by B C Bell
Immediately, he felt a strange energy flow through him. He felt like his minor injuries were fading away like a memory and, even more importantly, that his spirit was being lightened. Little things that he felt guilty over suddenly seemed forgotten and all the petty sins he’d committed over his lifetime didn’t seem quite so important any longer. As Reggie had said, it was like being born anew. Roland pictured himself covered in filth, stepping into the pouring rain. The rain washed away all the grime, leaving his skin pink and new. It was liberating and awe-inspiring. For someone who had always doubted the presence of any force greater than himself, it was a revelation. This was genuinely the power of a higher being.
Roland was shaking when he looked back at Reggie. “That was incredible.”
The young boy nodded eagerly. “I’m going back home today. I ran away months ago but now… I think I can work things out with my pa. I really do.”
Roland was about to say something when two dark-garbed men entered the playground area. The kids obviously recognized them because the air was suddenly filled with tension. The two men were familiar to Roland, too. He recognized them from various mug shots he’d seen over the years. The bigger of the two had a block-shaped head and was named Mort, the smaller was a weasel-looking sort named Carl.
The two men headed straight towards Roland, their eyes fixed on the skull in his hand. Mort’s hand dipped into his jacket and did not re-emerge. Meanwhile, Carl applied one of the most fake smiles that Roland had ever borne witness to.
“Detective!” Carl said, clapping his hands together as if he were actually glad to see the man. “What a surprise. We were just coming down here to speak to our nephews. They told us that they’d found something that belonged to us… and there it is now! Thanks for keeping it warm for us, Detective.”
Reggie shot a withering look at a few of the other boys, who looked away shamefaced. All of the youths sometimes did jobs for the local crime bosses and evidently one or more of them had contacted a few gangs to see if they’d want to pay something for the skull.
Roland didn’t show any fear in front of the toughs, despite being quite aware that he was outnumbered. He slipped the skull back into its box and then raised his chin. “This skull doesn’t belong to either of you and we all know it. It’s part of an ongoing criminal investigation so if you still want to lay claim to it, you’re welcome to come down to the station and answer a few questions.”
Carl laughed and nudged Mort. “The Detective’s a real comedian, eh?”
“He’s hilarious,” Mort rumbled.
“The Nail’s not meant for people like you,” Reggie blurted out. Before Roland could react, Carl had backhanded the boy hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground.
“Shut your mouth, you little gutter rat!”
Roland saw Reggie’s lower lip dripping crimson and he started to reach for his gun when Mort drew his own piece, smirking as Roland’s hand froze in place.
“Can I plug him, Carl?” Mort asked, his desires evident in the gleam of his eyes.
“I wouldn’t try that,” a soft female voice said, just as the barrel of a gun was pressed against the back of Mort’s head. “Not unless you want to die along with him.”
Carl blinked in surprise, motioning for Mort to lower his weapon. Sue had joined the group, moving so quietly that not even Roland had heard her approach. The dainty-looking young woman held a slim handgun in her right hand and her face showed no hesitation about using it. “Who the hell are you, girlie?”
“I work for Detective Moore,” she answered sweetly. “Should we take them in, boss?”
Roland grinned, pulling out his gun and waved it at Carl, who reluctantly raised his hands over his head. “Sounds like a plan, doll. A real fine one, at that.”
It was the brutish Mort who reacted with a roar. He slammed his body backwards, causing Sue’s hand to fly up. She squeezed the trigger as she did so and the bullet whizzed by the thug’s head, narrowly missing it. Carl lunged for Roland, delivering a powerful punch that sent the detective to the ground. Carl snatched up the box containing the skull and took off at a quick sprint, leaving Mort to deal with his would-be pursuers.
The big man delivered a kick to Roland’s stomach that knocked all the air from his lungs. The detective rolled onto his hands and knees, struggling to get back to his feet. His head was ringing and he felt a sharp pain with every intake of breath, making him wonder if Mort had cracked a rib with that kick. He heard Sue saying something but with the ringing of his ears, he wasn’t sure what it was. He slowly pushed off the ground, staggering upright. For a moment, his vision dimmed and he feared he was about to pass out but he regained control of his body and whirled about, prepared to offer Sue some assistance.
His mouth gaped open when he saw Sue standing with one foot on Mort’s chest. The big man was on his back, unconscious. He had a bright red bruise on the center of his neck and Roland saw that it was vaguely foot-shaped. “How the hell did you do that?” he asked.
Sue stepped back and smoothed down her skirt. “He didn’t take me seriously so I caught him by surprise with a kick.”
“How the hell did you do that?” he asked.
“Boy, I’ll say!” exclaimed Reggie, moving closer. His lip still looked bad but he was staring at Sue like she was an angel. “I never saw anybody outside The Rockettes kick that high!”
“I used to take dance,” Sue said, looking in the direction that Carl had fled. “He’s probably long gone by now.” Putting her hands on her slim hips, she turned back to Roland. “Why don’t you call the station and put out an APB on him and then we’ll stop by my apartment. It’s only a few blocks from here and I can give you something for the pain.”
