The Apparition
A pulp hero known as The Apparition has been killing the city’s gangsters. Why?
Criminals beware the night. The Apparition is stalking you. No matter where you might hide, you will be found and you will no longer be a threat to anyone. You will be dead.
But who is The Apparition? Why is this nighttime hooded figure killing the city’s criminals? The police suspect Bryan Sloane, a wealthy young man about town, who in a fist fight killed Nick Putty Stryker. Putty was head gangster’s David Stryker’s only son. So maybe Bryan Sloane disguised as The Apparition is killing David Stryker’s mob before they come after him. But is he really The Apparition?
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The Apparition
Copyright © 2016 Wayne Greenough
ISBN: 978-1-4874-0648-6
Cover art by Latrisha Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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The Apparition
By
Wayne Greenough
To
my wife, June, who is also my personal pulp heroine; Hello, my dear.
The door exploded inward. Wood splattered the six gangsters playing poker at a scarred table. Smoke filled the room with a stinking, death-ridden odor. One of the six managed to shout, “What the hell happened?” while the others coughed up saliva and vomit.
A blood curdling laugh chilled their bones and caused fear to chisel itself to their faces as they saw in the shattered doorway a menacing figure attired in black.
“I heard you were looking for The Apparition.” The hooded figure’s voice was a terrifying rumble, deep and deadly. “I’m here at your request.”
Five of the men’s eyes reflected terror that can be seen when death smiles at them. They huddled in the room’s dingy left corner like trapped rats. A sixth man steeled his spine and stepped forward. Anger bravely etched his face and deepened the three inch scar on his left cheek. He motioned to it. “The name’s Duke. You did this to me. Thought I was dead, didn’t you? Well, half of my frame is still alive in spite of the two slugs you put in it. And now it’s payback time for you. We knew the newspaper ads daring you to show up here at midnight would bring you to us. Six well-oiled automatics against your two old fashioned six shooters say the odds are in our favor. It also says you’re a corpse.”
Duke turned to the five men. “Put the sand back in your backbones, you white livered scum, and do what we’re being paid for.”
Guns were drawn and fired. The Apparition’s six shooters delivered death. One by one the gangsters fell. The Apparition laughed.
Seconds ticked Duke’s life away. His vision blurred to darkness as his voice came in gasps mixed with blood. “I shot you three times... you’re not human...”
“I was once. Not anymore,” The Apparition replied as Duke’s life ended.
Bryan Sloane was the billionaire wealthy young man about town. The old saying about how he’s never worked a day in his life was certainly true about our Mr. Sloane. Those comments were said abundantly about him from the common daily workers, the unemployed individuals, and the city’s criminal elements.
At this moment Bryan Sloane was having dinner with his long-time acquaintance, Police Lieutenant Jackson McCoy.
“All right, McCoy, tell me why we’re having steak and lobster in a fancy restaurant that will cost you more than you can afford.”
McCoy swallowed his food, sipped wine from a crystal glass before answering. “You read the newspaper headings this morning?”
“I did, over my breakfast and coffee. Somebody knocked off six bad guys you police people haven’t been able to nab because of this city’s shyster lawyers for hire.”
McCoy’s eyes glared accusingly at Sloane for a moment. “Yeah, somebody did. You don’t happen to have any idea who might have given them an adequate dose of lead, do you?” His voice was a low growl.
Bryan Sloane tossed his knife and fork on the linen cloth table top and frowned. “Come on, McCoy. Are you forever going to suspect my being The Apparition? Stop for a moment and think about how utterly ridiculous it would be for me to be going around killing the crooks that are outsmarting the law. It’s true that I’d be doing the city a favor by eliminating its criminal element. But I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I’m not him. Why do you keep thinking I am?”
“Because a few things about you just don’t add up, and also because you killed Nick Putty Stryker. You beat him to death with your fists.”
“It was self-defense.”
“Witnesses testified to that. Maybe it was. I’m not so sure. Putty was David Stryker’s only son, and Stryker just happens to be the top dog in a gang land syndicate that law enforcement hasn’t been able to nail... thanks to his battery of shyster lawyers you mentioned.”
“What are you getting at, McCoy? I suppose your next comments will be the usual ones, how I’m a target for the Putty mob and that’s why The Apparition is murdering them, so therefore you suspect me of being The Apparition.”
“You said it. You are my number one suspect.”
“Then arrest me.”
Mc Coy gave Sloane a fiery look before answering with words that manifested his inward anger. “We need positive evidence you’re The Apparition. And by all that’s holy when we get it we’ll lock you up for the rest of your life, or better yet, we’ll give you the chair.”
Bryan Sloane smiled. “Good luck,” he said. “Now let’s enjoy the rest of our meal.”
Bryan Sloane had a butler that is a do-it-all type of guy to keep his boss happy. His name was Jordan, a giant of a man with ulcers caused by Mr. Sloane.
“You’ll be going out tonight, sir?” Jordan commented as he scrutinized his boss. Sloane was attired in an all-black outfit, suit, shirt, hat, and gloves.
