by Al Ewing
"...wait until you see Plan C..."
"...want him out of my hair for a while..."
"...if I were you... I'd do a lot of things differently..."
"...I thought he'd never get here..."
...El Sombra was waving his hand in front of Doc's face.
"Hey, amigo - you okay?"
"Fifty-fifty." Doc said, slowly. "I knew it. I knew there was someone behind all this. Nothing ever stays buried." He swallowed. "But I was looking in the wrong place. Latin numerals, you see?"
El Sombra gave him a puzzled look. "Amigo... what the hell are you talking about?"
"In the Latin language, the numbers are represented by letters. I for one, X for ten. And for fifty... L. So fifty-fifty... is L.L." He stared off into the distance.
"I think we may already be too late."
Crane hammered his fist on the metal door, yelling for Timothy Larson to let him in. Eventually, the door opened.
"Whoa... Parker Crane, out of sight! What brings you here?" Larson smiled, taking a long sip from a freshly brewed mug of coffee. "Listen, let me get you some java-"
"I don't need your damned java!" Crane hissed, grabbing hold of the lapels of his shirt and slamming him against the wall. "I need the blood! Tell me you've got something-"
"Hey, easy..." Larson frowned, pushing Parker gently away and then closing the door with a small clang. "Listen, you need to just chill out for a second, okay? Just relax. Everything's going to be fine, you know?" He smiled, putting a hand gently on Crane's shoulder. "I know some great meditation exercises you could try."
Crane slapped his hand away. "Shut up! I need to know what you've found in that blood, and I need it now! Don't you understand, Doc Thunder knows everything! He's probably on his way here now-" Crane suddenly froze. "Wait, how do you know my -"
Larson smiled. "Well, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, I got the big secret Untergang's been after all these years. A serum that'll give Doc Thunder's brand of the right stuff to any adult who takes it." He raised his hands. "I know, I know, I'm a genius. No applause, just throw money. That's my motto."
Crane took a step back. Suddenly, Larson seemed like a completely different person. "I - I only ever spoke to you as the Blood-Spider. How do you even know who Parker Crane is?"
"No flies on you, Parker! That's what I like about you, you're smart. Smart enough to think you're the smartest guy in the world, which is my favourite level of smart, because there's only one smartest guy in the world and he likes people to underestimate him. Anyway, the bad news - there was only enough serum for one, and I didn't feel like sharing. Sorry 'bout that. Guess you don't get to be President after all, but that's politics." Larson grinned, reaching and tearing away his moustache and beard, then rubbing his chin. "Any makeup glue left? I want to look my best for company."
Crane shook his head, his eyes wide, sweat beading on his face. "What... what are you talking about? How do you know about Untergang? About my plan..."
Larson lifted off his shaggy wig, revealing a gleaming bald pate. "My plan. You were just a useful tool, Parker, but now that I'm packed full of that serum - and let's just test that out-" He calmly picked up a steel test tube rack, and Crane watched in horror as he slowly twisted it into a double helix, as easily as twisting a wire coat hanger. "Huh! Wasn't sure that'd work. Anyway, Parker, I've got a spot for a dogsbody, but that's about it. So unless you want to be test number two of my amazing new Thunder Serum..." His eyes narrowed. "I'd lay off the attitude when you talk to me."
Crane's mouth was dry. "Who are you?" He whispered.
The bald man grinned. "Why, I'm the most dangerous man in the world, kid. Timothy Larson Lomax, at your service."
He stuck out his hand.
"But everybody calls me Lars."
Chapter Fifteen
The Last Case
"So, I understand you were wondering who killed Heinrich Donner?"
Lars Lomax sipped his coffee. He'd asked Crane to make it for him, with a cold, hard inflection in his voice that made it clear he wasn't asking at all. Now Crane shrank up against the wall, as if trying to escape through it. Lomax was between him and the door and, if he wanted to, he could put down that coffee, reach out with his hand and twist off Crane's head. He could do it as easily as scratch his own.
And he was mad. Quite mad. Crane was certain of it.
