by Barry Reese
"Are you a friend of Tracy’s?" the woman asked. Her voice sounded hoarse with emotion and Samantha felt out of place. She’d known why Lazarus had tasked her with this job, though: Eun was a foreigner and Morgan, if he had been available, was a bit too gruff for this kind of work.
"No, ma’am. My name is Samantha Grace and I work for Assistance Unlimited. Have you heard of us?"
"Of course I have. I’ve seen Mr. Gray in the papers. But we’ve already given a statement to the police and Tracy needs her rest. Besides, I don’t have any money to pay you."
Samantha smoothed out her skirt and shook her head. "We don’t want any money. Sometimes we take cases just because it’s the right thing to do."
"Well," the mother said uncertainly, "I don’t think Tracy could tell you anything she didn’t already tell the police so I’m going to have to ask you to leave."
"Momma, let her stay. Please. I don’t mind talking some more."
Samantha turned to look at Tracy, who was staring out her from beneath the bandages on her face. The girl was slight of build and, from what Samantha had been told, had possessed a fragile beauty. Unfortunately, the wounds to her face were going to rob her of that. "Thank you," Samantha said gratefully, coming to sit on the edge of Tracy’s bed.
"Well… don’t tucker yourself out." Tracy’s mom stood up and moved toward the door. "I’m going to grab some fresh air but I’ll be right back. Is that okay?"
"Sure, momma." When her mother was gone, Tracy lowered her voice conspiratorially. "She doesn’t want to hear it all again. I think it’s harder on her than it is on me."
Samantha smiled, realizing that she liked Tracy already. "Well, we can stop whenever you need to. I really don’t want to interfere with your rest."
"You’re sweet but don’t worry about me. I may look a fright in this mummy makeup but I’m okay. I was pretty scared at the time but I’m bouncing back quick. I just feel terrible about Janice. She was a nice girl and her daddy sure did love her. I bet he’s a wreck right now."
Samantha couldn’t help but be impressed. Less than 24 hours after being brutally attacked, Tracy was more focused on the suffering of others than what she was going through herself. "The newspaper said the Axeman didn’t try to steal anything from you. Is that true?"
"It is. He just came at us screaming those nonsense words and then started swinging that axe."
Samantha blinked in surprise. "He talked to you? The paper said he didn’t say anything."
Tracy snorted in an unladylike way but it drew a laugh from Samantha. "They also said we were ‘nubile beauties.’ No, he did say some things to us but it didn’t make any sense."
"Can you remember what it was?"
"Let me think… I believe it was something like ‘Où est son coeur? Dites-moi donc je ne peux cesser de tuer!’"
"That’s a lot better than I was expecting," Samantha admitted.
"I’ve always had a good memory for things like that. I suppose it might have been French but it was spoken with such a thick accent that I’m not sure. He sounded like one of those French people from the Bayou."
"A Cajun?"
"Yes! That’s it!" Tracy sat up in bed, visibly excited. "Do you know what it means?"
Samantha nodded. She was fluent in five different languages and French was one of her strongest. "Roughly translated, it means ‘Where is his heart? Tell me so I can stop killing.’ Doesn’t make any more sense now that you know what he was saying, does it?"
"No, it doesn’t. I guess he’s just a lunatic."
"Maybe so." Samantha patted Tracy’s leg and stood up. "I think you helped me. Thanks for your time."
Tracy shook her head. "I don’t know how. But I hope all of you catch him. He’s too dangerous to stay on the loose."
Samantha paused at the door. "If there’s anybody alive who can capture him, it’s Lazarus Gray. When you’re out of the hospital, give me a call at the office. If you’re interested, we might find some work for you. You seem like you have the right kind of spirit for what we do."
Tracy nodded. "I just might do that. Thank you."
Samantha exited the room, running the Axeman’s words through her head. What did it mean? She couldn’t wait to get back to the office and compare notes with the others.
