The Adventures of Lazarus Gray

by Barry Reese

  "I think it’s all a lot of poppycock," Melvin said. "We’re all good men. To think that any one of us could ever assault a woman… it’s preposterous!"

  Phillips nodded in agreement. "To get us back on track here… Are you in for more money or not, Melvin? This new project could become the centerpiece for the revitalization effort and make us all very rich men in the process." Phillips chuckled. "Or, in Melvin’s case, richer."

  Melvin smiled in reply. "I am very excited about this, gentlemen. Very excited, indeed."

  ***

  Night fell quickly in Sovereign City and the few residents who might be called innocents hurried for the relative safety of their homes, leaving the streets to those with darker intent.

  A moving patch of darkness passed along the sidewalk beneath the glare of a street lamp. The long streak of darkness ended in a perfect silhouette. The man who cast this shadow was tall and well-built with an olive-complexion and wavy dark hair. He wore a long overcoat, a suit and tie but it was the adornment on his face that set him apart from every other man in the city: he wore a tiny domino-style mask over his eyes and on the bridge of his nose rested a tiny beak-like protrusion. This was The Rook, a being whom the underworld had come to greatly fear in recent years. Having left bullet-ridden bodies in his wake throughout the Northeast, The Rook was like a one-man police force, bringing the guilty to their final judgment, even when the Law could not touch them.

  Just up ahead lay the private residence of Merle Hansome. It was a modest home, but it was light-years beyond the residences that were being torn down to make way for Melvin’s new high-rises. The Rook calmly approached the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property and expertly scaled the barrier, dropping easily down to the grass on the other side. He approached the front door and lightly tried the knob. It was locked, which drove him around back. The rear entrance opened easily and The Rook felt a small smile form on his lips. Even in a roach’s den like Sovereign, there were men who felt themselves safe and sound in their own home. It was all like a fallacy, of course, but it made The Rook’s job that much easier.

  Very few people in the world knew that Max Davies led a double life and even fewer still understood why he did it. An armchair psychiatrist would have zeroed in on the events that occurred when Max was eight years old and while those would have helped filled in the gaps, they would not have told the entire tale. Max’s father, Warren Davies, had run a newspaper campaign against mobsters who threatened to take over the city. When he refused to knuckle under the pressure they were putting on him, Warren found himself the target of a hired assassin. He was gunned down in front of his son and Max had the memory of his father’s final bloodstained memories imprinted into his memory.

  But it was what happened later that truly set Max Davies down the path of vigilantism. A series of painful visions began to plague him, ones of crimes yet to be committed. He discovered that if he took steps to prevent them or to bring their perpetrators to justice, the painful visions would recede. Compelled by the knowledge that he would continue to suffer unless he found a way to help others, Max embarked on a years-long trek around the globe in his teens. He learned every form of martial arts known to man, studied philosophy in the Mountains of Tibet, and mastered most known sciences. On the day he first created the identity of The Rook, Max Davies felt a sense of liberation take hold. It was as if he were a bird taking flight for the first time.

  And those who slithered in darkness found a new enemy, one who would never stop until every innocent could sleep safely in their own bed.

  ***

  Hansome sat on the edge of his bed, dressed in a white dressing gown and slippers. His hands were shaking badly enough that the cup of warm milk he was holding threatened to spill. His tongue darted out, wetting his upper lip. He didn’t understand why the others weren’t taking this more seriously – even though he hadn’t done the horrible deed, he had more than enough secrets that could be exposed by an investigation.

  Even more troubling was the nagging question that resided in the back of Hansome’s mind: What if one of the others was the murderer? He didn’t think that Groseclose would do such a thing and Melvin was too old and feeble to have overpowered a healthy young girl… but what about Phillips? The man was brawny and had a temper. Maybe Phillips had tried to force himself on the girl and, when she refused, he’d gotten so angry that he’d cut her to pieces. Phillips had claimed to have an alibi, but Hansome knew those could be faked. Lots of things could be faked, which was something that both Hansome and Phillips knew well.

