The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One (64 page)

Max clenched his gloved hands into fists, anger burning in his heart. He had tracked this man for years, always wondering what he would do at this moment. The Peregrine had certainly killed before and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again if there was no other recourse. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted that to be the ending of the meeting he was about to have.

Killing Grossett would be an act of revenge, pure and simple. But he wasn’t sure he could find enough evidence to get the man convicted—and at Grossett’s age, he would probably only survive a few months in a jail cell.

Nevertheless, the Peregrine had taken flight to this tiny village and nothing would deter him from coming face to face with the man who had, in so many ways, caused him to come into being.

Casting a wary glance up and down the street to make sure no one was watching, the Peregrine jumped to the ground and lifted a small automatic from a holster under his coat. He approached the door and kicked it in quickly, stepping inside before Grossett could recover.

The old man still sported a beard but his physique was not nearly as impressive as Max had remembered. He was thinner now and his skin hung loosely over a frame that now seemed too small for it. The former assassin was seated on a dirt floor, a small boy sitting near him, a picture book open before him.

The Peregrine’s gun was leveled at Grossett’s head but the big man didn’t blink an eye. “Who’s the boy?” Max demanded.

“My grandson,” Death’s Head answered. “And you…?”

The Peregrine paused, staring at the young boy, who could have been no more than four years old. His mixed ancestry was apparent, but he was a handsome enough child, with an intelligent air about him. Max forced himself to look back at Grossett, keeping his voice level. “You killed my father.”

“I killed a lot of people’s fathers.” Grossett forced himself to stand, his knees creaking. “Figured no one would find me here. Thought I could live out the rest of my life with my family… but I guess men like me don’t get that kind of luxury.” Grossett spread his arms. “Go ahead and do it.”

Grossett’s grandson jumped up and ran in front of the old man, clutching at his legs. “No, papa!”

The Peregrine sighed, not missing the irony of the situation. Would he be willing to scar another boy… one who probably looked up to his grandfather, never realizing the crimes the older man had committed. “I’m not going to kill you. Not in front of the child.”

“Do you want me to send him away?”

“You seem very eager to die.”

Grossett shrugged wearily. “I am going to Hell soon enough. I am dying and there is nothing the doctors can do. Like I said, I thought I would live out my days with my family… but this might be the better way for me to go. It’s how I lived my life.”

The Peregrine moved towards him, closing the distance between them very quickly. He pushed the barrel of his gun against Grossettt’s temple and the little boy whimpered loudly, fearing for his grandfather’s life. “You took him from me,” Max whispered. “He was worth a thousand men like you and he was my hero.”

Death’s Head swallowed hard. “My killing him… it made you into this…? A man who wears a mask and brandishes a gun?”

“I hunt down men like you and I punish them.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes. You made me into this.”

Grossett smiled crookedly. “Then I can die in peace. Because you seem like a good man and the world needs as many of those as possible. So if some good came from all the terrible deeds I committed, then maybe St. Peter will take pity on me when I stand before at the heavenly gates.”

The Peregrine muttered something under his breath and turned away. “I’ll be watching you, Grossett. Keep your nose clean and I’ll let God sort out the details.” Max stepped outside, feeling a sense of calm settling over him. He was proud of himself for not having slain Death’s Head and comforted in the knowledge that fate had chosen its own way of dealing with the scum. He still felt an ache in his heart when he pictured his father… but perhaps that would eventually heal in time, now that he had found the man’s killer.

Inside the small hut, the little boy looked up at his grandfather and asked “Papa… who was that man?”

Grossett thought it over before answering. “That… that was a hero.”

* * *

Philip Gallagher poured out the last of the bottle of whiskey, using it to fuel the small fire that raged in his wastebasket. The Peregrine was gone, choosing not to watch as Gallagher ignited the story of a lifetime and let it burn.

Tomorrow was a whole new day and it would be the start of something wonderful.

From one violent act, a hero had been forged… and through his actions, others had been inspired to take up the cause.

Gallagher smiled to himself as an old saying come unbidden to his mind:

Heroism is the divine relation which, in all times, unites a great man to other men.

