OCCULT Detectives Volume 1

by Joel Jenkins

  “The Lost Wife of Thomas Tan” originally detailed the macabre events surrounding the title character to pierce the mystery of his late wife and his efforts to elude his former employer. I liked that story, but as I examined it from all angles I realized that Thomas had said everything I wanted him to say and that I didn’t want to disturb what I felt was a solid “done-in-one.” What to do with it then? Then it came to me: there must be other stories going on all around him; why not find one of those?

  SGT. JANUS, SPIRIT-BREAKER used a device wherein different narrators—Janus clients—relate their own stories in their own voices. This was something I came up with to give the reader multiple perspectives on the Sergeant and his world, and to help me “get over” my own dislike for first-person narratives in fiction. At the Spirit-Blog, I went a bit farther with it and included dispatches from a local newspaper in Janus’ neck of the woods and had a good time with it. That was the key, I felt, to lengthening “The Lost Wife of Thomas Tan.”

  In the end, I hope the story imparts something of the structure of Bram Stoker’s legendary novel DRACULA, with its make-up of journal entries and other such personal and public writings. The adventures of Sgt. Janus are all about experimentation, as far as I’m concerned, and I am grateful not only for the opportunity to indulge myself in that vein for this collection, but also to you, the reader, for your time and interest in my character, my ode to all the other Occult Detectives who have come before.

  And, if your interest still holds, Sgt. Janus will return in the full-length novel SGT. JANUS ON THE DARK TRACK, upcoming from Airship 27.

  Now, excuse me; someone seems to have sent me a rather exotic-looking giant centipede…I wonder who that could be?

  6

  JIM BEARD - A native Toledoan, Jim Beard was introduced to comic books at an early age by his father, who passed on to him a love for the medium and the pulp characters who preceded it. After decades of reading, collecting and dissecting comics, Jim became a published writer when he sold a story to DC Comics in 2002. Since that time he’s written official Star Wars and Ghostbusters comic stories and contributed articles and essays to several volumes of comic book history.

  His work includes GOTHAM CITY 14 MILES, a book of essays on the 1966 Batman TV series; SGT. JANUS, SPIRIT-BREAKER, a collection of pulp ghost stories featuring his own Edwardian occult detective; CAPTAIN ACTION: RIDDLE OF THE GLOWING MEN, the first pulp prose novel based on the classic 1960s action figure; and MONSTER EARTH, a shared-world anthology of giant monster tales.

  Currently, Jim provides regular content for Marvel.com, the official Marvel Comics website, is a regular columnist for Toledo Free Press and has forthcoming comic and prose work from Bluewater, TwoMorrows, Airship 27 and Pro Se.

  Please visit him at http://sgtjanus.blogspot.com and on Facebook at http://facebook.com/thebeardjimbeard

  JAZZY

  By Ron Fortier

  Ravenwood poured cream into his coffee and watched it transform the hot black liquid into swirling pool of a soft brown color. It reminded him immediately of his mother’s eyes; one of the few lasting memories he had of her. She and his father had died when he was a small child in the Orient. Medical missionaries, they had been treating villagers in a plague-ridden locale when they both succumbed to the disease.

  The memory was a cherished one. Tender brown eyes that had showered love on him for too short a time.

  Ravenwood stirred the coffee with his spoon and then took a slow sip. The taste was both hardy and smooth; delicious as ever. He surveyed his surroundings. Of all the mysteries in the universe, this had the be the most puzzling; that the best coffee in all of New York City was to be had in a greasy-spoon diner called MURPHY’S on the west side of 7th Avenue several blocks south of Times Square.

  It was after two in the morning and the place was deserted except for Jake, an old Negro short-order cook, and Wanda, a heavy-set brunette waitress who occupied her time doing crossword puzzles at the far end of the counter. Jake, for the most part, stayed busy baking pastries in the back kitchen; from bagels to donuts. These were all intended for the breakfast crowd who would daily invade the small, rectangular shaped eatery at the first light of dawn.