  The lawyer drank the last of the milk and stood up, preparing to set the empty container on the nightstand and crawl into bed. He froze in place as the door to his bedroom unexpectedly open and a masked figure stepped into the room, a handgun held in his right hand. Hansome dropped the glass, jumping when it shattered on the floor.

  "Merle Hansome," The Rook said, taking several steps closer to the nervous attorney. "Men call me The Rook. Have you heard of me?"

  "Yes," Hansome answered, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re that vigilante who kills people."

  "I kill bad people. Are you a bad person, Mr. Hansome?"

  "No."

  "Then you have nothing to fear from me." The Rook made a show of lowering his weapon and placing it inside a holster under his right arm. "I want to talk to you about the death of Claudia Schuller."

  "I have sex with men." Hansome’s hands flew up over his mouth and his eyes opened wide. He wasn’t sure why he’d said that. It was like his nervousness had somehow caused him to admit his deepest secret in the hopes that it would somehow protect him.

  The Rook seemed unfazed by the comment. "I know. And I know that you’re not the killer. I’m not here to investigate you. I want you to help me investigate them."

  Hansome relaxed somewhat though it wasn’t in his nature to completely be at ease. "Are you talking about my business partners? Because if you are, the man you need to be looking at is Robert Phillips. I’d bet my last dollar that it’s him."

  "I don’t think it is – at the very least, if he is involved, he wasn’t involved in all the murders. He didn’t move to the city until after the first girl was killed."

  Hansome looked confused. "First girl? Are you saying that Schuller wasn’t the first to die?" As he asked these questions, Hansome seemed to grow even more nervous. He seemed on the verge of sharing something with The Rook but was obviously hesitant to do so.

  The Rook nodded. "That’s exactly what I’m saying. What I want from you is access to their personal information – you handle all of them as clients, don’t you?"

  "Well, Mr. Melvin has his own lawyers so I only assist with the Sovereign affairs that he has. But for the others, yes." Hansome’s tongue darted out, touching his upper lip. "But there’s a matter of confidentiality. I can’t just open their records to you."

  "Not even if innocent women are dying?" Hansome hesitated and the Rook continued, "And what about if a prolonged investigation ends up revealing a lot of your dirty laundry? We wouldn’t want that, would we?"

  Hansome exhaled. "All right. What do you need to know?"

  The Rook was about to provide a list of files that he wanted to see when the distinctive sound of footsteps moving stealthily up the stairs gave him pause. The Rook knew from the look on Hansome’s face that the man wasn’t expecting any company. He held a finger to his lips, indicating that Hansome should remain quiet, and drew his pistol once more.

  The gun looked like a common automatic but it was actually proof of The Rook’s remarkable scientific acumen. The chamber had been specially modified so that it could hold dozens of miniaturized bullets. It was whispered in the Underworld that The Rook’s guns never ran out of bullets but that wasn’t quite true – it was simply that each gun held so many shells that few ever saw him reload. The small size of the bullets said nothing about their power, however. Each one packed enough punch to send a large man tumbling backward, meaning that he rarely
needed to hit a target more than once.

  The Rook crept to the bedroom door and grasped the handle with his free hand. He yanked it open and came face-to-face with a man dressed all in black, save for a crimson mask. The mask was carved of wood and painted with vibrant red. It was a devil’s leering face, a tongue jutting forth in a mockery of laughter. In the man’s right hand was a long, curving dagger that gleamed in the light. The terrible sight was made all the more terrifying because of the man’s great size: he was a veritable bear.

  The Rook squeezed the trigger of his automatic, but the first blast went awry as the devil-faced man swung out with his knife, forcing The Rook to back away from the blow. The Rook was well versed in fighting but the man he was now facing was quick and quite skilled in the use of a blade. The Rook found himself ducking under another swipe of the blade and then hurrying to throw up an arm to prevent another. The sharp edge of the knife dug through flesh on the underside of The Rook’s arm and blood began to drip onto the floor.

  The Rook responded with a karate chop to the stranger’s throat, causing the other man to squawk in pain and stagger back. The Rook then grabbed hold of the arm that held the dagger, applying enough pressure to the wrist that the masked man dropped the knife.

