The Dark Gentleman gestured with a gloved hand to the crystal ball, which was glowing so brightly that Charity had to resist the urge to shield her eyes. “It started doing this about three minutes ago.”
“Why did you wait to call me?”
“I had to figure out how to access the speaker system. The tutorial I received covered the monitors but I don’t think they assumed you were going to be wandering around the building without me.”
The chastisement was so mild that Charity ignored it. She moved towards the occult relic with caution and with every step, she felt negative emotions begin to bubble up to the fore. Anger over The Dark Gentleman’s demeanor, his self-righteous crusade and even his garb all threatened to spill out of her but she managed to push them back down, knowing that it was merely the effects of The Unnervum at work. “It’s drawing power from something. It’s charging up.”
“I haven’t seen anything on the cameras, but you’re right. I can feel it, too. The Unnervum makes me antsy.”
“Same here.” Charity looked over her shoulder as Cedric entered the room. The expression on his face quickly became one of annoyance.
“What the hell are you two doing?”
“Calm down,” Charity said. “The crystal ball’s spewing its hate energy.”
Cedric frowned but kept quiet. When the phone began ringing, he gestured that he would get it and left the room, muttering under his breath. “I’m probably not qualified to help with that thing anyway.”
The Dark Gentleman bit his tongue before he fired off an angry retort. Taking a deep breath to control his emotions, he asked, “Should we move it down to the basement level?”
“The way it’s glowing, I’m not sure that would help. It’s growing stronger by the second.” Her eyes flicked over the various monitors, looking for any sign of what could be setting it off. She finally spotted something at the very edge of the block, near one of the alleyways. She tapped it and asked, “Can you zoom in on that?”
The Dark Gentleman did so and gradually the image sharpened, finally revealing the outline of a man. He was dressed almost like an old west gunfighter. “I don’t recognize him.”
“Neither do I but that doesn’t mean much. I suppose one of us could go out and talk to him.”
“I better do it. We don’t know if he deserves beheading yet.”
Gravedigger growled as The Dark Gentleman exited the viewing room. If he kept up this attitude of his, she’d show him just how deadly she could be. The thought made her smile beneath her mask and she was just beginning to become aware of how troubling that was when Cedric returned.
“Charity, you better come and take this call.”
“Who is it?” she demanded, a bit more harshly than she would have otherwise.
“He says his name is Mr. Death and he claims that he’s here to dance on our graves.”
* * *
Nimrod spat a wad of phlegm at the ground and kept his eyes on the large building that housed Assistance Unlimited. His conversation with Fritz had gone exactly as he’d suspected it would. He’d been given his marching orders, with no room for deviation. He was to work with Mr. Death and help the crazy man with his current mission, which was supposedly important to the future of the Reich.
Somehow, he had a hard time believing that. Hitler’s rise to power had been so dramatic and his speeches so impassioned that Nimrod could scarcely fathom that the Füehrer would put stock into someone like Mr. Death.
Perhaps, he mused, Hitler wasn’t the genius the Germans liked to portray him as.
He was lost in his musings when he felt the barrel of a gun dig into his temple and an arm go around his throat, holding him so tightly that he could scarcely breathe.
Anger flooded through his veins. As if losing to The Peregrine wasn’t bad enough, now he’d let someone walk right up behind him?
He was losing his touch.
“What’s your name, cowboy?” the gunman hissed into Nimrod’s ear.
What happened next occurred so quickly that The Dark Gentleman was taken aback.
Nimrod drove his elbow into the Gentleman’s stomach and then he seized hold of his gun arm and twisted it, not quite breaking it but doing enough harm that the masked hero’s grip on his gun was loosened and the weapon fell to the ground.
Nimrod released his grip and dropped, seizing hold of the pistol and bringing it round to bear on the vigilante. “Nimrod,” he said. “The name’s Nimrod. And you?”
“The Dark Gentleman,” he said, slowly raising his hands.
“Dramatic.”
“I was thinking the same thing about you.”
Nimrod grunted. He felt more comfortable now and not just because he was the one holding the gun. Facing men in masks was part of his daily job and he was damned good when it came to killing vigilantes. It was only when he was forced to deal with Nazis and crazy people that he lost his footing. “Nimrod is a good description for me. I’m a hunter. A powerful one.”
