and aimed it at one of the streetlamps that

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  'tlA«

  lined the roadway through the park. He pressed the I there was no longer any weakness about Elmo Wim-

  switch. The light sputtered and died.

  He remembered "The Shadow" radio show. That's what he was, a modern-day Shadow, striking fear into the heart of men.

  The first meeting was scheduled to be held in the southwest corner of the Sheep Meadow. Wimpler was there a few minutes before midnight and when he saw that the area was empty, he found himself a dark spot near some bushes, opened up his screen and propped it onto the ground. Then he sat behind it, his head out, able to see around the entire clearing. He had his compressor on the grass next to him.

  His thoughts went back to the evening with his unwilling neighbor, Phyllis. She had not been all that he had thought she would be. Maybe being gagged and bound had inhibited her. But that was in the past too.

  He had no need to rape. The women would come willingly, once he had the money. That's the way women were. All women. He thought of his mother who had cheated on his father for years, accusing the senior Wimpler of not being able to provide for her in any decent way.

  Often she would come home wearing gifts other men had provided for her and so great was her contempt for her husband that she never even tried to explain the gifts away. Elmo never understood why his father had tolerated it and stayed with her, and when she was dying, he sat at her bedside, holding her hand, the devoted husband to the end.

  As he, himself, grew up, Elmo was never treated kindly by women, because he was smaller and

  pier. The invisibility paint had changed all that. Women would flock to him and he would use them and humiliate them and then dump them.

  He quickly checked his wristwatch, sliding it out from under his long black sleeve. Two minutes till midnight.

  Soon.

  He saw someone enter the edge of the meadow. Two men. The taller one was thin, dressed in black shirt and chinos. He had dark hair and his eyes were deepset. The man with him was an Oriental, dressed in some kind of yellow kimono. He had seen the two men before. As they stepped into the light, he remembered. He had seen them outside his old house in Brooklyn. They had gone in to question Phyllis. He remembered that the taller one had asked him a lot of questions.

  Police? He hadn't asked and the man hadn't volunteered the answer. But what kind of cops wore kimonos? At any rate, they might be dangerous and he'd have to get rid of them before the person he was waiting to meet arrived. That these two men were here, after they had been nosing into Curt's death, meant that they knew more about Elmo Wimpler than was good for them.

  He aimed his electronic light oscillator at the nearest of the overhead lights and it sizzled out. Quickly, he zapped another nine lights and the Sheep Meadow was in blackness.

  Holding his bush-shaped screen in front of him, he moved through the darkness toward the tv/o men, feeling secure and safe, beyond their reach, beyond

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  weaker than most men. He might still be smaller but I the reach of the law.

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  He heard the tall one say, "Dark," as he sat on a bench.

  "Especially for a pale piece of pig's ear who looks only with his eyes and not with his other senses." That made no sense to Wimpler. Stealthily, he moved around behind the two men. He would handle the taller one first.

  He removed the compressor from his belt.

  "I wonder if our friend is responsible for the doused lights."

  "No," said the Oriental. "All the bulbs decided to burn out at the same time."

  "They don't make things the way they used to," the taller man said.

  "Including disciples and students," the Oriental said. "And bushes."

  Bushes? Had Wimpler heard right? But they couldn't have seen him. He must have misunderstood what the small, yellow man had said. And why was he waiting? It was time to remove these two.

  He was ten feet behind them, in the blackness. As he cocked the compressor, there was a small hiss as gas from a carbon-dioxide cylinder flooded the drum from which the skull-crusher got its power.

  Elmo cocked it and stepped out from behind his cardboard bush and moved stealthily toward the two men. He extended the compressor to accommodate the taller man's head.

  As he did, he was startled to see the Oriental's hand, moving through the darkness, reach behind his own head and grasp one of the arms of the compressor.

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  How could he have done that? The compressor was just as invisible as he was.

  A coincidence, but one the old man would pay for. He would be minus his fingers.

  Wimpler pulled the trigger, releasing the trapped compressed air, but the arms of the compressor did not move.

  A malfunction.

  Impossible.

  He pulled the trigger again, but again the arms of the crusher did not work. Then there was a strange ripping sound as the inner workings of the machinery rebelled against not being able to do what they were built to do and they ruptured.

  Wimpler dropped the compressor and ran back toward the safety of his ersatz bush. He heard the men stand at the bench, and suddenly he feared that he would not be safe, even behind the bush, even cloaked in invisibility in this blackness.

  "That way," he heard the Oriental say.

  The two men were coming toward him. He peered out from behind the bush. Then he heard the sound and saw its cause. Fifty yards across the Sheep Meadow, eight men were racing toward them. They were carrying knives. Several of them waved them over their heads.

  The taller man and the Oriental turned to look and Elmo scrambled away from behind his bush, running hard, back into the deeper darkness of the night.

  When he was fifty yards away, hidden in the shadow of a tree, he turned. What he saw made his blood chill inside his body. The eight men with

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  knives had surrounded the Oriental and the American with the hard face.

