Eun glanced up, finding Gray’s eyes upon him. "What are we going to do, Chief?"
The man who now called himself Lazarus Gray bore an unusually grim expression, even for him. "As both of you know, this was not a random act of God. No matter what the authorities might wish to believe, this was an attack. A warning, if you will."
Eun nodded, his gaze moving toward the crumpled letter that lay on the meeting room table. Eun had been the first to discover it, dropped in their mail slot sometime overnight. Its surface was scrawled with horrible handwriting that somehow seemed to transcend mere ugliness: this was the mad doodling of a demon, straining to muster an attempt at English.
The note read: THOSE CHILDREN ARE JUST THE BEGINNING. I WILL BURN THIS CITY TO THE GROUND UNLESS YOU GIVE YOURSELF TO ME. FALL UPON YOUR KNEES BEFORE THE GOD OF HATE.
"The first thing we need to do," Lazarus answered, "is find out who sent this letter."
Samantha pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. She was a beautiful girl with a peaches and cream complexion, but at the moment she looked deathly pale. "Are we going to go to the police? Or let Doc Daye know what’s going on?"
Lazarus considered the questions before shaking his head. "Going to the authorities would do no good. They could place the citizenry on a general alert but we have no idea where this killer might strike next. A panic would do no one any good. As for Doc Daye, I will forward a copy of the letter to him and ask him to share with us any clues that he might come upon."
Eun nodded in agreement. "Okay. I’ll start looking through the archives to see if I can find any reference to The God of Hate." Assistance Unlimited had one of the top newspaper clipping collections in the world, as well as many priceless bound volumes that would have set any bibliophile’s heart aflutter.
Lazarus fixed his gaze upon Samantha, who straightened immediately. "While Eun is doing that, I want you to come with me. We should see the crime scene firsthand."
The three members of Assistance Unlimited sprang into action but while Samantha and Eun’s expressions were brimming with excitement, Gray’s remained impassive. There was something eating away at the edges of his frayed memory, some past association that the words ‘God of Hate’ almost brought to the fore.
There were dark days ahead, he knew. And he prayed that his friends were strong enough to stand up to the test before them.
Chapter II
Horrors Laid Bare
The God of Hate reclined on a bed of soft pillows, the smell of opium thick in the air. Three whores lay scattered about the bed and the floor, their clothes lying in an unruly pile next to the door. The girls had been drugged and then thoroughly violated in ways that would leave emotional scars for years. Thankfully, the opium would most likely prevent any of them from having a clear memory of what had occurred.
The room in which The Claw lay was rented and paid for by The Illuminati, who had hired him to deal with Lazarus Gray. In return, he would receive several young virgins that he could sacrifice for even greater power. Such was the world in which The Claw moved: humans were nothing more than bags of meat, to be eaten, screwed or traded.
A bedside radio had alternated between horrified reporting of the orphanage tragedy and the popular music of the day, which sounded like the bleating of animals to The Claw’s ears: Cheek to Cheek by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers; Lullaby of Broadway by The Dorsey Brothers; and You’re The Top by Cole Porter. The Claw found he preferred the shocked tones of the reporters to the wailing of the singers, so he reached over with a sharpened nail to turn the radio off.
He rose from the pillows, stepping over a naked girl whose nose had been shattered. Her beauty would never fully return but The God of Hate felt no sympathy for her. She had served her purpose and been discarded, like a used tissue.
The Claw dressed slowly and methodically, putting his skullcap on last. He looked at himself in the mirror, smiling so that his razor-sharp teeth could be seen. There were bits of bloody flesh caught up near his gums and his tongue flicked up to work at them, savoring the flavor.
The origins of The God of Hate were unknown to all but a few on this planet and The Claw saw no reason to reveal his true nature to his enemies. But he was not birthed of this world and he would be alive long after its sun had grown cold. Immortality could be a curse, with eons of boredom. But The Claw refused to allow himself to stand still. He was always moving, always expanding his power base… and this attracted opposition, which The Claw secretly enjoyed. By pitting himself against so-called ‘heroes,’ he found a way to keep himself amused.
And this Sovereign City was certainly full of challenges. There was Doc Daye, Lazarus Gray and Fortune McCall, all living in this one troubled locale. It was almost enough to make him consider moving his base of operations away from Ricca….
But no, Ricca was too perfect a home. He would destroy Gray as he’d promised, and perhaps take his revenge upon the Daye family… and then he would leave.
Behind him, one of the girls was beginning to stir, a low, pained moan escaping her cracked lips. The Claw felt a renewed stirring within his loins and considered playing with her a bit more, but in the end he simply walked to the door and exited the hotel room. He had wasted enough time and he was here on business, after all.
He harbored no doubts about how Lazarus Gray would respond to the letter he had sent him. Gray would never surrender.
Which was just how The Claw wanted it.
Morgan Watts sat in the back of a cab, a heavy folder on his lap. He’d actually managed to get a lot more information than he’d ever dared hope and he couldn’t wait to get back to America so he could share it with the rest of Assistance Unlimited. When Gray had first told them of the scope of The Illuminati’s activities, Morgan had felt overwhelmed. How could Assistance Unlimited, four people strong, topple an international cartel that had their fingers in every level of finance, industry and the occult? But now, he was beginning to feel differently. Today had gone very well and the information could be used to badly hurt Lunt and his friends.
Morgan glanced out the window just in time to see the cab miss the turn that would have taken them to the airport. He leaned forward, tapping the driver on the shoulder. "Monsieur, you should have turned left back there."
The driver pushed harder on the accelerator and the car sped along faster than ever. Morgan now realized that he was in tremendous danger and reached for the door. He cursed under his breath when it refused to open. He was fumbling to pull out his gun, intending to force the driver to stop, when the vehicle abruptly braked. Morgan looked out the window to see that the cab was now parked near an open field, where five large men stood smoking cigarettes. One of them held a pistol in his left hand. The gunman was bald with a hook-shaped scar that ran from the corner of his mouth up to just under his right eye.
The driver got out of the car and stepped around to open Morgan’s door. "Your stop, Mr. Watts," the driver said, a faint smile on his lips.
Morgan stuffed the folder into the lining of his jacket. Gray had altered all of his aides’ clothing to allow for hidden pockets. He stepped out of the car with gun in hand and quickly backhanded the driver, shattering the man’s jaw and knocking him to the ground. The other men reached into their own coats but stopped at a motion from the bald man. The movements confirmed Morgan’s worst fears: he was facing not one armed foe, but five.
Addressing the bald man, Morgan said, "I bet you know all about me and I know nothing about you. Seems a bit unfair. What’s your name? And who do you work for?"