Black Thursday

As the train rumbled down the tunnel, Martin reclined on the wooden bench. It was after 10:00, and the masses had already reported to their workplaces, leaving his subway car deserted.

Martin glanced to his right and found a paper discarded on the seat next to him. Reaching over, he was slightly miffed that it was yesterday’s paper, but then the headline caught his eye.

Oct 23, 1929: HOOVER SPEEDS DOWN OHIO THROUGH STORM; BOAT MOORS AT NIGHT; On Lighthouse Tender He Leads Parade From Cincinnati With High Gale Blowing. DUE AT LOUISVILLE TODAY President Hails Waterway Triumph in Dedicating Monument at the Queen City.

Exhaling, he had to wave away the cloud of tobacco smoke that obscured the article. Then he read on, snorting at the President of the United States making a fuss about his ability to sail on a river unharmed.

Don’t you have trains? Martin snorted, looking up at the subway car interior. Always showboats, these Americans. Quite literally.

His bitterness stemmed at least in part from the fact that they had taken their sweet time joining the fight in the Great War. After hundreds of thousands of French and English soldiers had died, the doughboys had charged in and rolled up the equally exhausted Germans. Ignoring the previous three years of conflict, the Yanks had the gall to claim they singlehandedly won the war.

They do grow some fine tobacco, though, Martin concluded as he took another drag. Could’ve used some of these at the Somme. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel like they took all our sacrifices for granted.

Never mind that Martin hadn’t crawled through the mud and dodged German machine guns for God, King, and Country but instead to shoot his commanding officer in the back.

I still fought, after all. The motives are inconsequential.

He sometimes noticed a slight quiver in his hands when he let the roar of the shells grow too loud in his mind. Checking now, though, he found his fingers perfectly still as they gripped The New York Times and a Lucky Strike cigarette. All nine of them.

“Say,” a voice came from the other side of the Times, “how’d you lose the pinky?”

Martin lowered the paper to find a dapper looking woman standing in front of him, swaying with the movement of the subway car. He considered deploying his usual line about a war wound—sometimes that would impress the fairer sex. However, his line of work required that he instantly read situations and people, and he deduced no romantic possibilities here.

So he went with the honest tact.

“Gambling debts.”

She smirked. “A nasty form of payment.”

“Quite, but we worked out another arrangement shortly after that.”

“Oh?” She sat on the bench beside him. “What did that entail?”

Martin read in her face that she thought this was all a joke—pulling her leg, as the Americans said. Thus, he saw no harm in continuing his completely honest description of his life for the past two decades.

“I killed some men who had crossed them.”

“And now your debts are paid. So you’re a free man?”

Martin took another pull of the Lucky Strike. “Not quite. They appreciated the good work I’d done so much they made me a regular employee.” He shrugged. “I suspect if I hadn’t taken their offer, the Firm would have sent another Martin after me.”

The dapper woman furrowed her brow. “Another Martin?”

“Ah, I knew I’d forgotten a step somewhere.” He extended his hand. “Martin Williams.”

They shook hands. After a moment, Martin asked, “And what can I call you?”

“Kayleigh.”

Unusual name, Martin thought, but then again, when are Americans not making things overly eccentric? I’d go a bit looney too after near a decade of no alcohol, Christ help them.

“I can’t help but notice that accent,” Kayleigh broke into his thoughts. “What brings you across the Atlantic, Martin? Business or pleasure?”

“When you do what you love for work, is there really a difference?” Martin intoned.

“Ah, so now an American has crossed your employers?”

“No offense, madam, but Yanks always tend to talk a bit too loud and make a bit of a scene. Any time my employers make the mistake of bringing one into our operations, it’s almost inevitable that I come calling.”

She chuckled. “We do enjoy living loud and proud.”

“There’s many in my country that think you lot don’t acknowledge the war that led to all your prosperity.”

“And there’s many in my country that think you Brits don’t show enough gratitude for how we helped bring that war to a close.”

At least she isn’t acting like the war didn’t exist before the US of A landed in France.

Now it was Martin’s turn to smile. “Perhaps that’s as close as we’ll get to a resolution.”

