Mystery Men (& women) Volume 1

by B C Bell

  “Found it,” Roland said. He was wearing a triumphant grin and Sue found herself laughing at him. His face fell and she immediately realized she’d hurt his feelings. “What?” he asked.

  “You just looked so happy.”

  “Well, I should be. I think this is exactly what we wanted.” He held up a small black leather-bound book. “It’s a diary.”

  “I think when men keep one of those, it’s called a journal.” Sue took it from his hands and flipped through it. It was mostly written in a modified version of shorthand and consisted of dates, names and brief notes of what occurred. She noticed the final entry was dated last night at 8 o’clock, meaning it was only a few hours before Smith’s murder:

  Have decided against including the missionary’s story in the book. Too dangerous. Marquard knows I have it and the story would only confirm it. Best to destroy things and forget it ever happened.

  Roland plucked the book from her fingertips. He dropped it into the pocket of his coat. “I’ll read over this back at the office.” He cleared his throat. “You free for dinner tonight? We can talk over the case.”

  Sue smiled. “Can’t. I have to leave as soon as work is over. Visiting an old friend in Savannah.”

  “Oh. You taking tomorrow off?”

  “Of course not. I can’t leave you to handle things on your own. You’d be likely to fall apart without me.”

  “I can’t argue with you there,” Roland admitted. “It’s just a lot of driving for one night. You want me to tag along? Two sets of hands on the wheel are better than one.”

  “You’re sweet, Roland. But not this time.” Sue turned away from her friend and partner, her mind turning over the words from the journal. Who was Marquard? Was he the key to the entire affair? She knew she wouldn’t get any rest until she knew the answer to that.

  Chapter II.

  Glumm

  Savannah, Georgia

  Dusk slammed her elbow into the crook’s face, shattering the man’s nose. She then grabbed hold of her opponent’s arm and swung him about, sending him tumbling into the arms of the other three thugs. All four men hit the ground and Dusk rushed forward, kicking two in their faces before they could defend themselves. She then raised the butt of her pistol and brought it crashing down onto the skull of another. That left only the one with the broken nose. Dusk regarded him for a moment before walking past him, leaving the man to whine in pain.

  The door leading to the home of Phineas Glumm swung open and a cadaverous-looking man stood there, with hands on hips. “Dusk,” the man said with a most unfriendly smile. “You could have just knocked, you know.”

  Phineas Glumm was Savannah’s most disturbing resident. A transplanted Briton, Glumm had made his fortune in the ivory field before retiring to Georgia. At one time, he’d had nearly a hundred poachers in his employ, all of them given a single task: hunt down and kill as many elephants as possible, depriving the dead and dying animals of their tusks in the process. It was nasty work but Glumm himself had never been witness to it: he’d remained in England the whole time, enjoying his three vices: wine, women and witchcraft.

  “Your guards didn’t seem to want to let me pass,” Dusk said, stepping past Glumm. The interior of the house smelled strongly of incense. A massive oil panting of a reclining nude woman dominated the foyer and Dusk wondered at what sort of man would make sure that such artwork was the first thing his guests saw upon entering.

  “They probably remembered you from your last visit,” Glumm said, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t seem overly concerned about his injured men. “I’m sure you remember… you burst in unannounced and demanded information from me. Much like now, I’d imagine.”

  Dusk kept walking until she’d reached Glumm’s study. The room was wood-paneled, with a tiger skin rug on the floor. The smell of incense was strongest here and Dusk visibly winced a bit at the strength of the odor. Her eyes drifted across the spines of numerous old books, some of which bore titles in Latin. “There’s a mystery in Atlanta and I want your help in understanding it.”

  Glumm smiled softly and sat down in a large-backed chair. He gestured for Dusk to take a seat on a nearby couch but the vigilante answered with a shake of her head. “Why me?” Glumm asked. “Surely you have limitless resources in your so-called war on crime.”

  “I really missed visiting Savannah.”

  Glumm laughed softly. “Very well, my mysterious friend. Tell me of this mystery and I shall do my best to illuminate you about its meaning.”

  Dusk recounted all that she knew, speaking slowly. Glumm said nothing in response, merely closing his eyes. He almost looked like he’d fallen asleep but Dusk knew better. The man had a mind like a steel trap and he was no doubt sifting through all the details, looking for some clue to fasten on.

  When she was finished, Glumm remained motionless for a full minute before opening his eyes. “I can help you, I believe.” Glumm smiled. “But I want something in return.”

  “I’m not here to make deals.”

  “But you do need assistance. And I can give it. All I want is a small trifle, nothing that would put you out.”

  “Go on.”

  “I know this Marquard,” Glumm said. “He is a foul man, well-muscled and swarthy. He is an oily fellow – his hair always looks like he needs to wash it. You know the sort?” Glumm shrugged when Dusk did not reply. “About six years ago, he contacted me, wanting information on The Fourth Nail. I gave it to him and not long after, he helped finance an expedition to Budapest in search of it.”

  Dusk moved closer now, her eyes fixed on the gaunt man in front of her. “I’ve never heard of anything called The Fourth Nail.”

