The Grim Spectre (2 page)

The Grim Spectre fell backward in shock as the bullets tore through his flesh,
‘I-I’ve been shot!’

The two thugs grinned and continued to fire, walking toward the fallen, white garbed man, who now lay upon the grimy alley floor.

“No!” Bobby Terrano shouted in dismay.

Then he suddenly realized only the first few bullets had torn through his body. He was in agony, but he was no longer taking hits. He looked down at himself and saw the bullets pass right through him.

‘I-I’m in so much pain, b-but I’m not being hit any longer. Somehow I-I made myself kind of, I dunno, like a ghost? The bullets are going right through me like I have no substance to my body. I-I can’t be touched.’

The thugs emptied their guns into the Grim Spectre’s body, but the Spectre was already standing up, ignoring their onslaught.

“What th’ hell, Tony! T-the bullets are goin’ right through this guy, Is he a g-ghost?” The shorter heavier thug asked his partner.

“He wasn’t a minute ago, that blood on his Halloween suit proved dat,” Tony answered, “Just keep pluggin’ ‘im, Carmine.”

The Grim Spectre walked through the hail of bullets which now passed through his body harmlessly. He reached his now glowing hands out and grabbed the wrist of each man, sending a powerful electric charge through them both. They fell to the ground limply.

“W-what are you?” the girl who had been the victim of the two thugs asked. She was backed into a dark corner, frozen in terror.

Without hesitation the Grim Spectre replied in a voice both hollow and terrifying, “You have naught to fear from me, Girl. I am the spirit of retribution. I have been sent here to cleanse this vile city and to save it for its true citizens from the filth who run it now.”

“W-what are you called?” the girl whispered fearfully.

“Let those who would prey upon the weak and the powerless beware my wrath, for I am known as ‘The Grim Spectre,’ and my mission here in Riverburgh has just begun.”

Cape fluttering behind him, the Grim Spectre soared skyward again and winked out of sight.

Moments later he stepped invisibly through his bedroom window once more and collapsed on the floor.

“Why aren’t I dead?” He asked aloud.

Pulling up the bloodstained white shirt, Bobby looked at his skin. Two circles of scar tissue marked the spots he had been shot through, but they were already healed. He looked at his back with the help of two mirrors and saw the same result where the bullets had exited.

‘This is nuts. I healed up already. The belt must have healed me like it did in that alley after I took that beating. But this can’t happen again; one thing I learned tonight is that there’s not enough offense from this magic belt. I need to add to my arsenal. These gangsters; they all use guns, maybe I should too. But I need more than that; I need something else, maybe like a lasso or, or a whip! And I know just who to go to, to teach me how to use both of those things.’

The next six months saw Bobby Terrano visiting an old man who lived down the block from him, an old man named Beard who was an ex-carnival employee. The old carnie worker had extensive knowledge of whips and guns as that had been his specialty. Trick shots and precision whip shows. Bobby soaked up every bit of information he could from the old man and practiced every chance he got. Bobby bought another trumpet the first week his was stolen and didn’t miss a beat working. He may not have been rich, but he wasn’t a pauper either. Things were tough in the tail end of the depression, but people still liked to go out at night when they could to drink away their problems, now that prohibition was over, and the wealthy or the criminal elements liked to drink more than anyone else. They all mingled in the many clubs Bobby Terrano played trumpet at with various bands.

In that time Bobby Terrano had not seen hide nor hair of Joey DeLuca, until the night the small time thug walked right past him at the club he was playing in.

That was the same night the Grim Spectre re-appeared at ‘Little Nicky’s’ after following DeLuca there.

In the center of the city of Riverburgh sat a mountain. It was really a small hill, but the denizens of the city laughingly referred to it as Mount Olympus. Atop the hill stood a commanding structure of marble and stone. It looked more akin to a palace than a club where the elite of the city, both honest and criminal gathered. ‘The Olympus Room’ hosted only the richest, most powerful denizens of Riverburgh, and it was a place where, like the Greek Gods themselves, the affluent could look down upon the citizenry of this small city with either affection or contempt.

The Olympus room was neutral ground in Riverburgh, meaning that gangsters could rub elbows with the Mayor and the police chief without fear of reprisals. No one questioned it; it was just the way things had been for many years.

