The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (81 page)

“Enjoy yourself, Herr Garibaldi,” he whispered.

* * *

An hour later found Garibaldi and Hochmuller back at Century Tower, where a full complement of police officers awaited them. The Tower’s manager, a stout man named Cooper, rushed over to see them, followed quickly by Police Chief McKenzie. Garibaldi thought it odd that McKenzie looked so upset… indeed, if Garibaldi didn’t know that McKenzie was a fairly strong-lipped person, he’d almost think the police chief was near tears.

Hochmuller shoved the Ivory Machine under the passenger seat before exiting the vehicle. He stayed close to Garibaldi, keeping his eyes cast downwards. He wasn’t one of the Nazis that everyone in law enforcement would recognize but there still remained the chance that someone might pick up on the fact he was German… and very nervous.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Garibaldi asked, his demeanor immediately cowing Cooper. The building manager fretted for a moment before speaking.

“There were gunshots reported inside the building, Mr. Garibaldi. The police chief wants access to your apartment but I’ve told him that there was no one present in your absence so there couldn’t possibly be anything wrong there.”

Garibaldi paused for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Gunshots?” He clapped his hands together like a happy child. “I can’t wait to find out what’s happened up there! Of course I’d be more than glad to let the good officers in!”

McKenzie’s words were terse. “Most people aren’t happy to hear that their home’s a crime scene.”

Garibaldi shrugged. “We don’t know that, Chief. Besides, I happen to have a pack of guard dogs up there. If anyone was stupid enough to have gotten in there, they’re probably dog meat by now. To be honest, though, I imagine someone was just imagining things. How would they have gotten past the Century Tower’s security? Did they drop from the sky and enter through the window?”

Something in the way Garibaldi phrased his words made McKenzie pause. It was almost as if the criminal knew the Peregrine had been up there. “Lead the way, Mr. Garibaldi.”

A large group consisting of Garibaldi, Hochmuller, McKenzie, Cooper, and a half dozen armed police officers made the trek upstairs. Once the apartment door had been opened, the policemen took the point, making sure it was safe for the others to enter. When the all clear was given, Garibaldi sauntered in and quickly spotted the trail of blood leading from Hochmuller’s door to the window. He was disappointed to not see the Peregrine’s dead body, however. It seemed that the vigilante had managed to escape, though he was badly injured.

Worse yet, all of his dogs save for Raptor had been killed. The leader of the pack emerged from the shadows, fastening his intelligent gaze upon his master. Garibaldi nodded, indicating that he’d probe for details later on. Even though Raptor couldn’t speak—Hochmuller had yet to find a way to alter the canine’s vocal chords to allow for vocalization—the dog was adept at expressing himself when questioned.

McKenzie followed the trail of blood like he was a bloodhound himself. He tapped against Hochmuller’s door. “What’s in here?”

“That is where I work,” Hochmuller said, regretting it instantly. All eyes were now on him and he shifted uneasily.

“And what is it that you do for Mr. Garibaldi? And what’s your name? I don’t believe we were introduced?”

Hochmuller looked up at the police chief and offered a brief smile. “Johann Abraham. I am Dutch. I am an accountant and amateur scientist. I mostly keep Mr. Garibaldi’s books but I like to tinker with electronics, too.”

“Do you mind if we take a look inside this room? Looks to me like whoever came in through that window wanted to get inside here?”

“I think you’re making assumptions,” Garibaldi said with a shrug. “It looks to me like this is where my dogs cornered the intruder. He made his stand there but I don’t see any sign that he tried to get into Abraham’s room. A better question to me is how they managed to get in at all. We’re pretty high up.”

McKenzie didn’t respond to that line of inquiry. He wasn’t sure how Max had pulled it off, either, but that wasn’t his primary concern. He’d called Evelyn immediately after finding his friend. He’d wanted to remove Max’s mask and anything that might link him to the Peregrine, and then have him transported to the hospital. Evelyn had talked him out of that. Instead, he’d stood watch over the Peregrine, watching him bleed out. Gort had accepted his chief’s orders to remain silent on everything he’d seen and heard. McKenzie thought he could trust the officer not to start any rumors.

