The Adventures of Lazarus Gray

by Barry Reese

  The Claw stared at the building for a few seconds before glancing up at the full moon that hung bloated in the sky. His power waxed and waned in conjunction with the phases of the moon and tonight he was going to be near his strongest. He knew that he should be expending this energy in pursuit of Lazarus Gray but an old, bloody debt was calling to him.

  "Tempus, my old friend, I only wish that you were sleeping alongside these innocents, so that their fate could be your own. The vengeance I owe your father can only be satisfied by your death." The Claw’s voice sounded oddly high-pitched for such a frightening entity. He raised both arms, exposing his sharpened nails to the light. He whispered dark words under his breath, speaking in a tongue long forgotten by civilized man. The storm clouds overhead seemed to thicken and swell, bolts of lightning tearing from their midst.

  In reaction to The Claw’s commands, the lightning strikes grew ever closer to the orphanage until with stunning ferocity no less than three dozen bursts of electrical power honed in on the building, striking with all the force of a thousand pounds of TNT. The building exploded in a fireball, some of the bricks flying with such force that they knocked out windows on buildings across the street. The smell of burning flesh filled the air as dozens of young boys and girls were ripped from the world at far too early an age.

  The Claw turned away from the scene, a bubble of laughter emanating from deep in his throat. This visit to Sovereign was meant to be one of business, for he was being richly paid for his work. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy himself along the way….

  ***

  Paris, France

  Morgan Watts tried to ignore the nagging pain on his left side but the condition was so persistent that he finally put a hand on the affected area and grunted in annoyance. Over the past few months, he’d had the misfortune to suffer one injury after another. As a result, his body now carried with it more aches and pains than most normal men could have withstood.

  That was part of the reason why he’d volunteered for this mission. He wanted to get out of Sovereign in the hopes of breaking his run of bad luck. When Lazarus had announced that he wanted one of the team to travel to Paris and have a little "talk" with a member of the Illuminati that lived there, he quickly snatched up the opportunity.

  Morgan sat in a small café, bundled up against the wintry chill. A cup of coffee sat on the table before him but it had remained untouched since the waiter had brought it to him. Morgan’s attention was fixed on the hotel across the street and he sat up straight when his target finally emerged.

  Joseph "Jack" Conrad was an American by birth but he’d moved to Europe at the age of six and had spent the last twenty years of his life here in Paris. He served on the Board of Directors for one of the most prominent museums in France and was regarded as one of the most eligible bachelors on the continent. Thin but well-defined, Conrad had white-blond hair that came to a widow’s peak, dark eyes and a somewhat distant persona. He always dressed to the nines and was rarely seen with out a cigarette balanced between the fingers of his right hand. Indeed, as Morgan watched, Conrad stopped on the hotel steps, pausing long enough to shake a cigarette out from a case and then light it. He took several long drags on it, exhaled slowly, and then began heading down the street at a leisurely pace. Morgan exited the café, dropping a few coins on the table as a tip.

  Morgan followed, staying far enough behind that Conrad wouldn’t notice that he was being tailed. From what Morgan had been told, Conrad had joined The Illuminati in his late teens, having been invited to join mainly because of his family’s money. Whereas many members of the organization possessed some measure of skill in the areas of the occult, Conrad was an exception. The son of a wealthy banker, Conrad helped provide needed capital and connections but was otherwise kept out of the loop when it came to the full extent of their supernatural affairs.

  But he still knew enough to be useful.

  Morgan recognized the area they were entering, having meticulously studied maps of the city. He ducked down an alleyway, confident that he knew where he could cut off Conrad’s progress. Indeed, he found himself waiting at a point, just ahead of the other man within moments and as Conrad passed, he reached out and grabbed him, yanking him off the street. He kept one hand over Conrad’s mouth while the other held the barrel of a gun against the man’s forehead.

  "Don’t move. Understand?"