The Dark Gentleman looked thoughtful and then he began nodding. “I think I’ve heard of you. You’re a murderer who targets heroes.”
“Heroes? Maybe some of them. Most of them are just guys who like to play dress-up and get innocent people killed. How about you? Anybody ever died in one of your firefights? Ever think that you should let the trained professionals handle guys like me?”
“I try to avoid firefights.”
“That’s why you carry a gun?”
“Insurance. And in a place like Sovereign, you can’t rely on the police to do the right thing. Besides, sometimes the law can be twisted and used for the wrong purpose.”
“Sounds like you’ve come up with quite an explanation for why you’re taking the law into your own hands.” Nimrod took a step closer and lowered his voice. “I take it that you’re working with Assistance Unlimited now?”
“Just house-sitting, actually.”
“My friend’s not going to like that,” Nimrod muttered. “He was hoping to meet the famous Lazarus Gray.”
“Does your friend have as colorful a name as you and I?”
“Mr. Death.”
“Charming.”
Nimrod grunted. Normally he would have killed The Dark Gentleman by now but it was almost a relief to talk to someone who wasn’t yanking his chain. “He’s a lunatic.”
The Dark Gentleman saw the brief flicker of emotion that passed over Nimrod’s face and he picked up on it immediately. “Mr. Death. So, you’re his sidekick or something?”
Nimrod’s face darkened considerably and The Dark Gentleman knew that he’d scored a direct hit. “I don’t play second fiddle to anybody, especially not somebody like him.”
“Sorry. I just got the feeling that he was calling the shots.”
“Well, he’s not.” Nimrod pointed the barrel of the gun at The Dark Gentleman’s chest and his finger began to twitch on the trigger. “I’ll keep your cute little cape as a souvenir.”
The Dark Gentleman twisted as Nimrod fired. His movement shifted the “cute little cape” so that it was facing Nimrod directly. The bullet struck the cloth at full force but amazingly it didn’t pass through it. The bullet was slowed enough that it became embedded in the material.
Hoping that Nimrod wouldn’t notice this, The Dark Gentleman hit the ground as if he’d been shot. He lay still and unmoving as Nimrod came forward to make sure that he was dead.
The cape had been lined with many durable layers of ultra-lightweight fiber, making it akin to a policeman’s vest. It was enough to keep The Dark Gentleman alive, though he’d be sporting a terrible bruise for weeks.
Nimrod nudged The Dark Gentleman’s legs and then, satisfied that there would be no need for a follow-up bullet, he knelt to yank away the cape. It was then that The Dark Gentleman revealed his ruse. He grabbed hold of Nimrod’s wrist and gave a mighty yank, pulling the killer to the ground with him.
The two men wrestled for control of the gun, each fearful that losing this battle would mean certain defeat, it not death. Nimrod was snarling and brutal but The Dark Gentleman managed to get on top of his opponent and this gave him the leverage that was needed to squeeze the pistol out of Nimrod’s grip.
The Dark Gentleman raised the pistol and slammed it down hard against Nimrod’s skull. It took two more quick blows before the killer stopped thrashing about. Blood oozed down the man’s forehead but he was still breathing, which was a good thing in The Dark Gentleman’s eyes. He always wanted to avoid taking a life if possible.
Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out a small coil of wire that he used to bind Nimrod’s wrists and ankles. He then turned back to 6196 Robeson Avenue, knowing that he needed to warn them about the man called Mr. Death.
Unfortunately, it was too late for that….
* * *
Gravedigger held the receiver to her ear and asked, “Mr. Death?”
“That’s me!” came the slightly high-pitched reply. “Are you Samantha Grace? Because I have to say, you sound just as sexy as I thought you would.”
“Samantha’s not here.”
“Oh.” Mr. Death sounded disappointed but he suddenly brightened as he asked, “Are you the witch with the big ti—”
“No!”
“Ah. No need to be so touchy, Fraulein. Not every girl can possess a set of knockers the size of Abigail Winter’s.”
“You sound like you know a lot about Assistance Unlimited,” she said. She put a gloved hand over the phone and hissed at Cedric, “Look at the cameras. He’s close, I’m sure of it!”
Cedric nodded and left the room, leaving Gravedigger on the phone with the so-called Mr. Death.
