The Blank in MIDNIGHT SHOWDOWN IN NEW YORK Preview

THE BLANK TALES OF MYSTERY in "Midnight Showdown in New York"

A New Pulp Fiction Novella

by Paul Kupperberg

Cover by Jay Francis

Published by Crazy 8 Press, June 2026

140 pages

$14 (shipped/U.S. only)

CLICK HERE TO PRE-ORDER THE BLANK TALES OF MYSTERY in "Midnight Showdown in New York" now... $14.00 shipped/US only... and receive the rare and coveted KUPPERBERG NO-PRIZE via USPS!

BOOK WILL SHIP BY END OF JUNE 2026

The night was quiet, the waters seeming to absorb the sounds of the city drifting off the streets. All he could hear was the quiet splash of his oars and the sound of the swells lapping against the piers and boats he passed, the occasional squawk of a gull. He hadn’t gone very far before he saw a green light nodding in the night, its winking glow reflected in the black river water.

While still a dozen yards off the boat’s stern, he pulled up his oars to take a moment to reconnoiter his target. It was small as far as yachts went, but bigger than anything Doc Harper would ever be able to afford. It looked to be about forty feet long, with most of the deck taken up by the structure for an enclosed lounge and pilothouse, with sleeping quarters below decks. The name “Lottie Kaye” was painted in gold letters on its richly lacquered wooden stern. Lying at anchor in the dead of night, no lights showed in the cabin windows. The boat was dark except for the blinking green light and the white anchor light glowing atop its mast.

The Blank sat and watched, unmoving except for when he had to make slight adjustments with the oars to his position to keep the Lottie Kaye in view. There were five men aboard. At this hour, it was likely Don Maroni would be asleep in his cozy bunk, leaving four armed thugs who might be awake. They would have at least one man on deck as a lookout.

As he watched, a match flared briefly to life when the lookout in the covered lounge lit a cigarette.

He knew he couldn’t spend much longer observing. They were expecting their pal Bernie to return any minutes with their smokes and bologna sandwiches and if he waited too long, they would get suspicious. He decided his best approach would be to row around the Lottie Kaye and get upstream of her, then board at the bow, out of sight of the lookout, as his boat drifted by on the current.

The Blank gave the anchored boat a wide berth, every now and then checking that the glowing tip of the cigarette in the lounge hadn’t gone anywhere. When he was far enough upstream, he steered closer to the Lottie Kaye and let the current take over until he came abreast of the long flat deck. He crouched and leapt, feeling the rowboat rock beneath him, and reaching for the low ornamental railing that ringed the deck. He barely managed to close his gloved fingers around it and kick the rowboat away before it could bang against the side, then swung his legs up onto the narrow lip between the bulkhead and the raised deck over the cabins below, pausing to listen for any sign that his boarding had been overheard. When he was sure it was safe to proceed, he rose to a crouch and edged his way along the narrow lip until he could climb up onto the roof over the cabin and lounge. Knowing he would be working on the water and likely at close quarters, he wore rubber soled shoes to reduce slippage and noise, which would allow him to drop onto the deck from above and take the sentry by surprise, hopefully before he could raise the alarm to the men below decks.

Drawing his .45, the Blank made his move, pouncing from the overhang onto the deck and whirling with weapon thrust forward to face the man with the smoking cigarette still dangling from his lips.

It took Blank a moment to understand why there was no reaction to his sudden appearance. The man was dead, his eyes wide with horror at his last sight, slumped in a seat like a drunk with a bloom of blood spreading across his shirtfront from his slit throat.

“Dear lord,” Blank whispered to himself.

How was this possible? How could someone have gotten onto the Lottie Kaye and done this right under his nose? There was no other craft anywhere near it during the whole time he’d had it under observation. Did the killer have a submarine? Or did he swim from shore, his knife clenched between his teeth.

He quickly shook off his shock and surprise. The killer was likely still on board! Not on deck, of course, but below, which was accessed down a short stairway at the fore of the cabin, behind a flimsy folding door. There were only a few minutes during which a lone swimmer might have approached the yacht unseen by him, but certainly not enough time since for him to have killed five men and slipped back away before the Blank would have seen him.  

He passed the dead man and reached with his free hand for the door, his gun at the ready. But before he could touch it, the lightweight door splintered as a dark figure with long black hair hurtled through it, yelling at the top of his lungs and brandishing a blood-splattered long knife as he charged at the masked man.

The Blank stepped back and fired as the dark figure slammed into him, sending him stumbling back several more steps. He couldn’t tell if his shot had hit home, certainly not from the way his attacker only pressed him harder, and no time to ponder an attack as he was forced to defend himself from the wicked blade that was slashing towards his throat. He caught the knife hand in the V of his crossed wrist, then stepped into his attacker and turned his body, dragging the other man off balance and twisting him over his hip to the hardwood deck. But even as he fell, the dark-haired man swept a leg across the back of Blank’s knee, buckling his legs and causing him to release his hold so he could regain his balance.

The man sprang to his feet, paying no more attention to Blank and taking off like a sprinter at a track meet, headed for the open deck. Blank took brief note that his attacker was barefoot as he leapt off the deck and dove over the bow into the murky Hudson River.

Blank got to the railing in time to see the figure slice into the water and disappear with barely a ripple to mark his passage. And there continued to be no sign of him for the long moments Blank scanned the waters around the boat. He thought for certain the man would have to surface or that air bubbles would ripple up to reveal his position, but there was nothing.

With a sigh, he turned and looked back towards the cabin and the open companionway, knowing the bloody horror that was likely waiting for him down below. He paused on his way to pick up the murder weapon, a knife, an elaborate handmade affair with an eight-inch blade and a handle fashioned from some sort of bone and leather wrapping. He ducked to go below and face whatever waited there but froze in his tracks when he saw the bundle of six sticks of dynamite with a burning fuse sizzling down to its final few inches laying in the middle of the narrow corridor.

There was no thought involved. Before he even knew he was doing it, the Blank had turned and raced back onto and across the deck, throwing himself over the railing as the night exploded and he felt the burst of heat and impact across his back just before he plunged into the cooling waters below.

CLICK HERE TO PRE-ORDER THE BLANK TALES OF MYSTERY in "Midnight Showdown in New York" now... $14.00 shipped/US only... and receive the rare and coveted KUPPERBERG NO-PRIZE via USPS!

BOOK WILL SHIP BY END OF JUNE 2026!