"It was me. My bad." Lomax smiled, waggling his eyebrows. "I mean, I didn't pull the trigger - or, you know, shove the sword in him - but I've got to take the credit. It's kind of a complicated story, though..." He frowned, then drained the last of his coffee, setting the cup back down with a shake of his head. "I don't know if you want to hear it. I mean, this is... on the scale of intricate master plans, this is about a nine. I'd have to be some kind of egomaniac to start boring you with the full thing. Let me tell you, it gets pret-ty crazy in places. You sure you want to hear the whole enchilada?"
Crane shook his head. "Just... just let me go." He shook his head, voice wheedling. "You've got what you want."
"Of course you do! Atta boy!" Lomax laughed, clapping Crane on the shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways to the floor. "And I've got to admit, I love this part. Seriously, it's burning a hole in me. I've got to tell somebody how I did it, and I can't tell Thunder, because that's the part where he usually escapes and kicks my ass. I figure this time I'll get it out of the way early and kick his instead. So why don't you pull up some floor there and I'll tell you the true story of how Lars Lomax died and was born again after a thousand and one nights to ascend to exalted glory? Kind of like Jesus meets the Arabian Nights." He shook his head, chuckling, and pulled up a chair, which creaked under his weight. His shirt was already starting to bulge as the muscles underneath began to expand. Every time Crane looked at him, he seemed larger, more menacing.
Hands shaking, Crane poured another coffee.
"I guess it all started when I realised what Anton Venger's big problem was."
He smiled, closing his eyes and breathing in the steam from the cup. Crane eyed the door. Could he reach it before...?
"Anton Venger and me, we made a good team." Lomax looked up, his brown eyes boring into Crane's. "Well, from his point of view, it was more than a team. That business with his face... he was desperate for any kind of affection after that, you know? He latched onto it like a remora. Show the slightest pretence of kindness and he'd follow you anywhere, especially if you happened to hate the same people. So... well, he might have seen our relationship as being something more intimate than just being business partners." He sipped his coffee, then shrugged. "I mean, okay, I'm not saying I never took advantage. He could look like anybody, you know? Put a poncho on him and it was like getting blown by Marilyn Monroe. I'm not proud." He took another swallow. "What's in this? Hazelnut?"
Crane jerked, as if stung. "N-no, I -"
"Or cyanide? I did leave some lying around." He grinned, looking Crane in the eye, and suddenly the rich brown of his eyes was a bright, piercing red. He offered the cup to Crane, who shrank back, pressing back against the wall of the little room. "What's the matter? Don't want any?"
Crane shook his head, too afraid to speak. Lomax was perhaps six inches taller now than when he'd come in, and the seams of his clothes were starting to come apart under the pressure of his expanding form.
Lomax grinned, and something was wrong with his teeth.
"Sure? I could make you drink it. Might teach you a lesson." He drained the cup, then passed it to Crane. "More. And this time go easy on the poison. Just half a spoon for flavour."
He leaned back, the chair creaking in protest. "Anyway, me and Venger were a team. He was crazy about me - literally - and I strung him along because he was about the most useful guy you could imagine. Except." He sighed, flexing his fingers, watching them thicken. "If you know there's a master of disguise running around who can't do emotions, then suddenly your master of disguise isn't that useful any more. Hey! There's a guy who doesn't smile and speaks i
n a monotone! It must be Anton Venger! Get the cuffs!"
He looked off into the distance. "God, that voice was creepy. That monotone voice singing 'Happy Birthday, Mister President...' I didn't ask him to do that again." He shook his head, as if shaking off the memory. "Anyway, it occurred to me that things would run a lot more smoothly if he was dead. If the world knew Anton Venger was dead - if Doc Thunder had told them so - well, everybody would stop looking for him, right?"
He stretched, and the shirt burst off his back, splitting right down the middle. Crane started, making a little whimper. Lomax just smiled.
"It was a great plan. Team up with N.I.G.H.T.M.A.R.E., have a very public falling-out with Venger, dose him with something I invented that'll slow down his life signs to the point of death, then - while Thunder's being tortured to death, which is a nice little bonus - go rat Silken Dragon out to S.T.E.A.M. and hole up somewhere until the fireworks are all done with. I already had people in place to fake the autopsy and ship the body to a secure location..." He took the fresh coffee from Crane, taking a sip. "No cyanide at all in this one! What did I tell you?"
