by Barry Reese
She carried her heavy bags out to the car and set them down, expecting the driver to get out and help her. When he didn’t, she moved around to look at him. He was lying unconscious behind the wheel, a nasty looking bruise on his left temple.
"Miya. Don’t move."
The cool barrel of a gun pressed against the back of her head and Miya’s shoulders slumped. "Lazarus. Or do you prefer Richard now?"
"Lazarus will do. Where’s Walther?"
"Gone. Now that you know who you are, he believes we won’t be able to recruit you. He’s going to kill you. That’s what he wanted to do all along."
"And you?"
Miya did turn now, staring past the gun into the eyes of the man she used to regard as a lover. "I’m loyal to The Illuminati but I do care for you. I want you to be with me. I know that you’ve always been uncomfortable with some of their methods but I think we can change them from within. This organization has been around for centuries. It can’t be destroyed – the best we can do is try to mold it."
Gray’s face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. "I don’t remember everything, Miya, but I remember enough. That group is evil. They want to control the minds of men and women throughout the world. I can’t let that happen."
"Are you willing to kill me?"
"I’d like to see you brought to justice."
"But there’s no crime you can pin on me. If you turn me over to the authorities, I’ll be free by the end of the night."
"I know that. And that’s why I’m going to let you go."
Miya couldn’t hide her surprise but she recovered quickly. "You do love me, don’t you?"
Gray gave a curt shake of his head. "That’s not why I’m allowing you to walk free. Like you said, there’s only so much I can do to hold you legally. So this is what I want to do: I know you’ve bought tickets on a plane headed to London. I want you to go there and I want you to tell The Illuminati that I’m watching them. I plan to destroy their organization piece-by-piece and brick-by-brick. If they stay out of Sovereign, they might last a bit longer… but if they force my hand, I won’t rest until every last one of you is dead. Do you understand?"
Miya saw nothing in his eyes to suggest that he didn’t mean every word that he said. She shivered and wasn’t sure if it was because a soft drizzle had begun to fall or if it was because she was staring at a man who had just sworn her eventual destruction. "I don’t want us to be enemies, Lazarus."
"Then you need to turn against the people you work with."
"I can’t do that. It’s madness to fight them."
Lazarus took a step back, lowering his weapon. "Then get out of my sight. And never come back."
Miya looked like she wanted to say more but in the end, she merely returned to loading her bags into the car. When she was done, she turned to look at Lazarus one last time…
But he had vanished, as quietly and as quickly as a fading memory.
THE END
THE AXEMAN OF SOVEREIGN CITY
An Adventure of Lazarus Gray
Written by Barry Reese
Chapter I
Terror in the City
It was nine o’clock in the evening and a man sat in his office, reading a newspaper.
There were several factors that made this simple-sounding scene remarkable: the location of his office, the headline on the newspaper’s front page, and the man himself.
The man in question was tall and well sculpted. His hair was mostly gray though there were patches of brown interspersed. Despite the salt-and-pepper hair, he was in his late twenties and obviously quite vital and strong. His face was set in grim determination and his eyes were startling. One of his eyes was a dusky, dull brown in color while the other was emerald green.
He was Lazarus Gray, known and far wide as the founder of Assistance Unlimited. A mysterious stranger who had literally washed up on the shores of Sovereign City, Gray’s memory was a series of patchwork images, providing him with only the barest knowledge of who he had once been. Having awakened with a bronze medallion in his possession, depicting the image of a nude man with the head of a lion and the words "Lazarus Gray" imprinted beneath it, he had chosen the name as his own.
The place in which Gray sat was a former hotel located on Robeson Avenue. Three stories tall, the building contained numerous offices, labs and meeting rooms, as well as living quarters for the four members of the squad.
Two of those members were in the room with Gray now: Eun Jiwon, a Korean youth with dark hair and angry eyes, stood with arms folded while Samantha Grace, a stunning blonde with peaches-and-cream skin, sat perched on the side of Gray’s desk, long legs crossed in front of her.