Roland nodded, wincing as he took a step towards her. He felt like an idiot, having lost the skull. Something that precious shouldn’t be in the hands of men like that. He looked down at Mort and grimaced. “He’s going to be a handful fitting into the car.”
“We can watch him,” Reggie offered. “Until the paddy wagon comes for him, I mean.”
Roland considered the offer and finally nodded. He trusted the boy implicitly now. They’d both touched the Fourth Nail… and that bonded them somehow. “Be careful. If he starts to wake up, just give him a good sock to the noggin.”
The look on Reggie’s face suggested that he’d have no qualms about doing just that.
***
Roland had never been in Sue’s apartment before and he couldn’t help but look around himself with open curiosity. If she noticed, she didn’t seem to mind and she left him alone in the living room while she went to fetch him some aspirin. The décor was distinctively feminine, with soft pastels and a predominance of pink but there were a few signs that Sue was no stereotypical girl: a few police procedure handbooks and a rather racy-looking true crime magazine lay in open view. But it was the walls that kept Roland’s attention as he waited for his associate to return. He saw pictures of her through various stages of her life and he was intrigued that she seemed to be of two spirits: in some of the photos she wore the open, engaging smile with which he was so familiar. In others, though, she seemed much more dour, with dark rings about her eyes and a sullen expression. Two pictures in particular seemed to say much about this dichotomy: in each she appeared to be about 14 years old but in one she was smiling at the beach, her long hair blowing in the breeze. In the other, her hair was much shorter, cut in a bob. In this photo, she stared out at Roland with the expression of one whose best friend had just died. Strangely, the background of the photo suggested that she was standing on the pier of a beach. Was it the same one where the happier photo had been taken? If so, it couldn’t have been taken very long after the first. What had transpired to change her mood so much?
“Here you go.”
Roland turned, feeling like he’d been caught spying in
her medicine cabinet. He took the two white pills she held in her hand and popped them into his mouth and then he washed them down with a glass of water she also provided.
“Dusk was in Savannah last night,” Sue said, taking a seat on the couch. Roland joined her, leaving a cushion between them.
“You’re kidding me,” he said. “Did you see her?”
“Yes. She stopped me when I was on the way out of town.”
Roland forgot all about the pain he’d been feeling. He’d never come face-to-face with the mysterious Dusk but he’d heard from others who had. They told of an alluring but highly dangerous figure, one that inspired more fear than desire. “What did she want?”
“She said she was investigating the Marquard case, just like we were. Said she was willing to share some of her findings with me.”
“Did she want to make some kind of deal?”
“Not that she said. I think she just wanted to make sure that justice was done.”
“Was she as scary as everyone says?”
Sue laughed and Roland blinked in surprise. When she saw the hurt look on his face, she quickly composed herself. “No. Not really. She’s not a ghost or anything like that. She’s just a woman, not much different than me. Well, except for the guns and mask. I wasn’t scared, no.”
“I’ve heard she’s a stone cold killer.”
“I’m sure she is but I didn’t sense that she meant me any harm. She wants to make sure Marquard is caught.”
“So what did she tell you?” There was something in Roland’s tone that made it clear that he wasn’t going to be altogether trusting of Dusk’s words but Sue had expected that.
She recounted the origins of The Fourth Nail, as well as the suspicions that Dusk had about how Maxwell Smith had come to own it. When she was finished, Roland sat back on the couch and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You think she’s on the level with this, don’t you?”
“Don’t you?”
“If you’d asked me that an hour ago, I’d have said no. I don’t believe in spiritualism. But after touching that skull with the nail in it, I don’t know what I think. It changed me. Made me feel like a new man. It was incredible.”
Sue looked thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder why a man like Marquard would want it.”
“Maybe he wants to be immortal. That’s not a strange desire.”
“In a line of work like his, I’d think it’s more likely he’s going to die violently – and The Fourth Nail wouldn’t stop that.”
Roland grunted at that. “We need to get to Marquard’s place.”
“Do we have a warrant to search his office?”
“Not yet but it’s coming. In the meantime, we can make sure he knows we are on to him. Maybe it’ll scare him into making a mistake. All we need is to find a direct link to the murder, something to show he sent those guys to do the job.”
Sue looked away for a moment, obviously thinking something through. While her head was turned, Roland took the opportunity to admire the graceful curve of her neck and the smoothness of her skin. He averted his gaze a second too slow and she caught his appreciative glance when she looked back at him. “I’m glad you’re not too badly hurt. I wish you wouldn’t go into situations without backup. It’s dangerous and you’ve made a lot of enemies.”
Roland bristled a bit, though he knew she meant well. “I’m a man who can take care of himself, doll.” He stood up. “But if it makes you feel better, come along and back me up when I face Marquard.”
Chapter IV.
An Accumulation of Sins
Thaddeus Marquard licked his lips in anticipation. The box containing The Fourth Nail sat before him on his desk. It was unopened but he had felt the weight of it when he’d taken it from Carl, making sure that the man knew he was going to be richly rewarded for his efforts. The tingling sensation that had passed through him while holding the box had confirmed all the stories for Marquard: he was on the verge of salvation.
