THE HIDDEN HAND OF DEATH
by
Lawrence J. Epstein
Copyright © 2020 by Lawrence J. Epstein. All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, stored in retrieval systems, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recorded or otherwise without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Please sign up for Lawrence J. Epstein’s mailing list to be among the first to know when his next book will be published: http://www.lawrencejepstein.com/list.
CHAPTER ONE
Times Square
New York
May 18, 1942
I was waiting patiently for it all to go dark. Then a moment in time flashed across my mind. I was standing there on New Year’s Eve in 1940. Maggie was at my side. We were laughing, excited by warm memory and pulsating anticipation. We were hugging each other tightly, trying to wipe out any space between us and trying to beat the cold of the world.
And then I was back. There was no Maggie beside me. The wave of emptiness flooded over me again. I thought my emotions had been amputated, that my ties to other people had come undone.
The neon signs were flashing. The advertisements were displaying the glittering prizes that New York had to offer. I turned and saw the fish swimming in the Wrigley sign. There was the Planters sign with its perpetual waterfall of peanuts from the illuminated bag. I liked the man on the Camel billboard and wished I could blow out those five feet-long smoke rings like the man selling the cigarettes.
The darkness would come soon. Originally, Governor Lehman and Mayor La Guardia had ordered a blackout. The plan had started the week after December 7th in the previous year. Beyond anger, New Yorkers feared being the next Pearl Harbor and suffering deadly air raids.
But people began to bump into streetlamps in the dark. The people couldn’t read simple street signs. Their confusion in a world after an attack on their nation was made worse by their inability to see in front of them or navigate the sidewalks of their city.
And so this new solution had to be tried. Not a blackout, but a dim-out. Theaters kept outside lights on, but only on a marquee’s underside so patrons could be guided safely. If you lived above the fifteenth floor of a skyscraper you had to shut off your lights or put them behind a blackout curtain. There was fear that such lights could be seen from out in the water. All the bright advertising signs were to be off.
I was on a side street for this first night of the dim-outs. I didn’t want to take a chance of being trampled by a hysterical crowd that suddenly panicked and needed to leave. Many in the crowd were prepared to celebrate and enjoy themselves, but I didn’t trust crowds and didn’t know what they would end up doing.
There was a man with a cart on the corner. He was old with baggy pants and a cap that he could have brought over as an immigrant from Russia. The man was selling bags of candy to children for a dime. I saw a little girl off to the side of the cart. She was softly weeping. Her mother was bent down trying to comfort her.
I went over to them.
“Can I help?”
“Thanks, mister,” the mother said. “Barbara wants to buy a bag of candy, but we don’t have an extra dime. Forget dimes, I have to watch every penny.”
I said to the girl, “You normally shouldn’t go with a strange man, but your mommy is just a few steps away and she can see us. If she says you can, you can come with me. I’ll get you some candy.”
The girl looked up at her mother.
The woman nodded.
The girl and I walked the steps to the cart.
I reached into my pocket, retrieved my wallet, took out some money, and put the wallet back. I put some of the money in my jacket pocket.
Then I said to the man with the cart, “Listen, buddy, it’s going to be dark soon. Some of these kids will be scared. Candy will help calm them down. Here’s a twenty. Give everyone who wants a bag one for free until my money runs out.”
“Mister, no one ever did that before. Your money will never run out. I’ll just keep giving away the bags.”
“Terrific. Please start by giving two bags to my little friend here.”
The man handed the girl two bags.
The girl ran back to her mother. “Mommy, mommy, look.” She held up the two bags.
The mother looked into my eyes. It was then that she realized those eyes were hard and scary, almost empty of life, so she must have been surprised by my gesture.
She said, “You didn’t have to do that mister, but I really appreciate it. My husband enlisted after Pearl Harbor and a week later I lost my job at the dress shop. We’ve been struggling since then.”
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the other bills I had taken from my wallet.
“These are yours. You dropped them,” I said to the woman.
She looked at the money. “That’s sixty dollars all together. I haven’t seen sixty dollars since I don’t know when. I couldn’t have dropped them. They’re somebody else’s.”
“No. I saw them fall from your coat.”
She stared at me.
I handed the money over to her.
“Thanks, mister. Tell me your name and I’ll pay you back.”
“My name is Jack Ryder. You can pay me back by taking care of yourself and your little girl. We’re in for some tough times. You should look for a job in the factories. Men will be leaving. And the factories will need workers.”