***
Monique DuChamp was a beautiful young woman. She had long curly black hair that fell around her shoulders and her skin was a rich caramel color that evoked both sides of her ancestry. Her father had been a black farmer in New Orleans while her mother had been a white woman who had fled an abusive husband up north. They’d raised Monique in a house filled with laughter and love but none of that had stopped their little girl from falling in with the wrong crowd. She’d always been sensual, even as a young child, and when she began turning into a woman, she attracted the attentions of many men, including Mr. Dinkins. He’d introduced her to drugs and sexual magic, using both to achieve their separate aims: Dinkins had gotten the chance to indulge his lusts with a ripe young girl and Monique had gotten a taste of true power.
It was a heady time for both, with each striving for more and more. Monique played with her sexuality, using it to lull Dinkins into a false sense of security. Then one night while he’d slept, she’d bound his hands to the bed and carved his heart right out from his chest. It had been bloody, disgusting work but Monique hoped it would propel her into a new level of existence.
Unfortunately, it hadn’t been quite so simple. Monique had read in one of the old man’s books that the heart of a sorcerer could be a potent thing: if ground into a powder, it could impart knowledge upon anyone who ingested it; if carried on your person, it could keep you young and vital; and if set aflame during a full moon, it could summon an ancient entity who would answer any three questions for you. Monique had decided to take the young and vital option for now – she could always ground it up or burn it later on.
But Dinkins was too powerful to be so easily killed. He still lived through magical means and he’d set Muggsy on her trail. They’d pursued her all the way to Sovereign and Monique was fearful that it was only a matter of time before they caught up to her.
Monique lay atop a soft bed now, her nude young body barely visible in the dim lighting that drifted in from the window. The man she’d picked up in the hotel bar was undressed in front of her, his eyes glued to her curves. He was a big man with a barrel chest and massive biceps. He had a vaguely Cro-Magnon look to him but Monique didn’t mind that: intelligence wasn’t high on the list of attributes she was seeking at the moment.
The man kicked off his pants and moved to the bed, crawling over her on all fours. "I’ve never been with a Negro before," he whispered and Monique felt her skin crawl. She accepted his passionate kiss, trying to pretend that the way his tongue plunged into her mouth excited her. She reached one hand under her pillow and slowly pulled out a large knife. She waited until her would-be lover was kissing her neck to raise the blade and plunge it into the side of his neck. He screamed and jerked away but Monique worked fast, slicing through his neck. Blood spurted over her breasts and his hands flew up to try and cover his wound. He thrashed a bit as she pushed him onto his back.
Monique slid off the bed and pulled on her underwear, letting him bleed out. Her purse was stuffed full of the things she would need but she felt a rush of nervousness, having never performed this ritual before. It was going to be necessary, though, she knew that.
If Dinkins had Muggsy, then Monique would need a champion of her own. She smiled at the dying man, her fear beginning to slowly turn into excitement.
"Time to get to work," she said aloud.
***
"What is this place?" Eun asked, standing uncomfortably in the front room of the privately owned building. There were chicken bones hanging from the ceiling, along with living birds stuffed into cages. The room was lit by candlelight and there was a peculiar odor in the air that reminded him of the one time he’d visited a Korean holy man before his family had moved
to the United States. There were piles of trash in every corner of the room and Eun was positive that he saw rat droppings on the floor. "I’m surprised it hasn’t been condemned."
"It is my home. Do not be rude." An old man entered the room and Eun noticed that he was blind, with a long beard that nearly reached the floor. He walked with a cane held in front of him, moving gently to and fro. His clothes were all black, save for a white button up shirt and white socks. If he’d held a tin cup in his free hand, Eun wouldn’t have been surprised. He looked like the stereotypical blind peddler. "What do you want, Gray? I thought our business was finished."