  Conrad’s eyes were wide and frightened. He nodded quickly, wetting his lips when Morgan released his hold on him. "I have money," he said, starting to reach into his coat pocket.

  "Keep your hands where I can see them." Morgan cocked the gun and Conrad quickly raised his hands, showing the palms to Morgan. "I don’t want your money. I want information."

  "What do you mean?" Conrad seemed both relieved and guarded. "If you’re looking to pull some sort of art heist, you’ll find that there’s only so much I can help you with. The museum’s inner workings aren’t known to me."

  "Do I look like an art thief?" Morgan reached into his coat and pulled out a photograph of Walther Lunt. The German had one side of his face ruined by an acid attack years before and the assault had left him with a glint of madness in his eye. The photo showed that quite clearly. "You know this man?"

  Conrad hesitated, wetting his lips once more. "Yes."

  "I understand you’re both part of the same group. Am I right?"

  "We’re in a gentleman’s club together, yes."

  "Nice name for it. Your father is in banking and I bet that Lunt and some of the others use you to help keep their money hidden. Am I on the right track?"

  Conrad said nothing for a moment and when he did speak, his voice had dropped an octave. "You’re playing a dangerous game, my friend. You don’t want to mess with these people. They’ll hurt you in ways that you can’t even imagine."

  Morgan narrowed his eyes, his grip on the pistol never wavering. He was pretty sure that one reason why Lazarus agreed to let him go on this mission was because of his past. Morgan had once run with the toughest thugs in Sovereign. He’d done lots of bad things and on a few occasions, he’d had to kill to save his own skin. Unlike Samantha or Eun – and maybe even Lazarus – Morgan was quite capable of pulling the trigger if need be. "I’ll take that risk. Now answer the question: do Lunt and the others use your father’s bank?"

  "I’m pretty sure that you already know that they do. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?"

  "Smart boy." Morgan reached out and grabbed Conrad by the arm, yanking him close. He shoved the gun hard into the younger man’s ribs, keeping it out of sight as he walked Conrad back out onto the city streets.

  "Where are we going?"

  "To the bank. It’s after hours but you can get us in, can’t you?"

  Conrad’s jaw worked in helpless frustration. "And then what?’

  "You’re going to give me addresses, phone numbers and anything else I can think of for those people Lunt works with."

  "And when you’re done, do you think I’m not going to warn them?" Conrad’s eyes widened as the words left his mouth and he visibly realized that he should have kept his lips shut. "Oh good lord, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?"

  Morgan just smiled coldly, letting Conrad fill in the details. He actually had no desire to commit murder, even though he was capable of it. He’d brought along a small drug cocktail that Lazarus had perfected. It would wipe Conrad’s memory of the last 24 hours and leave him a very confused man. "I won’t shoot you unless you make me. That’s a promise."

  Conrad stared into Morgan’s eyes, not sure if he believed the older man’s words. In the end, he knew that he had no choice: even a faint hope of survival was better than none. "I’ll get you the information you need… but I think you’re making an awful mistake. Lunt alone is a lunatic. If you go after the other members of the cabal, too, you’re a guaranteed dead man."

  "I’ll roll the dice on that one. Now let’s go." Morgan gestured for Conrad to lead the way and the two of went off
in pursuit of the information that would, hopefully, lead to a critical strike against The Illuminati.

  ***

  "... city continues to mourn the loss of 57 innocent lives in last night’s terrible fire at Doc Daye’s Home for Forgotten Children. Sovereign Fire Chief Gabriel Sanders says that the tragedy is like nothing he’s ever seen before…."

  Lazarus Gray turned off the radio, well aware of the somber mood in the room. With him in the meeting area of Assistance Unlimited’s headquarters were Samantha Grace and Eun Jiwon. Both of them stood in silent contemplation, eyes downcast.

  "It’s so awful," Samantha said at last, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. The daughter of socialite parents, Samantha had never been one of the city’s ‘forgotten children,’ but her kind heart allowed her to easily empathize with those who had perished. It was horrible enough to be alone in the world, with no family to speak of… but to have that life cut so cruelly short was almost too much to bear.