  Ravenwood had discovered the diner years earlier upon his return home; a wealthy young man about to launch his career as an Occult Investigator. So much had happened since then, arriving back in America with his Tibetan mentor, the wise and mysterious monk he knew only as the Nameless One. Shortly thereafter he’d hired Sterling; the British gentlemen’s gentlemen and gourmet chef to oversee his swank, Manhattan penthouse suite. In the past decade, he and his two associates had confronted all manner of bizarre occurrences; fought both human and demonic monsters while at the same time protecting the blissfully ignorant citizens of their wonderful city.

  We’re a strange family, we three. Ravenwood smiled at his own musings and started to take another drink of his rich coffee.

  The door to the diner banged open and two customers entered; swept in by a cool gust of air. The first was a young girl with midnight black hair that was tied in a ponytail and half hidden beneath a man’s woolen cap tucked down to hide her face. Ravenwood guessed her to be fifteen or sixteen whereas the person behind her was taller and older. This one, also female, wore a heavy black cloak and hood with black leather gloves and carried a worn, brown carpetbag that looked heavy. He assumed she was the girl’s mother.

  “Gosh, it’s bloody cold out there,” the teenager said as she beat her own gloved hands together.

  She had a European accent with a strong Germanic flavor. Perhaps, Austria…or Transylvania. Ravenwood continued to enjoy his coffee while at the same time mentally sizing up these late night women.

  “Springtime in the big city,” Wanda explained as she stepped forward with two well-worn menus in her hand. “Would you girls like a booth or you can sit up at the counter.” She waved her hand at the near empty interior. “Wherever is fine with me.”

  At that the woman reached up and pulled the hood off her head.

  Ravenwood’s breath caught in his throat as her beautiful face was revealed. She possessed an old world classical beauty of smooth alabaster skin with fine chiseled features, full red lips, a sharp Roman nose and dark, delicately shaped eyebrows over two large eyes. Her hair, like her daughter’s, was jet black with a few streaks of gray peeking through. It was shoulder length and appeared uncombed.

  He sensed an unsettling urgency about her.

  In the process of lowering her hood, the woman had turned her head to survey their surroundings and for a fleeting second her eyes locked with his. Even from this distance their vibrant jade green color shined.

  “A booth will do nicely, thank you.” Her voice was cultured, confident and mature.

  Wanda started to usher them towards the area where Ravenwood was seated when the woman stopped her. “Perhaps a booth to our right so as to not disturb the gentlemen’s privacy.”

  Wanda shrugged her shoulders and turned on her heels. “No problem, dearie. Just you and your girl pick out whatever booth you’d like.”

  The woman nodded and followed her but not before glancing at Ravenwood one final time. He smiled demurely and nodded acknowledging her thoughtfulness for which he received a guarded smile in return. Although appreciating her gesture he suddenly felt as if he’d been robbed. He would not have minded her presence at all, he realized. It had been a long time since any woman had elicited such a reaction from him.

  Wanda led them to one of the six tables occupying the opposite section of the diner and stopped at mid-point. “How’s this?”

  “Fine, thank you…” Before the woman could finish, the teenager had moved past her and dropped onto the red vinyl seat to the left of the table, patting her hands on the clean Formica top.

  “No, Jazemara, the other side.”

  For a second the pretty young girl frowned and quickly slid out off the cushioned seat and sat in its opposite twin.

  “Thank you,
” the woman sat in the spot vacated by her daughter and set down the carpetbag beside her.

  She didn’t want her back to the entrance. The thought came to Ravenwood unbidden. But he knew instinctively he was right. Who were they and what were they doing out at this late hour? The anxiousness he’d sensed from the woman and her desire to face the diner’s only main door. What was she afraid of? Were they running away from someone? Or something?

  After glancing at the torn cardboard menu, the alluring woman looked up at Wanda and asked for her advice. “My daughter and I are very hungry. We’d like something hot and filling …that will not take too long to prepare.”

