The Adventures of Lazarus Gray (36 page)

Smithson dutifully took
notes while the men conversed. He was skilled enough in his craft
that he could let his mind wander while his pencil spun across the
page, distilling the conversation into shorthand. The three other
men had approached Melvin with the idea of spearheading a plan to
purchase the grounds on which a hospital for the poor now resided.
The sick people who currently received treatment for their
infirmities were going to be kicked to the curb if the plan bore
fruit, but none of these men considered that worthy of stopping
their plans. The men, women, and children who frequented the place
were too poor to afford treatment at standard facilities, probably
resulting in dozens of deaths.

But if things went to plan,
a high-rise apartment building would pop up in its place. The
bottom floors would contain expensive offices while the upper rooms
were rented or sold to the lucky few who could afford them. It was
all part of a long-term revitalization project and one that had
sparked grumbling amongst those who had been displaced. Thankfully,
Hansome had made sure that all the legalities were covered, while
Phillips took care of all the required permits. Groseclose then
handled the media side of things, ensuring that the general
populace didn’t focus too much on the negative.

Hansome stood up and began
pacing, bringing the discussion to an abrupt halt.

"What the devil’s the
matter with you?" Phillips demanded.

"Aren’t we going to talk
about the murder?" the lawyer asked, his pink tongue darting out to
wet his upper lip. "I mean, it’s the elephant in the room, if you
ask me."

Melvin blinked in surprise.
"What are you talking about?"

"Schuller!" Hansome
ejaculated. "Are you so dense that you don’t realize what danger
we’re all in? That girl was cut to pieces and all of our names are
associated with her! I heard from a source at the police department
that Assistance Unlimited is working on the case, too!"

"I barely knew the girl,"
Melvin said, shrugging his shoulders. "I don’t fear an inquiry and
neither should any of you. None of you killed her, did
you?"

"Of course not," Hansome
muttered, though he cast a wary glance around the room. "But this
could still derail our plans… the scandal!"

"There won’t be any
scandal," Groseclose said reassuringly. "Didn’t you notice that I
made sure none of our names ended up in the paper today? I have
enough favors owed to me by the other publishers in this town to
make sure we’re not linked in any rival accounts,
either."

"Word will still get
around," Hansome protested.

Melvin loudly exhaled. "I
don’t see what all the fuss is about. So what if we all knew her?
And so what if there are questions to be asked? The law will prove
us innocent, mark my words."

Smithson cleared his throat
and all eyes fell upon him. The handsome secretary rarely said
anything during these meetings, preferring to share his views with
his employer in private. "Miss Schuller was an attractive young
woman but she was rather promiscuous. The rumors about that are
already circulating, I believe. I think it goes without saying that
several of the men in this room may have had… delicate relations…
with her?" The silence that fell was answer enough - only Melvin
seemed shocked by the suggestion and he was obviously about to say
so when Smithson continued. "I think that Mr. Melvin is correct in
saying that none of you have anything to fear. But just in case,
perhaps Mr. Groseclose could have one of his journalists look into
her background. Throw a bit of doubt upon her character, as it
were."

Groseclose looked
uncomfortable. "She wasn’t a bad person. Not at all. I’d hate to
make it appear that she was."

"It was just a suggestion.
I think that if people assumed that she was a bit of a tart, then
they’d be less likely to focus their attentions on all of
you."

"Could be just the
opposite," Phillips muttered. "A pretty young girl, illicit sex,
and a grisly murder… no, the more details they get, the more the
people will chatter away. But I’m not worried about the police or
the press – I have an alibi for the night she was
murdered."

Smithson looked around the
room. "Who here doesn’t have an alibi, if I might ask?"

Groseclose lit a cigar. "Of
course, I saw all of you at the party earlier in the evening. After
that, I retired to my bed. My butler brought me some warm milk at
half past midnight."

"So it would have been
possible for you to have left and done the deed," Smithson pointed
out.

Groseclose looked offended
at the suggestion but said nothing. He’d already heard that same
accusation from the Korean who worked for Assistance Unlimited. The
young immigrant had pushed Groseclose hard on the matter, but the
newspaperman didn’t plan to share that with anyone in this room.
They were business partners but certainly not friends.

Hansome licked his lip
again, a nervous habit that left his mouth perpetually chapped. "I
don’t have one. I went to a movie and then to a bar for a drink. I
didn’t return home until very late. I’m not sure I could find any
of the men who might have seen me."

Smithson tried not to
smile. Hansome’s homosexuality was a poorly kept secret amongst the
group. It made sense that he wouldn’t want to call upon any of his
male companions to verify his story. Plus, given the fact that
Schuller apparently wasn’t sexually assaulted might make Hansome
all the more suspect if his secret came to light. Some would say
that he would have struck at Schuller out of some deep-seated
resentment of women.

"I think it’s all a lot of
poppycock," Melvin said. "We’re all good men. To think that any one
of us could ever assault a woman… it’s preposterous!"

Phillips nodded in
agreement. "To get us back on track here… Are you in for more money
or not, Melvin? This new project could become the centerpiece for
the revitalization effort and make us all very rich men in the
process." Phillips chuckled. "Or, in Melvin’s case,
richer."

Melvin smiled in reply. "I
am very excited about this, gentlemen. Very excited,
indeed."

***

Night fell quickly in
Sovereign City and the few residents who might be called innocents
hurried for the relative safety of their homes, leaving the streets
to those with darker intent.

