Gods of Manhattan (27 page)

The masked man shrugged, lifting up his weapon, checking that the impact against the marble floor hadn't damaged it. "In the desert. You can learn a lot in the desert, if you put your mind to it."

"Good psychology, too." Doc nodded, gently prodding the healing wound. He could feel the muscles knitting together. Not long now. "Although I think whatever you did there might have pushed him over the edge of whatever mental breakdown he was heading towards..."

"Just my latin charm, amigo," shrugged the masked man, looking at the wound slowly healing in Thunder's leg. "Ouch. You need a doctor?"

Doc Thunder blinked.
Latin.
He shook his head. "Give me a second." He gritted his teeth, and put his weight on the damaged leg. It wasn't too agonising. Slowly, he stood. "I think I'm good to go. We need to get after him before he loses himself. He's a danger to the general public, and besides, he needs to pay for what he did to Monk." He turned to the masked man, putting out his hand, smiling ruefully. "I owe you an apology, by the way. I was wrong to accuse you."

The masked man laughed. "Well, maybe I was wrong to call you a monster, hey? Nobody gets to choose their parents, my friend." His palm slapped against Thunder's, and they shook.

"I don't think I caught your name, by the way." Doc Thunder smiled.

"El Sombra." said El Sombra.

And then two highly trained police officers burst into Grand Central Station and began shooting at him.

A minute earlier, Crane pulled off his mask, quickly folding the leather part flat and sliding it into his inside coat-pocket, and dove into the crowd outside the station. A cop grabbed his shoulder, and another leant into his face, scowling. "Hey, buddy, don't you know nobody gets to go in there? Doc Thunder's orders!"

"I -" Crane's face was a mass of sweat and raw panic. "I went to the toilet. When I came out, it was all happening! A man in a mask... I think he's an illegal alien! He's trying to kill Doc Thunder!" The cops looked at each other, then tore into the station, guns drawn.

Like sheep,
Crane thought.
Tell them to herd, and they herd.
He snarled, his contempt rising like bile, then ran towards the meeting place where Marlene would be waiting. Faithful Marlene, who had taken to the cause like a duck to water...

Water. His feet were splashing in it.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight - the Silver Ghost with its bonnet open, water trickling from the underside, and Marlene, bent over like a salacious pinup as she tinkered with the engine, desperately trying to bring back life to a machine that was now dead forever. She looked up as he approached.

"Parker? What are you doing here-" Her eyes widened as she saw what he was wearing. "You...?" She blinked, taking a step back.

"What happened?" He barked at her, eyes blazing. "I gave you one duty! One responsibility! One! And you - oh, you stupid little
whore!
"

"Parker, you can't talk to me that-" She was interrupted by a slap from his open palm that sent her to the ground, blood trickling from a split lip. She looked up at him, eyes wide with shock. "You - you
hit
me!"

His eyes blazed at her. "You can think yourself damned lucky I didn't shoot you!"

She shook her head, eyes gazing at him in - was that astonishment? Or disgust? Or both? "But you're supposed to be the
Blood-Spider
-"

He looked back, staring down at her in impotent fury, then reached into his coat, pulling out the mask and hurling it at her. "There's your precious Blood-Spider," he muttered. Then he turned, rushing out into the street, leaving her where she lay.

"Cab! Damn you, cab! Cab!"

Picking herself up, Marlene watched as Parker pulled himself into a hansom cab, yelled a tirade of obscenities at the driver, and sped off in the direction of the East Village. That was the Blood-Spider, then. Nothing but Parker. Parker, wearing a mask and in over his head. And Parker, her debonair, dashing Parker -
he
was nothing but a vicious little thug when the chips were down.

Dimly, she realised that her life as she knew it was over. Whatever Parker had been up to, there would be repercussions. Easton would want her to make some dreadful statements to the police. Jack would probably call her a traitor. After all, Doc Thunder was a national resource, and hadn't she known, deep down, that Parker was trying to kill him? She just hadn't wanted to believe it. Or perhaps she'd wanted to believe that he actually had a chance.