Into the doorway of this club walked a massive man, a full head of thick, curly black hair covered his head. He furrowed his brow and looked about himself contemptuously at those around him. He was not a well-built man, but rather one of girth. He stood six feet four inches tall and was immediately the center of attention when he entered the main club room. All eyes were upon him, and most surreptitiously, as no one there wanted to make eye contact as he walked, no, rather swaggered to a table at the front of the room near the stage.

He leveraged his girth into a comfortable chair at the table as two men who were walking with him silently stood to either side of the table. Their arms hung at their sides casually, but the bulges under their jackets meant business. Both men continued to look around the room as a slightly thinner bald headed man approached the table. He was cool and collected as he walked past the eyes of the two bodyguards and pulled another chair out from the table and sat down at it. Two other men trailed him; both of them were plainclothes police officers with similar bulges under their jackets.

“Mayor Winston, to what do I owe the pleasure this night?” the larger man asked whimsically.

“I just wanted to say hello Phylo. It’s been too long,” the Mayor replied, extending his hand towards the curly haired giant.

“Some would say not long enough,” Phylo replied with a half grin. He took the hand in a firm grip and shook it before releasing it. His powerful grip was met by one of equal strength. Both men locked eyes momentarily, their faces unsmiling, before finally releasing the others hand.

Both of them turned toward the band playing and the dancing girls who were skittering across the massive stage. Behind the girls water sprayed into the air continuously and was back lit by colored lights.

“Quite a show tonight, Phylo; is this all your idea?” Winston asked.

“Naaah, I just put the money up for the place and hire out people who know this kinda thing. People who are a whole lot smarter than I am,” Phylo winked and half grinned at the Mayor before turning back to the show before them.

“I don’t know about that, Phylo. Most people consider you the most intelligent man in Riverburgh. Like they always say, it would take a really bad day to be able to pull one over on Phylo Zeus. Did you have a bad day today, Phylo?”

The Mayor turned and waved down a waitress, then ordered himself a drink. The girl looked at Zeus who simply said “My usual”

“So what are you really doing here, Winston?  You haven’t visited my club in months,” Zeus asked when their drinks finally arrived.

The mayor took a hard pull of his drink and then lit a cigar he produced from his jacket pocket. The guards behind Zeus watched him carefully as he had reached his hand into his jacket to get the cigar. They in turn were watched by the two plainclothes police men.

The Mayor waved his hand, “All of you relax,  this is a safe haven for all our people. Sort of a ‘no shoot zone.’ Here, go get yourselves a round of drinks on me. Zeus and I need to talk alone.” He threw a couple of twenties on the table and one of the cops gingerly picked them up. The two bodyguards looked at Phylo Zeus before leaving. He nodded his head that it was okay and the four men walked off together, chatting amongst themselves.

Phylo turned toward the Mayor and said, “So what’s this all about William? Why are you here? Not that I mind seeing a friendly face, but you were sitting here waiting for me for who knows how long.”

Winston took another strong pull from his glass and settled it down lightly upon the table, then he turned toward Zeus and said “I heard you had some trouble today. Rumor has it that some ghost broke into one of your bars and trashed the place, but none of your boys are talking. I thought you might want to,” the Mayor finished with a shrug.

“Ghosts, Winston? You believe in ghosts now? I know you guys are always chasin’ at shadow’s, especially where I’m concerned,” Zeus began, “but you gotta be kiddin’ me if you think my bar was haunted by some guy that bullets go through.”

“I never said anything about bullets going through him, Phylo, you did. If this guy gives you any more trouble make sure you call the police,” the Mayor replied. He rose from his seat and took one more final drink from his glass before setting it back down upon the table.

Winston turned and walked away without another word, disappearing into the crowd. Angrily Zeus clenched and unclenched his fists three times before taking a deep breath and finishing off his own drink. He snapped his fingers toward the waitress who appeared seemingly instantly at his table with another glass filled with his favorite whiskey.

Phylo Zeus finished it all in one gulp and then settled down in his seat with his fingers steepled before him, his lip rose in an angry sneer as he watched the dancers cavorting and listened to the band playing loudly.

“You okay, Boss?” a new voice intruded on his dark thoughts. Zeus turned toward the source of the voice and saw his most trusted lieutenant standing there at his side.