"What do you think, Chief? Is this something we ought to look into?" Eun asked. Given the expression on his face and the tension in his slender body, it was obvious where his opinion on the matter lay.
Gray’s eyes flicked to Eun, studying him before returning to the printed page. The headline of The Sovereign Gazette was printed in bold type and Gray knew that it was bound to sell quite a few copies:
THE AXEMAN STRIKES AGAIN!
THREE LOVELY LADIES TERRORIZED!
POLICE BAFFLED!
Accompanying the text was a pen and ink drawing of a shadowy figure menacing an attractive young woman in torn stockings and ripped blouse. Though the artist’s name was not given, Gray assumed it was Howard Bloomberg, who usually handled the paper’s political cartoons.
The article described, in typically lurid fashion, how three young girls had left a basketball game around 7:30 pm, intending to walk each other home. Less than a mile from the arena, the three women (who were described as "nubile" no less than four times over the course of the article) experienced a tremendous shock when a man wearing a thin mask over his face rushed them from a dark alleyway. The man was brandishing a bloodstained axe, which he used to attack the girls. There was no conversation on the part of the man and he didn’t make any attempt to rob them. Two of the girls were left with wounds to their hands, torsos and faces but the third was killed via decapitation. As the paper made sure to point out, this was the sixth murder at the hands of the so-called Axeman in the last month. So far, the victims had included a wealthy banker and his wife, a nine-year old boy and an elderly woman.
Gray set aside the newspaper and stood up, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. He was wearing a white shirt, a red tie and black trousers. Leather gloves covered his hands, preventing him from leaving fingerprints on anything that might become evidence. "Business is slow otherwise, so I think we can spare the time to investigate these attacks."
Samantha arched an eyebrow, sensing that her employer was engaging in what – for him – was a rare feat. He was making a joke.
Assistance Unlimited did take on cases from the general public, charging only what their customers could afford. But they were all wealthy enough that they didn’t really need the money. The group did its work because it was the right thing to do.
"I’ve found something interesting about the Axeman, Chief," Samantha said. She patted a small pile of papers that she’d brought with her to the meeting. "There’s a lot of similarities to a series of attacks that took place in New Orleans from May 1918 through October 1919."
Lazarus picked up the papers and quickly looked through them. "Any chance that the same man is behind both sets of attacks?"
"Possible. Nobody ever caught the New Orleans killer. But maybe it’s a copycat."
Gray devoured the information in the press clippings, dissecting the articles and filing the information into the steel trap that was his mind. The Axeman of New Orleans had terrorized the city for nearly 18 months but his identity was never uncovered and the attacks ended as mysteriously as they began. The savagery and utter randomness of the attacks understandably caused great panic. There were even comparisons of the killer to the notorious Jack the Ripper, as the Axeman (or something claiming to be him) wrote a series of taunting letters to the newspapers hinting at his fu
ture crimes and claiming to be a supernatural demon "from Hell."
"Curious," Gray murmured under his breath. "Good work, Samantha."
The pretty blonde blushed at the compliment and nodded. "So what’s our next step?"
Gray turned his face toward a map of the city that took up a good portion of the wall. "There doesn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to the attacks and they’ve been scattered throughout the city. The first thing we need to do is speak to one of the survivors and find out all they can remember about the Axeman. I don’t trust the police reports or the journalists to have done their jobs accurately." He looked back at his aides. "Samantha, please visit the hospital and speak to one, if not both, of the girls who was attacked last evening. Eun, you’ll come with me. I have a few leads of my own to follow up on. When do we expect Morgan back?"
The corners of Samantha’s mouth turned downward. It was one of the worst kept secrets in the world that she and Morgan Watts had a hot-and-cold relationship. Morgan had tried to steer their friendship toward a romantic one but Samantha had rejected his advances, straining things between them. Now they alternated between flirting and giving each other the cold shoulder. Morgan’s decision to take out a young woman of Samantha’s acquaintance on a date this evening hadn’t helped matters but Eun was of the opinion that Morgan was simply trying to make Samantha jealous. "Who knows?" Samantha asked, trying a bit too hard to make it look like she didn’t care. "Should I call him in?"