“I’ve read all the newspaper clippings,” Mr. Death replied. “I admit that I’m something of a fan. I mean, the stories! Supposedly, Lazarus Gray died and was reborn. Given my name, I take a real interest in such things. I mean, murdering people is kind of my thing these days. I plan to practice so much that I get really good at it!”
“Well then, you and I have something in common. I’m Gravedigger… and I kill people, too.”
There was a noticeable pause before Mr. Death spoke again. His voice was lower now and there was a hint of something new to it. Not fear but something more akin to anticipation. “Oh, my. You’re the one with the penchant for decapitation, aren’t you? Quite the rough stuff for this town! And Lazarus has you shacking up in his house? That’s surprising. I figured he’d frown on such things. Still, maybe he likes the bad girls.”
“Let me guess, Mr. Death. You wear a skull mask and you’re here to steal The Unnervum.”
“You’re half right.”
“Which half?”
“I don’t wear a mask.”
The click of the connection being severed sent Gravedigger into motion. She bolted into the monitor room and saw Cedric staring at one of the screens. He noticed her entry and said, “No sign of Mr. Death but it looks like The Dark Gentleman and our mystery cowboy are fighting it out.”
Charity saw the two men on the tiny screen, rolling about as each fought to gain control of the gun. “We have to hope that Michael can handle his own business.”
A blaring alarm suddenly interrupted her and a new monitor flared to life, showing the roof of their building. A man had appeared in a puff of smoke, literally materializing out of thin air. He was dressed in dark clothing and the lack of flesh on his head made it immediately clear that this was the mysterious Mr. Death.
“Stay here,” she said. “Monitor my fight and if it looks like I’m going to lose, you contact Fortune McCall or Doc Daye. Understand?”
Cedric nodded. All the angry fire was gone from his eyes now, having been burned away by the adrenaline induced by the current situation. “Charity, be careful.”
“I will.” She drew her sword and it gleamed dangerously in the light. “He’s the one who needs to worry.”
* * *
Mr. Death dropped through the rooftop, coming down in the bedroom that Lazarus Gray shared with his wife. The young woman was at her father’s home for her own safety, having been directed to stay out of sight until the current crisis was over.
Mr. Death was unaware of Gray’s recent marital bliss or else he would have been disappointed by her absence. He delighted in causing pain and the mere thought of killing a new bride would have made him giddy. Thankfully, this was not to be the case. He did, however, take note of the perfume that lingered in the air and the ladies’ garments that still lay across the bedspread. He chuckled, wondering if Lazarus Gray had certain inclinations that might be useful to know. He’d known a sergeant once that had worn women’s’ underclothes beneath his uniform and the man’s chagrin at being discovered was still worthy of a chuckle.
He moved to the door, eager to find The Unnervum. He could feel it humming in his bones, amplifying his madness. He was certain that it was grooving to his own ambient psychic energies, too. They were going to make a great pair. So good, in fact, that he might hesitate to share it with The Mother of Pus or her masters.
Time for thoughts of betrayal at a later date,
he mused.
Focus on the task at hand and there will be plenty of opportunities for murder and mayhem in the future!
He was thinking such happy thoughts when he stepped out into hallway and came face-to-face with Gravedigger. The sword-wielding vigilante wasted no time with pleasantries—she swung her weapon with deadly intent, the blade cutting through the villain’s bony neck. His head was lopped off and the skull spun about in the air before tumbling down, where it was caught by Mr. Death’s gloved hands.
Gravedigger took several steps back as Mr. Death placed his skull back atop his shoulders, screwing it back-and-forth as if reattaching it. Then the lower jaw opened and the glowing of the eye-sockets resumed, none the worse for wear.
“Nasty little bitch, aren’t you?” he laughed. “I like a woman who plays rough!”
“You’re not human,” she whispered, realizing just how dangerous this encounter could turn out to be.
“And you stink of the supernatural, toots, so we’re equal.” Mr. Death spread his hands wide and asked, “Want to see what I can do?”
Gravedigger braced herself and it was a good thing that she did because Mr. Death attacked with astonishing speed. He lunged for her, blades springing out from below his wrists. The knives were attached to some sort of hidden spring mechanism that was hidden by his dark attire but their sharpness was undeniable. The metallic clang they made upon connecting with Gravedigger’s blocking sword was quite loud.