by Barry Reese
Mulvaney glowered at Gray and it was immediately apparent that he didn’t think much of Assistance Unlimited and its mysterious founder. "How about you stay out of police business? You may have some special privileges but that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do."
Gray reached out and placed a hand on Mulvaney’s shoulder. He gave it just a slight squeeze, though with the incredible strength he possessed, it was enough to bring a grimace to the officer’s face. "I appreciate the difficulty you must face in doing your job, Officer Mulvaney. People don’t show adequate respect for your uniform and badge. But in this case, I need you to be sensible. If you take this body to the morgue, they’ll call me in eventually and we’ll have wasted valuable time that could have been used to find Mr. Newton’s killer. So let’s work together on this."
Mulvaney withered under the intense gaze he received from Gray. With a shrug and a small shred of remaining defiance, he said, "Fine. Take it away. But you better share all your findings with the department. You’re not a law unto yourself, you know."
Gray turned away, hoping to catch Miya’s eye and offer an apology. When he looked back at their table, he saw that she had taken the opportunity to slip away. Gray frowned slightly, knowing that she hadn’t left through the front door or else he would have seen her. That meant she’d vanished through the kitchen and out the back.
Forcing his thoughts away from the darkness that was his past, Gray bent down and gently lifted the corpse of Wallace J. Newton.
***
Miya hurried down the alleyway, ignoring the rain that pelted her hair and soaked through her dress. Walther Lunt waited for her at the end of the street and he opened the car door so she could slip inside.
"You’re alone," the German noted. "I suppose that means you failed to bring him over to our side. What a surprise." One side of his face had been disfigured years before and now it was nothing more than a twisted mass of scar tissue. It ruined what otherwise would have been a cruel but handsome face.
Miya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "He was distracted by a dead man."
"Again, nothing we shouldn’t have accounted for. Men and women are always dying in Sovereign and Lazarus Gray is always involved somehow."
"Are you just going to complain or are you going to drive?" Miya opened her purse and took out a handkerchief. She began to dab at her forehead and face, ensuring that her makeup didn’t run.
"What did you tell him?" Lunt asked, starting the car. He slowly pulled out onto the rain-slicked streets.
"About how we met. And he was concerned about that group of vampires he killed in Mexico. I assured him that he wasn’t a murderer."
"Not in that case, at least. Did you tell him about The Illuminati?"
"Some."
"Does he know that he turned against us?"
"I didn’t mention that part." Miya looked out the window, staring at the grimy city that she’d called home these past few weeks. "I don’t want to play into his notions of being a hero. He has just as much blood on his hands as any of us."
"This is too dangerous. I’ve asked the rest of our members to give us the option to simply kill him. The last thing we need is for him to become a thorn in our side again."
"We should wait. He’s like clay right now… all it takes it is the right manipulations and I can sculpt him into whatever we want."
Lunt glared at her. "Don’t let your lingering feelings for him get in the way of your common sense."
Miya laughed softly. "There’s no chance of that happening, Walther. And I do agree with you, somewhat. If it becomes clear that he won’t come back into the fold, then we’ll have to take measures to prevent him from interfering."
"Even if that means killing him?" Lunt prodded.
"Yes," Miya sighed. "Even if that means killing him."
Chapter II
The Diabolical Mr. Skull
Garrison Montreux was French-Canadian by birth, though from his accent, people assumed he was from the American Midwest. This was because he had long ago divested himself of any native inflection his words might carry. He had grown up hating his home province, always yearning for the American dream. Originally a slight child, Garrison had begun lifting weights in his teens and he was now a barrel-chested brute with massive biceps and a mean streak. Preferring to dress in dark suits and ties, Garrison’s body somehow suggested that he was a massive gorilla forced to wear a man’s clothes.
