by Barry Reese
“As I said, there is no reason for you to concern yourself with the details.” Charon chuckled again, a merciless sound that made many in the room shift uncomfortably.
The meeting ended soon after, with only a few of the other criminals asking for mundane details or clarifications. People could reach Charon by leaving a message at the front desks of any of a half dozen squalid hotels – he had people who would receive them.
Dash stepped out into the chill night air and lit a cigarette. He watched as his fellow crooks scattered to their cars or took off down dark alleyways. He lived not far from here, in a run-down little apartment building. The place housed more rats than people, but Dash still considered it home. So home isn’t used twice
He still wasn’t sure what to make of Charon’s deal. It seemed simple enough but he didn’t trust the Ferryman or his Horseman… and anything that led to dealings with Lazarus Gray or the other vigilantes simply wasn’t a smart move for a man who liked breathing.
He was deep in thought when he approached his apartment building. He nodded at a pretty young Chink who was standing near the steps. She must be new, he mused, because he didn’t recognize her as being one of the usual girls who worked the block. If he hadn’t been so low on funds, he would have invited her up to his place, but it had been awhile between jobs and he barely had enough to cover the rent.
Regretfully, he passed her by and went on inside. He unlocked his door and stepped through, his hand reaching out to find the light switch. A strong hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him close, a sharp blade suddenly pressing hard against his throat.
The door was kicked shut behind him, leaving him in total darkness.
“Who is this?” he hissed in fear. He dropped his cigarette and considered fighting back… but the touch of cold steel against his skin made him pause.
A match was struck and a second later, Mitchell lit a candle. He was facing Dash and he looked particularly menacing in the dim light. “Don’t move,” he warned.
Mitchell came towards him and began binding Dash’s hands and feet with strong wire. Once Dash was bound, the knife vanished from the criminal’s throat.
Mitchell dragged the hobbled man over to a chair and pushed him down into it. Dash could now see whom it was that had held him at knifepoint. It was a dame, one outfitted in a red and black outfit that accentuated her athletic physique. The woman’s face was hidden beneath mask and hood.
“I’m Gravedigger,” she said, sheathing the curved knife that she had been holding. “Tell me what Charon said to you.”
Dash swallowed hard. Gravedigger was the worst of Sovereign’s vigilantes – Lazarus Gray or The Dark Gentleman would usually cart you off to jail but this woman was known for gutting her prey. “I don’t work for him,” he stammered. If he was out in the open, he would have taken off by now, hobbled or not. Nobody could match his speed, he was sure of that.
“Didn’t say you did,” Gravedigger answered, moving closer. She grabbed a wooden chair and set it in front of Dash. Straddling the chair so that she was leaning over the back, she asked, “Now… what did he say?”
“He just asked us to send word to him if we heard about any black magic stuff being sold in the city… and to keep tabs on the comings and goings of people like you. He said we could drop off the info at a bunch of different hotels, like the Clarion or the Nipper.”
“People like me?”
“Yeah, you know… the cloak and dagger crowd.”
“Anything else?”
“He just said that he’d pay us for the info… and then he said that he wasn’t out to make a bunch of cash for himself. He said he wanted to own people’s souls.”
“Did you believe him?”
“About what?”
“About not being interested in money.”
Dash looked at her like she was nuts. “Of course not! Everybody needs dough! The whole mystic bit is just a gimmick… same with the Horseman. He can’t be real.”
Gravedigger’s hand snatched out, grabbing a handful of Dash’s hair and yanking hard. Ignoring his cry of pain, she asked, “The Headless Horseman was there?”
“Yeah, there was a guy there who was pretending to be him! Even had some trick set up so it looked like he didn’t have any head at all… whatever effects he was using stank to high heaven, though!”
Gravedigger and Mitchell exchanged a meaningful look before she released Dash’s hair. Mitchell walked to the door and started to step out, pausing only long enough to ask, “Are you going to need me for any of the clean-up?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got this.” Gravedigger waited until he was gone and then she drew a long sword out of its scabbard. The highly polished blade gleamed in the candlelight.
“What are you doing to do?” Dash asked, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. Even as he voiced the question, he felt stupid… What else was she going to do with a sword? He suddenly thought about his mother, dead for nearly twenty years. He remembered the look of disappointment in her eyes when she’d first seen him questioned by the police.
“I thought about letting you go,” Gravedigger said. “I thought about recruiting you to be one of my agents, too. But over the course of my research into your background, I came across a young woman named Sarah Truesdale. Do you remember her?”
Dash did, though he didn’t say so.
Gravedigger continued, taking his silence as affirmation. “She was seventeen years old and two days away from leaving Sovereign so she could attend college. But you attacked her in her own bedroom, raping her for nearly three hours. Then you got worried that she’d be able to identify you… so you poured bleach into her eyes, blinding her.”
“I was just a kid. I was barely twenty, myself! I haven’t forced myself on another woman in all those years since then!” Dash felt himself beginning to cry. He wished he could run… he was always running, until now. “I’m nothing but a nickel-and-dime lowlife now! I ain’t a rapist!”