She smiled back. “Tell you what, Martin. Since you’ve been so up front with me, I’ll return the favor.”

Martin sat up as her face shifted.

“Just as you are an international assassin, I am not Kayleigh of the year 1929. I am not from this century or the century after it.”

“Ah, I see,” Martin said, leaning back and winking. “And what century would you be from?”

“The 25th.”

“So, why come all the way back to this little slice of history?” Martin nodded to the gray walls and brown benches around them. “And then take the underground, to boot?”

“The boom times of the current economic structure are making the whole system lean further and further over a cliff. No one save a few far-sighted statisticians and economists seem to understand that this clip is unsustainable. All it takes is one anomaly, one unexpected blip, to make the big players panic, and then it’s too late to recover.”

“Oh? So you’ve come back to time the market?” Martin reached into his pocket, feeling the slip of paper that contained his latest assignment. “You know, I’ve had a few lucrative jobs of late and was considering putting some of the payout into American stocks myself.”

Her face hadn’t changed. “No, I’m here to prevent that first domino.”

He chuckled. “I still don’t quite see why the market trends of 1929 would warrant the attention, much less intervention, of someone from the year 2400.”

“It’s not so much the economic downturn as its later repercussions.” Kayleigh placed her elbows on her hips, leaning in. “The stock market shock leads to a larger collapse of financial systems, not just here but around the globe. One of the worst hit is the German Weimar Republic, still saddled with war debts and reparation payments to the victors.

“Unable to pay their bills and feeling their nation has been humiliated, a militant minority captures the hearts of the greater masses with thoughts of a return to a strong, proud Germany. What the average citizen doesn’t realize is this nationalism is a front for their deeper extremism.

“Eventually, the world powers are forced to intervene when they turn words to actions and conquer the bulk of Europe. The war is long and bloody, but the fascists are beaten into the dust. However, they leave such an imprint on the world with their early victories and the cataclysmic struggle to defeat them that their ideas live on.

“At first, they are followed only by an ardent few. But they grow in strength as democratic governments become gridlocked and ineffective during crises in the following centuries. Until the fascists return with a vengeance.”

A moment of silence passed between them as Kayleigh held Martin’s gaze.

Then Martin felt the corners of his lips turning up, and a heartbeat later his laughter filled the subway car.

“Well, you really had me going there, I’ll admit. Just one issue, though.”

Kayleigh blinked. “What’s that?”

“The Germans. After the beating we gave them, you expect me to believe they’ll ever go to war again? Sure, some of them are a bit bitter, but we have the Versailles Treaty to keep them in line. Still,” Martin paused to take the last drag of his cigarette, “it was quite the monologue. Clearly I’m in the presence of a talented actress.”

Kayleigh stared at him for a moment later before the grin returned. “Very astute, Martin.”

He shrugged. “It’s part of the job. I have to know how to read people.” Taking a moment to tamp out the cigarette on the floor, he turned back to her. “So, how will you do it?”

“Do it?”

“You know, save the world in the play? Stop the domino?”

“Ah, that.” She reclined on the bench. “There’s a particular businessman who is preparing to sell off his entire stake in a major corporation. Though only a fraction of all trades that occur in a day, he commands such assets that even his individual action will cause a small dip in the exchange prices. For investors already jumpy with certain economists forecasting a collapse, this is the signal they’ve waited for, and they start selling en masse to cash out while they still can.” She smirked. “Their fears of collapse are what create the collapse.”

Normally, Martin would have enjoyed the palpable irony of the situation. But now his face had fallen.

Kayleigh cocked her head. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s the businessman’s name?”

She turned her palms outward. “As you said, Martin, it’s fictional.”

“Is it Billy Blaine?”

Before she could answer, Martin continued, “The corporation is Kline and Sons Limited.”

The façade started to crack. “How did you—”

Martin’s eyes swept the subway car interior, finding no one else. Then he turned to Kayleigh and lunged across the bench.

She hesitated for the crucial second, and Martin had his arm wrapped around her neck before she could draw back.

“What the hell...” she wheezed, her voice already faint.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Martin murmured in her ear, scanning the train car to make sure no one was coming. With precision achieved only through practice, he kept his grip tight enough to slowly cut off her air without causing permanent damage to her windpipe. “But sometimes business comes first.”