But the most chilling aspect of his appearance was his head. Garrison no longer bore the visage of a normal man. There was no flesh on his skull, leaving it terrifyingly bare. Tiny flickers of yellow-orange flame danced around the exposed bone when he was angry and a pair of glowing orbs shone out of his eye sockets. As a result, he no longer answered to his birth name. He was Mr. Skull, a silly name that no one laughed at.
Mr. Skull sat behind a large desk, staring at the men who were his chief lieutenants. Since arriving in Sovereign, he’d made quite a few inroads in the underworld, building a small name for himself very quickly. It was rough going, however, and he’d already made an enemy of The Monster, who was Sovereign’s current criminal kingpin. What no one knew was that Mr. Skull wasn’t your standard gangster. He loved money and power as much as anyone but that wasn’t his ultimate aim. He had darker desires than anyone realized.
"So the private dick is dead?" Skull asked, using the tough-talking gangster voice he preferred. It was nothing like the prim words used by his parents, nor was it anything resembling the way he had talked for most of his life.
Malone, a thin man with bad teeth, grinned in response. "We hit him right in the face just you like wanted. The Bone Dust worked like a charm. He ran off screaming into a nearby restaurant."
"Good. I want it mentioned on the streets that he was killed for poking his nose into our business. We need to use the Bone Dust again soon – let everybody know it’s a weapon we’ve got and we aren’t afraid to use it."
"Sure, boss, sure." Malone looked at the other men in the room and shifted his feet. They were all waiting expectantly for him to bring something up. He’d been tasked with the duty by drawing the short straw and he was none too happy about it. "Listen, there’s something I have to bring up…."
Mr. Skull turned his full attention on Malone and a few flickers of flame appeared around his skull, a sure sign that Malone was treading on thin ice. "Go on."
"Some of the boys think we’d actually be getting a little bit further without the whole flaming skull bit. I mean, it’s an incredible mask and it scares the living spit out of anybody who sees it but it works a little too good, y’know? A lot of guys don’t wanna work for you because they’re terrified."
Mr. Skull stood up and Malone took a step back. He instantly regretted having spoken up at all. "I’m sorry, boys. I’m too scary, is that it?"
"Well… that’s what some folks say; people who aren’t as tough as the rest of us. We don’t think that."
"So you don’t find me frightening, Malone?" Mr. Skull adjusted his tie and moved closer, towering over his employee.
"Uh," Malone stammered. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer. If he said no, it might be construed that he was taunting his boss. If he said yes, then that might be seen as an insult as well. "I think you’re gonna be running this town soon. And I’m glad to be on what’s gonna be the winning side."
Mr. Skull patted Malone on the shoulder. "Good answer. But not quite quick enough on your feet." The flames around his head grew much brighter, dancing about like living things. He gripped Malone by the throat, lifting him off his feet with one hand. To the others, who were now watching with horror, he said, "Tell everyone. Make it clear so that they understand. Mr. Skull doesn’t wear a mask. This. Is. My. Face!"
Malone whimpered as Mr. Face slammed him onto his back on the desktop.
Mr. Skull used his free hand to pull out a small silver vial. His thumb easily pushed off the top of the vial and a reddish powder began to spill out, falling onto Malone’s fac
e. Malone began thrashing wildly, recognizing the mixture dubbed Bone Dust.
The powder transformed into a corrosive liquid as soon as it touched Malone’s skin. The chemical reaction left an almond odor in the air and Malone’s screams were so awful that even the hardened criminals in the room looked away, with some of them retching.
When Malone ceased his fighting, his face was a ruined mess and his labored breathing slowly came to an end. Mr. Skull released his hold on him and turned to face the others. "Anybody else got anything smart to say?" he demanded. When no one said anything, he shoved Malone’s corpse to the floor and took his seat behind the desk. "Get that mess out of here."
Two of the men jumped to the task and Mr. Skull turned his chair so he could look out the window. "Boys," he said to those who remained. "I think it’s time to speed up my plans a little."