“Not anymore, you mean?”
“Right! I felt so bad about that girl that I haven’t done anything like it since!”
Gravedigger slowly brought her sword to Dash’s throat. “But you did it once and now she’s got to live with that for the rest of her life. How is it fair that you get to start over and she doesn’t?”
“If you cut my head off,” he pleaded, “You’re nothing but a murderer! And that’s worse than a rapist!”
“I’m not going to murder you,” Gravedigger said, causing Dash to swallow in relief.
“You’re not?”
“No. You killed yourself a long time ago. The second you poured bleach into that poor girl’s eyes. All I’m doing is shoveling the dirt on your grave.”
“No!” Dash screamed, but it was too late. The sword whipped through the air, causing a gust of wind that extinguished the candle.
The room was plunged into darkness.
***
Mitchell was waiting behind the wheel when Charity slid into the backseat of their car. She had changed out of her uniform in Dash’s apartment, stuffing her gear into an oversized duffel bag. “Where’s Li?” she asked.
“She decided to take a cab back to Chinatown. She has a date tonight.”
Charity ran a hand through her hair, pursing her lips. “Anybody I know?”
“She didn’t say.” Mitchell pulled out into traffic, glanced in the rearview mirror. “How do you feel?”
“Fine.” Charity glanced out the window and sighed. She could feel Mitchell’s gaze upon her. “I don’t mind the killing anymore. You get used to it.”
“You didn’t kill him,” Mitchell began but stopped when Charity held up a hand.
“I know. I said that to him, too.”
Mitchell nodded and turned his eyes back to the road. “He was trash.”
“I’m more concerned with the Horseman. No appearances or murders since that night at Hendry Hall… and now he pops up again, working as a guy’s enforcer? Seems strange.”
&
nbsp; “That’s all he ever was – a killer who served others,” Mitchell pointed out. “Whether it was for the army or for the Sons or Daughters, he takes orders. It doesn’t surprise me that he’d eventually seek out somebody to call the shots.”
“At least we know that he’s using some of the skuzzier hotels for his pick-up points. I’ll have somebody watching the Clarion and the Nipper to see if we can catch one of his goons and then follow them.”
“Back to the house?” Mitchell asked, though he knew what the answer would be.
“Let’s go by the cemetery,” she said, so low that he almost couldn’t hear her.
“It’s morbid the way you visit your own grave.”
“Not as morbid as the fact that I have a grave.”
“Touché, luv.”
***
The man known as Charon hung his hooded robe in the closet and then moved over to a fully stocked bar. He was in one of the most expensive penthouses in the city, overlooking the heart of downtown. If the goons from the underworld meeting had seen him, not a one of them would have recognized him. Gone was the false beard that he wore in their midst and the removal of makeup gave his face a less gaunt appearance.
Born Randall Nipper, he had once been a minor success on the stage. Unfortunately, a tragic accident involving one of his comely costars had ended up getting him blacklisted. For nearly two years, he’d expended the last of his savings. Suddenly destitute, he’d ended up on Skid Row, where he probably would have died if not for a chance meeting that would change his life.
He had been sitting in an alleyway, a bottle of cheap whiskey clutched between his knees. It was well past three in the morning and a string of police cars had roared past, all headed towards the creepy old Hendry Hall. What had happened up there would never be fully revealed in the papers and it was no concern of Nipper’s, regardless.
With his head hanging down, he had heard the familiar clip-clop of hooves on wet pavement. Looking up, he’d seen a horseman and rider at the end of the alley. He’d thought himself hallucinating when his eyes had traveled up the length of the man and seen nothing but empty air where a head should have been.
The Horseman had dropped from the saddle and approached him. Nipper had softly risen to his feet, wondering if he had fallen asleep. Surely this was a nightmare, brought on by one too many fanciful stories told to him as a child.
Nipper had stared at the figure before him and before he knew what he was doing, the words had begun to spill from his lips: “All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by Satan in diverse shapes, in his lonely pre-ambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was - a woman.”
It was one of Nipper’s favorite passages from Washington’s Irving’s works – and to his amazement, it seemed to give the Horseman pause.
“Why did you say those words?” the Horseman asked, though he had no mouth with which to speak.
“You look like the Headless Horseman… and those are words from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”
The Horseman reached out a gloved hand and placed it heavily upon Nipper’s shoulder. “You seem like a smart man. You know of this world and its mysteries?”
“What… do you mean?”
“I am free for the first time in decades but I have no knowledge of this place or its customs. And my appearance will make it impossible for me to hide myself. I will need assistance. If you can give it, I will let you live. If not… then I will take out my frustrations upon your flesh.” To punctuate his words, the Horseman yanked free his sword and held it to Nipper’s throat. The action was so quick that it took Nipper several seconds to realize what had happened.