That was the key to all his current activities. Over the years, he’d accumulated so many sins that he was directly bound for Hell. The existence of The Fourth Nail could be seen as proof that the biblical stories were at least partially true and that meant that there probably was a place of eternal damnation. Marquard wanted to avoid that fate. Even if his physical condition continued to deteriorate – and according to legend, that might not be the case, for The Fourth Nail was supposed to provide a certain degree of healing properties upon its owner – he would die with a clean slate on his soul. If there was a Hell, there was bound to be a Heaven, after all. Marquard would be welcomed into the Pearly Gates on a technicality, perhaps, but he wasn’t beyond working the system.
Leaning forward with shaking hands, Marquard slowly opened the box. The first thing he saw was the top of The Fourth Nail, protruding up from the roof of the skull. The previous owner of The Nail had put up a fierce struggle over the sacred relic and in a fit of anger Maxwell Smith had plucked up a hammer and driven The Nail down into the man’s skull. Almost immediately, Max had changed, filled with guilt and something that Marquard couldn’t quite name. Until that moment, neither Max nor Marquard had touched the Nail and both considered it an object worth selling, rather than keeping for its supposed magical properties. Marquard had focused on claiming various other objects as prizes while Max supervised the handling of The Fourth Nail. But on the way back to the States, the Nail had, according to Max, disappeared. At first, Marquard believed that Max intended to sell it and keep the profits for himself but over time, his opinion changed. He began to believe that Max believed in The Nail’s properties. Why he’d never removed it from the skull was beyond Marquard’s ability to fathom.
He was about to reach in and touch the sacred object when the door to his office opened and Doc Severin entered. “Have you ever heard of knocking, Doc?”
“Sorry to interrupt. I was told that you’d decided to not take your afternoon medicines. I think that’s a bad idea.”
Marquard stood up, his eyes narrowing. “I appreciate how attentive to my needs you’ve been, doctor, but I think it might be time for us to have a little chat.”
Severin stopped short of the desk, his normally placid face taking on a new cast. It was one of worry. “What do you mean?”
“I was willing to turn a blind eye while you treated my illness, despite the fact that you often crossed the boundaries I set with my other employees. It was in your best interest to keep me alive, so I trusted you to do that. But I don’t need you anymore.”
“Your condition,” Severin began but Marquard cut him off with a raised hand.
“Is no longer your concern. You’ve told me numerous times that my condition isn’t going to get better. All I can do is make my last days relatively pain free. True?”
“Yes, but I think that you should continue your treatments.”
“Of course you do. The longer I live, the more you get paid.” Marquard gestured towards The Fourth Nail. “The item in that box is going to help me become pure again, Doctor Severin. It might even cure me. So I don’t need your services any longer.”
Severin tensed, obviously expecting Marquard to take up arms against him. Very few people left the man’s employ with their lives intact. To his tremendous surprise, however, Marquard came around the desk and put an arm around his shoulders, steering him towards his closet door.
“I’d like to keep you on retainer,” Marquard was saying. “But to be honest, if I die, as long as I’ve avoid Hell, I’ll be fine. I do plan to go out with a bang, though. Want to see what I mean?”
Severin nodded, still uncertain about his fate. Was he really being let go without any physical harm coming to him?
Marquard threw open the closet door and reached inside, pushing aside mounds of paper and several spare jackets. He came back with an oversized leather glove t
hat featured a metal ring around the wrist. Dotting the edges of the ring were small raised buttons that were connected to one another by thin electrical wire. “I bought this from a man named Luger. He lives in Sovereign City and has a team of scientists on his payroll. They’re in the business of making super weapons. This is a very expensive item called a Thunderfist.” Marquard pulled the glove onto his right hand and clenched his fingers together. As soon as he did so, the wires began to hum and tiny sparks of electricity jumped about, eventually forming a circuit around the base of the glove.
“What in heaven’s name?” Severin whispered, taking a step away from Marquard.
“It generates a field that will fry just about anything it touches. And I can knock my way through a brick wall with it, too.”
“But what do you plan to do with it?”
“I’m going to start by consolidating the gangs under my control. Kill a few guys and the rest will fall into line. Once I’m in control of this town, I start putting pressure on the folks in charge: the police chief, the mayor, and the newspaper publishers. I’m going to become King of Atlanta.”
Severin said nothing, realizing that Marquard was even more insane than he’d ever believed. The man believed that something in that box on his desk was going to save his soul, leading him to embark on some scheme to use an electricity-generating glove to take over Atlanta.
Marquard looked towards Severin, as if sensing the man’s doubt. “Something bothering you?”
Severin took a deep breath, knowing that he shouldn’t criticize Marquard at this juncture but unable to stop himself. “If that thing does cure you… or at the very least, is able to offer you some form of spiritual salvation… then why throw that away on some new criminal plot? Shouldn’t you embrace your new life and become a better man?”