The woman couldn’t talk, so she just nodded. Then she said, “I’m having trouble sleeping at night. I keep hearing these sounds. I run over to the windows and look up in the sky. I keep expecting the planes from the Nazis.”
“We’re all scared,” I said. “All we can do is help each other and get through it together.”
She nodded again and looked down at her daughter happily munching on the candy.
I said good-bye to them and retreated back to the quiet part of the side street and spent a few minutes thinking about Maggie.
My mind retrieved images of her funeral. I saw the cemetery with its quiet collection of gravestones. I saw the blue clarity of the sky mocking my confusion and the clouds that wouldn’t stay even long enough to see Maggie put to rest.
I could see the plain pine box she had picked out three months before her death. She told me the dance of death made every human being equal with every other.
I saw the box being lowered into the ground and the shovelfuls of dirt thrown over it.
I remembered feeling faint and my knees weakening under me. I was Ryder. I wasn’t supposed to feel like that. But I did. I was weak. I started to collapse. I recalled the strong arms of the man next to me holding me up and steadying me until Maggie had fully gone from life.
The crowd gath
ered around the grave started to disperse, as if that was all there was to Maggie. It was time to get back to real life.
“I want you to remember me but not to mourn.” That’s what she had said to me. But I wore her like I wore my face. She was a part of me that would never leave.
I snapped my eyes open.
And then it happened.
All the lights dimmed.
I thought I could make out the people dancing and celebrating. Mayor La Guardia would not be happy. I thought the country didn’t yet understand what the war would mean.
I half turned when I felt the arm around my face.
I struggled. I tried to pull away as a rag was placed over my face. The sweet smell told me it was chloroform. The man behind me had two helpers on either side of him. They were too strong as they held me tightly. I told myself to fight. I didn’t want to die, but felt myself slowly drifting into a place that was only made up of what was dark and empty.
At the last few seconds, I felt myself lifted up and put in the trunk of a car. Tape was put over my mouth. My hands were cuffed behind me, and my legs bound together.
I knew the car would stand still until the dim-out ended, and then it would take me someplace which might turn out to be the final destination of my life. I thought maybe I would see Maggie again. But maybe I wouldn’t see anyone ever again.
I pushed back against the fleeing of my consciousness. I planned to use my mind to follow the turns and distance, to figure out where I was being taken.
And then the darkness that had been in Times Square and in the car’s trunk was also inside my brain.
My consciousness drifted in and out. I didn’t know how long I had been in the trunk. It couldn’t have been very long when I felt the car moving, and then I didn’t feel it move any more. I had no idea how long the journey had been or where I was, but I half-heard the car’s trunk opening. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even open my eyes. I felt several arms lifting me. I couldn’t walk so they put me in a wheelchair and pushed me along.
My hearing was getting better. There was an elevator door opening. I knew elevators and could tell this one was going down.
I was in a strange world. There weren’t any colors, just swirls and a sense of wandering around inside a puzzle.
The elevator finally stopped, and the men pushed me out into a hallway. I tried my eyes again. I was in a dark corridor. There were various doors, but none had any identifying signs or numbers. I wondered if I was in some kind of jail. Maybe I had finally been taken by the cops. They wouldn’t treat me well if that’s who had me.
I tried desperately to think who would do this to me.
Maybe it wasn’t cops. Maybe it was a relative of someone I had killed.
I kept thinking, but no idea emerged. I forced myself to get stronger. I willed a working mind.
They got to a door, one like all the others. I saw a man in a fedora and a raincoat glaring as though he was doing a Humphrey Bogart imitation. The man opened the door, and I was pushed inside.
I was lifted out of the wheelchair put in an ordinary wooden chair that offered my body no comfort. I suddenly felt a little sick to my stomach and almost toppled over.
My hands were freed of the cuffs. And then my legs could move again. The strip of tape across my mouth was ripped causing a few seconds of pain, but I suffered it knowing I would be able to speak eventually.
Three men stood behind me. I thought they looked like gangsters, but not any gangsters I knew. I knew a lot of gangsters. Too many. Maybe whoever did this knew that and imported some thugs from out of town.
Or had they made a mistake? It had been dark, after all. Maybe they had taken the wrong man. But if they had, would they let me go?
A man walked into the room. He was tall with pale gray eyes that appeared older than the rest of his face. I looked hard at the eyes.
The man took a chair and sat opposite me. He ordered a glass of water be brought. When it arrived, I took a long drink.
The man had worked on developing a cruel smile. He had been successful.
“As I live and breathe, fate has delivered a package unto me. It’s Jack Ryder. The Man Who Can Fix Anything. The Man Who Can Kill Anyone. The Man the Cops Can’t Catch.”