"I’m afraid not," Gray replied, watching as the old man shoved a pile of garbage out of a chair and sat down heavily. "The young man with me is--"
"Eun Jiwon. I know." The old man smiled, revealing crooked teeth. "All your associates are known to me. Once I enter into business with someone, I take it upon myself to learn all that I can about them." He turned blind eyes toward Eun. "My name is Ebenezer Smith. I’m also known as The Information Broker."
Eun blinked in surprise. He’d heard of The Information Broker – a shadowy figure who knew everything, for a price. It was said that finding out how to contact him was only half the battle: the other was in convincing him that your money or your case was interesting enough to warrant his attention.
"Surprised that I’m a blind man, living in a hovel?"
"Yes, actually."
Ebenezer sniffed disdainfully. "Only one of us is truly blind. I am rich beyond your imaginings."
Eun looked around doubtfully but said nothing.
"So. The last time you were here you wanted me to verify certain things about your past." Ebenezer cleared his throat. "So what is it this time?"
Lazarus glanced at Eun. "The Broker was quite useful. He found quite a bit about Richard Winthrop’s life, before and after he fell in with The Illuminati."
Eun once again bit his tongue. All of the aides had noticed Gray’s new habit of referring to his old life in the third person. It was like he was regarding Richard Winthrop as a separate entity from himself.
Gray removed a small vial of what appeared to be blood, stepping forward to push it into Ebenezer’s hand. The old man removed the stopper from the vial and raised it to his nostrils, sniffing it and nodding.
"This is more than enough for almost anything, I’d wager," Ebenezer said, replacing the stopper and setting it on a crowded table at his side. "What do you need to know?"
"There were a series of murders in New Orleans almost twenty years ago and now a similar set are occurring here in Sovereign City. I was wondering if you knew anything about them."
"Ah," Ebenezer said, his lips stretching wide. "You want to know about the Slashers."
"The Axeman," Eun corrected.
Ebenezer shrugged his bony shoulders. "Same thing."
Gray crouched in front of him, studying the blind man’s features. "Tell me everything."
"For as long as there have been men who sought power through sorcery, there have been Slashers. They’ve been known by different names in different times but they’re always men or women who have been transformed into killing machines, subject to the whims of their masters. They kill for two reasons: because someone tells them to and because they must. They no longer eat or drink as we do, they feed off the life essence of those they kill. Using them as foot soldiers is good because they won’t stop moving after their target but it’s also dangerous: they have to kill again and again, which can lead to unwanted attention. Jack the Ripper was a Slasher in service to a man named William Gull. And the Axeman of New Orleans was a Slasher, too."
"Is it the same one that’s killing people here in Sovereign?"
"Could be. But it doesn’t matter. They’re a Slasher, which is all you need to know. The Slasher is dangerous, of course, but the one pulling the strings is even more so."
Eun could no longer maintain his silence. "So the one who wrote the papers as Jack the Ripper – was that the Slasher or the mastermind?"
Ebenezer turned blind eyes toward Eun. "Boy, it doesn’t matter. Jack the Ripper isn’t here, now is he? All that matters is there’s a killer out there and he’s going to be damned tough to defeat. Just like they don’t eat or drink like we do, they don’t die like we do. They’re stronger and more resistant to pain."
Gray reached out and lightly touched Ebenezer’s shoulder. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Is there a way to easily trace who’s behind all this?"
"That shouldn’t be too hard. Just look in your own home."
Chapter III
Death’s Head
Morgan Watts led Mr. Dinkins and Muggsy into the headquarters of Assistance Unlimited. He’d hated to cut short his date with Molly but meeting a man with no heart took precedence over a night out and he hoped she’d understand that. If not, that was too bad for her. Morgan considered his job with Lazarus Gray to be one of the most important things in his life and any partner of his would simply have to understand that.