  “I’m not surprised. It’s a rather obscure piece of Christian myth. You see, there were originally four nails that were set aside for use in the crucifixion of Christ: two for his hands, one for his feet and one for his heart. That last nail would, of course, have ended his suffering quickly.”

  “Marquard was looking for the nail that was supposed to be used on Christ’s heart?”

  “Yes. You see, according to the story, a gypsy stole The Fourth Nail and used it to repair his wagon. The gypsy didn’t know what he’d done but God was pleased. He wanted the world to see his son suffer, so that his resurrection would be all the more enduring. God blessed The Fourth Nail, ensuring that anyone who held it would have his or her worldly sins forgiven. Furthermore, the owner of The Nail would be immune to illness or age. They could still be killed, mind you, but they would not die of natural causes.”

  “Smith went with Marquard on this expedition,” Dusk said. It was more of a statement than a question, so Glumm merely grunted his assent and continued on.

  “My guess – and here I am delving into the always dangerous world of conjecture – is that Smith found The Fourth Nail and kept it a secret from Marquard. He brought it back to Atlanta and hid it in his safe.”

  “That doesn’t add up,” Dusk countered. “Those thieves didn’t steal a nail – they took a human skull.”

  “Nevertheless, it fits. From all accounts, Smith was an extraordinarily fit man for his age. Perhaps he would have lived forever if the nail hadn’t been stolen from him?”

  Dusk said nothing but Glumm could tell that her mind was working over what he had told her. “What do you want in return?” she finally asked.

  Glumm cleared his throat and his hands came together, the fingers moving nervously. “I want to see your face.”

  “No.”

  “It’s just that I’ve heard the stories… and I’m curious to see if they’re true.”

  “To look at my uncovered face is to see your true nature revealed. All your past sins will be revisited. There are few men in the world who can look at me and emerge unscathed.”

  “I confess that I welcome the challenge.”


  Dusk nodded slowly. “If it’s what you want, I’ll grant the request. But I don’t understand why you would do this.” The vigilante reached up to loosen the veil that hid the lower part of her face, letting it fall away. Glumm’s eyes widened at what he saw but his reaction was far from the norm. Rather than screaming or crying, he merely smiled, as if he were seeing something he already knew. Dusk stared at the man for a moment before hiding her face once more.

  “Astonishing,” Glumm murmured. He leaned back in his chair, somewhat unsteadily. He saw the confusion in Dusk’s eyes and laughed. “I am very self-aware man, my friend. All my sins are well known to me. I have long ago come to terms with who and what I am.”

  “That makes you all the more despicable then. You have no heart to feel remorse with.”

  Glumm shrugged his slender shoulders. “Perhaps I simply don’t need you to damn me. I can do that all by myself.” He rose and offered a mocking bow. “And now our transactions are at an end, I assume?”

  Dusk moved towards the door, speaking as she walked. “Just remember that I’m watching you. Keep your nose clean or I’ll cut it off.”

  “I shall do that. Oh – one more thing, if you don’t mind?”

  “Make it quick, Glumm.” Dusk paused in the doorway, turning her body to face the information broker.

  “You should watch yourself. You’re making a lot of very powerful men in Atlanta quite nervous. They’re likely to try and snuff you out. I’ve heard they’re even talking about bringing in outside help.”

  “Why the warning?”

  Glumm looked the very picture of innocence. “If something were to happen to you, I’d miss these little chats of ours.”

  ***

  Thaddeus Marquard ran a hand through his greasy hair and clenched his jaw. He was a big man, one whose tailored suit looked out of place on him. He had a bestial air about him and people who saw him were often reminded of a jungle cat. As such, being in a civilized manner of dress looked out of place. It was far easier to picture Marquard in a loincloth.

  “I don’t get this,” he said at last, pacing back and forth behind the ma-hogany desk that dominated his office. The man who stood uncomfortably before him shifted his weight from foot to foot, bracing himself for Marquard’s fury. Larry Sands had worked for Marquard for over three years and he’d grown accustomed to the man’s mercurial moods. “How the hell did this Dusk dame get wind of what we were doing?”

  “No idea, boss. But if the skull’s out there, we’re gonna find it. Our sources at inside the police department say that Benny didn’t have it on him when they found his body, so either he stashed it someplace or Dusk took it.”

  Marquard stopped his pacing, staring out the window with his back to Larry. Outside, he could see the citizens of Atlanta scurrying back and forth as their day got underway. Having an office on Peachtree Street meant that he got to see a cross-section of the city at all times: the wealthy and the poor all congregated together in the heart of the city. “Do you have any idea of how many people I’ve killed, Larry?”

  “Not a clue, boss.”

  “A lot. More than I can count.” Marquard watched a young mother pushing a stroller down the sidewalk. “My momma used to say I was born evil and I think she may have been right. I mean, we’ve all got that Original Sin but I was worse than most. I strangled my puppy when I was three years old. I told my daddy that our hired hand did it. My daddy whipped that Negro within an inch of his life and I just smiled the whole time.”