“Yeah Wally, I’m just peachy. Here, have a seat.” Zeus kicked a chair out from under the table and Wally slid gracefully into it, almost like a whisper in motion.

“What’s eatin’ you, Boss?” Wally asked again. He was a thin man with a stylish cut to his straight, black hair. He wore a white suit and looked impeccable in it.

“Ahh, that Mayor Winston knew about our troubles today at ‘Little Nicky’s’. He came here to rub my face in it. I want you to find this ghost whoever he is and make him a real ghost, an’ I want it done ASAP, understand me?” Zeus hissed.

“Relax, Boss, whatever you say, whatever you need I’ll make it happen. I promise ya. If this guy ain’t really a ghost I’ll be sure ta send ‘im right ta hell.”

Zeus visibly relaxed and then said, “Make sure you do, Wally. There’s a big bonus in it for you if you bring me this guy’s head. But if he escapes or worse, makes us both look like fools, there ain’t gonna be a place you can hide
,
in
anywhere, got it?”

Coolly Wally nodded in agreement then silently left the table, leaving Phylo Zeus to fume with his own dark thoughts alone.

Bobby Terrano awoke with a start. He was covered in a sheen of sweat. He looked out the window and saw it was still night. 

“Just a bad dream,” he mumbled aloud and lay back down. He had on a tank top that stuck to his skin.

Bobby rolled over and looked at his trumpet in its stand, “Life used to be so simple,” he said quietly.

Rolling onto his back, Bobby went over the events of the evening for the hundredth time. He saw the bullets pass harmlessly through his body and costume; he saw his fists pummel one thug after another. His mind’s eye watched as his whip snapped out and snared one thug after another and dragged them back into his reach. He saw his body floating above the city, following Joey DeLuca home and all Bobby could think was,
‘I am so far out of my depth, what am I doing?’

Within minutes Bobby dozed off once again, this time for the remainder of the night.

***

Bobby awoke at ten AM. Outside the sun glowed brightly, reminding him how much he had overslept.

“Great, at least I don’t have a day job to get to,” he mused.

Showering quickly, Bobby dressed and headed out. He wore a light, long jacket and a white button down shirt with slacks, as did most of the people walking around Riverburgh. Atop his head he wore a fedora. He seldom wore hats, but today, where he was going he wanted to fit in and not feel like an outsider. He hailed a cab and slid into the back seat, “1551 Patterson street, please,” he said to the cabbie.

“You got it, Boss,” the cap wearing cabbie replied.

A few minutes later Bobby exited the cab and stopped to look at the building he was about to enter. It was an imposing old structure with a peaked stone roof.

Bobby sighed and walked up the steps and through the door.

Inside the offices of the Riverburgh Gazette was a sort of controlled frenzy with reporters and photographers running haphazardly while trying to avoid the eyes of their editors.

Bobby exited the elevator doors, then stood back and looked around the room carefully, seeking one person out amongst the seemingly never ending chaos.

Then he found her. Standing arguing with the editor in chief, George Kowalski, was a red haired fire brand known as Tammy Thomas. Bobby made a bee-line directly for her.

“I don’t care what you think, Thomas, you’re not paid to think, you’re paid to report on the news,” George Kowalski admonished her loudly. He was a portly man with yellow mustard stains on his white shirt. Considering that it was eleven AM it was hard to imagine what he could have been eating already that could have been responsible for those stains. Kowalski looked up from the diminutive fury before him and saw Bobby approaching, “Terrano! Thank God you’re here. Do something with your girlfriend, will you? Try to talk some sense into her thick head. She’s going to get herself killed if she keeps trying to harass Zeus anymore.”

“Wh-what are you doing now, Tammy?” Bobby asked in surprise.

“Ohhhh, nothing forget it,” she grunted and angrily stomped away toward her desk.

“What’s going on, George?” Bobby asked.

George shrugged and replied, “She’s trying to find out about the big fight at that gin joint, ‘Little Nicky’s’ the other night and she keeps trying to ambush Boss Zeus about it. One of his thugs told her to hit the road already, but she refuses to listen. Talk to her, will ya?”

Bobby nodded and turned toward his girlfriend before calling back over his shoulder, “I’ll do what I can George, but you know her; once she gets an idea in her head…” he trailed off, smiled at the older man, shook his head apologetically and walked to Tammy’s desk.

‘You just can’t listen to reason, ever, can you?” Bobby asked.