Nipper blinked in horror, knowing that what he said next would determine whether he lived or died. But despite his sins, Nipper was a consummate actor. He closed his eyes briefly and when they reopened, he sounded confident as he spoke. “I can do all that and more. You tell me what you’re after and I’ll make sure you get it. All it takes is somebody who knows how to work the system.”
The Horseman stood back, removing the sword from Nipper’s neck. A thin trickle of blood ran into the collar of the man’s shirt but Nipper ignored it.
“So,” Nipper said, adjusting his stained and dirty clothing, as if he were a king about to greet his subjects. He knew the importance of acting confident – don’t give the audience a chance to believe that you’re less than the role demanded. “What do you want, Mr. Headless Horseman?”
“I want… a war. That’s the only time that I’ve felt completely at peace. I want to kill. I want to hear my enemies scream. But most of all… I want to remain free.”
Nipper nodded. “Then you need to tell me how and why people are able to contain you. Then we kill everybody who might do so.” He smiled. “And if I help you, you help me, right?”
“I would be agreeable to that,” the Horseman said.
***
Nipper was thinking about his first meeting with the Horseman when the undead warrior entered the room. Nipper didn’t bother turning around – the stench alone made it clear that his companion was approaching.
“I grow restless,” the Horseman stated.
Nipper resisted the urge to sigh. He knew that the Horseman had a short fuse when he was like this. Forcing a smile, the actor slipped easily into his role. He turned to face the Hessian and patted him on the arm. “You want me to have some girls sent up? I’ll make sure nobody misses them.”
The Horseman backed away and Nipper grew cautious. “You promised me blood and mayhem but all I have seen so far are groups of cowardly blowhards preening before us! I am tired of killing helpless women and whimpering fools. Where is this war? Why have we not struck at the men and women in this city who might actually challenge us? This Doc Daye… or Fortune McCall! Instead, you wear a costume and I hover nearby, like a sword waiting to be unsheathed!”
“I’m working on that. You said you didn’t want to go back to being anybody’s slave, remember? If we’re going to hit this town hard, we have to be smart about it. Charon is a spooky figure and I can use that to keep these goons in line. As for you being unsheathed… How about I set something up for you? It’ll be what you want.”
“When?”
“Tonight.” Wagging a finger at the Horseman’s chest, Nipper promised, “You have my word.”
Chapter II: Death Rides In Silence
Cedric knelt in front of the fireplace, stirring the dying embers with a poker. Hendry Hall was a chilly place at the best of times but on nights like this, when Sovereign was damp and temperatures fell, the house was a veritable icebox.
Since inheriting the estate, he’d spent a good bit of money making alterations but it was never going to be described as welcoming and Cedric was okay with that.
“This wine is delicious.”
Cedric looked over at Li, who was curled up in one of the oversized chairs in the room. She wore nothing but a robe, which gapped open in the front to show the curves of her breasts. In her right hand was a mostly empty glass of red wine.
“Would you like some more?”
“My head’s already buzzing.”
“Is that a no?”
Li smiled and downed the last of her drink. She then held out the glass. “It’s definitely a yes.”
Cedric laughed and moved to get her a refill. “So why haven’t you told Charity about us?”
“There’s no us,” she said pointedly. “We’re friends.”
“We’re lovers,” he countered.
“That implies some sort of romantic feelings.”
“We make love.”
“We have sex.” Li looked at him with something aki
n to pity. “I know that men have trouble differentiating between the two but sex and making love are not the same.”
Cedric shook his head. “I think it’s usually women with that issue.”
“Regardless, I don’t love you and you don’t love me. But Charity has enough things to worry about – if she knew you and I were doing… this… it would only distract her.”
Cedric knelt in front of her. He set her wine down on the table next to Li’s chair and grasped her hands. He looked very earnest. “I’ve never known a woman like you, Li! I’ve had my share of lovers and never did I have feelings beyond the physical for them! But you excite me in ways that they never did!”
“Don’t confuse me being really good in bed with being a special kind of woman,” Li said. “I think you’re being really sweet but I don’t believe you if you say you’re in love with me. I’m a challenge to you, that’s all. If I ever gave you what you’re saying you wanted, you’d lose interest.” Li leaned close, her expression becoming catlike. “Do you know how I know that?”
“How?”
“Because I’m the same way.”
Cedric stood up, an expression of amusement on his face. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“But what a way to go, eh?” Li teased.
***
Gravedigger stood at her own grave, ignoring the pink-tinged fog that clung to her ankles. The name on the tombstone – Charity Grace – seemed to hover in the air above the mist, as if taunting her. Someday you’ll be here for good, it promised, only your soul will be rotting in Hell.
Charity reached out and traced the letters with her fingertips and then turned away. She spotted Josef’s grave and quickly looked away, still feeling guilty for the way she’d treated him.
She’d taken only a few steps when she noticed that she wasn’t alone. Standing about twenty feet away from her was a figure that she recognized all too well – Lazarus Gray, leader and founder of Assistance Unlimited.