  "Who are you?" The Rook demanded, driving an elbow into the side of the man’s head.

  "Call me Devil Face," the man answered, using a peculiar high-pitched voice that was obviously disguised. "And I’m not here for you. I just want the faggoty man. Give him to me and I’ll let you live."

  The Rook slammed a knee into Devil Face’s midsection and for a moment, he thought he’d won the day. The masked man appeared to nearly lose his footing and The Rook made the mistake of letting up on his assault. It was then that Devil Face reached down to his right ankle and freed a second blade that he’d hidden in his sock. Devil Face sprang upward, stabbing The Rook in the left shoulder. Devil Face pushed on, using all his strength to slam the vigilante against the wall. The back of The Rook’s head cracked against the wall and his vision began to swim. He slid to the floor, his eyes fluttering. Over the throbbing in his head, he heard the sounds of a scuffle, followed by a piercing cry. The Rook struggled to rise but he found himself unable to find his footing. He lost consciousness, the last sight he saw being that of Devil Face dragging Hansome’s limp form out of the room.

  Chapter III

  Assistance Unlimited

  Morgan Watts was a former confidence man, a lackey for more crime bosses than he cared to remember. But his life had taken a change for the better when he’d met Lazarus Gray. He’d realized that the emptiness he’d carried inside him for so long was his sense of morality. It was an empty cup, waiting to be filled. And Lazarus Gray soaked it to overflowing.

  Morgan was seated in the briefing room of Assistance Unlimited’s expansive headquarters. It was an old hotel that had been retrofitted to their purposes but some of the rooms retained the feeling of impermanence, as if no one was truly meant to call this place home. It was a building designed for fleeting visits.

  Lazarus was standing in front of a flannel board upon which photos of the various suspects, along with the known victims of the killer, had been hung. "Morgan, you said that Phillips was at home at the time of the killing?"

  "Apparently so. He returned home after the party at Groseclose’s and found a car in front of his house with a flat tire. He helped get them patched up – he even produced the name and address of the man he helped."

  "And you checked into that?"

  "I did. Mr. Thomas Murphy of 1455 Hancock Street. Verifies everything Phillips said. Maybe a little too perfectly, to be honest. They both remember every detail in a way that doesn’t usually happen."

  Eun Jiwon, the young Korean member of the team, was seated between Morgan and Samantha. He leaned forward, staring hard at his employer’s impassive face. "I know Mr. Phillips, Chief. He’s a Grade A goon, just dressed up in a business suit. I don’t know if he could kill a woman, but I know he’s got a temper."

  "You mean you knew him before all this began?" Samantha asked.

  Eun nodded. He was a handsome young man but after an awkward initial series of flirtations, Samantha had realized they weren’t really attracted to each other. In fact, Eun didn’t care for women sexually at all, though it took some time before he trusted everyone enough to confirm that. "When I first moved to Sovereign with my parents, they had to jump through hoops to get Phillips to sign off on the permits they needed to build their store. It was pretty obvious that he didn’t care for immigrants."

  Lazarus turned to the board, staring at the images of the men there: Groseclose, Davies, Melvin, Phillips, and Hansome were all men highly respected in their fields. He knew that sometimes respectability was just a veneer that hid a sociopath’s true nature, but he found it hard to believe any of these men were capable enough to have pulled off a series of murders like this. In the case of Phillips, he hadn’t even moved to the city when the first of them began.

  "Whoever did this is skilled with a blade," he said aloud, tapping his chin. "They also know enough about police work to know how to cover their tracks, washing away all the evidence that might implicate them."

  "I don’t think it’s Hansome," Morgan stated. "The guy’s way too nervous to have pulled this off. The guy folds under the least bit of pressure."

  "Funny thing to say about a lawyer," Eun said. "They lie for a living, don’t they?"

  "Not the good ones," Lazarus replied. "But I agree with Morgan. I think we can cross Hansome off our list, at least in terms of being the killer. Nothing in his background suggests that he would be capable of this. Having said that, he might be still be involved as an accomplice somehow."