"I - I thought you were joking." Crane looked at the door again. Only a few feet away. If he ran now-
"I never joke about coffee. You're starting to get on my last nerve, Parker. Maybe I'll pop your head like a zit and see what comes out." He followed Crane's line of sight. "Don't look at the door, Parker. You'll never reach it in time. You don't mind me calling you Parker, do you, Parker? I figure after all these fun times we had together - you know, you pushing me around, treating me like a joke, like your pet science gimp - I figured we'd be on first name terms by now. I never kill people I'm on first name terms with. Are we on first name terms, Parker?"
Crane swallowed, hard. He couldn't look away from Lomax now. Every few seconds, a new muscle would pop up on his shoulders, like a bubble coming to the surface of a lake. A lake of skin. The veins on his arms were starting to pulse a livid purple.
He didn't look like Doc Thunder at all.
He looked stronger.
"Parker! Focus!" Lomax yelled, and his voice was a deep, angry growl.
"Yes." Crane whispered. "Yes... Lars."
"Actually, my first name's Timothy, but nobody calls me that. Even my parents called me Happy." Lomax laughed. "And believe you me, I'm happy now. Anyway... the plan. The big plan to rehabilitate Anton Venger as a productive corpse. It all went off without a hitch, unless you count Thunder breaking out early and clocking me upside the head with a big chunk of masonry. By the time I broke out of prison, Venger had spent six months in a packing crate in a state of living death." He shrugged. "Didn't do a lot for his personality, frankly. He was even more devoted to me when I got him out, on account of how he thought I'd saved his life. The plain fact of the matter is I could have left him in there a lot longer and I kind of wish I had..." He paused, looking at the way the thick red hairs were growing on the back of his hand.
"Anyway, I needed to keep him sweet, give him some kind of reward for all the time he spent in that crate. So I figured we'd go kill the Blue Ghost. He was getting old, getting slow. He was basically just a mascot for that bike gang his foster kid formed, so I figured, okay, we'll knock him off, give Anton something to keep him from going completely off the rails." Lomax looked at Crane, eyes steely. "Only we were too late, weren't we? Why don't you pick up the story from here, Parker?"
Crane shook his head. "I don't know what you -"
"Oh, please. You were the fresh new head of Untergang after whatever old coot that replaced Donner finally retired. You had a lot of big, sexy plans. Not as sexy as mine, but pretty big and sexy nonetheless. You took a look at the Blue Ghost - mysterious masked avenger, operatives all over the place, big fan-following with the working classes, and you figured... we need one of those. Just take away the Japanese orphan kid and replace him with a foxy Aryan chick - and how's Marlene doing, anyway?"
Crane spluttered. "How do you know about -"
"Wouldn't you like to know? Anyway, give your brand new Blue Ghost some guns so he's not getting beaten up all the time, package it all up to appeal to Untergang's core voters... I've got to hand it to you, Parker, I know a winning strategy when I see one. There was just one thing wrong, wasn't there?" Crane shook his head, unable to meet Lomax's eyes. They were entirely red now, the white of the eye subsumed, the pupils two black dots in a bloody sea.
Lomax laughed. Crane didn't dare to look.
He had fangs.
"You needed a vacancy! There's no point being the all-new, all-Nazi Blue Ghost if the old Ghost's still around, right? So you strangled him with your own two hands and dropped his body off a pier, and poor little Easton West's been trying to solve the murder ever since! I felt for the guy, I can tell you. And poor Anton! That was all he'd been thinking about for months in his box, and you got there first. Shame on you!" Lomax shook his head, the red eyes burning with mock indignation.
"He wanted to do away with you there and then. In fact, he was all for killing you and taking your place. Running Untergang for our own concerns. I thought about it, I'll admit..." Lomax stood, rubbing the base of his spine. His head almost banged against the ceiling of the room, three feet above Crane's head. "But... that was a little too obvious. I wanted all the benefits of taking over your whole organisation without any of the downsides of actually having to run it. I mean, who wants to run Untergang? Not even you want to run Untergang! You've driven it into the ground while you lived out your crazy vigilante fantasy!"