“Hello Remington.” I could barely recognize the sound of my own voice.
“Hello indeed. I bet you’re really glad to see me.”
I remained silent. He wouldn’t have been pleased by what I could think of saying.
He spoke again. “I’m sure you know why you’re here. But let’s go back so we both remember.”
Remington nodded toward one of the men next to me.
The man stood in front of me and started punching with hard hits. He wasn’t hitting hard enough to send me to the hospital, but it was hard enough to send his message.
Remington got up from his seat, walked around, and stood in front of me. He gave a sharp slap to my face and said, “That’s just to wake you up, Ryder. So let us begin.”
CHAPTER TWO
Remington returned to his seat. He told one of
the men to get him some hot tea.
He waited. The door opened and another man walked inside. He had a white suit that was carefully tailored. The man cared about what others thought of him. He had a red rose in his lapel. His hair had been cut in an attempt to make him look jaunty. The barber had failed.
“Jack, you’ve never met my brother. His name is Everett. Not Ev. Everett. You think you can remember that?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Remington grinned and nodded at me. “Everett, this is Mr. Ryder.
Everett nodded. “I’ve heard all about Mr. Ryder.”
Remington picked up his newly-delivered cup of tea and took a sip. Then he stared again at me and moved his head back toward the teacup. “It’s a habit I picked up in London. It’s very civilized, don’t you think?”
I thought of two replies. They both would have led to more punching, so I kept quiet.
Remington put down his teacup.
“I thought Everett should hear your story, Ryder. He should understand why I’m going to do what I am planning. I honestly don’t know why you have the reputation you do, Ryder. I had a very unsatisfactory time with you. I mean it was simple. You are paid to be a killer. I wanted someone killed. I could have had a goon do it, but I wanted it done professionally. No cops coming around.”
He turned to his brother.
“That’s very simple, isn’t it Everett?”
Everett pulled in his lips.
“He doesn’t look like a very smart guy.”
“Maybe that’s it, Everett. Maybe he’s just a stupid killer.”
I said, “I am a fixer. I’m not a killer. I told you from the beginning that I wasn’t going to do it, Remington.”
“Yes, I know. You didn’t kill women. Or you didn’t kill women whose husbands sent them regularly to the hospital with broken bones.”
“There are a lot of people I don’t kill.”
Everett stood up. “If I may say so, Ryder, that’s a particularly bad attitude for a professional killer. A killer just sees a target, not a person. My brother is obviously very disappointed in you. Maybe we should just shoot you and start again with someone new.”
“Oh, no, Everett,” Remington said. “We hired him. Let me tell you the reason we did. It began with a simple piece of logic. I mean if you have to kill someone, you have to find the person first. My men had looked for my wife. They couldn’t find her. So I asked around and every single person I spoke with said Ryder was the best. He appeared and no one saw him. Then he did his job. Then he disappeared and still no one saw him.”
Remington sipped some more tea.
“You hire the best. I tried to hire you for a simple kill, Ryder, but you said no. I figured, and here is where the logic comes in, that even if you wouldn’t kill my wife, you could at least find her for me. I wouldn’t want you to do something you found distasteful. And much to my surpris
e, Ryder, I continued negotiating with you. I described the situation to you. I told you how cold she had gotten. She was only my wife because a piece of paper said she was.”
He smiled. I didn’t know why evil people were so accomplished at smiling.
“Imagine my shock, Everett, when he said he would agree to find her. I was very pleased. I mean what with his reputation, our not getting off to a good start, and the fact that my men had failed miserably at the task. I wasn’t in a position to hire a detective.”
“No, I bet you weren’t, Remington. Not when you consider what you planned to do with your wife. You wouldn’t want a chatty detective going to the police.”
Remington raised a finger. “You see, it’s my fault. I should have been suspicious. Jack Ryder doesn’t want to pull the trigger when a woman is at the other end of the barrel. But he’ll help me find her knowing what I was going to do with her when I had her. Oh, I thought I had it all figured out. You were smart, Ryder. You decided that someone else would find her eventually. And for a lot of money. So you figured, or I thought you figured, that you’d do the finding and take a nice chunk of my money. She was eventually going to face the full force of my revenge. You couldn’t stop that. You know I go right through stop signs. I laugh at signs of caution. You knew, I concluded, that one way or the other she’d be found. So, I figured, you agreed to the bargain just for the money. You wouldn’t have to kill her and you’d still make a profit.”
The Hidden Hand of Death Page 1