One of the men cleared his throat. "Whatcha wanna do, boss?"
Mr. Skull watched the rain that spattered against the window. In a very low voice, he said, "I want to kill some people, boys. A lot of them."
***
The former hotel that served as headquarters for Assistance Unlimited was a three-story affair. The first floor was for visitors and also contained several small apartments used by Gray’s aides. Lazarus Gray lived alone on the third. The second floor had been gutted, leaving a massive meeting area for the group. It was here that Morgan Watts, Samantha Grace and Eun Jiwon had gathered.
Morgan stared at what they’d dubbed ‘The Monster Board’ and let out a whistle. It was an accounting of all the known crimes attributed to the city’s most notorious criminal over the past six months, with pins stuck on a map of Sovereign. The crimes were numerous and spread out haphazardly all over the map. It seemed that The Monster had his evil fingers in virtually every criminal enterprise imaginable. "It’s unbelievable. How can one man be involved in so many things?"
Samantha, a gorgeous blonde who was dressed today in khaki pants and a button-up white shirt, sat atop a nearby desk. Her knees were crossed in front of her and Morgan found himself admiring her calf-length boots and long legs. "Well, it’s not like he’d personally be handling all these crimes. He has a network of goons to do the dirty work for him."
"Still. You’d always think there was more than one of him." Morgan played with his moustache as he stared at the board. The oldest member of Assistance Unlimited, Morgan was very fastidious about his appearance. His hair was always slicked down and he was never seen without a coat and tie.
Eun stepped forward and tapped one of the photographs attached to the side of the display board. "Why don’t we ask for permission to question some of his men who’ve been busted?"
"Because too many of them are on the turnstile system. They get processed and are back on the street within 24 hours." Morgan shook his head. "The Monster’s got way too many judges and lawyers on his payroll. He’s virtually untouchable. Our best hope is to actually catch him in the act and take him down ourselves."
Samantha was about to suggest that one or more of them should go undercover when Gray’s voice sounded over the building’s intercom system. "All hands to the medical lab, please. We have a new case."
The three of them jumped to action. Morgan pushed the display board into a small closet while Eun summoned the building’s elevator car. He held it open for his associates and pressed the button for the basement sub-level. It was there that Lazarus Gray did autopsies, as well as experiments that would be too dangerous for the upper levels.
"I didn’t even realize the Chief was back," Eun said.
"He’s like a cat," Samantha said with a smile. "Comes and goes as he pleases."
Morgan cleared his throat as the elevator came to a rest. "I figured he’d still be on his date."
"Date?" Samantha asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Didn’t you know?" Morgan asked, knowing quite well that Samantha had been unaware of Gray’s evening plans. Morgan had a growing attraction to Samantha but she’d put a halt to any romantic notions. Though she’d claimed it was simply because she didn’t believe in workplace relationships, he suspected that she was actually harboring a crush on Lazarus Gray. "Lazarus and that Miya girl went out for dinner tonight. Given how crazy she seemed to be about him, I didn’t expect him back so soon."
"Well, just because one person likes another, it doesn’t mean that feeling is reciprocated," Samantha answered frostily.
"Don’t I know it," Morgan muttered under his breath. He noticed that Eun was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smirk and he playfully swatted the younger man on the arm.
The three of them entered the medical lab and were immediately hit by the antiseptic smells that they associated with the room. Lazarus stood next to a body covered by a thin white sheet, wearing a medical smock and gloves. Without any preamble, Gray said, "This man was killed by a toxic formula that ate the skin off his face. It’s a unique compound and I’ve already been in touch with the various chemists in the area. The ingredients that would be needed to make this were bought in bulk less than two weeks ago, with instructions to deliver them to an address on Ferguson Street."
Samantha looked down at the covered corpse and felt a sense of relief that Gray had not left it exposed. "Do you think Doc Pemberley might be involved?"