He smiled, turning to Crane and leaning down. Crane thought he smelled brimstone on the monster's breath.
"So that's when I came up with the real plan. Get ready, Parker."
He loosened his belt enough for the tail that was growing out of his spine to poke over it.
"This is where it gets weird."
"...that's right." Doc Thunder nodded, as the bike cop put another quarter into the payphone and wound the clockwork handle on the side. Doc gave him a brief thumbs-up and continued talking into the mouthpiece. "I've got El Sombra with me. Yes, the man with the sword, Donner's killer. No, he hasn't put a shirt on. Look, we're going to go try to catch Lomax before he gets away, but I need you to call Jack Scorpio and co-ordinate with S.T.E.A.M. If Lomax has done what I think he's done, the army might not be enough." He listened for a moment, then broke in. "Okay. If I don't come back inside six hours... well, you know. Bye." He put the phone down and sighed.
"Trouble with the missus?" the cop asked. Doc blinked.
"You're very perceptive, Officer... McNulty, was it?"
McNulty nodded. "The way you ended your call. Listen, last time me and the wife had some trouble, you know what I got her? A baby pig."
'"A baby pig." Doc rubbed his forehead. "Officer-"
"Mr. Porkins, we call him." The cop smiled brightly. "'Course, he's a little bigger now, and it's hell hiding him from the building super, but as soon as Joanie saw his cute little nose wrinkle it up, she forgot all about the whores."
Doc sighed. "Thanks, Officer. I'll bear that in mind." He turned to see El Sombra walking out of the station, cleaning marble fragments off his sword. "What took you so long?"
"Just a hunch, amigo. Who knows, it might end up paying off, hey? Could make all the difference." The masked man patted the pocket of his suit trousers.
Doc rubbed his temples again, shaking his head gently. "Fine. Get up on my back, and hold tight - hook an arm through the back of my shirt. This is going to get bumpy. You remember where we're going? East Village, right?"
El Sombra looked sideways at him. "What, you're going to fly there?"
Doc nodded. "Close enough. Let's go."
He jumped.
Lomax paced slowly around the boxy, closed-in room, his tail twitching and swishing to and fro like a cat's.
"First of all, Anton Venger needed to take Miles Hamilton's place. If I wanted to get Thunder's blood, that was the best way to do it. Get Venger undercover and wait for him to get h
is personal physician to supervise a blood transfusion. Bound to happen within a year, two at the most." He laughed, sourly. "Ha! Well, the best laid plans, and so on. Anyway, I couldn't send Hamilton in if I was still on the loose. Thunder would smell a rat. He'd probably smell a rat anyway. And I needed a way to get in with your people, so I'd have access to all your equipment and knowhow. If I tried extracting the serum from Thunder's blood on my own, well, I'd probably end up giving myself nut cancer. But standing on the shoulders of your giants..." He turned, giving another hideous, fanged grin. "How am I doing? Better than the real thing, right?" He flexed his immense hands, marvelling at the carpet of red hair that now reached from his back all the way down each arm.
"The answer? Combine it all into one. Kidnap Hamilton, hand him over to Venger's tender mercies - and Venger had a lot of frustration to take out by this point, let me tell you - and then play the whole thing out with Venger in Hamilton's place."
"P-play what out?" Crane was slumped in a corner by this time, clutching at his head, staring at the thing Lomax was becoming, step by awful step, in front of him.
"My death, of course! My beautiful death! Torturing Hamilton in front of Doc's lovely assistant! I'd kidnapped her for the purpose of leaving Doc some obvious clues. All on a big balloon filled with enough hydrogen to set the whole damn place on fire when I fired a bullet through it! Except for the nose, of course - fireproof, crashproof, loaded with supplies for an unscheduled stopover in the Amazon rainforest, and also loaded with Hamilton's skeleton, de-fleshed and pre-charred to take my place. I do my big torture scene, and of course with Venger's squishy face it doesn't do more than tickle, then in comes Thunder, we fight, bang goes the gun! Fire everywhere!" Lomax gleefully acted it out, his huge muscled arms sending tables filled with equipment flying, glass shattering against the walls and floor. The tables were solid oak, but to the thing Lomax had become, there were as light and flimsy as paper.