  There was a sudden flurry of activity and then three of the armed men were down and motionless. For some reason, Wimpler knew they were dead, although he had not seen the tall man and the Oriental do anything.

  He watched again. The five remaining men moved in, all attacking at the same time. Then two more of them were down. And Wimpler still had not seen the two potential victims move.

  The three attackers who remained paused for a moment. This time, Wimpler was sure that the taller man did not move at all. He thought he caught a slight touch of movement on the part of the Oriental, and then three more men were down and the only ones left standing were the Oriental and his companion.

  Wimpler didn't wait. He turned and ran as fast as he could deep into the park. He would not stop until he came out the other side.

  Those two were far more dangerous than he could ever have imagined.

  He hated them. For they had, this night, brought back the wimp, even if only for a few moments.

  They had destroyed his compressor and worse, his sense of invulnerability.

  He thought about it as he ran. It must have been luck. The Oriental could not have seen him. He had not even been looking in Wimpler's direction.

  Elmo was still an invisible man, and he would respond as the new Elmo Wimpler.

  With hatred and with power.

  He hated those two men, the tall-thin one and the

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  old Oriental. They would pay for what they had done tonight to mess up his plan. He had two contracts scheduled and now both were gone.

  He would devise a new skull-crusher. The two men might even have done him a favor exposing the malfunction in his weapon. But they had not done themselves a favor.

  They had done themselves great harm.

  They had put themselves at the top of Elmo Wimpler's must-kill list.

  He continued running. He had another meeting schedu
led.

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  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Chiun looked down at the dead bodies surrounding them. Remo's head was in the air as if sniffing.

  He returned to Chiun.

  "I know," Chiun said. "He's gone."

  "You let him get away," Remo said. "You knew he was there and you let him get away. Didn't you?"

  "A terrible error of judgment," Chiun said.

  Remo had picked up one of the knives from the eight dead men on the ground. He felt the bone and leather handle. "It doesn't look like an American knife," he said.

  "It cannot be," Chiun said. "The handle has not yet fallen off."

  "I wonder who sent these clowns," Remo asked.

  "And the other two back at that house. It seems we are not only hunters but hunted."

  "Yeah," said Remo. "But you tell Smith you let Wimpler get away. You tell him."

  Chiun touched his arm. Remo looked across the Sheep Meadow and saw a woman coming toward them. He recognized the hair and the walk even before he focused on the face.

  Princess Sarra.

  She was wearing a purple, silk blouse, jeans, high boots, and a headband that matched the blouse.

  She also had a gun at her side.

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  She approached the two of them, watching them with suspicion.

  "Princess," Remo said.

  "Do not approach me," she said, pointing the gun toward him.

  "You generally stroll around Central Park after midnight?" Remo asked.

  "I was supposed to meet someone here."

  "Who?"

  "Someone who answered an ad I placed . . ."

  "In Contract magazine," Remo suggested.

  Her eyes widened. "How did you know that?"

  "Because we did the same thing."

  "And these things . . ." she pointed her gun toward the dead men ". . . these were what you met?"

  "I don't think so. I thought maybe you could tell me who they are," Remo said.

  "And how would I know?" she asked.

  "Because it's just a little much of a coincidence that someone sends eight goons to kill us and then you show up. Checking up on their work?"

  "Don't be preposterous," she snapped indignantly. "If I had sent someone to kill you, you would be dead."

  "Then put the gun away," Remo said.

  She looked at the pistol in her hand as if she had just realized it was there. She lowered it slowly.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't know who I would meet here. It seemed to me the only way to help my brother."

  "So you placed an ad. That was a chancy thing to do, Princess. Did you come alone?"

  "No. Pakir stopped by my apartment just as I was leaving. He insisted on coming with me."

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  "Where is he then?" Remo asked. M "Pakir, I would advise you not to use that tone

  "I made him wait in the car." f with me," she said coldly.

  "You're a brave lady," Remo said. i "I mean no disrespect, but it is dangerous here in

  "I am devoted to my brother." 8 this park as is well known. I want you removed to

  "Then look at the faces of these men and see if I safety."

  you recognize them." 1 The Princess ignored him and turned back to

  In the dark, the Princess had to stoop to look at 1 Remo. "Do you think these men have any connec-

  the corpses. She carefully looked at each one. Then I tion with my brother?"

  she stood up. 1 "I can't say," Remo answered. "What do you

  "I do not know any of them." 1 know about the person you were supposed to meet

  "Thank you," Remo said. "I know it wasn't pleas- f here tonight?"

  ant." 1 "Nothing. My advertisement was answered. I was

  "You killed so many, just the two of you." m told to put a telephone number in the New York

  "They were poorly trained," Remo assured her. Times where I could be reached. I was called by a

  They looked up to see Perce Pakir approaching.

  If he was surprised to see Remo and Chiun there, he did not show it. He ignored the two men.

  "Princess, you are not hurt?"

  "I am not."

  "Good. Did you accomplish what you set out to do?"

  "No, Pakir."