  “Well, Jake still has some of tonight’s meatloaf on the stove. He could cut you up some of that and put it on rye bread with mustard. Wouldn’t take no time at all.”

  “Do you have any pie?” the girl asked, pulling off her cap and then her gloves.

  “Sure thing, honey. We got apple and cherry. They’re real yummy.”

  The daughter looked to her mother questioningly.

  “Very well,” she agreed, then gave Wanda their order for two meatloaf sandwiches to be followed by two slices of apple pie. “I’ll have some coffee as well and you can bring my daughter some hot chocolate if you have any.”

  “I think I can rustle some up,” the waitress said collecting the menus before she walked away and disappeared into the swinging door behind the counter. Her voice could be heard giving the cook their request.

  Ravenwood took another drink of his coffee and mentally shrugged. He had to stop playing detective all the time. The way he had inspected the raven-haired woman and her child was silly. They were strangers of no concern to him and here he was letting his curiosity get the best of him; to include his unexpected feelings of arousal.

  You are in danger, my son.

  The thought that suddenly popped into his head was not his own. He recognized it immediately as a psychic warning from the Nameless One.

  How? From where? He closed his eyes, attempting to receive his mentor’s ethereal warning clearer.

  The woman in black…beware!

  There was a clinking sound followed by a rolling noise and then something small bumped into his left shoe. His eyes snapped opened, glanced down in time to see a round, silver medallion the size of a half-dollar fall over on the floor.

  “I’m sorry, sir, it got away from me.” The young girl had rushed over to retrieve what was obviously her coin.

  He leaned over and picked it up and then held it up for her. “No need to apologize, young lady. Here is your runaway medallion.” He noticed there was a German cross-embossed on its surface with words imprinted around the circumference. “Courage, loyalty and honor.”

  “You speak German?” The girl took the coin and smiled surprised by his ability to translate the inscription. Her eyes were infinite pools of deep blue-gray.

  “Languages are a hobby of mine.” He pointed to the coin. “That’s a war medal, I believe. Awarded for exemplary courage in combat.”

  “It was my father’s,” she said. “Though I never met him. He died in the war. He was a famous flier. Mother says he was very brave.”

  “Then he has left you a proud legacy….”

  “Mein Gott, your eyes!” the girl gasped realizing for the first time their strangeness. “They are not the same color!”

  Ravenwood smiled. It was a reaction he was all too familiar with, having experienced it countless times in his life. “I have a medical condition known as hetrochromia, a difference of coloration in the irises. What are they now?”

  The girl took a second to reply. “The left one is brown and the right one is a bright blue. What do you mean ‘now.’ Do they change?”

  “Sometimes. Mine is a very rare case beyond the norm. My eyes change colors at random…without any warnings.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  It was such a sweet and innocent question. Ravenwood was quickly becoming enamored with this girl. “No, not at all. In fact I’m never aware of when it happens…unless someone else points it out to me.”

  “Jazemara!” The girl’s mother was noticeably annoyed. “Stop bothering the gentleman and return to your seat.”

  “Yes, mother.” She started to comply with the order then suddenly leaned over and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m Jazzy. Nice to meet you.”

  “I am Ravenwood and the pleasure is all mine, Jazzy.”

  Wanda was coming out of the swinging kitchen door just as the girl was returning to her seat to face her mother who merely looked at her with a stern expression. It spoke louder than any words of corrections.

  “Here you go, ladies,” Wanda said carefully placing the two plates down before the duo. “Two meatloaf sandwiches. Give me a second and I’ll get your drinks.”

  As the friendly waitress started back around the corner, the front door opened and three men crowded into the diner. All of them were tall and brutish in appearance, wearing dark, soiled clothing and hats pulled down over their heads.

  “Evening, gents,” Wanda said stopping by the counter. “Just find a place to sit and I’ll be right with you.”

  “That shall not be necessary,” the closest man replied in a high-pitched voice. He looked at Jazzy and her mother. “We see what we’ve come for.”

