Dr. Frederick Rhineman, impeccably dressed in a tan Armani suit, with a white herringbone-striped shirt and a paisley Gucci tie, stood in his plush, richly decorated office on the tenth floor of a commercial building in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. He was holding some number-ten white business envelopes in his well-manicured, small hands. After a few moments, he placed the envelopes on top of a large brown manila envelope on his desk.
Dr. Rhineman was zealous about puzzle solving and known in wider circles as a peerless stickler for detail. He stepped over to a massive oak bookcase set against the wall. Of the four shelves, the top two held volumes of technical books on chemistry and chemical formulas. One of the bottom shelves contains different-sized boxes containing a variety of jigsaw puzzles. The other shelf housed an assortment of crossword books stacked next to packages of colored paper. He removed one of the packages from the shelf. It contained sheets of red eight-by-eleven twenty-pound paper. He carried it over to the walnut desk and removed two sheets. On both pieces of paper, he drew what resembled a claim check. Then he proceeded to cut one of the sheets of paper into jigsaw-like pieces, on each of which he printed a number or a letter of the alphabet. He placed one of the jagged pieces in each of the number-ten white envelopes, along with a letter he’d written earlier. An evil smirk disfigured his clean-shaven face. Then his intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Jean?”
“Dr. Rhineman, your brother is on the telephone. I know you said you didn’t want to talk to him, but this is the third time he’s called, and he insists on talking to you.”
“All right, I’ll talk to him.”
Dr. Rhineman frowned, and then picked up the telephone. "Hello?" He listened for a few seconds. "No! I’m not interested. I’ve told you not to call here." He continued to listen. "I don’t care, Benny. I don’t want to get mixed up with you or any of your goddamn schemes!" he snapped angrily. His brother kept talking, and the doctor could feel himself getting upset. He held the phone away from his ear, his face flushed. He calmed himself, then put the phone back to his ear and spoke firmly. "No, Benny, and don’t ever bother me again." He slammed the telephone down and sat there fuming and rubbing his chest.
He had just finished putting the small, jagged pieces of red paper into the envelopes when his secretary, Jean, a neatly dressed, gray-haired woman in her late fifties, entered. She looked at him with concern and then crossed to a small table in which there was a silver tray with two glasses, a pitcher of water, and a little brown bottle of pills. She poured a glass of water, removed a tablet from the bottle, and walked over to him.
"Dr. Rhineman, you know what your physician told you about getting upset. It’s bad for your heart." She handed him the pill and the glass of water. "You’d better take this. It’s hard to believe that someone who looks as healthy as you do have a weak heart."
"Thank you, Jean. I shouldn’t talk to Benny. He irritates me; he’s always up to some slick deal." He swallowed the pill and handed the glass back to her, then looked down at the envelopes on his desk. "Here, help me seal these envelopes. I’ve already addressed them." They sealed the white envelopes and put them into the large manila envelope. "Jean put this envelope in the safe. If anything happens to me, please remove the letters inside and mail them immediately." He emphasized the word "immediately."
She took the manila envelope from him. “Your heart isn’t worse, is it?” she asked, with an anxious look.
He stood up, smiling. "No, no. I’m fine. I’m not expecting to kick off anytime soon. I only want to make sure this matter is taken care of, just in case," he said, indicating the envelope. "It’s very, very important to me." The doctor stepped out from behind his desk. "Now I’m going over to the club for lunch. I won’t be back today, as Senator Knowles is in town. He has challenged me to a puzzle contest this afternoon. You know how I like to beat him. He always thinks he can assemble the puzzles faster than me." He chuckled and started to leave the office, but turned back. "Don’t forget about that." He pointed at the manila envelope again.
“I won’t. Good luck.”
Jean followed him out of his office and into hers, where she called the doorman downstairs to have the doctor’s car brought to the front door.
When he exited the office building, Dr. Rhineman got into his waiting silver Mercedes-Benz S600 and drove a couple of miles to a pawnshop. He parked in front of the shop, got a package from the trunk of his car, and took it in. From there, he drove to his favorite bookstore. There he was greeted by the short, overweight, round-faced Mrs. Churley.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Rhineman.”
