101 Mystery Stories

33 Night-Walker Robert J. Randisi

He sits at the dimly lit bar and listens to the conversations going on around him. He does not concentrate on any one conversation, but strains to catch at least a piece of each separate one within earshot. With a wave of his hand he orders a second drink and continues to listen. He is listening for a certain phrase to be spoken, at which time he will make his plans and act upon them.

The words, however, when spoken, do not come from any of the conversations going on around him, but from the bartender as he brings him his third drink.

“So, what do you think?” the bartender asks.

Glancing at the heavily built man behind the bar, he asks, “About what?”

Pointing to the far end of the bar the bartender says, “We was having an argument, about Ali and this new guy. I think the challenger is gonna get hurt pretty good, but those guys figure Ali is taking the guy too light. Me, I know Ali can beat a nobody like this bum. I mean, who is he, you know? He’s a nobody!”

He stares at the overweight bartender for a few moments before telling the man, “Go back to your friends.”

Frowning, the bartender starts to say something else, but thinks better of it and moves off...

Finishing his drink, he rises to leave, stopping only to ask the hate heck girl, “What time does the bartender work until?”

“Midnight,” she answers and, batting heavily made-up eyes at him, adds, “Why? Won’t I do?”

Without answering, he leaves the bar and picks a spot outside.

The bartender leaves at five minutes past midnight. He turns right and proceeds towards an alley. As he passes the alley he is grabbed by the neck from behind and dragged in. Although the attacker is smaller and thinner, his strength is sufficient to hold the bigger man until he chooses to release him, deeper into the alley. There he pushes the bartender against the building.

“What do you want?” the heavier man cries, eyes wide with fright. “I ain’t got no money! What do you want?”

Slowly the smaller man takes a switchblade from his pocket and allows the four-and-a-half-inch blade to spring from the six-inch handle. Although at its widest the blade is a mere three-eighths of an inch it is a very effective weapon.

Rotating the knife slowly, he catches the frightened man’s eyes with his own, then he plunges it swiftly into his belly. The man screams. He falls to the ground whimpering. The last words he hears before dying are “Everybody is somebody.”

He rides the subway, listening to the conversations. Not to any one conversation, but to at least a part of every one he can.

He listens for a certain phrase.

From behind him he hears, “I wouldn’t go out with Arnold on a bet. He’s so short — a little fat nobody.”

He turns to see who is speaking. The girl is young, not yet twenty, with blond hair and smooth skin. He watches closely to see where she gets off, and follows when she does.

It is late and he and the girl are the only two to leave the train. The girl gives him a brief and suspicious look, satisfying herself as to who got off with her and what he looks like. Apparently what she sees does not frighten her and she begins to walk towards the stairway to the street. He notices that there is no clerk in the change booth. He follows the girl closely and calls to her as she approaches the stairs. She turns, but does not see the blade in his hand. She does see his intense eyes when they catch hers and hold them.

“What is it? What do you—” she begins, her voice tinged now with fear. He steps in and, in one swift motion, plunges the thin blade into the girl. She falls to the floor clutching herself. The last words she hears before dying are “Everybody is somebody.”

It is almost morning, almost daylight. He cannot function correctly in daylight. Somehow the sunlight inhibits him, makes him a different person. At night it’s different. In the daytime, as a janitor in a high school, he is a nobody. He cleans floors, walls, the yard and locker rooms, the lunch room — everyone believing that, as a janitor, he is subject to their commands.

“Clean that up, Woodley.”

“I dropped some milk, Woodley, mop it up, would you, please?”

“Who’s that? Oh, just Woodley.”

In the daytime he is Woodley the nobody.

But everybody is somebody, so at night when darkness falls, he is somebody.