“Ohhh, why should I have to? This is news, it’s important, I’m a reporter. The people of this city need to know what’s going on around them; they have a right to know,” Tammy repeatedly looked at him as she spoke and then back to the typewriter before her, which she was clacking away on while standing behind her desk.

“At least sit down if you’re going to write your story,” Bobby offered, pulling her chair close to her.

“Ohhh, you. Look what you made me do. Now I have to fix it,” she pointed at a misspelled word and thundered off to an associate’s desk, looking for corrective ribbon.

Bobby sat back in another chair, and clasped his hands behind his head languidly, a moment later Tammy returned and began fixing her typing error.

“What are you doing here anyway? I told you I never wanted to see you again,” she said. Again her head rotated from typewriter to Bobby and back again repeatedly.

Bobby leaned forward in his seat and said, “C’mon Tamm, are you still sore at me for the other night? We’ve had bigger fights than that an’ you never were mad this long. What’s the matter with you?”

She slumped back in her chair and looked at him angrily at first, and then her gaze softened, “You know what’s the matter with me. When are you going to give up this music thing and get a real job? One you can support a family on. Geeze Bobby, We’ve been dating over three years now; a girls gotta know that it’s not all a waste of time.” She looked at her ring finger and touched it with her other hand.

“Oh man, this again?” Bobby whispered, “Look Tammy, I love you, you know I do, but the time’s not right. Besides I make plenty of dough as a musician and it’s something I love doing. I’m good at it, too; really, really good.”

“I know how good you are, but is that going to last? What happens ten, twenty years from now? How are we going to save for the kid’s education?” she replied.

“Kids? What kids?” Bobby retorted, “Do you see any kids around? I don’t. We’re barely out of bein’ kids ourselves. Give it a break Tamm, one thing at a time. Like I said I make plenty o’ bread.”

She looked at him and replied through slit teeth, “We have to start thinkin’ of the future. We’re not gettin’ any younger.”

He smiled and said, “I love it when you get angry, you start clipping your words, slaughterin’ the English language. The real you comes back out, and not the big city educated one who took her place.”

Tammy angrily looked back at the typewriter, and then continued, “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I came to see if you were free for lunch; I wanted to talk to you, that’s all. I missed my girl,” Bobby slumped back into the chair he was sitting in and waited for her reply.

She turned toward him and softened, a smile creeping into the corners of her mouth, “You missed me? Where’d you want to go? I am gettin’ kinda hungry,” she replied in a soft voice only the two of them could hear.

“Anywhere you want sweepea; you pick,” Bobby replied. He touched her shoulder gently as he spoke.

“Can we go to that new place that just opened? The Parthenon? It’s an outdoor café.”

“S-sure, whatever,” he replied then added in a murmur, “The Parthenon; this city and all its Greek references. The population is more Italian and Irish immigrants than anyone else. Chances are it’s another of Phylo Zeus’s places.”

She smiled and said, “Why do you think I want to go there?” Then she pecked him on the cheek, got up and headed for the door.  Halfway to the door she turned back and said “So are you coming?”

Bobby shook his head and stood. He stole a glance at George, who was drinking something from a large mug. George tipped his mug toward Bobby and turned back toward a copy boy who was haranguing him.

“Guaranteed that’s not coffee in that mug,” Bobby muttered. He turned and followed Tammy to the elevator door.

Inside the elevator Bobby turned toward her and said, “I almost feel like you planned this all out; like it was your idea for me to come down here and invite you to lunch, so I could take you to this new joint.”

“Maybe it was,” Tammy replied slyly, “but even if it wasn’t, a girls gotta do what she’s gotta do to stay safe in this big, dirty city. An’ what could be safer than me walkin’ inta Phylo Zeus’s swanky new place with the number one trumpet player in the city on my arm? Beside, maybe you’ll get a gig outta it.”

“There you go speaking in contractions again.”

“Oh poo.” She slapped him lightly on the arm and exited the elevator doors as they slid apart.

Outside in the bustling Riverburgh street she hailed a cab, and out of the sea of yellow one pulled over immediately.

Annoyedly Bobby followed her into the backseat car and settled in, staring out the window.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked.

“That new place, the Parthenon,” Tammy replied in her almost squeaky voice.