"Let him relax for now," Gray answered. The stoic leader of Assistance Unlimited reached over and turned off one of the lamps that illuminated the room. "Let’s go find us a killer."
***
The Heart of Fortune was anchored three and a half miles off the coast of Sovereign City. With a crew of 300 people and enough space to accommodate another 2,000 in guests, the ship was a masterpiece of gaudy elegance. Morgan Watts loved it and he could sense that his date for the occasion, Molly Sims, was equally entranced. The gambling ship was one of the most popular attractions in the city and catered to the high rollers. Morgan earned a nice living working for Assistance Unlimited and he didn’t have many expenses since he lived at their headquarters, so splurging on a night like this was well within his means.
Morgan held Molly’s hand as they exited the dance floor, which was packed with partiers who couldn’t get enough of Joe ‘Monarch’ Redfern and his orchestra. Molly loved to dance but Morgan was eager to move on to other pleasures. The siren call of the grand casino was luring him in that direction but as he glanced at Molly, he caught sight of the fine sheen of sweat on her bare shoulders and he realized he might strike the jackpot in more ways than one tonight.
Molly was an attractive girl with red hair, green eyes and a fine spray of freckles that covered her cheeks. Her father was in real estate and was a good friend of Samantha’s parents, which was how Morgan had ended up becoming acquainted with her. "This is fun," Molly said between gasps of air. She sat down heavily in her chair and grinned, looking far younger than her twenty-five years of age. "I can’t believe you’re not even breathing fast. How do you do it?"
"Lazarus keeps us all in tip-top shape," Morgan replied, sitting across from her and gesturing for a waiter to bring them both a drink. "I do more calisthenics than a fresh army recruit."
"Well, it certainly keeps you trim," she said admiringly.
Morgan accepted the compliment with a smile, reaching out to squeeze Molly’s knee with his right hand. "Well, you make me feel a good ten years younger than I actually am."
Molly looked up as the waiter set a drink down in front of her. She took a sip, wincing a bit as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. "I’m not going to get you in trouble with Sam, am I?"
Morgan’s hand drifted away from her knee. "What? Of course not. We’re just friends."
"That’s what both of you say but I’m not sure I believe it."
Morgan couldn’t quite hide the eagerness in his voice. "Really? What’s she said about me?"
Molly laughed gently. "Next to nothing. That’s the point."
"I don’t get it."
"You’re a man," Molly pointed out. "You’re all a bit clueless when it comes to these things."
Morgan replied with a grunt. He couldn’t really argue what she was saying – when it came to understanding women, he was in the same boat as most men in the world: he couldn’t fathom what went on in their pretty little heads. He was spared from having to admit such by a sudden murmuring amongst the crowd. He craned his head to see whose arrival was having such an effect. He saw two men pushing their way out of the casino. One of them wore a tattered top hat, a threadbare coat and vest and dark trousers. His skin was so dark that it made his eyes and teeth look gleaming white in comparison. He carried a gnarled walking stick in his left hand and muttering angrily under his breath. He looked to be in his early fifties though there was something about him that made Morgan wonder if he wasn’t much older than that.
Trailing along behind was one of the most massive brutes that Morgan had ever seen. The man wore heavy work boots and overalls. A stained white shirt peeked out from beneath the overalls and the man’s fingers were so filthy that Morgan wondered if he’d washed them any time in the current decade. The man had to be nearly seven feet tall, with shoulders so broad that even Morgan, who had spent a lifetime around heavy bruisers, was impressed. But it was the mask the man wore that caused such a ripple through the crowd. It was wrapped around his bald head with heavy leather straps, leaving a plastic covering over his face. It was shaped like a human face, with a nose, curved lips and gentle indentions around the two holes that allowed the man’s eyes to peer out at the world.
