by Barry Reese
“Go to hell,” Adder muttered. He brought up his pistol and fired, sending hot death spewing towards the vigilante. The Peregrine remained standing until the last possible second and then he ducked down, propelling himself forward into an acrobatic roll. He sprang up right in front of Adder, unleashing a powerful punch to the criminal’s jaw.
Adder landed on his back, gun still in hand. He tried to raise his weapon but the Peregrine’s foot came down hard on the man’s wrist, applying enough pressure that Adder finally cried out and released the gun. The Peregrine then crouched on Adder’s chest, bringing the glowing ring close to the man’s face. Adder could feel the unnatural heat from the stone and he wondered what on earth had created such a thing. Stories circulated that it had been carved from the heart of a demon or some such, but Adder didn’t believe in the supernatural. It was some sort of weird science, he thought.
Adder hesitated, his eyes staying fixed on the signet ring that balanced perilously close to his face. “Okay, okay,” he said. “It was a guy named Garibaldi. He used to work for Big Charlie. You marked his forehead with that thing.”
The Peregrine’s mind turned back to 1939, when he’d united with his good friend Leonid Kaslov to take down Big Charlie’s criminal operation. Had it really been seven years since then? Time was flying…
But as for Garibaldi, the Peregrine had to confess that he had only dim memories of the man: one of Charlie’s lieutenants, with a penchant for sadism and delusions of grandeur. “Where can I find him?” the Peregrine asked, bringing the ring closer.
“I don’t know… I dealt with him by phone.”
The Peregrine nodded. “I believe you. There’s only thing left to say…”
“What’s that?”
A cold and somewhat cruel smile touched the Peregrine’s lips as he began to recite the pledge that was infamous in the underworld: “When the good is swallowed by the dark, there the Peregrine will plant his mark!”
The signet ring’s crimson stone was suddenly shoved hard against Black Adder’s forehead. The skin there began to sizzle as the impression of a bird in flight was put in place, marking Adder for the rest of his life as a criminal. Adder screamed and bucked, finally blacking out from shock.
The Peregrine straightened up as his good friend and Atlanta’s chief of police, William McKenzie, entered the alley. McKenzie still retained his youthful good looks, though he was no longer the brash young officer that the Peregrine had befriended years ago. The police chief was carrying “Malone’s” clothing and a small case containing the colored lenses with which the Peregrine had altered his appearance.
“Nice job,” McKenzie said, shaking his head at the sight of Adder’s smoking forehead. “I still can’t believe you managed to pass yourself off as Malone.”
“Lifts in the shoes, colored eye lenses and a wig can do wonders,” the Peregrine replied. Max Davies looked up into the sky, letting the rain strike his face. “Adder says he was hired by Garibaldi. You remember him?”
McKenzie paused, obviously searching his encyclopedic memory. When it came to criminals he’d helped put away, Will’s ability to recall the details was often astonishing. “Samuel Garibaldi… he was twenty-seven years old when he went to the Federal Pen back in ’39. Got out in ’44 after he agreed to turn evidence against some of his old cohorts. Since then he’s laid low, but I know he’s been in Atlanta ever since he got released.”
“How do you know all that?” Max asked in amazement, smiling at his friend. The other officers were arriving now, making the alleyway a bit crowded. Two of the men dragged Adder to his feet, slinging the unconscious man’s arms around their necks.
“It’s my job,” McKenzie said. Will looked at his watch and began to laugh. “You’re going to be in trouble.”
“What time is it?” the Peregrine asked, though he was afraid he knew the answer.
“A little past ten.”
The Peregrine sighed and began to back away. “I’ll come by the office in the morning.”
McKenzie nodded, watching as his friend disappeared into the shadows. One of the plainclothes officers stood beside his boss, hands on hips. “Why does he do this?” the man asked.
“Do what?”
“Put on that mask… go out and nearly get himself killed. Seems like he’d just become a cop if he wanted to put bad guys away.”
