“So you haven’t found any clues?” Sporrenberg prodded.
Geist reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He removed a dog-eared letter from within. “This is a letter from a man named Felix Moore in Montreal, Canada. It’s dated April 1932. According to this, he says that he received the boxes that Lunt sent him and that they’re being stored in a safe location. I don’t know if there’s any chance of the bones or of a map being in those boxes… but there’s nothing here, so it’s worth a look.”
“What’s to stop us from taking that letter from you and going after those boxes ourselves?” Eun challenged, taking a few steps closer.
Geist smiled broadly. “Try it, mongrel.”
Sporrenberg shook his head to indicate that Eun shouldn’t accept the challenge but it was too late — the fiery Korean was already on the move.
Eun struck Geist on the side of the head but in the microsecond before his hand made contact, Eun saw something startling take place: the skin on Geist’s face shimmered and faded, leaving behind only the glowing outline where it had been. His skeletal structure was revealed but it was immaterial, allowing Eun’s blow to pass right through it.
Geist then retaliated, balling his left hand into a fist and shoving it through Eun’s chest. He then partially solidified himself, causing the young hero to scream in agony. Geist stepped back, removing his hand from the man’s body, and allowed his body to shift back into its normal state. “You see?” the German said with obvious pride. “I am far beyond anything you can comprehend. My soul was transported to Hell and back in a blink of an eye. The men and women who witnessed it saw nothing, heard nothing. But I was there… for what felt like months, if not years. I experienced pain and pleasure in equal amounts. And I was transformed.”
Eun allowed himself to be drawn away by Samantha, who slipped her arms around his shoulders and began speaking to him in soothing tones.
Sporrenberg sighed and scratched at his head. “We’ll work with you for now, Strauss. But only because you have information that we need — and I don’t want you reporting back to your bosses while you’re with us. Do you understand?”
Geist gave a stately bow, ignoring the looks of hate that he was receiving from both Eun and Samantha. “As you wish, Herr Sporrenberg. As you wish.”
Chapter IV
The Darkling
It was just past nine p.m. in Manhattan, less than twenty hours since Lazarus Gray had first crossed the paths of the mysterious man that called himself The Darkling.
For one young crook, meeting that creature of the night was now proving to be a nearly fatal mistake.
Johnny Williams felt like his heart was about to explode. It hammered painfully hard in his chest as he rounded the corner and found himself facing the dead end of an alleyway. He unleashed a string of curses that would have made a sailor wince in surprise. He leaned against the wall and steadied himself, reaching into the pockets of his coat so he could reassure himself that his treasures were still there. One of them, his pistol, he pulled out into the open. There was still one bullet in the chamber and he’d have to make it count — or else he’d end up just like Lester and Bobby. They were lying in pools of their own blood a few blocks back.
The other prize that he carried was left in its pocket, the weight of it causing his coat to lean heavily to the left. Johnny knew how valuable it was but he refused to think about it too much — it unnerved him. He heard footsteps coming towards the alleyway and he raised his gun, prepared to fire the moment he came into view. He’d heard stories that bullets didn’t faze the masked man but he refused to believe that. The Darkling was a human being and that meant he could be killed.
The footsteps came to a halt and the seconds began to stretch into minutes. Johnny swallowed hard, wondering what the hell The Darkling was up to. His hand was beginning to shake under the strain and he began looking around quickly. There was a small grating nearby and he could hear the rush of water from below. It was a storm sewer and Johnny suddenly gleaned the beginnings of a plan.
After checking once more to make sure that his pursuer hadn’t entered the alleyway, he hurried over to the grate. He knelt and peered inside. It was too dark to make out much but he thought he saw a small ledge overlooking the rushing water. The rain that had fallen the day before had evidently been heavier than he’d realized.
Johnny set his gun down on the ground and pulled out the object that was resting so heavily in his pocket. He looked at it for a few brief seconds and that was enough to give him the shivers. It was a skeletal hand, the fingers long and thin, ending in sharp points. The odor of death clung to it, filling his nostrils, and Johnny felt an almost overpowering urge to touch the hand, to fondle it and kiss it. It was an absurd thought, of course, and Johnny thought it was probably one that showed just how close to losing it he really was. His life was on the line and here he was, filled with lust for a dead man’s body part.
Johnny pried the grating away from the hole and set it aside. He then leaned over and tried to calculate the trajectory he’d need to ensure that the hand landed on the ledge and didn’t fall into the rushing water. He was about to drop the hand when he heard a strange, mocking sort of laugh fill the alleyway.
“I hope you’re smarter than your friends were, Johnny.”
The husky voice sounded like it had come from beyond the grave. The words were spoken with no trace of empathy at all. Johnny might as well have been a rock, for all that The Darkling cared. Even though he’d said nothing threatening, Johnny could tell that he placed absolutely no value on his life. The young thug was so scared out of his wits that he didn’t even wonder at how the vigilante had known his name.
Johnny stood up, letting the hand drop from his grasp. It clattered to the ground, lying beside the open grate. Turning, he came face-to-face with a sight that was usually the final one for all who saw it. It was The Darkling, the underworld’s one-man judge, jury and executioner.
He stood six feet tall, with a long overcoat that was buttoned down the front. His shoulders were slightly stooped, making Johnny think of his own grandfather, bent with age. A fedora hat was perched low on the Darkling’s head and his face was hidden beneath a white cloth mask that was painted to resemble a skull.
Johnny had always laughed at the stories that described the man — how could anybody be scared of a dude in a Halloween costume? But now that he was faced with the real thing, Johnny was worried that he was about to piss his pants.
The Darkling held a pistol in each hand and Johnny, something of a gun nut, recognized the make of them: Smith & Wesson Hand Ejector IIs. The revolver had been introduced a few years before The Great War. Chambered for .45 caliber rounds, the Hand Ejector II normally had a five or six inch barrel but Darkling’s guns had modified barrels that had been cut down to four inches in length.
Johnny held up both hands, trying to sound braver than he felt. “We were just doin’ a job, man. We were paid for a grab and go… and then we was gonna take the loot to the guy who hired us. Nobody was gonna get hurt.”
“Tell that to Lamont Jackson. You boys left him with four bullets in his belly while you made off with that hand.”
Johnny instinctively reached for his gun but his hand froze in midair. He glanced down and saw that he’d forgotten to pick it up off the ground. His eye flicked back to The Darkling, who was now advancing towards him.
“Last chance, Johnny,” he said. “Kick the hand towards me and then tell me the name of the person who hired you. Or I can just kill you where you stand and find out on my own. Your choice.”