Razor A novel

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 4 (v.1) - Razor A novel-Four

Submitted: August 14, 2019

Reads: 13

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Submitted: August 14, 2019




New York, August 6, 1970.

6:30 AM.


The honking of the blaring New York yellow taxis awoke the dead sleepers in their apartments off 131st Street and 7th Avenue; the sleepers were awake at dawn, as the frenetic activity caused anger on the hot streets that sear the concrete. Lowell Richards, the owner of Lowell's Car Park, smoked a cigarette.

He felt the pain of a severe headache.

He blinked his hazel eyes, and threw up.

Lastly, he had neck pain, and had an epileptic seizure. In the last seconds of his forty year old life, he saw blood dripping down his nose. Seconds later, he died instantly from a brain aneurysm. For a long time, darkness arrived in New York, and the grimness of the fractured city devoured its soul.


"What the hell?", Homicide Detective Harold Sharp asked his partner, Homicide Detective Carol Parker.

They saw the dead body lying on the street.

"Call the Ambulance", she answered.

He looked at the New Yorkers who were gasping in fear.

He opened the red colored telephone box. 

He closed the door, and grabbed a quarter into the machine.

"Ambulance, please. There's a dead body off 131st Street, and 7th Avenue". 

"And you're name is?".

"Homicide Detective Harold Sharp. And my partner, Homicide Detective Carol Parker", he said. He waited a long period of time before the female voice came back on the line. 

"And who is the dead man, Detective Sharp?".

"I don't know".

"You don't know".

"Yes, don't be smug".

"Sorry. There's an ambulance arriving in two minutes".

"Thank you. Good morning".

"Good morning".


The Ambulance arrived. 

"So, what happened?", the ambulance man asked.

"Epileptic seizure. Maybe it's a neurological brain explosion, and he died", Homicide Detective Carol Parker answered.

"Jesus! All we need is a bleeder on the cranium".

"He needs to be taken to the New York Morgue, and the Coroner can perform an autopsy. And we need to ID him".

He looked at the man's expensive black coat. 

Written in the right breast pocket was his name: SIMON G. ROBERTSON. LONGWOOD PHARMICEUTICALS. MANAGER.

"I heard about it. They've got a huge fat contract with the Nixon Administration".

"I hate Nixon".

"We all hate the President. It's all political these days".

"We're kind of losing the wave of thought on the dead body", Homicide Detective Carol Parker said. 

"Shit", Homicide Detective Harold Sharp said.

When the Coroner arrived, the wailing sirens blared in the distraught city that had seen its share of death.


"You can't drag me down, man", Bonnie Daniels said. 

She saw Forcher, her boyfriend, was smoking a joint. 

"They arrested Diego Francina, the Latin Godfather".

"Then you're the new Godfather of New York".

"No. He'll be out by today. I can't betray him, babe".

She nodded, as she turned on the television.


"In breaking news, Latin Godfather, and mobster, Diego Alfredo Francina, was arrested for over thirty murders in his lifetime. Francina, a violent criminal, is said to be fuming after his girlfriend passed out due to a heroin overdose in his three million dollar black limousine; Francina, who was the protege of dead Godfather Edgar Luis Ostrondmos, seventy, was some people in the Underworld called 'The Latin Al Capone' from the nineteen forties, nineteen fifties, and nineteen sixties, died from a heart attack back in nineteen sixty-eight, while watching his favorite baseball team The New York Yankees against The Boston Red Sox. According to The United Baseball Association of America, they didn't say anything on the matter to the media. In other news, the New York Stock Exchange third-term quarter fell due to the political upheaveal in the Asia-Pacific region...".


Homicide Detective Harold Sharp smoked a cigarette while he ordered warm coffee. He knew he was cold from the fifty-three weather in New York; he was thinking of his wife, and children, waiting for him in their three hundred thousand dollar apartment near Central Park; he didn't believe in the growing immigration problems in the city of his birth. The gangs of Los Angeles, and New York, was beginning to thrive because the Mayor was thinking about political votes than running City Hall. "I love you Harold. Remember: Come back home alive for myself, and Rebecca, Charlie, and Ira", Margaret Sharp, said.

He let her kiss him, and thought about their first meeting at a hippie protest rally back in nineteen sixty-one, when President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was serving his First Term in office. The song, "Wake up little Susie" by The Everly Brothers, was played at The Royal Dance Hall. From there on in, they were inseparable. He didn't think no woman would love him. After the flashbacks ended, he used the telephone, and used a quarter. 

"I'll be home by seven o'clock, dear".

"That's good. Rebecca wants a new doll".

"I'll get one for her".

"I'll see you then, honey. 'Bye!".


And he placed the telephone back on the cradle, and opened the door.


The Razor Killer yawned.

He saw the woman applying lipstick on her mouth. 

He looked at the window of the apartment.

He grabbed onto the razor, and opened the door. 

For a long moment in time, he imagined she was dead.

Seconds later, he watched his girlfriend was asleep in her bed. He closed the door, and placed the razor in the black medical bag. He watched several couples in the dim hallway. A businessman in his mid-twenties, was dressed sharply in a black suit, grey trousers, a black belt, grey socks, and black, polished shoes.

The man stopped, and gazed at him.

"You're not a real doctor".

"Oh, it's my late father's bag. He performed abortions in his clinic in Upper Manhattan". The man grimaced in shock; he seemed to voice outrage at the practice. 

"Abortion is a crime against the foetus".

"Look, are you a radical, anti-medical bastard?", he asked him.

"Listen, I don't think you're fit to use that bag. I'll have to contact the New York Board of Medicine", he answered.

The Razor Killer moved forward.

And raised the razor in his right hand, and was about to slice his throat when a woman shot him three times in the chest with a .9mm gun.

He coughed up blood, then collapsed in the hallway.

In a matter of  minutes, he had bled out, and died.

The terror in New York was over.


Page 4.



© Copyright 2019 Robert Helliger. All rights reserved.


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