"My gosh," Molly whispered. "Why is he dressed like that?"
"I don’t know," Morgan answered. "Could be that he’s disfigured and thinks that mask would disturb people less than seeing what’s underneath."
Molly shivered. "I find that hard to believe."
The two men came to a stop not far from their table and the man in the top hat began to smile, his eyes widening at the sight of Morgan. "Mr. Watts?" he asked, speaking in an oily sort of voice. It reminded Morgan of a snake oil salesman, about to launch into a pitch for his newest product.
Morgan could feel Molly’s gaze on him, wondering how he could possibly know these two men. He wondered that himself. "Yes. Can I help you?"
"Perhaps you can. Yes, perhaps you can, indeed." Without being asked, the man pulled out an empty chair at the table and sat down in it. The masked brute remained standing, though he came closer so that he stood directly behind his friend. Morgan sniffed delicately, aware that the big man stank to high heaven. The black man in the top hat didn’t seem to notice. He swept the hat off his head and set it on the table between Molly and Morgan. "You can call me Mr. Dinkins. The big fella is named Muggsy."
"That’s an unusual name," Molly whispered, sliding closer to Morgan. She seemed to be begging him with her eyes, pleading with him to ask Dinkins and his companion to leave. Morgan sympathized but his curiosity wouldn’t allow it.
"Nobody knows his real name," Dinkins said. "He just showed up one day and we all took to calling him Muggsy. It’s a joke, you see. Because his mug is so damned ugly we have to make him wear a mask."
Morgan was growing increasingly disturbed by the smell emanating from Muggsy. "I’m actually here on a date so if you want to talk business, you either need to make it fast or call Assistance Unlimited and make an appointment."
"I apologize for having interrupted," Dinkins said. "But I do think that my case might be the sort of thing that you’d taken an interest in. You see, my friend and I traveled all the way from New Orleans. We’re looking for a young woman, little more than a girl really, named Monique. She took something that rightfully belongs to me and I don’t take kindly to thieves, I can tell you that. In the weeks that Muggsy and I have been here, we’ve heard that she’s been around but haven’t been able to find her. So I said to Muggsy, let’s hire Assistan
ce Unlimited to help us. But I figured that your boss must be an expensive fella so we came here to try and win us enough money to make it worth his while."
"From the way you exited the casino, I gather your plan didn’t work out?"
Dinkins drew an ugly face. "The games are rigged," he said in disgust.
Morgan doubted that. Everything he’d heard said that Fortune McCall ran as clean an establishment as any in the country. "We don’t normally track down thieves. Maybe you’d be better off going to the police. They’re bound to be cheaper anyway."
"Ah, but this is no ordinary theft." He began unbuttoning the vest that he wore under his threadbare coat. When Molly shifted uncomfortably, he offered a wan smile. "My apologies, my lady, but I have to show this so that your paramour will understand." Once the vest was pulled away, Morgan saw a bandage over the man’s heart. Blood had seeped through the bandage and the medical tape used to hold it in place looked like it was about to give way.
Morgan narrowed his eyes. "I’m not following you. She attacked you when she stole this item?"
"It was a necessary part of the theft," Dinkins answered. He tore away the bandage and revealed a gaping hole in his chest. The sight was enough to cause Molly to scream out loud. She stood up so quickly that she knocked her chair to the floor and Morgan was upright just as fast, catching her and turning her face so that the girl could bury it in his neck. Dinkins’ smile never wavered during all of this. "Look closely, mon ami. That clever girl cut my heart out and took it with her!"
Chapter II
The Heartless Man
Samantha gently opened the hospital room door and peered inside. A young woman named Tracy Gethers lay in the bed, swathed in bandages. Her mother sat in a chair nearby, her eyes shining wetly with tears and a crumpled tissue in one hand. The mother looked up when Samantha stepped inside.