“Yes, is the black Daimler ready?”
Jordan nodded. “It’s out front with its motor purring. I really should do the driving for you tonight.”
“We’ve discussed this before, Jordan. Where I go at night and what I do, no one must know, not even you. I’ll be gone for several days, perhaps a week or so.”
Jordan’s reply sounded his disapproval. “I shall make certain not to pry into your private affairs, Mr. Sloane.”
The roar and screeching tires of the Daimler informed Jordan that Bryan Sloane was driving off to another one of his mysterious trips to where? That was the question that forever plagued Jordan’s quizzical mind. Where could his boss go, and why all the mystery? There was something definitely wrong. The newspaper blasted away in two inch letters how The Apparition killed six crooks last night around midnight, and Mr. Sloane was gone until three in the morning. Could the boss actually be The Apparition? Jordan smiled. If so then he’d better not tell the police or anyone else. But if the boss was The Apparition that meant by law he was a killer, a killer running loose and killing people. Crooks so far, but will it always be only crooks that he kills?
* * * *
At the Daimler’s steering wheel, Sloane pressed a secret button. A small compartment opened revealing a black costume and a black hood. The ominous darkness of the night was joined by Sloane’s laughter.
David Stryker drank whiskey, smoked cigars and sweated sour stink. Six of his top killers sent to finalize The Apparition ended up being meat for forensic people to carve up. How could that happen? Those guys were good. Their profession was murder.
“The Apparition is still alive, and I’m his next corpse.” He stubbed out his half-smoked cigar put a fresh one in his mouth, bit off its end, and ignited it. “Just who the hell is this guy?”
He wiped sweat from his brow and mentally took note of his security. There were five hundred secret coded alarms at every possible entrance plus two dozen roving patrol guards, consisting of crooked cops, gangsters and professional killers. It was enough protection to keep him alive from anybody except The Apparition. He was a dead man. He knew it. That costumed nut was unstoppable.
“Perhaps I can help you?”
Stryker whirled around with gun in hand. In one swift movement, a hooded figure tossed a knife. Before Stryker could squeeze off a shot, the heavy knife knocked the weapon from his right hand.
The hooded figure laughed.
Stryker rubbed his hand. “All right, you’re here to finish me off. Go ahead, get it over with.”
“Guns are dangerous weapons. They should be outlawed, particularly the way you just used one. Relax, Stryker. At the moment I am not here to end your life. On the contrary, I’m here to help you.”
“Sure you are, like you helped six of my men last night.”
“Are you so certain that was my doing? Those killers were meant to end the way they ended. I have in mind for you a much different scenario, one that will prevent you from meeting an unfortunate demise. Care to find out?”
“Sure, why not? What have I got to lose?”
Edgar Wells never wanted to happen what did happen. He wanted to die first. Then his beloved wife Irma would follow him later. It never happened that way. Why, why, why! Irma died and he kneeled at her graveyard marking.
An hour later Edgar Wells stood and wondered why he was in a graveyard. Irma would be waiting for him, probably in the nearest food store. He went there. None of the clerks had seen her. The store owner said something about Irma being dead. How perfectly ridiculous, she was alive and waiting for him at home.
At home he fiddled with the lock on the front door. Irma wanted him to replace the lock, but locksmiths were expensive.
Inside their small house hollering for his wife until he developed a hoarse throat brought no Irma dashing to him with a warm hug and a delicious kiss.
“She’s not here, Edgar.”
The voice was deep with a dry raspy sound. Edgar turned and faced The Apparition.
“Where’s my Irma? What have you done with her?”
“Your Irma has passed away. In time you will come to fully realize she is gone from your life, but not your memory and the wonderful happiness you had with her.”
Edgar nodded as sanity and the reality of his wife’s death returned to him. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Who are you other than The Apparition? Why are you here?”
“My actual identity must remain a secret to all. I’m here because I need your help.”
“Why? You’re The Apparition. According to the news media there isn’t anything you can’t do.”
“The news media is quite often wrong, especially about me.”
“I’m only a person incapable of doing many things.”
“You were once a Master Chef.”
“I was temporarily.”
“Because everybody assisting her decided to walk off, the person I know is all alone and quite helpless. She needs an accomplished cook. She also must have a housekeeper, an errand boy, a driver, and at times an assistant doing unusual errands for her. Edgar Wells, my study of you convinces me that you are able to meet all the needs my friend will ask of you.”
“What am I, some sort of an open book to you?”
“Yes, in a way you are. Will you accept my offer?”
“I don’t know. This all sounds suspicious and illegal.”
“It isn’t. You’re thirty-five, a young age, and my offer will give you the opportunity for a chance to start a different life, one I feel you will learn to enjoy.”
“I hope you’re right. I accept.” Silently Edgar Wells said,
God help me, I’m working for The Apparition!
It started decades ago with Mike Johnson, the original crime fighting Apparition. He sat in a comfortable chair while waiting to be judged. One wall of the small room was a window. He could see earth. He could see his granddaughter Alicia struggling with the wheelchair that had forever captured her body.