Minutes later they pulled in front of the fancy outdoor café’. Waiters bustled about the guests tables in black vests and spotless white aprons. Silver garlanded trees surrounded the restaurant. The tables were all white marble. The place reeked of opulence.

“Geeze, I hope I can afford this,” Bobby murmured.

“You said ‘anywhere,’” Tammy reminded him, as she grasped his sleeve and pulled him toward the door.

They were seated promptly and both began to view the menu.

“So what are we doing here? Really?” Bobby asked.

“We’re digging.”

“For what?”

“Information on that bar fight the other night. Phylo’s not talking to anyone about it and everyone who was there is just clammin’ up too.”

Bobby pushed his fedora back a little and leaned forward, then said, “You know you are going to get yourself killed one of these days.”

“That’s why I brought you along, to protect me like the delicate flower that I am,” Tammy answered, a mischievous grin planted across her face.

The waiter walked over, a thin man with slicked back black hair and a pencil thin mustache, “How may I help you today?” he said in a voice with a  slight French accent.

“I’ll take the crab meat salad and a glass of Chardonnay,” Tammy said.

“It’s not even noon yet, fer God’s sake,” Bobby snapped quietly. Then he turned toward the waiter and said, “I’ll take a burger, well done, a slab o’ cheese on top an’ somethin’ from your homeland, French fries. To drink I’ll have a coke.”

“Monsieur does realize that ‘French fries’ are an American, ahem, delicacy?” the waiter asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t know that, but hey, you learn something new every day,” Bobby replied.

The waiter nodded disdainfully and walked away.

“So what, Tamm, are we just gonna sit here all day long and wait for someone to start talking about a bar fight on the other end of town that no one cares about?”

“No, wise guy, we’re waiting for him,” she nodded toward the entrance.

Bobby followed her gaze and watched as the mountain of a man known as Phylo Zeus walked through the doorway everyone had to pass through to enter this indoor/outdoor café.

“Geeze, that guy is huge,” Bobby whispered.

“He is, and he’s also a bad, bad man,” Tammy agreed.

“So what do you know about this fight, an’ why are you so interested in it anyway?” Bobby turned back to her and asked.

“Well, rumor has it that a ghost tore the place up. A ghost. Think about that. Does that sound like a tall tale or what? I think Zeus had a gang fight happening right inside one of his bars and he’s trying to cover it up for some reason or another. I bet some out of towner is trying to muscle in on his territory, so he came up with this cockamamie ‘ghost’ story.”

“What? You don’t believe in ghosts?” Bobby asked her playfully.

“Oh and you do? Who are you tryin’ to kid?” she hissed in reply.

“I’m not sayin’ I do or I don’t. But I tend to leave all possibilities wide open, if I can.”

The waiter returned and placed two glasses before them as well as a bottle of expensive wine.

“Wait- I didn’t order this,” Bobby stammered.

“It was a gift of the house. You neglected to tell me how famous you are in this city, Monsieur Terrano,” The waiter replied. He bowed at the waist and backed away. Bobby looked around curiously and saw Phylo Zeus raise a glass of his own from across the room. He was standing at the bar and nodded toward Bobby and Tammy. Bobby smiled cordially, raised his own glass, nodded and sipped from it.

“Now you’ve gone and done it, Tammy, here he comes.”

“I know, my plans workin’ out perfect,” she hissed with a smile.

Phylo Zeus approached their table on the outdoor patio and gestured toward an open chair, “May I?” he asked with a wide smile.

“Of course, it would be an honor,” Bobby replied affably.

“So I have to ask, what brings the great Bobby Terrano to my humble café?” Phylo queried in his deep basso voice.

“Ah we just wanted to try a new place and ‘The Parthenon’ is the newest of the new, so we figured we’d give it a whirl.”

“Well I’m glad you did, my boy. Perhaps this will be the first step toward you actually playing in one of my many concerns around Riverburgh.” Zeus answered.

“Well, like I’ve told you before Mr. Zeus, I appreciate the offer, but I like playing in the smaller jazz clubs, like O’Malleys. There’s less pressure there and I can play for me and my music.”

“Bobby, I’ll pay you two, no make that three times what you make in a night at a dive like O’Malleys. Come to work for me and I’ll set you up for life. Think about it son, the big house, the fame the fortune, the recording contracts You’ll be famous.”