Gray nodded. "I believe he might be. We know he’s been on the run for the past month or so1 and this seems like the sort of thing we’d associate with his work. Eun, if you don’t mind, please call the authorities and ask them to pick up this body. Samantha, I’d like you to visit the victim’s office. He was a private investigator and I’d like to know what cases he was working on before he met his demise."
Gray began stripping off his medical gear, tossing the gloves into a trashcan located nearby. "Morgan, you’re with me. We’re going to drop in and pay a visit to our old friend, Doctor Pemberley."
Morgan grinned broadly. "With pleasure, Chief. I owe that kooky old bird a good thrashing."
Chapter III
Deadly Clues
Melvin Pemberley was fifty years old, though he could pass for a man in his mid-thirties. He was handsome, with short-cut blond hair, blue eyes that resembled chipped polar ice and a coolly efficient manner of conducting himself. He tended to wear white lab coats and was rarely found without a pair of surgical gloves. It was a bit of irony that a man who so often dabbled in blood and guts was uncomfortable getting his hands dirty.
Doc Pemberley was completely amoral. Where the average person would cringe, Pemberley stared unabashed. When a normal man would rush in to save those in need, Pemberley was more apt to pick up a sheet of paper and begin recording the events occurring before him. He had run afoul of the law on numerous occasions since losing his license to practice medicine. Selling his services to anyone who could meet his fee meant that Pemberley not only stitched up gangsters, he also worked on creating chemical weapons. He had fled Sovereign more than once but always ended up returning home. Mr. Skull had come along at the perfect time for Pemberley, giving him steady employment after Assistance Unlimited had smashed his latest scheme.
Ferguson Street was far from being the sort of area where Pemberley preferred to reside. Violence was so routine in this part of the city that no one even looked out the window when screaming or shooting began. Before being discredited, Pemberley had lived in relative luxury but those days were long gone. Now his lab consisted of a converted kitchen and the experimental surgeries he carried out on neighborhood stray animals were far from hygienic in nature.
Pemberley was wiping bloody hands on a filthy smock when a pounding came at his front door. He froze in place, a frown settling on his handsome features. Mr. Skull’s men were the only ones who knew about this hideout and all of them knocked with a special code: two hard and fast beats, followed by three shorter ones. The vile doctor threw a sheet over the suffering creature stretched across the dining room table. He was continuing his experiments related to the grafting of one dog’s head onto a second one’s body and had e
xperienced limited success, with the grafted head living for up to three hours.
After grabbing a small pistol from under a counter, Pemberley cautiously approached the front door. He stepped over to a nearby window and pulled the shade slightly aside, peering outside. To his surprise, he didn’t see anyone there. He was just about to turn back to the kitchen when he felt the cold barrel of a gun press against the back of his head.
"Put the gun down now," Morgan hissed. "Or I’m going to put a new hole in your head."
"Morgan Watts," Pemberley said. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure." The doctor held the gun out from his body and let it dangle from one finger before it fell to the floor. "How did you get inside? I paid for some very expensive locks."
"There’s not a lock in the world that I can’t break," Lazarus Gray said, entering the room. Morgan glanced at him and saw that his employer looked even more grave than usual. "I put down that poor animal in your kitchen, Pemberley. If there’s such a thing as Hell, you’ve confirmed your place in it."
Pemberley quickly spun around, knocking Morgan’s arm aside. He tried to follow it up with a quick punch to the man’s stomach but Pemberley found his arm in Gray’s iron grip. Lazarus applied enough pressure that Pemberley cried out like a child, falling to his knees. Gray maintained his hold on him.
"A man died tonight, the victim of an acid attack. The skin on his face was burned off. Do you know anything about that?"
Gritting his teeth, Pemberley nodded. He was enough of a realist to know when he was licked and in the face of more abuse, he was quite willing to betray anyone and everyone if it might help his own cause. "Mr. Skull paid me to make it for him. He calls it Bone Dust."