"Good day, Mrs. Churley. Have you received any new puzzles lately?"
“Received some new ones yesterday,” she answered, smiling.
“Good, good.” He followed her over to a counter heaped with boxed puzzles.
"This table has some of the most difficult ones, Doctor. I think you would enjoy them."
Dr. Rhineman looked over the selection of boxes.
"Wonderful! Please help me pick out two of the smaller but more challenging puzzles. The senator is driving up from Miami and has challenged me to another contest this afternoon, so I want two tough puzzles." He grinned. "Senator Knowles is my stiffest competition."
“You men are like two boys when it comes to your puzzle contests.”
“Yes, that’s true. But we take it all very seriously. It is a test of skill and ingenuity. I hate to lose to the senator.”
“And he to you, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Churley, laughing.
“Yes, I’m sure he does.”
Mrs. Churley held up a particularly colorful box. "This one’s hard," she paused and selected another box, "I believe this to be its equal."
"Excellent, Mrs. Churley, I trust your choices. So far, you’ve never failed me."
“I swear I’ve never seen anyone enjoy puzzles like you do, Dr. Rhineman.” She took the two boxes over to the cash register.
He followed her. “Puzzles solving keeps my brain exercised. My work in science has always been a puzzle. Is not life itself a puzzle?”
"Yes, I suppose it is," she agreed. "With the tax, it will be $29.68."
Dr. Rhineman paid her and received his change.
“Thank you, Doctor, and good luck.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Churley, and thank you for your selections.”
He left the store and a few minutes later; he brought the Mercedes to a halt in a parking lot, which was next to an old red brick two-story building. As he walked up the steps and entered the Century Club, a tall, thin man in a pinstriped suit, greets him.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Rhineman.”
“Good afternoon, Ronald. Has Senator Knowles arrived?”
“Yes, sir, he’s waiting for you in the game room. Will you gentlemen be having lunch?”
“Yes, most likely Ronald but something very light.”
"Excellent, sir.”
As Rhineman’s trim six-foot-two-inch frame entered the game room, two other men were leaving. The men nodded to him. "Afternoon, Doctor."
Dr. Rhineman nodded back. “Good afternoon, William, Jerome.”
He continued through the sizeable oak-paneled room. Some men were seated about the room reading, talking, and drinking. Some of them acknowledged him with a smile or a nod of the head. His ice-blue eyes caught sight of the stately, slightly stoop-shouldered and balding red-haired senator on the far side of the room. He strode over to him.
When the fit, blond-haired doctor marched toward him, the senator smiled. "Ah, the perfect poster soldier for the Nazi’s Superman," he murmured.
“Good afternoon, Senator. It’s good to see you.”
They shook hands.
"Always happy to see you, doctor, I see you have the puzzles."
“Mrs. Churley told me that she’d just received them yesterday. I have her guarantee that they are most difficult,” he added, smiling.
“I’m sure they are, Frederick. You wouldn’t have accepted anything less.”
The two men quietly laughed as Dr. Rhineman took the boxes from the paper bag and set them on the two-game tables that the senator had pushed together. They then proceeded to remove the cellophane from the boxes.
“I believe it’s your turn to have the first choice,” said Dr. Rhineman.
“Yes, it is.” The senator picked up the boxes and looked at them, then held one up. “I’ll try this one,” he said and handed the other box to the doctor.
The two men wished one another other good luck. They dumped the puzzle pieces from the boxes out onto their respective tables, sat down, and immediately began to assemble them. A group of men began to gather around the two fervent players. There was some laughter, as well as words of encouragement. A waiter placed a pitcher of ice water and two glasses on a table next to the two combatants. Another waiter brought drinks to the onlookers. The room’s clouded with cigar smoke.
Dr. Rhineman and the senator worked feverishly on the puzzles; their faces were intense as they concentrated on the challenge before them. The action was fast-paced and the excitement built as they proceeded. Suddenly, Rhineman started gasping for air. He struggled to open his shirt collar. He stood up, grabbing at his chest. He stumbled. His chair fell backward. Then his body swayed for a moment before crashing onto his table, knocking the puzzle pieces, the pitcher of water, and the glasses onto the red-and-black plaid carpeted floor.