When Evelyn had come and claimed him, he’d been impressed by her stoicism. If that had been his wife Kirsten out there, he wouldn’t have handled it nearly so well.

The police chief knelt beside one of the dead dogs. He recognized the effects of the Peregrine’s high-powered slugs when he saw them. Those bullets could rip massive chunks of flesh out and they’d done a terrible number on this animal. He also noticed faint scarring around the animal’s skull. A quick glance at the other canine corpses showed the same scarring. He stood up quickly, casting a glance around for the surviving animal that he’d seen earlier, but there was no trace of him now. “What happened to these dogs’ heads? Looks like they all had the same kind of head trauma… or surgery.”

Hochmuller cleared his throat. “These animals were all products of an experimental procedure that I conducted. The surgery did not impair them.”

“Did it make them as big as they are? The things are huge, much bigger than normal dogs.”

“Yes. Their size is a product of some hormonal changes brought about the procedure.” The German smiled at Garibaldi, showing that he was pleased with his own ability to come up with fabrications on the spot.

“An accountant who cuts up the brains of dogs. You’re quite an employee,” McKenzie said. The police chief glanced at one of his men who had returned from looking around the apartment. “Find anything?”

“Nothing, Chief. Doesn’t look like anything was taken and there’s no sign of what the intruder might have been after.”

McKenzie nodded and looked back at Garibaldi. “You have any idea why somebody would go to all this trouble to get into your apartment? You aren’t still playing around with your old friends, are you? Getting back into the underworld game?”

Garibaldi smiled broadly and the image of a bird in flight, etched onto his forehead for the rest of his life, seemed to darken. “You have my word as a gentleman, Chief McKenzie. I’m clean as a whistle.”

* * *

Evelyn Davies pushed the gurney with trembling hands. Twice since exiting her car she’d had to stop and take a sip from the silver flask she had hidden in the front of her button-up shirt. Her khaki slacks and dark black boots were a far cry from the glamorous look she’d brandished at the charity bash, but they perfectly suited her current mood. Over the past decade, she’d often wondered how she would react to the news that Max had finally been killed. Tonight, she’d been forced to find that out.

She felt numb inside but there were cracks beginning to form in her composure, and the turmoil within was threatening to overwhelm her. After picking up Max’s body, she’d returned home briefly to make sure that the children were safely taken care of. After Nettie’s death earlier in the year, they’d hired a new nanny, a charming young woman named Emily Faucher. The girl was twenty-three years old and sported the reddest hair that Evelyn had ever seen. Emily was excellent with the children and very trustworthy, though she had not been brought into the loop with regards to Max’s secret identity.

Evelyn then began to follow Max’s specific instructions should he ever die in battle. She wrapped his body in white linen, having strained to move him into the Peregrine’s Nest. After this, she gave a call to the Aerie, but this only confirmed that the Claws of the Peregrine were still in Europe. The team was trying desperately to resurrect their fallen comrade, the brutish Vincent. The irony that another of their number was now in the same situation back in Atlanta wasn’t lost on Evelyn.

Knowing that she was on her own with this, Evelyn then loaded Max’s body back into the car, along with a medical gurney, folded down to traveling size. She then drove to an area of town where she normally didn’t frequent: the denizens of the city called it Red Place, mostly because it was the heart of the Red Light District. Max had told her to bring his corpse to a building at 113 Doyle Avenue. The structure looked like it should have been condemned years ago: the wooden house was rotting from the inside out, and several of the shingles on the roof were completely missing. The grass in the yard was thick and unkempt. It looked like it would be heaven for snakes and mosquitoes.

After taking the first of her sips from the silver flask, Evelyn placed her dead husband’s linen-wrapped body on the gurney and began pushing it towards the house. To her surprise, the door opened before she’d gotten very far along the path. A massive Negro wearing a vest over his bare midsection stood there, staring at her. He had a shaved head, a golden hoop earring in one ear, and was wearing loose fitting pants that made Evelyn think of Arabian sultans. When the man spoke, his words were in French.

“
Vous ne devriez pas être ici
.” A strong shake of the head accompanied his speech.

Evelyn sighed. She pulled out the silver flask and took the second of her sips. After the alcohol had steadied her courage, she replied, “My French isn’t very good. Do you speak English?”