  He pointed at the bodies. "Who are these people?"

  "They set upon our two friends here and were vanquished," Princess Sarra said.

  Pakir stroked his beard and surveyed the bodies of the eight men. He was clad in a simple business suit, but the ruby rings that adorned his fingers showed that this was no ordinary businessman.

  "I commend you," he said to Remo, bowing slightly. To the Princess, he said, "I think, perhaps, we should be getting back. Remember I warned against this action."

  man. He told me to be here tonight. At twelve-thirty."

  "Thank you," Remo said. "My pleasure, Princess, as always."

  "And it will be again," she said softly, and nodded to Chiun before she turned to walk toward the park exit.

  Pakir nodded to Remo and Chiun, then ran after the Princess.

  "I do not like that man," Chiun said.

  "You've got lots of company," Remo said.

  Remo watched Sarra and Pakir walk away until they were out of sight. She walked nice.

  "Let's go, Chiun."

  "Not yet. There is one more thing."

  "What is that?"

  Chiun turned and walked back to the bench where they were sitting. Step by step, he moved more into the darkness, out of the reach of the lights on the far side of the field.

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  Remo watched the old Korean as he stopped, bent over, and felt the ground. He straightened up. He had an object in his hands, a small box with two arms extended from it like crab claws.

  It was painted in that invisible, midnight black, and as Chiun brought it back, Remo thought how eerie it was that even close up, he could see only the silhouette of the gadget. All the light that hit the center of the object was totally absorbed and reflected nothing to the eye.

  "What is that, Chiun?"

  "I believe it is your skull-crusher," Chiun said.

  "Where'd you get it?"

  "It was supposed to have made mush out of your worthless head, thereby making the outside identical to the inside," Chiun said.

  "What do you mean?" Remo asked.

  "Our invisible man had this around your head when I took it from him," Chiun said.

  "He did?"

  "Why must I tell you everything twice?" Chiun asked. "Yes, he did."

  "And that's why you let him go? You were busy saving my life?"

  "Actually, that was not on my mind," Chiun said. "I just thought this might be a valuable invention and worth saving for the world. Unlike some things, which are not worth saving at all."

  "Little Father," said Remo.

  I

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. You tell Smith that the invisi- «
  ble man got away.r

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "You let him get away." Smith's voice was cold as a New Hampshire ski slope on a winter midnight.

  "Well, actually, I didn't see him," Remo said.

  "Then how do you know he showed up?" Smith asked.

  "Well, actually, he tried to crush my skull!" Remo said.

  "Was he successful?" Smith asked.

  "That's not funny, Smitty."

  "Neither is letting him get away," Smith said. "I just don't know how you managed to pull that off."

  "All right. If you want to know. He showed up. I didn't see him. He tried to kill me. Chiun could have caught him or saved my life. He decided to save my life. I happen to think he made the right decision."

  "I'll have to think about it," Smith said. "No identification on those eight men?"

  "None. And the Princess Sarra didn't know them."

  "You believe her?"

  "Yes," Remo said.

  Yes" "He lusts after her," Chiun called out
from across

  the hotel room.

  "He said if he had it all to do over again, he'd [save my life again," Remo said.

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  now?"

  "I'm going to check out Contract magazine," Remo said. "You placed an ad and the Princess says she placed an ad. I'm going to find out who placed the other ad and see if that'll lead me to Wimpler."

  "Do you think he'll still be interested in killing the Emir?" Smith asked.

  "Yes. I think it's not just money with him," Remo said. "I've met him, I told you. And I think he's into power. He can't let us stop him from killing the Emir, or his whole idea of his own power goes down the tube. He'll try again."

  "Interesting theory," Smith said.

  "Everything's theory until you find out if it works," Remo said.

  "Don't make me chase you down," Smith said, "Keep in touch."

  Remo hung up. When he turned to Chiun, the old man was shaking his head. He looked up from his copy of Contract. "These articles are terrible," he said.

  "What's wrong with them?"

  "All they talk about is money and guns. What about the beauty of a perfect assassination? What about the tradition and the history and the glory of the art? This is written by Philistines for Philistines."

  "I know. And you can do better."

  Í

  Smith let it pass. "What are you going to do I «A civilized assaSsin in a world of nincompoops.

  "Who knows better than I?" Chiun said. "So it for his functional vocabulary.

  when you go to the offices of these people, find out the name of their editor. You will need it when I

  I will call it 'Chiun Among the Barbarians.' "

  "Smitty will love it," Remo said.

  "He can do what he likes," Chiun said, "but I am not cutting him in. It is bad enough I have to pay you two percent."

  "I thought it was three."

  "Don't quibble about a few dollars, Remo. It is not seemly."

  Remo found the office of Contract in a rundown building on East 23rd Street between Madison Avenue and Park Avenue South.

  The office was on the ninth floor of the building, and giant, silver letters on the wall next to their door blared out the magazine's name.

  But inside, the office was small and shabby. There was a man sitting behind the reception desk who looked as if his only purpose in life was to bite the legs off visitors.