  And with that, he reached out with his right hand and swiped it across Wanda’s throat.

  The second blood gushed from the woman’s sliced throat, it splashed over her killer’s face and he grinned, holding his hand to expose the inch long, razor sharp fingernails now coated in red. The mortally injured woman clutched at her severed throat trying to staunch the fountaining blood but it was useless.

  She was dead long before she dropped to the floor.

  Ravenwood came out of his booth clutching his silver tipped cane in his left hand.

  One of the three intruders turned to him, tearing off his hat to expose his bald head and milk-white pallor. The fangs in his mouth accentuated his gaunt face. He was a vampire like his two companions.

  “Really, a stick?” The monster charged him.

  Ravenwood waited until the last possible moment and then reaching across his body, jerked the hidden rapier from its wooden scabbard and impaled the creature through the heart. The vampire was transfixed, his blood red eyes looking down at the steel in his chest. He snarled and grabbed for it with both hands.

  “This will not stop me!”

  He began to pull the blade from his body.

  At the same time, across the diner, the other two vampires had turned their attention to the two women who were their real target.

  “At long last, you are ours,” the leader of the undead trio bragged as he approached their table slowly. His tongue flickered out over his fangs. “The master has waited long enough.”

  Just then the kitchen door banged open and Jake appeared holding a .38 revolver in his hands. Seeing Wanda’s lifeless body on the floor, the mild-mannered cook was filled with righteous rage.

  “You bastards!” He held the gun with both hands and fired point blank into the second vampire hitting him squarely in the chest with three rounds. The undead fiend was thrown off his feet into the coat rack by the door. He knocked over the wooden pole and steadied himself against the doorframe. Looking down at the holes in his coat, he shook his head and snarled like a vicious dog.

  Before Jake could take a step back, the angry bloodsucker jumped him and together they disappeared through the kitchen portal. This was followed by the loud sounds of pots and pans clattering to the floor and then a piercing scream that was cut off suddenly.

  At the same time Jazzy’s mother sprang out of her seat grasping the porcelain plate on which her sandwiches had been delivered. Before the vampire could react, she whipped it around and smashed it into his face, her sandwich flying off in the opposite direction.

  The strong plate shattered in her hands, shards cutting into the monster’s dead flesh and breaking his nose. He growled and swiped at he
r with his long nails attempting to finish her as he had the helpless waitress. But the woman was faster and still holding the remaining piece of the smashed plate in her hand, she immediately drove it into the vampire’s left eye with a powerful shove.

  The monster bellowed and fell back from her.

  Whereas Ravenwood was also backing up as he watched his opponent yank the rapier from his chest and toss it aside.

  “Foolish mortal, I will make you suffer endlessly.”

  Ravenwood’s right hand was behind his body groping for a particular object on the table. His fingers made contact and he clutched at the three-inch high glass container.

  He whipped the saltshaker around, tore off the cap with his left hand and tossed its white granules into the vampire’s descending mouth and face.

  “You mean like this?”

  The effect was instantaneous as the bits of salt bore into the vampire’s flesh like tiny hot pokers; those in his mouth erupting into fiery spurts. His entire body was wracked with pain and began to shake violently as he attempted to wipe the burning pieces away and spit the others from his mouth. But it was too late and the fire inside his mouth seemed to flare brighter and burned his head from within. It burst into flames and he began spinning around wildly in the narrow aisle.

  Ravenwood moved around the dancing, burning figure and bent to reclaim his rapier.

  Meanwhile Jazzy’s mother had taken a moment to turn her back on the vampire she had wounded to reach down and open her carry bag. She fumbled inside it and pulled out a foot-long gold crucifix that filled her hand and immediately held it out before her.

  By now the crazed vampire had pulled the jagged piece of crockery from its ruined orb and was about to retaliate. At the sight of the cross, it screamed like a wild beast and put up its hands before its pale, gruesome face. It was in agony at the sight of the holy relic.