Hitler stood up and moved to stand beside Himmler, who quickly rose as well. “You have done good things, Heinrich. Germany needs more men like you.”
“Thank you, Mein Füehrer!”
“Now, let us go down to the car and drive back to Berlin. I wish to see your new creations up close.” He placed a hand on Himmler’s arm and added, “I think great things lie ahead with your OFP. Our enemies will learn to fear them soon enough, eh?”
“That they will,” Himmler agreed, now feeling much more confident. He had been worried that Hitler would balk at the tremendous costs involved with the OFP but he realized he should have known better. When it came to ensuring German superiority, the Füehrer would stop at nothing.
The Occult Forces Project was going to soon change not just Germany and The Reich… but the entire world. Himmler had every confidence in that.
It pulsed like an angry scar on his finger and Max Davies found his eyes drifting down to it again and again. A few weeks ago, he’d found himself in battle with an agent of dark gods; a man known as Nyarlathotep. Their combat had ended with the villain’s defeat but it had come at a terrible price: the demonic entity had uttered foul words before he’d met his end at Max’s hands.
“I curse you and your line, Mr. Davies. You shall know only madness and despair.”
Those words kept echoing in Max’s head. Adorning the pinky finger of his right hand was a ring, one whose stone was all that remained of Nyarlathotep’s black heart. It was constantly warm and, as Max had discovered to his mutual disgust and amusement, it burned the flesh of those with evil souls.
Max had used it on three men so far, branding their foreheads with the mark of a bird in flight. They would be disfigured forevermore, known to one and all as evil men who had crossed the path of The Peregrine.
Melodramatic? Perhaps. Especially when coupled with the words that Max had decided to recite whenever he used the ring—When the good is swallowed by the dark, there The Peregrine will plant his mark!
He’d been attracted to the strange and the bizarre long before he’d crossed paths with Nyarlathotep, but since then it had gotten much, much worse. Now it seemed like scarcely a week went by when he didn’t find himself fighting mummies, vampires or demonic sorcerers. Hell, he’d spent last night pouring over rumors in the mystic community about a ghost island called Hy-Brasil, which was set to return to the physical plane in the next year or so.
Shaking his head, Max couldn’t help but wonder if his life would ever bear any semblance to “normal.” He had been lucky enough to find a woman who was not only willing to marry him with clear knowledge of the weirdness that constantly plagued him but who was also brave enough to start a family with him.
He swore to try and make sure she’d never regret that decision.
Shaking off his reverie, he focused on the task at hand. He was crouched low in the rafters of an abandoned warehouse in downtown Atlanta. His knees ached from the position that he’d held for the last half hour. Down below, two groups of men were meeting — one representing the Declare Family, prominent figures in the Southeast underworld, the other set were representatives of the Italian mobs from up North. The Declares had been hit with hard times as of late, mostly because of The Peregrine’s impact on organized crime. As such, they’d done something that only a few years ago would have seemed absurd — they’d reached out to the mob, offering a share of their profits in exchange for help in dealing with their “bird problem.”
From the moment that The Peregrine had learned of this meeting, he’d planned to bust it up and bring all these men to justice, but out of curiosity, he’d held off in hopes of learning something useful. Unfortunately, to this point it had all been the usual posturing and preening as the men had tried to look powerful in front of one another. He was just about to jump down and start the festivities when one of the Italians — Vinnie, Max remembered — said something that gave him reason to pause.
“Now, I think we’re all in agreement about financial matters but I imagine that you boys are curious about how we’re going to deal with dis Peregrine fella. Am I right or am I right?”
Jackson Declare, who was pushing seventy and weighed close to three hundred pounds, leaned across the table and smiled. “You’re right. This ain’t no typical guy. I’ve personally seen The Peregrine take on a dozen men in a firefight and walk away unscathed, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for the poor fools he was taking on.”
Vinnie nodded, reaching into his expensive coat and producing a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Declare, who politely declined. After lighting up, Vinnie said, “Atlanta’s not the only place dealing with masked vigilantes, you know? It’s like some sort of plague, spreading from coast to coast. But in other towns, people have had some success. So I called in a few favors and got a mask killer to come down. He killed The Red Flame out in Kansas City, Miss Mystery in Chicago and even Mysterioso in Brooklyn.”
“He killed a dame?” Declare asked, shock in his voice.
“Raped her first but yeah. He’s not somebody you mess around with.”
Declare’s face wrinkled in disgust. It was obvious that he didn’t think much of men who abused women. Max found that commendable but it didn’t excuse the multitude of crimes he’d been involved in. “And where is this mask killer of yours?”
“Right here.”
All heads, including The Peregrine’s, turned towards a shadowy corner. A figure emerged and Max had to admit that he was impressed. He’d had no idea that this silent observer had been present.
The man wore a black suit and tie. His skin was swarthy and he had a handlebar moustache. The attire and facial grooming made him look like an Old West villain. This impression was enhanced by the fact that he wore a pistol holstered around his right thigh and another at his waist. There was a series of scars around one of his eyes that made Max think that someone — a woman, most likely — had scratched him badly at some point.
Declare was on his feet now and his men had drawn their weapons. The atmosphere was suddenly very tense.
“No need for that,” the hero killer said. “My name’s Nimrod.”
“What the hell kind of name is that?”
“It’s Biblical,” Nimrod answered. “Grandson of Noah. A mighty hunter and man of power.” Shrugging, he added, “It’s a good book. You ought to read it sometime.”
“I go to Sunday School,” Declare snapped. He gestured for his men to relax and he looked Nimrod up and down, critically examining him. “You really think you can deal with The Peregrine? He’s not some amateur like you’re probably used to.”
“He’s a man, isn’t he? That means he bleeds and he can die… and I have a lot of experience killing.”
“He’s not some skirt, though,” Declare continued. “So if you’re used to manhandling dames, you’ll find him tougher than that.”
The Peregrine smiled softly. He was beginning to like Declare despite himself.
Nimrod chuckled. “I’m good at what I do. I’ve been here for hours — hours before you folks even arrived, in fact. I figured I should stake it out just in case.”
The Peregrine tensed. He didn’t like the sound of that.
Nimrod continued, “And do you know what I saw? A little birdy came and perched up in the rooftop. I’m sure he’s had a nice view.”