  Larry cleared his throat but said nothing. He wasn’t sure where his boss was going with this but the tone of it wasn’t like anything he’d heard from Marquard before. The big man was usually one for ranting and raving, along with a good dose of punching. But this sounded oddly philosophical and it unsettled Larry greatly.

  “I killed my own mother,” Marquard added in a flat tone of voice. “That alone should cause me to burn in hell, don’t you think?”

  “I ain’t much for church, boss,” Larry said when the silence lingered long enough for him to realize that it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “But I think murderin’ anybody is a sin, especially your mom.”

  Marquard laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a genius, you know that?” He turned back to Larry then and the look in his eyes showed that things were back on more familiar ground now. Marquard looked dangerous again, like he might throw himself across the desk and throttle his subordinate. As a result, Larry took one step backward. “I want that skull and I want it as soon as possible, Larry. If I don’t have it on my desk by tomorrow morning, I’m going to have you castrated. Do you know what that means?”

  “Yeah, boss. I know what means.”

  “Good. Then get the hell out of here and get me that skull!” Marquard watched as Larry hurried from the room, shouting at the man’s retreating back, “And send Doc Severin in here!”

  Severin passed Larry on the other man’s way out. A short man with a baldhead and oversized glasses, the doctor would have looked comical if not for the grave expression he perpetually wore. “You bellowed, Mr. Marquard?”

  Marquard ignored the doctor’s tone. He took a deep breath and waited for the man to close the door behind him. “My head’s killing me, doc. I need something.”

  “You’re already taking the most powerful medicines I can give you. Anything stronger and you’d be incapable of running your business affairs.”

  Marquard closed his eyes and ground his teeth together. He was dying and there was nothing anyone could do. That was why he needed that skull and, more importantly, the nail that had been driven into it. Without it, he was on a one-way track to Hell.

  Doc Severin moved closer to the desk, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling forth a small bottle of pills. “Here. Take this for now. It will numb you for a bit but shouldn’t impair your faculties.”

  Marquard snatched the pills away and smiled. “Thanks, doc. I owe you one.”

  Severin’s eyes sparkled in response.

  Chapter III.

  Roland and the Skull

  Detective Roland Moore ignored the stares that accompanied his entrance onto the playground. There were few real kids around as the area had become home to a bunch of teenaged hoodlums, who played dice and cards while sipping from brown bags filled with stuff they were too young to purchase legally. Roland had been here many times in recent months, mostly to put the fear of the law in the kids, hoping it would scare some of them straight. So far, it hadn’t proven very successful – but the call he’d gotten upon arriving at the station this morning gave him new hope. It had been so noteworthy that he’d set aside the plans he’d made to visit Marquard at his office.

  He stopped in the center of the playground and lit a cigarette. After shaking out the match and tossing it aside, he asked, “So which of you kids is Reggie?”

  A slender boy of about fourteen stepped out of the crowd, his acne-ridden face bearing an odd expression. Roland realized that he’d seen something like it before: when he was growing up and attending church regularly, he’d often seen this look on the face of the elders when they’d ‘feel the presence of the Lord.’ Roland had assumed they were all faking it since he’d never felt anything but boredom. But Reggie certainly looked like he was glowing from within as he walked towards the detective, a wooden box clutched tightly in his left hand.

  “That would be me, sir.”

  There was something so respectful in the boy’s tone that Roland was momentarily taken aback. He was sure he recognized Reggie as one of the most belligerent of the hoodlums. “You called the station and said you’d found something important. Something related to the murder that was mentioned in the papers this morning. That true?”

  “Yes. I found what you’re looking for. I found the missing skull.”

  Roland stared hard at the young man. The
paper had talked about the murder and had mentioned that several items had been taken. It had even contained references to Dusk’s involvement in things. But it had not even hinted that one of the missing items was a human skull. “How’d you know we were looking for a skull, kid?”

  “It told me. The Nail.” Reggie held out the box to Roland and the friendly smile the boy wore grew broader. “When you touch it, you’ll understand.”

  Roland swallowed and he realized that his heart was pounding. He didn’t understand it – he’d faced hardened killers and wandered through crime scenes that would have turned the stomachs of lesser men but here he was feeling true fear over the prospect of taking this box from a young boy. He reached out and took it, tossing aside his cigarette so he could hold it with both hands. There was warmth coming from within that made his fingertips tingle. Without looking at Reggie, he flipped open the lid of the box and saw a human skull with a large nail embedded in it. The nail had been driven in with such force that it had caused the skull to crack in several places. If the skull’s owner wasn’t dead when the blow was administered, he would have been afterwards.

  “I found it when it washed out of one of the sewer lines,” Reggie said. “At first I thought it would look great in one of our clubhouses, you know, to scare people and stuff. But as soon as I touched it, I knew I wasn’t ever going to be the same again. It was like being born all over again!”

  Roland wondered how a kid Reggie’s age would know anything about stuff like that. He decided not to ask and instead reached into the box and gripped the skull, lifting it free. The strange tingling he felt before was stronger now and he could feel it in his teeth, humming away. But it was when his fingers brushed The Fourth Nail itself that the full effect hit him.