“There are times when you and I are hamstrung by the law,” McKenzie pointed out. “Sometimes justice requires you to go beyond the statutes and limitations created by society.”
* * *
Max Davies found his modified roadster parked down the block, next to a Negro nightclub dubbed the Hot Spot. The place was hopping with the sound of jazz music, and a steady stream of dark-skinned couples was moving in and out of the club. Max was the secret owner of the place and he’d begun to use its basement as a second Peregrine’s Nest. The original was still his primary base but there were times when he didn’t want to return home while in the heart of the city.
Max removed his mask and tossed it into the passenger side seat. He slipped behind the wheel and started the engine. It purred slightly, almost imperceptibly. The car had been altered so that it was not only the fastest thing on the streets but it was also so quiet that few even noticed its passing.
Only a few months had passed since the horrific events that had culminated with his wife being attacked in the family home—by no less than the reanimated corpse of their former housemaid. In the aftermath, the Claws of the Peregrine had taken off in an attempt to resurrect one of their own while the rest of the makeshift alliance of heroes had drifted off in their own directions. Max had found himself enjoying life more than he had in years, mainly because a young woman named Jenny Everywhere had convinced him that his future was wide open: despite the fears he’d harbored for years, there was no set destiny awaiting him.
Unfortunately, that upbeat feeing he’d been nursing for months was now in true jeopardy. He was supposed to be hosting a charity ball at his plantation home, with all the proceeds going to a fund for children orphaned in the war. He was very late now and he knew that Evelyn was not going to be happy with him. In his absence, she’d be pressed into service as hostess, and though she’d enjoyed such things in the past, she had become more of a homebody since their youngest child had come into the world.
The Peregrine’s car sped through the streets, exiting the downtown area and gradually heading towards the outskirts of town. The twin beams of his headlights illuminated the street as the pavement ended and the dirt path leading to his home came into view.
Something large suddenly massed in the road in front of Max’s car and only his incredible reflexes prevented him from crashing right into it. The car fishtailed, sending up a plume of mud as the wheels skidded through the water and dirt. The car came to a stop and Max looked back to the road, where it looked like no less than three dozen crows were massed in the pouring rain. They seemed to be watching him, their glassy eyes reflecting the light from his car.
Max shivered, realizing that the temperature in the car had dropped by more than thirty degrees in the car’s cabin. The Peregrine opened the car door and stepped out, a pistol in hand. The hairs on the back of Max’s neck began to stand on end and he recognized the presence of the supernatural from years of experience with it.
The murder of crows watched his approach without any fear, and as he came amongst them they moved to encircle him. Despite the full moon in the sky, it seems as if a blanket of darkness had come to roost on the scene, and only the headlights gave any illumination to the bizarre scene.
Once upon a time, Max would have expected the spirit of his dead father to now appear. Warren Davies had haunted his son for nearly thirty years before his spirit had finally been dispelled forever a few months back. But if this strange mystic visitation wasn’t being caused by his Max’s father, then who was doing it?
“Max Davies…” a chorus of voices said and Max was chilled to realize that it was the c
rows that were talking, their beaks moving in unison. Their voices sounded human enough and distinctly masculine.
“Who are you?” the Peregrine asked.
“We are the Flock. We are here to warn you.”
“About what?”
“Death is stalking you. It hangs invisibly in the air around you, seeping into your lungs. Do you not hear its steady breathing? Or the rhythmic march of its feet? Do you not shudder at its ghostly touch?”
The Peregrine felt his patience beginning to wear thin. “Stop talking in riddles and tell me something definitive. You say you’re the Flock? What does that mean? Why are you trying to help me?”
The crows suddenly began taking to the air. There were so many of them that Max was temporarily blinded by the flurry of wings. The noise of their sudden activity was deafening and the Peregrine almost missed hearing their response: “The source of your danger is at your house now. You know him. He has been marked.”
The Peregrine watched as the murder of crows vanished into the rainy night and he paused only a moment, angry that once again he was finding himself the pawn of unseen forces.