Time for that suitcase, she mused.

What hurt the most wasn't the slap, or the growing horror of having to leave her whole life behind her. It was the disappointment of knowing that, at the end of it all, the great Blood-Spider was just another man.

But did he have to be?

She picked up the mask, looking into those eight implacable lenses, thinking about the war on crime, and her own words.
The most fabulous thing is to believe in something utterly and completely, without restraint.

When she walked away from the dead auto, into the darkness of the alley, she was wearing it.

"...well, thanks for the prompt response, all the same." Doc sighed to the sheepish Officer Rawls, as he examined the fresh bullet holes in his blue shirt. Sooner or later, he was going to run out of these.

Fortunately, he'd managed to shield El Sombra with his body, but the masked man had reacted immediately, delivering a brutal kick into the face of Officer Valchek - who was still unconscious - and very nearly running the other one through before Thunder could stop him.

He turned to El Sombra, frowning. "Impetuous, aren't you? Which reminds me, we're going to have to have a talk after all this is over about the number of bodies you've left behind you."

El Sombra raised an eyebrow behind his mask. "What, you've never had a few deaths on your conscience? At least I only get the bad guys killed, hey?"

"And having beaten up two police officers, you're now trying to start a fight with me. Wonderful." Doc Thunder sighed, rubbing his shoulder. The bone was starting to heal, but he wasn't going to be able to lift that arm properly any time soon. He'd have to fight with one. "More of that latin charm, I take it?"

He never heard El Sombra's reply.

Latin.

"Oh God," he breathed. "How could I have..."

"
...do you have any idea what 'fifty-fifty' could mean?..."

"
...wait until you see Plan C..."

"
...want him out of my hair for a while..."

"
...if I were you... I'd do a lot of things differently..."

"
...I thought he'd never get here...
"

...
El Sombra was waving his hand in front of Doc's face.

"Hey, amigo - you okay?"

"Fifty-fifty." Doc said, slowly. "I knew it. I knew there was someone behind all this. Nothing ever stays buried." He swallowed. "But I was looking in the wrong place. Latin numerals, you see?"

El Sombra gave him a puzzled look. "Amigo... what the hell are you talking about?"

"In the Latin language, the numbers are represented by letters. I for one, X for ten. And for fifty... L. So fifty-fifty... is L.L." He stared off into the distance.

"I think we may already be too late."

Crane hammered his fist on the metal door, yelling for Timothy Larson to let him in. Eventually, the door opened.

"Whoa... Parker Crane, out of sight! What brings you here?" Larson smiled, taking a long sip from a freshly brewed mug of coffee. "Listen, let me get you some java-"

"I don't need your damned java!" Crane hissed, grabbing hold of the lapels of his shirt and slamming him against the wall. "I need the blood! Tell me you've got something-"

"Hey, easy..." Larson frowned, pushing Parker gently away and then closing the door with a small clang. "Listen, you need to just chill out for a second, okay? Just relax. Everything's going to be fine, you know?" He smiled, putting a hand gently on Crane's shoulder. "I know some great meditation exercises you could try."

Crane slapped his hand away. "Shut up! I need to know what you've found in that blood, and I need it now! Don't you understand, Doc Thunder knows everything! He's probably on his way here now-" Crane suddenly froze. "Wait, how do you know my -"

Larson smiled. "Well, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, I got the big secret Untergang's been after all these years. A serum that'll give Doc Thunder's brand of the right stuff to any adult who takes it." He raised his hands. "I know, I know, I'm a genius. No applause, just throw money. That's my motto."

Crane took a step back. Suddenly, Larson seemed like a completely different person. "I - I only ever spoke to you as the Blood-Spider. How do you even know who Parker Crane is?"