“Thank you,” Gallagher whispered aloud. “Thank you for fighting for us, even when we didn’t know you were there.”

* * *

On the city streets of Atlanta, the sleek roadster belonging to the Peregrine cut a silent swath through the shadows, its master keeping a keen eye on those whom he would protect.

The Peregrine flew on.

THE END

THE BLEEDING HELLS

An adventure teaming

the Peregrine, Ascott Keane, the Black Bat & Doctor Satan

By Barry Reese

CHAPTER I

Diseased Dreams

February, 1941—Atlanta, Georgia

The dream was disturbing on many levels.

Max Davies wandered through the halls of an abandoned mental hospital, his arms bound by a straitjacket. There was little illumination, for most of the lights were dim and those few that still worked were flickering madly. There appeared to be no others present in the facility, for none answered Max’s cries for help. The few rooms he ventured into looked like they’d been ransacked by the structure’s former patients. Feces and blood were smeared across the walls while desks and chairs were overturned and smashed.

A rustling sound, like a cloth being drawn over a table, made Max bang to a stop. His shoulder collided with a wall, knocking several chips of peeling paint to the floor. He turned, looking for the source of the sound, and found it at once.

There, at the end of the hallway, was a man. He was shrouded in shadow but every few seconds the light above him would flicker to life, bathing him in a yellow glow. He was dressed in the most garish manner conceivable: a red bodysuit clung tightly to his fit body and a raised hooded cloak revealed hints of a masked face. Most eerie of all were the horns that adorned the stranger’s head, giving him a devilish appearance.

“Who are you?” Max asked, his voice sounding strained to his own ears. Something about the stranger seemed familiar, as if he matched the description of a figure that Max had read about but never personally seen.

“The better question,” the man answered, “is who are
you
? Are you Max Davies, wealthy philanthropist? Or are you something far more: something that takes flight under the stars, striking down the guilty?”

The blood seemed to freeze in Max’s veins and the flickering lights made him feel nauseous. “You know my secret?” he whispered aloud.

“I know many secrets,” the devil replied with a mocking laugh.

“Who are you?” Max repeated. His identity had been uncovered several times over the years, but most of those people were either confidantes or criminals who had met their just-deserved fates.

“I’m envious of your ability to balance your adventures with raising a family,” the man in red continued, ignoring the question once again. “I’ve never found the time to settle down myself. Perhaps soon… when my goals have been accomplished” The figure came to a halt just a few steps away from Max, offering a gloved hand. “Be free.”

The bonds constraining Max’s arms suddenly vanished into thin air and he flexed his limbs to stimulate the blood flow.

The red-garbed man smiled somewhat smugly. “There are many who would like to possess what you have. Not your family, mind you, though I’m sure that some of those who will pursue you are like me and covet even that. I speak instead of objects that are in your possession. What do you know of the Knife of Elohim?”

Max felt a cloud of mental energy enter his brain, fuzzing his logic. He tried to resist but the pressure was too great. He recited all that he knew of the knife’s origins, repeating it word-for-word from the scroll he possessed, detailing its history:

“The mystic blade known as the Knife of Elohim is said to have been soaked in the blood of Christ on the day of his crucifixion. It has had many owners, but came into the possession of the Knights in the 11th Century, becoming one of our most potent weapons against evil. The wielder of the blade is able to pierce the hides of animals that are immune to all other weapons and the wielder is protected by the grace of our savior.”

The hooded figure chuckled. “Did you know that the Knife is only one of a set of weapons, all soaked in the blood of Christ?”

“No,” Max admitted, narrowing his eyes. Where had he seen this man before? He was certain of it now, certain that he had seen images of this figure…

“I want the Knife,” the man said, breaking Max’s reverie. “I want it before anyone else can find it. You see, there are four such weapons. I have two. Another has one. And you… you have the final piece in the set.”

Something suddenly clicked in Max’s mind and he reached out quickly, gripping the crimson figure’s cloak in his hands. He pulled the man close enough that their noses nearly touched. “I know you now! You’re the madman the papers call Dr. Satan!”

Dr. Satan’s laughter grew so loud that it seemed to echo through the empty hospital. He gripped Max’s wrists and sneered. “Prepare yourself, Max Davies! Prepare yourself! I am coming!”