But the Flock’s meaning was clear, even if the identity of the entity driving them was not. Garibaldi was at Max’s charity ball… and if he was nursing a grudge against the Peregrine, it was conceivable that he might have pieced together clues that his old enemy was actually Max Davies.
And that meant that Evelyn might be in terrible danger.
* * *
For her part, Evelyn Davies was not feeling any fear. Rather, she was feeling a dull headache that had started in the base of her skull and then spread out, like a spider’s web, over her entire head. She looked ravishing in a black evening gown that left her shoulders bare. Her auburn hair was piled up high, giving her a glamorous look, and her makeup was subdued, adding just the right touch of class to her natural good looks. At thirty-six years of age, Evelyn was no longer the fresh young woman who had first won Max’s heart a decade ago, but she was still in the prime of her sexuality and she easily caught the eye of every man at the ball.
She was currently saying good night to one of the city councilmen, a well-meaning but boorish gentleman whose breath smelled like deviled eggs. Various ways of excusing herself from the conversation were coming to mind but Evelyn hadn’t yet settled on which one would do the deed with the minimum of insult. It was almost enough to make her wish that one of the kids would come tromping down from upstairs, making a fuss. But both little William and darling Emma were too good for that. Even if they weren’t actually asleep—and Evelyn had serious doubts that William was—they certainly weren’t going to be crashing the party.
“Mrs. Davies?”
Evelyn heard the voice from behind her and turned, grateful for the interruption. The smile that came automatically to her lips froze in place, however, for there was something about the man before her that caused her heart to skip a beat.
Samuel Garibaldi was attractive in a bearish sort of way. He was not very tall but he was barrel-chested and his face had the sort of hard, serious cast to it that she’d often associated with the various Russians she’d met over the years. He was bald but he had the head for it, and on him it looked perfectly natural. But it was the brand on his forehead, just above the point where his dark brows almost, but not quite, came together that really seized her attention: This man had been marked by her husband as a criminal.
Regaining her composure, Evelyn offered a hand. “I’m Evelyn Davies, yes. And you are?”
“Samuel Garibaldi.” Garibaldi took her hand and clasped it lightly. When he let her fingers drop, he tapped his brand. “I see you’ve noticed my war wound.”
“It’s rather hard to miss. Is that… is that what I think it is?”
“I’m afraid so. I used to run with a very bad crowd. Ended up on the receiving end of the Peregrine’s justice, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I went to prison and saw the error of my ways. In fact, I sometimes tell people that the day that the Peregrine branded me was the last day of my old life. I was reborn in searing pain, given a new view on life.”
Evelyn smiled, though she was unsure what the proper response should be. Garibaldi spoke with the fervent nature of a zealot and it was somewhat off-putting. “Well, Mr. Garibaldi, I’m glad you’ve turned your life around. I take it from your presence here tonight that you’ve moved into philanthropy?”
“Something like that. After my release from prison, I used some of the money I’d hidden away to start my own business.”
“And what is it that you do?”
Garibaldi snagged a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray and paused, obviously searching for the right words. “I buy and sell antiquities.”
“Artwork?”
“Sometimes.” Garibaldi smiled. “Looks like your husband has finally arrived.”
Evelyn looked over her shoulder and saw Max scanning the crowd. He must have arrived in a hurry because he was still wearing the suit he wore as the Peregrine, though he was thankfully sans mask. Usually, Max avoided wearing the same clothes in public for fear that someone might discover his dual identity.
Evelyn gave a little wave and Max joined her in seconds, having politely elbowed his way through the partygoers. “Sorry I’m late,” he began, but Evelyn took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Honey, I want you to meet Mr. Garibaldi.” Evelyn turned to introduce her husband to Garibaldi, but to her surprise he was gone. “He was just here…”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Max lowered his voice and looked around at the people surrounding them. “He’s the one who hired Black Adder, and a flock of birds just told me to watch out for him.”
Evelyn’s eyes widened and a playful smile danced on her red lips. “Max… did you just say…?”
“Yes. I know it sounds insane but it’s true.”