“What... business,” she coughed.

“I told you what I do for a living. I have no idea who you work for, but our employers appear to have the same interests. I like you, Kayleigh, but I won’t give up a job with a payout this big without a fight.”

“But... the... future...” she gasped. Then her shoulders went limp and her head slumped forward.

Checking his surroundings, Martin found the subway car as deserted as when he had boarded. Then he propped Kayleigh up so she appeared to be napping on the bench. Finally, he felt her neck for a pulse and nodded when he found it. Slow but certain.

The brakes screeched as the train rumbled into the station. Wall Street, the sign on the wall of the platform read.

“This is my stop,” Martin said to the unconscious Kayleigh. “Maybe we’ll meet again. You know, in the future.”

He chuckled to himself, only pausing a moment when he noticed that her sleeve had rolled up in the scuffle. Never seen a watch like that before, he thought, staring at the strange alloy that appeared to change colors each time he blinked.

But then he felt the train inching forward and leapt between the closing doors.

Americans, always with the dramatics, he thought as the train rolled away down the tunnel, ruffling his jacket in the backblast. Can’t wear a regular old watch like the rest of us.

He took one moment to review the scrap of paper in his pocket.

Billy Blaine has been a willing financier and money launderer for the Firm for many years. However, he has decided to turn down decades of guaranteed steady income for one grand theft from one of the many shell corporations in our portfolio. He must not be allowed to sell his shares on the exchange floor. Further, our sources allege that the pilfered funds will be used to prop up colonial ventures in the Congo notorious for brutal treatment of the natives under their employment.

See that business is taken care of with all haste.

Then Martin hustled up the stairs.

On the street above, Ford and Chevrolet four-seaters snaked their way forward as their exhaust filled Martin’s nose. He lit another cigarette to shield himself from the toxins, lamenting the lack of Bentleys or any other proper English vehicle.

Martin himself weaved his way in and out of the groups of pedestrians littering the sidewalk. Ahead, the main entrance to the New York Stock Exchange awaited.

Slipping through the doors between the marble pillars, Martin paused to take in his surroundings. There was no security in sight, but he still had elected to go without a gun this time. After all, a gunshot would draw a lot of attention even with all the noise emanating from the trading room at the end of the grand foyer.

Martin stepped to the side, watching a small flow of visitors and brokers in their high-end suits moving in and out. He withdrew the small photograph he had been given of the target.

Glancing back up, he caught sight of the same smug expression on the face of a man exiting the trading room.

He found himself in a situation he had the misfortune of knowing all too well. The plan’s gone tits up, and it’s up to me to think on my feet. He cocked his head. Then again, I don’t think I ever thought that far. Was planning to do some strategizing on the subway, but then that eccentric American lady came along.

Billy’s double-breasted tweed jacket seemed to swell with triumph as he slapped a tan document. If Martin let him slip past, Billy would likely catch a cab and it would all be over.

Checking that his buttons were in place on his jacket and collared shirt, Martin came striding across the hall, putting the two on a direct collision course.

“Mr. Blaine, sir,” he called out.

Billy continued forward, eyes fixed on the slip of paper. “Not now, I’m in a hurry,” he said without looking up.

“I’m from the bank, sir.”

“I’ll call them later. They have my office number.” Billy’s pace quickened.

This is a man used to others getting out of the way. Used to getting his way.

But Martin did not yield. In the final moment, he stopped. Billy took another step forward, the edge of Martin’s boot coming into view. The financier looked up, missing the flash of silver near his waste. Unable to completely shed his forward momentum, Billy moved another half step. Into Martin’s knife.

Martin clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, the blade concealed in the inch-wide gap between them. “Really, sir, I must insist on speaking to you now.”

On top of the world one moment, Billy could not comprehend how his fortunes had just shifted. He managed a glance down at the knife handle in this stranger’s hand turning red before Martin shuffled them both the three feet into one of the phone booths that lined either side of the hallway. Thankfully this one was not occupied.

Martin kicked the sliding door shut. Only then did he withdraw his knife and force it between the bones of Billy’s ribcage. He made sure to hold the financier at arm’s length to avoid getting any blood on his clothes.