The group’s headquarters was based in an old hotel and there were facets of its old purpose still on display. One such item was the clerk’s desk, where once upon a time men and women stepped up to check on their reservations. Morgan stepped around this desk while Dinkins and Muggsy stared at their surroundings. Morgan checked a small magnetic board attached to the back of the desk. On the board were written the names of Assistance Unlimited’s agents, with two columns drawn next to them: In and Out. Small black dots could be slid back and forth as necessary. Morgan wasn’t surprised to see that all the dots were currently in the Out column. He slid his own to In and sighed.
"Lazarus and the others are out right now but you can wait in the next room. I’ll bring you some coffee if you want."
"Thank you, Mr. Morgan." Dinkins took his hat off and held it with both hands. "I do appreciate you bringing us here. I know that you were involved with what promised to be an entertaining evening."
Morgan tried not to show his chagrin at the reminder. "Don’t worry about it. Go on and have a seat." He gestured toward an open door that led into a small waiting area. There were several plush chairs set against the wall and a table in the center with magazines of all types arranged around a floral centerpiece. As with most things of an aesthetic nature in the building, it was Samantha’s handiwork. Eun and Morgan had no eye for such things and though Lazarus was incredibly well read and quite aware of appearances, he stepped aside and let Samantha use her skills whenever necessary.
Once Dinkins and his oversized companion was out of sight, Morgan activated the small handheld communications device that all members of the team carried these days. It had two settings: one for radio conversation and another that simply sent an emergency signal to the other devices. In this case, Morgan opted for the latter. He wasn’t sure why he erred on the side of such caution but he didn’t want Dinkins listening in to any conversation that he might have. He didn’t trust either of his guests and it wasn’t simply the fact that a shiver went down his spine every time he visualized the old man’s wounded chest. There was something more at work here and he hadn’t liked the way that Dinkins’ eyes had lit up at the suggestion of coming here.
Still, Morgan felt better having them in a place he considered safer than Fort Knox. He moved into the small office behind the desk, preparing a fresh cup of coffee and was just beginning to wonder what Samantha was up to. She’d seemed unaffected by his news that he was going out on a date with Molly, which had both surprised and disappointed him. There was a big part of him that just wanted to give up on any chance of a love affair with her but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew she was right: workplace romances were almost never a good idea. Besides that, there was the age difference. Morgan was in his forties and Samantha was barely past twenty. It might not cause problems right now but where could they go from here? What if she wanted children? Could he really deal with fatherhood when turning fifty lay just around the bend for him?
/> He was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t hear the sound of the waiting room door opening and closing. It was done quite quietly but all the members of Assistance Unlimited were trained to sense danger in all its forms. He stepped back out to the desk to see what was going on and quickly stopped in his tracks. Muggsy was standing with a large axe held in his right hand. The blood caked blade dangled against his leg and the big man’s eyes shone out from behind his mask with murderous intent.
Mr. Dinkins stood just to the left of Muggsy, a peculiar look on his face. He sounded apologetic as he said, "I’m sorry about this, Mr. Watts. You’ve been quite good to us and I’d hoped that what happened last night would slake his thirst for the time being. But our Muggsy needs a lot of blood to keep his strength up. And, just between you and me, I think he simply likes the killing."
Morgan reached into his jacket and withdrew his pistol, which he quickly trained on the big man with the axe. "Take one step toward me, fella, and I’ll kill you."
Muggsy stared at him. When he spoke, it was with a deep, almost ponderous voice. "Où est son coeur? Dites-moi donc je ne peux cesser de tuer!"
Morgan, who didn’t know much of the French language, besides a few dishes he could order in restaurants and a handful of sexual slang terms, stared in confusion.
Dinkins laughed. "Sorry, mon ami. He’s asking you where my heart is. He’s a bit single-minded, this one. I know you won’t believe me, but I really did hope to hire Mr. Gray to help me. He’d solve all this without nearly so much bloodshed." Dinkins gave Muggsy a playful shove. "Go on, then. Get it over with."
The Axeman of Sovereign City raised his killing blade and began to advance on Morgan.