* * *

Max opened his eyes, rolling free of his covers and falling to the floor in a crouch. Beneath his pillow was always kept the Knife of Elohim, for its blade could slice through any defense, and he snatched it out in a fluid movement.

“Max?”

Max looked over his shoulder, where his wife Evelyn was sitting up. She was beautiful, with auburn hair that hung about her bare shoulders in tiny ringlets. The sight of her calmed Max and made him realize that what he’d experienced was a nightmare: a prescient one, to be sure, but nothing more substantial than that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing tall and pushing the dagger back beneath his pillow. “I was… dreaming.”

“Must have been some dream,” she muttered. “Coming back to bed?”

Max looked at the clock, shaking his head. “No… it’s almost dawn. I’ll just stay up.”

Evelyn frowned disapprovingly. “Almost dawn? Honey, it’s only 3 a.m.!”

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep.” Max looked away, closing his eyes briefly. Somewhere else in this old plantation house, his son William was sleeping soundly. He was a father and a man now in his forties… how much longer could he continue stalking the nights, putting his family at risk? Just last year, the Warlike Manchu had taunted Max with his knowledge about the Peregrine’s dual identity. William had been kidnapped and Evelyn had been badly beaten, leaving Max a guilty wreck. If this Doctor Satan was now threatening them, with his reputation for cruelty…

“Max?”

He opened his eyes, seeing that Evelyn had dropped the covers, revealing her nude torso. His blood quickened at the sight. “Yes?”

“If you don’t feel like sleeping, no one said we had to.”

Max grinned, feeling his confidence begin to return. With Evelyn at his side, everything would be fine. But in the morning, the Peregrine would be taking flight, striking first before Satan could continue his plans.

* * *

While Max Davies sat up in his bed, drenched in sweat, two men exchanged smiles of satisfaction many miles away, in the great city of New York. One of them, seated on the floor of a well-tended office, was rail-thin with long reddish-tinged blond hair. He wore old-fashioned clothing, looking like someone who had just stepped out of the Victorian age. He bore a striking scar along his left cheek. Its pale white expanse seemed to glow against his tan skin.

The other figure was taller and broader across, dressing in a contemporary suit and tie. His moustache was jet-black, matching his hair, and both gleamed from the oils he put in them. “Did he fall for it?” the tall man asked, greed shining in his eyes.

“I think he did,” the other answered. “Marlon, that idea was simply brilliant. I commend you.”

Marlon Woodson grinned at his compatriot, accepting the compliment. The two of them had become partners several years ago, bringing to the table two very different styles of operation. Marlon was a former mob enforcer, quick to breaking knees and offering up threats. On the other hand, Arias was a methodical planner, who specialized in matters dealing with the occult. “That oughtta keep Satan out of our hair for a little while. With the Peregrine chasing after him, we’ll be free and clear to get our own business done! By the time they realized they’ve been duped, we’ll be sittin’ like kings! Too bad we don’t really know his identity, though. You’re sure that the dreams you sent made it to the right person?”

“Positive. We have very accurate descriptions of what this Peregrine looks like. It was easy for me to create a dream that would seek out its proper owner, like a homing pigeon. Once it took root in his mind, I have no idea what form it took—but it’s certain that it would be something that will direct his attention towards Dr. Satan.”

Arias rose from his lotus position on the floor and adjusted the cuff of his sleeves. His primping had bothered Marlon at first but their partnership had flourished so he overlooked such eccentricities. “It’s a dangerous game we’re playing, my friend. Both the Peregrine and Satan are known for being fierce foes.”

Marlon lit up a cigarette, nodding. “Yeah. And that ain’t even takin’ into account the last guy on our agenda.”

Arias crossed over to a large mahogany desk and picked up a small black box. Inside lay two identical daggers, sisters to the one possessed by the Peregrine. These two had recently been stolen from Dr. Satan. The act had put the master criminal on the tails of Arias and Marlon, prompting them to come up with a plan to distract Dr. Satan by pitting him against the Peregrine. While both men were occupied with each other, Arias hoped to find a moment to steal away the dagger currently held by the Peregrine.