Not very subtle, and I’m not paying the extra fee the damned cleaners always demand to keep their mouths shut.

With the unpleasant part out of the way, Martin lowered Billy to the wall, certain the man’s slide toward death had begun. Best of all, he had gone for the lung to prevent the man from screaming for help.

Indeed, all Billy could manage was a faltering “Why?”

Wiping the blood from his hand and blade with the man’s pocket square, Martin shrugged. “Shouldn’t have tried to sell those shares, mate. What did you think was going to happen?”

“But...” Billy muttered. “It’s already done.”

Martin followed the trembling finger to the document that lay on the phone booth floor.

“Ah, for Christ’s sake.” Martin shook his head as he snatched it away from the seeping pool of blood. It was a money order for the reimbursement of sold stock to the tune of $100,000. Then Martin noticed it was already signed.

Lowering the paper, he smirked at Billy. “Didn’t they ever teach you not to notarize your checks until you get to the bank? You never know what kind of thieves might be lurking about waiting to pilfer your pockets.”

Billy surprised Martin by smiling back. “Lesson... learned...”

Then, after a chuckle that seemed to die in his throat, his head fell forward.

Martin stared down at what was essentially a blank check for $100,000. He saw two roads before him.

Option one: go back into the exchange and repurchase the stocks that had been sold.

It’s what his bosses would want, barring him preventing the sale at all. But clearly that ship had sailed.

He also recalled Kayleigh’s words about the economic collapse this sale would cause and the aftereffects that would lead to a resurgent Germany. At the time, he has assumed it was all an elaborate work of fiction. But her eyes had seemed so gray and determined as she spoke, as if the words called up all too real memories of a future ruled by the fascists.

All he had to do was go into the exchange and reverse whatever damage Billy had done.

Wait a bloody minute, why am I letting that kooky American get to my head? Time travel is as real as the passport I showed to the immigration agent when the boat arrived in this bizarre city. He chuckled to himself. She really was made for the theater, though. That all felt real in that moment. Impeccable delivery.

He slipped the money order into his inner jacket pocket. Option two it is.

Option two: take the blank check and hide the money someplace the Firm could never get to it.

I’ll consider this the hazard pay they still refuse to give me.

Then Martin cracked the solid oak door, slipping his way through before sliding it closed behind him. He took a moment to shake his head at the finery that even something as simple as a phone booth received in the place where the stuffed shirts came to gamble with the working class’s fortunes. In the background, he could hear growing commotion from the stock room floor, but Martin put it out of his mind. He needed to leave the building as fast as he could without drawing undue attention.

Shuffling his way onto the street, Martin took no small bit of satisfaction that he had just stolen some of that money back from one of the thieves.

I suppose I should figure out a way to redistribute this newfound wealth.

After a moment of pondering how that would work, he shrugged. Stealing from the thieves is still a step in the right direction.

He hailed a taxi.

“Where ya headed?” the driver asked.

“Broadway,” Martin said. “I find myself in the mood for some theater.”

His new companion snorted. “Whatever ya say, buddy.”

Sod it, we’ll start the wealth redistribution now. He handed the driver $20. “There’s more where that came from if you drive fast.”

“Yes, sir!” The taxi took off across Lower Manhattan.

Martin leaned back in the seat, smiling as the car swerved between lanes. Marx would be proud.

~~~

Follow Martin on another adventure as he finds his vacation cut short by an old friend and unexpected news: the island he is relaxing on is about to be occupied. Even more irksome, his next job is the invaders' commanding officer. Martin must once again take up arms for King, Country, and, most importantly, his next payday in...

The Complete* Martin Williams Collection

1. Sinking Prospects (1912)
2. For King and Country (1916) — print exclusive
3. Black Thursday (1929) — you are here
4. The Lindbergh Job (1932)
5. A View to Die For (1936)
6. The Rising Sun (1941)
7. Run for the Border (1943)
8. Down on Main Street (1946)
9. The Airlift (1948)
10. Into the Valley of Death (1951) — print exclusive
11. Epilogue: Retirement — print exclusive

*When paired with A Bloody Business, the official Martin Williams novel: