The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (78 page)

Will nodded. “You should let them know you’re paying for their care. People would like to thank you.”

“I’d rather keep it anonymous. Mind if I look around on my own for a bit?”

“Not at all. If you find anything, let me know.”

The Peregrine moved away, watching with cool interest as several police scientists scooped up a stretchy substance from the ground and dropped it in an evidence bag. From the stench, Max knew what the odd substance was: it was human skin, sloughed off from its host after the acid had done its work. He couldn’t help but think that trouble usually came in twos or threes… here he was worried about Garibaldi and the mysterious Flock when suddenly along came a flesh-eating crimson rain. It would be convenient if all those things were somehow connected, but until he saw a reason to link them, he had to assume they the works of multiple madmen.

Max stepped into the club and took a moment to soak it all in. Normally this place was filled to the brim with people, mostly blacks that were made to feel unwelcome at many other nightspots. Max and Evelyn had dropped in a time or two, but Max had quickly realized that their presence only made most of the club-goers uncomfortable. Not knowing that Max was the owner, most of them wondered why he was there and whether or not he was watching them for some nefarious purpose.

Making sure that no one was watching him, Max headed to a back stairwell and slipped inside. At the bottom of the stairs lay a locked door to which Max alone had the key. There, in the basement, lay his second Peregrine’s Nest.

Not even Will knew about the lengths to which Max had gone to provide security here and, in the past few months, at his home. Tired of the many enemies who had attacked his wife and family, Max had purchased a large number of video cameras and hidden them in various locations that belonged to him: this club, his home, the Aerie where the Claws of the Peregrine lived… all were blanketed by cameras which recorded images on massive reel-to-reel tapes. The earliest video cameras had been created by John Logie Baird, based on the electromechanical Nipkow disk and used by the BBC in experimental broadcasts through the 1930s. Recent years had brought several improvements, however. All-electronic designs using the cathode ray tube were now in use and Max found them far superior in both quality and reliability.

Max had used the tapes at his house to watch Garibaldi the evening before. The criminal had not behaved suspiciously at all; in fact, he’d acted exactly as what he appeared to be: a reformed man seeking to ingratiate himself into upper crust society. But Max knew better, video evidence notwithstanding.

Max sat down and started going through the footage from last night, pausing when he finally reached the proper time. He saw the men and women thrashing about in pain and the strange red-tinted rain that fell from the sky. He watched the entire thing twice through and was about to admit that he’d gained no knowledge when something occurred to him. One of the cameras was mounted on the roof. He didn’t normally check its footage because ninety-nine percent of the time, any problems occurred on the ground level. He called it up now and began to cycle through it. Just a few moments before the Crimson Rain had begun to fall, Max thought he saw a strange yellow beam slicing its way into the heavens. Was it somehow related to the rain? What sort of beam was that?

Max stared at the footage, trying to get an idea where the beam might be originating. It almost looked like it was being generated from downtown Atlanta… and then a nasty grin took root on Max’s lips. One of the first things he’d done last night was look up Garibaldi’s current address. The man was living in the penthouse suite at Century Tower, which just happened to be in the heart of downtown. Garibaldi had never been known as a technical genius of any kind, but it did seem like too much of a coincidence that a strange ray would be projected into the sky, right next to where Garibaldi was living.

Realizing that his unspoken hope to have everything tied together might be closer to reality than ever before, Max turned off the recorder and stood up. He would share his findings with Will… and then tonight he’d pay Mr. Garibaldi a visit.

CHAPTER IV

The Hounds of Hell

It was a little after nine o’clock that night evening when Garibaldi left Century Tower, accompanied by a short little man who was bundled up in a heavy coat. The Peregrine was perched atop a nearby building and he snapped a few photos of the men as they slid into the backseat of a black sedan, a chauffeur holding the door for them. A few moments after the car had driven out of sight, the Peregrine stood up and held aloft a projectile gun of his own devising. He took careful aim at the rooftop of Century Tower and pulled the trigger. A sharp hook capable of piercing solid rock shot forth, embedding itself in the concrete at the other building’s top. A long cable extended from the back of the hook to the projectile gun. Max disengaged the back end of the cable and tied it securely to a pipe on the rooftop of the building he was currently on. Since Century Tower was the tallest building in the city, Max sprang up on the cable and began walking in an upward direction, balancing himself like tightrope walker. Normally, the Peregrine would have simply picked the lock on the man’s door and entered that way, but security at Century Tower was tight and Max didn’t want to risk anyone seeing him.