“I’m used to things sounding insane, at least as far you’re concerned.” Evelyn shook her head. “I’m sure he’s gone by now. He probably took off the second he spotted you.”
Max gamely put on a brave face as he began to acknowledge some of the guests. “I’ll deal with it later. You go relax. I’ll play host for awhile.”
Evelyn stepped away after kissing Max on the cheek. She knew that she should simply sneak upstairs and slip off her heels for a few minutes, but she wasn’t about to do that. Though she didn’t accompany Max on his nocturnal jaunts as much as she used to—the obligations of motherhood—she still considered herself his partner in all things. As such, she slipped through the old plantation house and finally found the secret entrance that led into the storm cellar. Her husband had dubbed the cellar “the Peregrine’s Nest” shortly after he’d purchased the home, and it was filled with all his experimental devices, his case files, and a small memento area.
Evelyn removed her heels after entering the lair and moaned happily as she wiggled her toes. She located one of the manila envelopes in his filing cabinet, one that contained the names of every man and woman that the Peregrine had ever marked with his signet ring, along with the details of their crimes. At first, she’d wondered why he’d keep such a grisly list, but upon reflection it had made perfect sense. These criminals weren’t dead… and they’d surely hate the man who had disfigured them.
There was a small photograph attached to the papers on Samuel Garibaldi and Evelyn recognized him immediately. It had been taken before his branding and he’d had a full set of hair back then. She wondered if he’d gone bald while in prison or if he’d simply shaved it all off. A quick read-through of the file’s contents set her pulse racing. Garibaldi was a sadist who used to specialize in dealing with the prostitution side of the crime lord’s holdings. Apparently, he’d permanently marked the beauty of several women and was wanted for a litany of rapes, assaults, and even murder.
And I shook his hand, Evelyn mused. Every time I think that the world’s safe enough for Max to retire from being the Peregrine, I’m confronted with pure ev
il again, and I realize that somebody needs to be there to protect the world.
Evelyn sat back and gave thought to the Garibaldi situation. Did his presence here tonight imply that he knew the Peregrine’s identity? Probably not, she decided. If he was actually trying to pass himself off as a reformed person trying to turn over a new leaf, this sort of party was the perfect opportunity to do so.
“You made a mistake tonight,” she said aloud. “And Mr. Garibaldi, it’s going to cost you big time.”
CHAPTER III
The Crimson Rain
Garibaldi stepped into his penthouse apartment, enjoying the view of the city he had from the numerous windows. Garibaldi had purchased the upper floors of Century Tower, the highest building in the city, and he relished the feeling it provided him: it was like he was an ancient king, looking out upon his dominion.
A series of ferocious growls, followed by the patter of claws on the floor, brought another smile to the master criminal’s face. Four massive German Shepherds entered the room, each much larger than the norm and with ferocious and diabolical intelligence shining in their eyes. Garibaldi knelt and ruffled each of their heads, cooing at them like they were children.
A short man with a bald head and oversized glasses shambled into view, noticeably dragging his left leg behind him. “They missed you,” the man said in heavily accented English. The fact that he was German was impossible to miss from the way his words were inflected. Dr. Gottlieb Hochmuller was presumed dead by the Allies, which was the way he preferred it. The last thing he wanted was to end up in Nuremberg like so many of his former colleagues.
Garibaldi smiled. “These brutes will get a chance to prove themselves in the field soon enough, and I bet they’re going to do me proud.”
The dogs seemed to understand his words and one of them raised his head, a near smile on his canine mouth. Though few in the scientific community would believe it, Dr. Hochmuller had performed an incredible feat: inside the skulls of each of these dogs lay the brain of a human being. Each of them had been carefully selected for their ferocity in life, their willingness to kill and enjoy the carnage they created. Shortly after the brain transplant procedure, their canine bodies would begin to enlarge, becoming stronger and faster than normal dogs. Even Hochmuller himself didn’t understand the exact reasons, though he believed it had to do with an altered metabolism.