A Lone Hand

Crime Fiction by Tom Ramey

Careful to stay in the shadows, Tanya “Sam” Sampson made her way up the driveway. At the side of the garage there was a window with a flimsy lock. She listened for an alarm as she opened it, though she didn’t expect one. Most people neglected to add the same security to their garages as they do to their front doors. The same way they tended to leave the door leading into their garage unlocked if the exterior garage door was shut. Sam tested the doorknob and was proven correct again.

Had she been wrong about the door, she would have picked the lock. Had she been wrong about the alarm, she would have used it as an opportunity to lure her victim outside. Sam had a contingency for everything.

She drew her pistol from her holster and suppressor from her jacket. As she screwed the suppressor on, she focused on slowing her heart rate. Normally she would track her victim for a period, learn their habits, and lure them into a controlled environment. Of the five people she had killed, only one was officially investigated as a homicide.

The deadline wouldn’t allow for her usual treatment, though. While she wasn’t in a position to pass up work, she felt her talents were a bit wasted on this job. Anyone can shoot someone. What made Sam different was her ability to plan out the details and stage the scenes.

That’s how it all started really. A conversation at a Rangers reunion about her skill set, overheard by Chris who needed someone with her specific talents. Sam had initially laughed it off, thinking he was joking about having her “consult” on his private security work. But when her government paycheck stretched thin between Philadelphia rent and student loan payments, she called him back. The question wasn’t whether she could apply her military training to civilian problems, she knew she could. The question was whether she’d be comfortable with what Chris was really asking her to do. As it turned out, she was more comfortable with it than either of them expected.

Taking a deep breath, Sam began slowly moving through the dark house. Leading with the barrel of her Glock into each room, she made her way through the kitchen, living room, and a hallway before reaching the bedroom. She planned for this time of night in hopes that her target would be asleep.

When she went into the room, she learned there are some things you can’t predict.

As the belt tightened around her mark’s neck, Sam realized a great plan sometimes requires great improvisation.

***

An hour later Sam walked into Lulu’s, a 24-hour diner on Oregon Avenue frequently used to discuss jobs, collect dead drops, and clog arteries. Sitting in a corner booth she spotted Chris and Vince sitting across from each other. Chris was a hulk of a man who took up enough of the bench by himself, so Sam decided to sit next to his shaggy haired friend.

“Are you ok?”, Chris asked when Sam slid into the booth.

“I’m fine, sorry for being a little late. Things just didn’t go how I planned.”

Chris’ eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

Sam thought about how to explain. “In horror movies, people are always home alone watching tv, making popcorn, and dancing to loud music before getting killed. I thought I’d find him doing something like that. But honestly, what is a twenty-something year old guy going to do alone at night in an empty house. He’s going to play a lone hand, if you know what I mean.”

Vince’s eyes furrowed. “What’s a lone hand?”

Chris leaned back, a grin spreading across his face. “You caught the guy masturbating?”

“Who calls that a lone hand?”

“Yes, and Mark Twain.” Sam nodded to each of them in turn. “Anyways…”

Vince held up a hand. “No. Not anyways. We aren’t glossing over that. What?!”

Sam chuckled, “He wrote an essay about masturbation with a bunch of puns to piss off some people.”

Vince blinked. “The Huck Finn guy?”

“The Huck Finn guy?! He is an American literary icon.”

“Sam became an English major after leaving the Army.” Chris explained to Vince.

“How’d you make that career change?” Vince asked, looking at Sam. “Army to English professor to… this?”

“I’m not a professor,” Sam said with a slight smile. “I got my Master’s in English on the GI Bill after I left the Rangers. They offered to pay me to read books for four years, and I figured they might as well be good ones instead of textbooks. As for this,” she gestured vaguely around them, “is just occasional consulting work for an old friend. Better pay than my government contracting gig, at least for the effort involved.”

“See, I can’t relate to any of that,” Vince said, leaning back. “Both of you got into this life by choice. I grew up affiliated. Never knew anything else.”

“Different paths to the same diner in South Philly,” Sam said with a shrug. “Anyway, the point is, I walked in on the guy choking himself while he was choking his chicken.”

 “See, that one I get.” Vince laughed.

Chris couldn’t help but laugh as well. “So, you walked in on a guy with his weapon already in his hand. Did he get a shot off on you?”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny. So, why are you late?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, mumbling. “I mean…”

Vince leaned forward. “You let him finish?!”

She threw his hands up defensively. “It seemed like the right thing to do! Why not let the guy go out while he’s on top?”

“I actually can’t fault your logic there.”

“Okay, but when he was finished you took care of him, right?” Chris asked.

Sam hesitated, scratching the back of her neck. “Well, that’s the thing… He was using a belt around his neck attached to a dresser. When he finished, he just kind of slumped down.”

Vince burst out laughing, then whispered, “Wait, you didn’t even kill the guy? He just died on his own?”

Sam sighed. “Basically.”

Vince mimed clapping. “You truly are a master of your craft.”

“Does it make a difference? Either way he’s still dead.”

Chris thought about it for a moment before saying, “The client doesn’t need to know. We’ll just say you staged the body to throw off suspicion. He may think you’re a little weird for how he’s staged, but we’ll still get paid.”

“Have you ever had to watch something like that before?”, she asked.

“Can’t say I have.”

“Not the masturbating thing but watching someone die.” Sam looked down, her tone softening. “I’ve never watched someone die before.”

“That’s kind of your job.” Vince said, arching an eyebrow.

Sam shook his head. “Watching someone die isn’t my job. I’m always a participant. I don’t know why but being on the sidelines feels different.”

“I get it. You got murder blue balled. You went out planning to kill someone and didn’t get to.”

“No, I didn’t want to kill anyone. It’s a job, that’s all.”

“Well then you had an easy day at work. Didn’t have to actually do anything and you’re still getting paid. Plus, you got a free show if you’re into that.”

“I’m definitely not.”

“I’m just not seeing the downside here.”

“It’s hard to articulate. Watching someone die like that was so sad. But he looked happy before he went.

“I bet he did. He probably went out happier than any of us will.”

“Maybe that’s what’s upsetting me. That he died in such a pathetic way, but it was more peaceful of an end than I’ll probably get.”

Chris and Vince shared a glance before Chris said, “I think you’re too stressed. I don’t think you’ve taken a vacation since we met. Go down to Atlantic City for a week and unwind.”

With business concluded they waved a waitress over to take their orders. As they ate, Sam wondered if Vince was right. The tension of the hit had built up in her all day, but him accidentally killing himself meant there was no satisfying climax. At least not for her.

---

Bio: Tom Ramey is a horror and crime fiction writer that has been a fan of works in the genre since long before he should have been allowed to consume them. He’s recently been published by Close to the Bone Publishing, Suddenly and Without Warning, and Flash Phantoms. Currently living in Delaware with his wife and three kids, he hopes his readers come away from his work with goosebumps, a racing pulse, and maybe even a smirk.

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