The black man’s jaw clenched. He lowered his voice when asking, “
Qui êtes-vous? Comment avez-vous su pour venir ici
?”

“Look,” Evelyn said harshly. “This man beneath the sheet was…
is
… the Peregrine. He told me to come here. He said that you would help him if he were ever killed. I don’t know what it is you can do, but please do it!”

The Negro’s eyes widened at the mention of the Peregrine. Evidently, he understood that quite well. He pointed around the rear of the house, where the path continued on. “
Circulez en arrière. Je dirai Marie que vous êtes ici
.”

Evelyn didn’t comprehend his words but she picked up on the general meaning. Grimly, she pushed on, watching as the man closed the front door and vanished from sight.

“Oh, Max,” she whispered, “What have you gotten me into?”

* * *

The strange trek continued through the overgrown backyard, where pushing the gurney became an exercise in brute strength. Evelyn noticed that there were nearly two dozen black birds lined up in the trees above. The flock of ravens or crows—in the dark she couldn’t tell which they were—seemed to be watching her with strangely intelligent eyes.

The black man reappeared next to an oversized sewer grate. A tunnel lay on the other side of the barrier and the man pulled on the metal bars until the grate swung open with a creaking sound. He gestured for Evelyn to enter and she hesitated for a brief second, the horrible smells wafting out of the sewer making her flinch. The tunnel was quite large and Evelyn knew that she’d have no trouble navigating the length of it, but that hardly made her feel better about the situation. She hadn’t even known that Atlanta had sewer tunnels like this one. Maybe it was part of the underground catacombs that the vampires had used as their base back in 1936? Evelyn wasn’t sure, but either way she was nervous as hell.

Not seeing any way of getting out of this, she pushed her husband’s body into the tunnel. The Negro stepped in after her, pulling the grate shut. Together they wandered into the darkness. There were several inches of water on the floor and the occasional chattering of rats. Evelyn’s feet continually brushed against solid objects, but she tried to avoid wondering what they were. In the gloom, she could barely see her own hand in front of her face. Evelyn could feel a slight incline, indicating that she was going deeper underground.

Gradually, the darkness began to lighten, and Evelyn saw a circular room up ahead, with a taller ceiling. Three tall braziers lighted the room, a grayish smoke rising up and vanishing into numerous small vents in the ceiling. Four tunnels led off from the chamber but Evelyn ignored all of them. Her gaze was riveted to the scene in the center of the room: a white chair, carved from aged wood, sat beside a bloodied altar. Sitting atop the chair was a nearly nude young woman, who appeared to be no more than twenty years old. The woman’s skin was the color of caramel and her lustrous dark hair fell over smooth shoulders. Her only garments were sandals, a white loincloth that did little to hide her privates, and a gossamer-thin white blouse that revealed her dusky nipples and perfectly shaped breasts.

The woman smiled at Evelyn’s surprise, rising from her seat and placing her hands on her hips. “Hello, Mrs. Davies. My name is Marie. I trust that Sebastian was kind to you?”

Evelyn glanced back at the Negro, who moved to lean against a wall. “Yes. He was quite accommodating, especially considering the fact we weren’t speaking the same language.”

“Sebastian understands English very well… he just can’t speak it.” The woman approached the gurney, her eyes roving over the linen-wrapped body. “This is your husband?”

“Yes.”

“I’m very sorry. I will do all that I can.”

“And what is that, exactly? Can you bring back the dead?” Evelyn’s words were terse, coming off as angry more than sad. It was easier to be mad than it was to admit she might have lost her partner and best friend.

“On occasion, yes, but only under certain circumstances. Not long ago your husband and a woman called Revenant came to see me. I was unable to revive their companion because his was a special case. He was born of dead men’s parts. My powers could do nothing for him.”

“Is that when you met my husband?”

“No,” Marie said with a fond expression. “He and I were lovers in the late twenties, during his stay in Paris.”

“That’s impossible,” Evelyn said.” You’re too young.”

“I am older than I look,” Marie responded, her eyes twinkling. “I moved to Atlanta a little over a year ago. This town is at the crossroads of so much magical energy. It drew me, like a moth to a flame.”