  Eun glanced up, finding Gray’s eyes upon him. "What are we going to do, Chief?"

  The man who now called himself Lazarus Gray bore an unusually grim expression, even for him. "As both of you know, this was not a random act of God. No matter what the authorities might wish to believe, this was an attack. A warning, if you will."

  Eun nodded, his gaze moving toward the crumpled letter that lay on the meeting room table. Eun had been the first to discover it, dropped in their mail slot sometime overnight. Its surface was scrawled with horrible handwriting that somehow seemed to transcend mere ugliness: this was the mad doodling of a demon, straining to muster an attempt at English.

  The note read: THOSE CHILDREN ARE JUST THE BEGINNING. I WILL BURN THIS CITY TO THE GROUND UNLESS YOU GIVE YOURSELF TO ME. FALL UPON YOUR KNEES BEFORE THE GOD OF HATE.

  "The first thing we need to do," Lazarus answered, "is find out who sent this letter."

  Samantha pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. She was a beautiful girl with a peaches and cream complexion, but at the moment she looked deathly pale. "Are we going to go to the police? Or let Doc Daye know what’s going on?"

  Lazarus considered the questions before shaking his head. "Going to the authorities would do no good. They could place the citizenry on a general alert but we have no idea where this killer might strike next. A panic would do no one any good. As for Doc Daye, I will forward a copy of the letter to him and ask him to share with us any clues that he might come upon."

  Eun nodded in agreement. "Okay. I’ll start looking through the archives to see if I can find any reference to The God of Hate." Assistance Unlimited had one of the top newspaper clipping collections in the world, as well as many priceless bound volumes that would have set any bibliophile’s heart aflutter.

  Lazarus fixed his gaze upon Samantha, who straightened immediately. "While Eun is doing that, I want you to come with me. We should see the crime scene firsthand."

  The three members of Assistance Unlimited sprang into action but while Samantha and Eun’s expressions were brimming with excitement, Gray’s remained impassive. There was something eating away at the edges of his frayed memory, some past association that the words ‘God of Hate’ almost brought to the fore.

  There were dark days ahead, he knew. And he prayed that his friends were strong enough to stand up to the test before them.

  Chapter II

  Horrors Laid Bare

  The God of Hate reclined on a bed of soft pillows, the smell of opium thick in the air. Three whores lay scattered about the bed and the floor, their clothes lying in an unruly pile next to the door. The girls had been drugged and then thoroughly violated in ways that would leave emotional scars for years. Thankfully, the opium would most likely prevent any of them from having a clear memory of what had occurred.

  The room in which The Claw lay was rented and paid for by The Illuminati, who had hired him to deal with Lazarus Gray. In return, he would receive several young virgins that he could sacrifice for even greater power. Such was the world in which The Claw moved: humans were nothing more than bags of meat, to be eaten, screwed or traded.

  A bedside radio had alternated between horrified reporting of the orphanage tragedy and the popular music of the day, which sounded like the bleating of animals to The Claw’s ears: Cheek to Cheek by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers; Lullaby of Broadway by The Dorsey Brothers; and You’re The Top by Cole Porter. The Claw found he preferred the shocked tones of the reporters to the wailing of the singers, so he reached over with a sharpened nail to turn the radio off.

  He rose from the pillows, stepping over a naked girl whose nose had been shattered. Her beauty would never fully return but The God of Hate felt no sympathy for her. She had served her purpose and been discarded, like a used tissue.

  The Claw dressed slowly and methodically, putting his skullcap on last. He looked at himself in the mirror, smiling so that his razor-sharp teeth could be seen. There were bits of bloody flesh caught up near his gums and his tongue flicked up to work at them, savoring the flavor.