  "Well," Samantha said, leaning forward with interest, "if it’s not Hansome and it’s not Phillips – since he wasn’t in town when the murders began – that only leaves a couple of them as suspects, especially if you still believe that Max Davies isn’t one of them. We’re just left with Melvin and Groseclose."

  "That’s not quite true."

  All eyes turned to the doorway, where The Rook stood, his body outlined in silhouette. He moved into view, his blood splattered form drawing a gasp from Samantha.

  Eun moved around the table, intending to attack this intruder, but Morgan caught him by the sleeve. "Hold off," the older man warned. "I think I’ve heard of this guy."

  The Rook nodded at Morgan before fixing his eyes on Lazarus. "Sorry for not knocking on my way in."

  "How did you get past our locks and security devices?"

  "What can I say? I’m amazing." The Rook flashed a crooked grin. "But I wanted to let you know that Hansome is missing. He was just kidnapped out from under my nose by a masked man calling himself Devil Face. I’m willing to bet that Devil Face is our killer… and he was far too fit and youthful seeming to be either Groseclose or Melvin."

  "Then we’re back to square one," Samantha said with an air of disappointment.

  "You’re forgetting about Smithson," The Rook answered, sliding his weary form into one of the spare seats at the table. "Young and fit, if I recall correctly. Maybe he’s doing the dirty work on his employer’s behalf. Or maybe he’s flying solo on this."

  "Do you have any proof that it’s Smithson?" Samantha inquired.

  "No. He’s just the only one not on that list." The Rook noticed that Eun remained tense and he gave what he hoped would be a reassuring smile. "I’m not your enemy. I’m here for the same reasons you are: to help the innocent."

  Eun sneered. "Only you choose to do it while hiding behind a mask."

  "I have reasons for hiding my identity."

  "All I know," Eun continued, "is that you’re wanted on charges of murder, assault, and resisting arrest." The young Korean glanced at Lazarus, his entire body tense. "Tell me why we aren’t arresting him, Lazarus. Please."

  The Rook struck quickly, spinning the legs of his chair so that his body was now turned toward Eun. He drove the heel of one sho
e hard into the younger man’s stomach but Eun recovered quickly, having been trained in the martial arts since childhood. He grabbed hold of The Rook’s ankle and drove an elbow down hard against it, nearly shattering the delicate bones.

  The Rook gritted his teeth but continued with his planned moves. He had anticipated Eun’s reaction and knew that it was a gamble to expose his ankle to such an attack, but it left Eun completely exposed up top. The Rook reached into an inner pocket sewn into his jacket and produced a small capsule that snapped open between his fingers. A fine brown mist exploded into the air and The Rook leaned forward, blowing the mist straight into Eun’s face. The Korean dropped his hold on the vigilante’s foot and began coughing, his eyes watering so badly that he was virtually blind.

  By now, Morgan and Samantha were on their feet. Morgan was reaching for his gun when The Rook held up a hand. "I didn’t come here to fight. I can give Eun an antidote for the dust I just sprayed him with – or he can wait an hour for it to clear up on its own. I just wanted to show you that there are multiple reasons for not trying to bring me in."

  Lazarus spoke up, having made no move to interfere during this entire exchange. Though the battle had taken only a few seconds, Lazarus was fast enough that he could have intervened. "I assume reason number one is that you’re innocent of all charges."

  "I only kill people who deserve it and who leave me no other choice." The Rook retrieved a second capsule and shoved it into Eun’s hand. "Crack this open and wave it under your eyes and nose," he directed.

  Morgan, still glaring daggers at The Rook, released his hold on his pistol, leaving it holstered at his waist. "And what’s reason number two?"

  "I would have thought that would have been obvious," The Rook stated, a bit of arrogance creeping into his voice. "None of you are capable of taking me down."

  Samantha crossed her arms over her chest. "If you’re so high-and-mighty, why do you need us at all, then? Is this Devil Face really so tough that you can’t handle him yourself?"