"No flies on you, Parker! That's what I like about you, you're smart. Smart enough to think you're the smartest guy in the world, which is my
favourite
level of smart, because there's only
one
smartest guy in the world and he likes people to underestimate him. Anyway, the bad news - there was only enough serum for one, and I didn't feel like sharing. Sorry 'bout that. Guess you don't get to be President after all, but that's politics." Larson grinned, reaching and tearing away his moustache and beard, then rubbing his chin. "Any makeup glue left? I want to look my best for company."

Crane shook his head, his eyes wide, sweat beading on his face. "What... what are you talking about? How do you know about Untergang? About my plan..."

Larson lifted off his shaggy wig, revealing a gleaming bald pate. "
My
plan. You were just a useful tool, Parker, but now that I'm packed full of that serum - and let's just test that out-" He calmly picked up a steel test tube rack, and Crane watched in horror as he slowly twisted it into a double helix, as easily as twisting a wire coat hanger. "Huh! Wasn't sure that'd work. Anyway, Parker, I've got a spot for a dogsbody, but that's about it. So unless you want to be test number two of my amazing new Thunder Serum..." His eyes narrowed. "I'd lay off the attitude when you talk to me."

Crane's mouth was dry. "Who are you?" He whispered.

The bald man grinned. "Why, I'm the most dangerous man in the world, kid. Timothy Larson Lomax, at your service."

He stuck out his hand.

"But everybody calls me Lars."

Chapter Fifteen

The Last Case

"So, I understand you were wondering who killed Heinrich Donner?"

Lars Lomax sipped his coffee. He'd asked Crane to make it for him, with a cold, hard inflection in his voice that made it clear he wasn't asking at all. Now Crane shrank up against the wall, as if trying to escape through it. Lomax was between him and the door and, if he wanted to, he could put down that coffee, reach out with his hand and twist off Crane's head. He could do it as easily as scratch his own.

And he was mad. Quite mad. Crane was certain of it.

"It was me. My bad." Lomax smiled, waggling his eyebrows. "I mean, I didn't pull the trigger - or, you know, shove the sword in him - but I've got to take the credit. It's kind of a complicated story, though..." He frowned, then drained the last of his coffee, setting the cup back down with a shake of his head. "I don't know if you want to hear it. I mean, this is... on the scale of intricate master plans, this is about a nine. I'd have to be some kind of egomaniac to start boring you with the full thing. Let me tell you, it gets pret-ty crazy in places. You sure you want to hear the whole enchilada?"

Crane shook his head. "Just... just let me go." He shook his head, voice wheedling. "You've got what you want."

"Of course you do! Atta boy!" Lomax laughed, clapping Crane on the shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways to the floor. "And I've got to admit, I love this part. Seriously, it's burning a hole in me. I've got to tell
somebody
how I did it, and I can't tell Thunder, because that's the part where he usually escapes and kicks my ass. I figure this time I'll get it out of the way early and kick
his
instead. So why don't you pull up some floor there and I'll tell you the true story of how Lars Lomax died and was born again after a thousand and one nights to ascend to exalted glory? Kind of like Jesus meets the Arabian Nights." He shook his head, chuckling, and pulled up a chair, which creaked under his weight. His shirt was already starting to bulge as the muscles underneath began to expand. Every time Crane looked at him, he seemed larger, more menacing.

Hands shaking, Crane poured another coffee.

"I guess it all started when I realised what Anton Venger's big problem was."

He smiled, closing his eyes and breathing in the steam from the cup. Crane eyed the door. Could he reach it before...?

"Anton Venger and me, we made a good team." Lomax looked up, his brown eyes boring into Crane's. "Well, from his point of view, it was more than a team. That business with his face... he was desperate for any kind of affection after that, you know? He latched onto it like a remora. Show the slightest pretence of kindness and he'd follow you anywhere, especially if you happened to hate the same people. So... well, he might have seen our relationship as being something more intimate than just being business partners." He sipped his coffee, then shrugged. "I mean, okay, I'm not saying I never took advantage. He could look like anybody, you know? Put a poncho on him and it was like getting blown by Marilyn Monroe. I'm not proud." He took another swallow. "What's in this? Hazelnut?"