The Peregrine moved across the cable as easily as most men would cross a street. Never did he give any thought to what would happen if he slipped and fell; such a failure simply was not an option. He reached Century Tower and quickly dropped over the side of the rooftop, bringing his feet down on the ledge outside one of Garibaldi’s penthouse windows. He brought out a glass cutter and quickly opened a portal for himself, slipping inside the apartment.

Special lenses in the Peregrine’s mask allowed him to see in absolute darkness. He noted that Garibaldi’s taste ran to the garish, as if he were still a small-time hood at heart, only now he had more money with which to indulge his interests. The Peregrine stealthily moved through the penthouse, thumbing through papers and opening drawers whenever the mood struck him.

He had just reached Hochmuller’s door when he heard movement behind him. He turned about, Knife of Elohim in hand. The golden dagger glowed in the presence of evil and it was shining brightly now. Max saw nothing at first but then he heard the sounds again and recognized them, or what they were: the sounds of clawed feet scraping against the floor. He tried to count how many animals there must be and realized that there were at least four of the beasts in the apartment. From the heavy tread, they had to be dogs.

The Peregrine was glad that he had a door to his back, as it would make it easier to fight the animals. As long as he kept them in front of him, he would be better off. He sheathed the dagger and drew out both of his pistols, confirming that they were fully loaded.

The first of the dogs came into view and Max was shocked by how large it was. The German Shepherd watched the Peregrine with an almost intelligent gaze and Max found himself staring at the animal’s liquid eyes, entranced by how malevolent they seemed. The dog turned its head slightly and gave a quick bark, as if summoning his companions. The other three strode into view, wolfish grins stretching their mouths open. Sharp white teeth came into view and long strands of drool came forth, spilling onto the floor.

Max took aim with one of his guns, hoping that the sight of the weapon would deter the beasts. It did not, only eliciting loud growls from each. He didn’t really want to discharge a gun and draw attention to himself but neither did he want to wield a knife in close quarters combat with the massive dogs.

Raptor gave a quick motion of his head and two of his compatriots sprang forward at once. Max had no choice but to fire, blowing apart the head of one of the canines. He whirled about and shot the second, the bullet tearing a huge hole in its neck.

During these actions, however, Raptor and his remaining companion went into motion. Raptor sprang high while the other dog went low. Both struck the Peregrine at the same time and only Max’s quick action of throwing up an arm in front of his face stopped Raptor’s jaws from closing on his face. As it was, the dog took hold of Max’s right forearm, clamping down hard. The other dog went to work on Max’s midsection, its jaws snapping again and again, ripping open shirt and flesh. The Peregrine was unable to aim with his remaining hand but he fired randomly, hoping to catch the dog attacking his stomach. Three bullets went awry and still the oversize dog continued to bite at Max’s stomach, trying to literally rip his guts out.

The Peregrine knew that he was in real danger here as his back was pressed against the door and he didn’t seem able to dislodge the dog from his arm. Max took drastic action, then totally ignoring the animal at his midsection, allowing it to do its deadly work. Instead, he raised the gun that had been focused on that dog and pointed it against the side of Raptor’s head. He started to squeeze the trigger when the German Shepherd’s eyes grew large and it abruptly dropped its hold on his arm, ducking down before the gunshot went off. Max was stunned, realizing that the dog had obviously sensed the danger and responded perfectly to save its own life. He’d never seen anything like it.

Still, he was free for the moment and he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. Max brought the butt of his pistol down on the skull of the dog that was tearing into his belly. The loud crunch of shattering bones made Max wince but he was in no position to relish the victory. He was bleeding profusely and was beginning to feel weak.