A moving patch of darkness
passed along the sidewalk beneath the glare of a street lamp. The
long streak of darkness ended in a perfect silhouette. The man who
cast this shadow was tall and well-built with an olive-complexion
and wavy dark hair. He wore a long overcoat, a suit and tie but it
was the adornment on his face that set him apart from every other
man in the city: he wore a tiny domino-style mask over his eyes and
on the bridge of his nose rested a tiny beak-like protrusion. This
was The Rook, a being whom the underworld had come to greatly fear
in recent years. Having left bullet-ridden bodies in his wake
throughout the Northeast, The Rook was like a one-man police force,
bringing the guilty to their final judgment, even when the Law
could not touch them.

Just up ahead lay the
private residence of Merle Hansome. It was a modest home, but it
was light-years beyond the residences that were being torn down to
make way for Melvin’s new high-rises. The Rook calmly approached
the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property and expertly
scaled the barrier, dropping easily down to the grass on the other
side. He approached the front door and lightly tried the knob. It
was locked, which drove him around back. The rear entrance opened
easily and The Rook felt a small smile form on his lips. Even in a
roach’s den like Sovereign, there were men who felt themselves safe
and sound in their own home. It was all like a fallacy, of course,
but it made The Rook’s job that much easier.

Very few people in the
world knew that Max Davies led a double life and even fewer still
understood why he did it. An armchair psychiatrist would have
zeroed in on the events that occurred when Max was eight years old
and while those would have helped filled in the gaps, they would
not have told the entire tale. Max’s father, Warren Davies, had run
a newspaper campaign against mobsters who threatened to take over
the city. When he refused to knuckle under the pressure they were
putting on him, Warren found himself the target of a hired
assassin. He was gunned down in front of his son and Max had the
memory of his father’s final bloodstained memories imprinted into
his memory.

But it was what happened
later that truly set Max Davies down the path of vigilantism. A
series of painful visions began to plague him, ones of crimes yet
to be committed. He discovered that if he took steps to prevent
them or to bring their perpetrators to justice, the painful visions
would recede. Compelled by the knowledge that he would continue to
suffer unless he found a way to help others, Max embarked on a
years-long trek around the globe in his teens. He learned every
form of martial arts known to man, studied philosophy in the
Mountains of Tibet, and mastered most known sciences. On the day he
first created the identity of The Rook, Max Davies felt a sense of
liberation take hold. It was as if he were a bird taking flight for
the first time.

And those who slithered in
darkness found a new enemy, one who would never stop until every
innocent could sleep safely in their own bed.

***

Hansome sat on the edge of
his bed, dressed in a white dressing gown and slippers. His hands
were shaking badly enough that the cup of warm milk he was holding
threatened to spill. His tongue darted out, wetting his upper lip.
He didn’t understand why the others weren’t taking this more
seriously – even though he hadn’t done the horrible deed, he had
more than enough secrets that could be exposed by an
investigation.

Even more troubling was the
nagging question that resided in the back of Hansome’s mind: What
if one of the others
was
the murderer? He didn’t think that
Groseclose would do such a thing and Melvin was too old and feeble
to have overpowered a healthy young girl… but what about Phillips?
The man was brawny and had a temper. Maybe Phillips had tried to
force himself on the girl and, when she refused, he’d gotten so
angry that he’d cut her to pieces. Phillips had claimed to have an
alibi, but Hansome knew those could be faked. Lots of things could
be faked, which was something that both Hansome and Phillips knew
well.

The lawyer drank the last
of the milk and stood up, preparing to set the empty container on
the nightstand and crawl into bed. He froze in place as the door to
his bedroom unexpectedly open and a masked figure stepped into the
room, a handgun held in his right hand. Hansome dropped the glass,
jumping when it shattered on the floor.

"Merle Hansome," The Rook
said, taking several steps closer to the nervous attorney. "Men
call me The Rook. Have you heard of me?"

"Yes," Hansome answered,
his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re that vigilante who kills
people."

"I kill bad people. Are you
a bad person, Mr. Hansome?"

"No."

"Then you have nothing to
fear from me." The Rook made a show of lowering his weapon and
placing it inside a holster under his right arm. "I want to talk to
you about the death of Claudia Schuller."

"I have sex with men."
Hansome’s hands flew up over his mouth and his eyes opened wide. He
wasn’t sure why he’d said that. It was like his nervousness had
somehow caused him to admit his deepest secret in the hopes that it
would somehow protect him.

The Rook seemed unfazed by
the comment. "I know. And I know that you’re not the killer. I’m
not here to investigate
you
. I want you to help me
investigate
them
."

Hansome relaxed somewhat
though it wasn’t in his nature to completely be at ease. "Are you
talking about my business partners? Because if you are, the man you
need to be looking at is Robert Phillips. I’d bet my last dollar
that it’s him."

"I don’t think it is – at
the very least, if he is involved, he wasn’t involved in all the
murders. He didn’t move to the city until after the first girl was
killed."

Hansome looked confused.
"First girl? Are you saying that Schuller wasn’t the first to die?"
As he asked these questions, Hansome seemed to grow even more
nervous. He seemed on the verge of sharing something with The Rook
but was obviously hesitant to do so.

The Rook nodded. "That’s
exactly what I’m saying. What I want from you is access to their
personal information – you handle all of them as clients, don’t
you?"

"Well, Mr. Melvin has his
own lawyers so I only assist with the Sovereign affairs that he
has. But for the others, yes." Hansome’s tongue darted out,
touching his upper lip. "But there’s a matter of confidentiality. I
can’t just open their records to you."

"Not even if innocent women
are dying?" Hansome hesitated and the Rook continued, "And what
about if a prolonged investigation ends up revealing a lot of your
dirty laundry? We wouldn’t want that, would we?"

Hansome exhaled. "All
right. What do you need to know?"