  The origins of The God of Hate were unknown to all but a few on this planet and The Claw saw no reason to reveal his true nature to his enemies. But he was not birthed of this world and he would be alive long after its sun had grown cold. Immortality could be a curse, with eons of boredom. But The Claw refused to allow himself to stand still. He was always moving, always expanding his power base… and this attracted opposition, which The Claw secretly enjoyed. By pitting himself against so-called ‘heroes,’ he found a way to keep himself amused.

  And this Sovereign City was certainly full of challenges. There was Doc Daye, Lazarus Gray and Fortune McCall, all living in this one troubled locale. It was almost enough to make him consider moving his base of operations away from Ricca….

  But no, Ricca was too perfect a home. He would destroy Gray as he’d promised, and perhaps take his revenge upon the Daye family… and then he would leave.

  Behind him, one of the girls was beginning to stir, a low, pained moan escaping her cracked lips. The Claw felt a renewed stirring within his loins and considered playing with her a bit more, but in the end he simply walked to the door and exited the hotel room. He had wasted enough time and he was here on business, after all.

  He harbored no doubts about how Lazarus Gray would respond to the letter he had sent him. Gray would never surrender.

  Which was just how The Claw wanted it.

  ***

  Morgan Watts sat in the back of a cab, a heavy folder on his lap. He’d actually managed to get a lot more information than he’d ever dared hope and he couldn’t wait to get back to America so he could share it with the rest of Assistance Unlimited. When Gray had first told them of the scope of The Illuminati’s activities, Morgan had felt overwhelmed. How could Assistance Unlimited, four people strong, topple an international cartel that had their fingers in every level of finance, industry and the occult? But now, he was beginning to feel differently. Today had gone very well and the information could be used to badly hurt Lunt and his friends.

  Morgan glanced out the window just in time to see the cab miss the turn that would have taken them to the airport. He leaned forward, tapping the driver on the shoulder. "Monsieur, you should have turned left back there."

  The driver pushed harder on the accelerator and the car sped along faster than ever. Morgan now realized that he was in tremendous danger and reached for the door. He cursed under his breath when it refused to open. He was fumbling to pull out his gun, intending to force the driver to stop, when the vehicle abruptly braked. Morgan looked out the window to see that the cab was now parked near an open field, where five large men stood smoking cigarettes. One of them held a pistol in his left hand. The gunman was bald with a hook-shaped scar that ran from the corner of his mouth up to just under his right eye.

  The driver got out of the car and stepped around to open Morgan’s door. "Your stop, Mr. Watts," the driver said, a faint smile on his lips.

  Morgan stuffed the folder int
o the lining of his jacket. Gray had altered all of his aides’ clothing to allow for hidden pockets. He stepped out of the car with gun in hand and quickly backhanded the driver, shattering the man’s jaw and knocking him to the ground. The other men reached into their own coats but stopped at a motion from the bald man. The movements confirmed Morgan’s worst fears: he was facing not one armed foe, but five.

  Addressing the bald man, Morgan said, "I bet you know all about me and I know nothing about you. Seems a bit unfair. What’s your name? And who do you work for?"

  "I suspect you know the answer to that last question," the bald man answered. "But my name is Louis. I don’t suppose you knew that all members of The Illuminati, especially those who safeguard valuable information, are subject to observation. We saw your kidnapping of Mr. Conrad. Now I’d like you to give us all the information you gathered. If you cooperate, we may not hurt you too badly."

  Morgan bit his tongue before he voiced his doubts about that. They were going to kill him regardless of what he did. As casually as possible, he reached into his pocket, pretending to comply with Louis’ request. He pulled out a small slip of paper on which he’d written Conrad’s address and usual schedule. As he was doing so, his fingers brushed against a small radio device that was used by all the aides to keep in contact with one another. One of its settings was a simple distress signal that would alert all the others that the user was in danger. Of course, its range was somewhat limited but Gray had managed to find a way to piggyback its signal over international wires. There would be probably be no way for anyone at Assistance Unlimited to actually help him but Morgan wanted to warn them, nonetheless.