Johnny didn’t take long to make his decision. He charged The Darkling, lowering his shoulder in hopes that his surprise move would allow him to knock the dark garbed killer aside and gain his freedom. Unfortunately for him, The Darkling spun out of the way, extending one of his legs to trip him up. Johnny hit the ground hard, the impact causing him to bite the tip of his tongue. He struggled to rise, realizing how close he was to death, but The Darkling’s booted foot came down on the center of his back. The Darkling was remarkably strong and Johnny writhed like a bug that had been pinned to a board.
“You’re dumber than I thought you were,” The Darkling whispered. Johnny whined, especially when he heard the rustle of cloth behind him. He didn’t crane his head to see what the other man was doing. He had a good idea and he didn’t want to have his suspicions confirmed.
Johnny’s friends had gotten off easy. Their lives had been ended by shots from Darkling’s pistols, their brains reduced to mush when bullets had ripped through their skulls. But Johnny knew the vigilante had picked him for a far worse fate.
Darkling took his weight off but Johnny didn’t try to run. Hot tears were suddenly stinging his eyes and he felt moist warmth spread through the crotch of his pants.
“Look at me,” Darkling commanded.
Slowly Johnny's head came up, his eyes traveling the length of the vigilante’s body. The Darkling knelt in front of him, placing the barrel of a gun against Johnny’s forehead. “Do you know what being a bastard gets you? It means you end up without a friend in the world and without a single chip to cash in. Life’s all about equity, you see? Do good deeds and people look the other way when you screw up. Everybody screws up, after all. But when you’re a killer, rapist or cheat, nobody’s going to stick their neck out for you when you need them to.”
“Please, don’t do this,” Johnny snuffled. “I got a little girl. She’s two years old.”
The Darkling paused, tilting his head to the side. “You take care of her?”
“Whenever I can, yeah.”
“You live with her mother?”
Johnny hesitated. “No.”
“Divorced?”
“We just shacked up, that’s all. We broke up after the baby was born.”
The Darkling laughed hoarsely. “The baby. That’s what you call her, huh? When’s the last time you saw her?” The gun barrel dug in a little harder. “Don’t lie. I’ll smell the lie on you.”
“It’s been awhile,” Johnny whispered. “Six… maybe seven months,” he added, his voice now so low that The Darkling could scarcely hear him.
“Sorry to hear that,” The Darkling said. “A child needs a positive male influence in their life. But it doesn’t sound like you were being that for your little girl.”
“You gonna kill me?”
“I sometimes say to people like you, ‘No. You killed yourself.’ I like that because it puts the blame squarely on you. But you know what?”
Johnny shook his head, the tears coming fast and hard now.
“I want to take the credit for this one. Yes, Johnny, I’m going to kill you.”
Darkling put his gun away, confident that no one was going to come and investigate the noise. People in Manhattan knew better and the police had learned to avoid this area of town. Though it didn’t say so on any map in the world, this was The Darkling’s turf.
He walked over to Johnny’s fallen gun. He picked it up and examined it briefly before tossing it next to its owner’s body. He then moved over to the skeletal hand. He lifted it up gingerly by one finger and studied it before shoving it into one of the pouches sewn into his jacket.
With a weary sigh, he removed his mask and hid it and his guns beneath his jacket. He then took out a small radio and twisted the dial on its surface. “Earl, I need an extraction. Just off 3rd.” In the distance, a siren could be heard. Evidently someone on the police force hadn’t learned his lesson yet. “Immediately.”
“Yes, boss,” Earl replied, speaking with a smooth Southern drawl.
The Darkling knew that his agent was already in the sky, flying over the Empire City in a specially modified zeppelin that had been painted black and outfitted with engines that were nearly silent.
The incident in Lunt’s apartment the previous evening had left The Darkling feeling uncharacteristically off-balance. He had found only pieces of evidence — a chart listing anatomical parts along with a series of names — but it had confirmed his suspicions: the body had been hacked up over the years, the pieces scattered across the globe. Lunt had managed to track down the five men who owned sections of the monster but the list was now a couple of years out of date. Nonetheless, The Darkling had discovered that one of the men on the list was local — and he’d arrived seconds too late to stop Johnny and his gang from murdering him and stealing the devil’s hand.
The question was: who was Johnny’s employer? The Darkling knew that the Nazis were after the demonic remains but they surely didn’t know about Lunt’s Manhattan apartment so quickly? Was it possible that The Illuminati or some subgroup was on the trail as well?
He looked up to see the dark shape of his zeppelin above. A long rope ladder dropped down and he jumped up to grab it — a leap that would have put most Olympic athletes to shame. Within a moment, he was inside the airship, stripping out of his long coat and hat.
“Where to, boss?” Earl asked, keeping his eyes front. The hulking Negro had been born in Atlanta but had moved to Harlem just before the Stock Market Crash, hoping to find a career in jazz. It hadn’t worked out like he’d hoped and he’d ended up on the Brooklyn Bridge, planning to end it all. But the mysterious arrival of The Darkling, and his peculiar offer of servitude, had spurred Earl to new purpose. He’d mastered the controls of the zeppelin far faster than he ever would have thought possible and now served as his employer’s chauffeur both in the air and on the ground.
“The Odyssey Club,” The Darkling said. He slid into a seat next to Earl’s, applying a false nose over his own. It gave his profile a different look and when combined with the high-quality hairpiece that he had slipped into place, he looked nothing like the man he truly was. Not that Earl would have been able to swear to that, having never seen The Darkling’s true face. “It’s time for Harold Grant to make his evening’s appearance.”
The Odyssey Club catered to the wealthiest segment of society, transporting them from the grime of the real world into an idealized version of ancient Greece. Huge marble columns, toga-wearing wait staff and even a public bath in the rear of the facility made it the ritziest nightspot in the city, if not the entire East Coast.
As Harold Grant left his overcoat at the checkin counter, he scanned the crowd with a keen eye. The real Harold Grant was buried in an unmarked grave but the false identity served The Darkling well. Grant had been a playboy adventurer, disappearing for weeks or months at a time. His eccentricity allowed The Darkling any number of benefits.
“Harold!” a young woman exclaimed, spotting him from across the crowded floor. She hurried over, her pendulous breasts swaying beneath a black dress that was too young for her. Betty Lane was the premiere gossip columnist in New York and though she was annoying, The Darkling was glad to see her. Having his name in tomorrow’s society column would be good for the image. “Where have you been?” she asked, kissing him on each cheek.
“Holland. Did I miss anything?”
Betty clucked like a mother hen and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “You’ll never guess who’s here tonight!”