Worst of all, Raptor was still out there. The obvious pack leader, the dog was peering from behind the living room couch, eyes narrowed. Max saw the dog’s gaze shift from the bodies of its three dead companions and then fix upon their murderer. If Max hadn’t known it was impossible, he would have thought the dog was silently swearing vengeance for his fallen comrades.

The Peregrine staggered towards the window he’d come in through, keeping an eye on Raptor at all times. He still held both guns and he was confident that his aim wasn’t impaired to the point where he wouldn’t be able to shoot, but even so, he thought it best to get out of there as quickly as possible. If there were more dogs around, he was done for.

Thankfully, Max was able to reach the window. He crawled out onto the ledge, put away his guns and then pulled himself up back onto the roof. He sagged to his knees for a moment, feeling around on his stomach to figure out how bad the damage was. Beneath all the blood, he found several jagged rips in his skin, but thankfully the dog hadn’t managed to disembowel him.

The Peregrine coughed, flecks of blood staining his lips. He rose unsteadily and then gazed down at the cable leading back to the other roof. In his present condition, he wasn’t sure he could manage it. What was the alternative, however? If he entered Century Tower, it was unlikely that he’d make it out of the building without being seen… and even if he were sans mask, someone would want him to wait for the authorities, especially if they saw he was bleeding.

Max peered down and saw several police cars arriving on the scene. Evidently, the call for help had come after gunshots were heard. Gritting his teeth, the Peregrine stepped gingerly onto the cable and began the task of crossing the distance between buildings. Unlike his earlier passage, this one was slow and arduous. Several times he swayed so much that falling became a distinct possibility, but Max ignored the danger and continued, finally setting foot on the original rooftop. He gathered up his things and descended the fire escape, where his roadster was parked between buildings.

The Peregrine sat behind the wheel for a long moment, intending to drive back home and have Evelyn patch him together. But then the darkness that had been eating away at the edge of his consciousness won out and his vision began to fade… in the end, Max Davies slumped over onto the passenger seat of his car, blood pouring from his injured body.

* * *

Officer David Gort had been with the Atlanta PD for nearly seven years and during that time he’d become quite familiar with the antics of the Peregrine. He didn’t approve of vigilantes, but he’d had to grudgingly admit that the masked man did a necessary job. Hell, Gort was pleased as punch to not have to deal with some of the crackpots that the Peregrine routinely handled.

Gort leaned against his squad car now, watching as Chief McKenzie spoke to the manager of the Century Tower. The chief wanted access to the top levels, where the shots had allegedly come from, but the manager wanted to wait until the tenant, Mr. Garibaldi, came back. Gort had a feeling that McKenzie was about to lose his cool and he couldn’t wait to see the manager get what was coming to him.

A fluttering sound made Gort turn his head. He saw a half dozen black birds standing in the entrance to an alleyway and he’d be damned if it didn’t look like they were staring right at him. He straightened, a chill running down his spine. The birds began to hop down the alley, stopping every few steps to check to see if he was following.

Gort swallowed hard and looked about, but no one else seemed to be taking notice of the birds. Thinking himself mad but unable to resist, he began to follow the flock of birds. It didn’t take long for him to spot the black car up ahead and he began to quicken his pace. There were more birds on the car’s trunk and hood. Several of them were peering into the vehicle, and the quick way they moved their feet gave the impression that they were antsy. Could birds get antsy? Gort wondered.

As he neared the vehicle, the birds moved away, fluttering their wings. Gort looked into the driver’s side window and got the shock of his life. There, lying in a spreading pool of blood, was the Peregrine!

Gort yanked open the car door and reached inside, feeling for a pulse on the masked man’s arm. He then reached up and felt along the man’s throat. The body was still warm, indicating that he hadn’t suffered these injuries very long ago. Gort was no doctor, but he could tell the Peregrine had suffered fairly minor injuries to one of his arms and massive ones to his stomach area.