The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (77 page)

Evelyn’s eyes widened and a playful smile danced on her red lips. “Max… did you just say…?”

“Yes. I know it sounds insane but it’s true.”

“I’m used to things sounding insane, at least as far you’re concerned.” Evelyn shook her head. “I’m sure he’s gone by now. He probably took off the second he spotted you.”

Max gamely put on a brave face as he began to acknowledge some of the guests. “I’ll deal with it later. You go relax. I’ll play host for awhile.”

Evelyn stepped away after kissing Max on the cheek. She knew that she should simply sneak upstairs and slip off her heels for a few minutes, but she wasn’t about to do that. Though she didn’t accompany Max on his nocturnal jaunts as much as she used to—the obligations of motherhood—she still considered herself his partner in all things. As such, she slipped through the old plantation house and finally found the secret entrance that led into the storm cellar. Her husband had dubbed the cellar “the Peregrine’s Nest” shortly after he’d purchased the home, and it was filled with all his experimental devices, his case files, and a small memento area.

Evelyn removed her heels after entering the lair and moaned happily as she wiggled her toes. She located one of the manila envelopes in his filing cabinet, one that contained the names of every man and woman that the Peregrine had ever marked with his signet ring, along with the details of their crimes. At first, she’d wondered why he’d keep such a grisly list, but upon reflection it had made perfect sense. These criminals weren’t dead… and they’d surely hate the man who had disfigured them.

There was a small photograph attached to the papers on Samuel Garibaldi and Evelyn recognized him immediately. It had been taken before his branding and he’d had a full set of hair back then. She wondered if he’d gone bald while in prison or if he’d simply shaved it all off. A quick read-through of the file’s contents set her pulse racing. Garibaldi was a sadist who used to specialize in dealing with the prostitution side of the crime lord’s holdings. Apparently, he’d permanently marked the beauty of several women and was wanted for a litany of rapes, assaults, and even murder.

And I shook his hand,
Evelyn mused.
Every time I think that the world’s safe enough for Max to retire from being the Peregrine, I’m confronted with pure evil again, and I realize that somebody needs to be there to protect the world.

Evelyn sat back and gave thought to the Garibaldi situation. Did his presence here tonight imply that he knew the Peregrine’s identity? Probably not, she decided. If he was actually trying to pass himself off as a reformed person trying to turn over a new leaf, this sort of party was the perfect opportunity to do so.

“You made a mistake tonight,” she said aloud. “And Mr. Garibaldi, it’s going to cost you big time.”

CHAPTER III

The Crimson Rain

Garibaldi stepped into his penthouse apartment, enjoying the view of the city he had from the numerous windows. Garibaldi had purchased the upper floors of Century Tower, the highest building in the city, and he relished the feeling it provided him: it was like he was an ancient king, looking out upon his dominion.

A series of ferocious growls, followed by the patter of claws on the floor, brought another smile to the master criminal’s face. Four massive German Shepherds entered the room, each much larger than the norm and with ferocious and diabolical intelligence shining in their eyes. Garibaldi knelt and ruffled each of their heads, cooing at them like they were children.

A short man with a bald head and oversized glasses shambled into view, noticeably dragging his left leg behind him. “They missed you,” the man said in heavily accented English. The fact that he was German was impossible to miss from the way his words were inflected. Dr. Gottlieb Hochmuller was presumed dead by the Allies, which was the way he preferred it. The last thing he wanted was to end up in Nuremberg like so many of his former colleagues.

Garibaldi smiled. “These brutes will get a chance to prove themselves in the field soon enough, and I bet they’re going to do me proud.”

The dogs seemed to understand his words and one of them raised his head, a near smile on his canine mouth. Though few in the scientific community would believe it, Dr. Hochmuller had performed an incredible feat: inside the skulls of each of these dogs lay the brain of a human being. Each of them had been carefully selected for their ferocity in life, their willingness to kill and enjoy the carnage they created. Shortly after the brain transplant procedure, their canine bodies would begin to enlarge, becoming stronger and faster than normal dogs. Even Hochmuller himself didn’t understand the exact reasons, though he believed it had to do with an altered metabolism.

Garibaldi marched over to the fully-stocked bar he kept in the living room and prepared himself a martini. “I had a successful evening, I think. Made quite a few connections and even got to meet Evelyn Davies. She’s a delectable little creature.”

Hochmuller made a prissy face and Garibaldi hid his amusement well. The German was not partial to women, instead having a fancy for young boys barely into their teens. “I have the Ivory Machine ready for you,” Hochmuller said, obviously not wanting to dwell on the subject of Evelyn Davies’s beauty.

Garibaldi allowed himself to be swayed from the topic of conversation. His heart rate increased as he pondered the possibilities presented by the German’s words. “Can we test it tonight?”

Hochmuller fidgeted a bit before finally giving his assent. He led Garibaldi and the largest of the dogs through the apartment to his private workshop. It was a converted bedroom, with the original furniture torn out in favor of a utilitarian sleeping cot, several steel-topped work areas, and a makeshift surgical lab. But the crowning achievement of his work was a gleaming white machine that lay next to the window. It had a rectangular base that was about the size of large radio. Sitting atop this base was a rotating dish with a small pointer in the center. Dubbed the Ivory Machine, this was the culmination of years of work, not all of it being Hochmuller’s. When the Third Reich began to crumble, Hochmuller had stolen the device and fled with it to America. It had taken some time for him to reverse engineer it but now he felt secure that he understood how it worked.

Garibaldi opened the window, allowing the unseasonably cool air into the apartment. He looked down to see the German Shepherd dubbed Raptor watching them with interest. Smiling, he gestured for the dog to come closer. “Atlanta’s going to be just the first city to fall before us, Raptor. Think of this as a stepping-stone to bigger and better things. After I’ve brought this city to its knees, I’m setting my sights on Washington, D.C.”

Hochmuller activated a switch on the Ivory Machine and a hum began to fill the air. Raptor whined and backed up a few feet, his ears perking up. A nearly invisible beam of yellow energy was being transmitted from the pointer in the center of the dish, traveling far into the upper atmosphere. “How large an area would you like to include in the test?” the German asked.

“What are the limits?”

“I can blanket the entire city of Atlanta in the Crimson Rain… or I can go as specific as a small building, if I know the exact coordinates.” Hochmuller smiled coldly. “Would you like me to test it on the Davies home?”

“No. The Davies aren’t any threat to me,” Garibaldi said. If Evelyn had been there to hear him, she would have breathed a sigh of relief. Garibaldi had made no connections between Evelyn’s husband and the mysterious Peregrine. “Do it on that place called the Hot Spot. Nobody will miss a few of those kind in this city.”

Hochmuller silently agreed. The worst part of the Reich’s fall had been the fact that Hochmuller was now forced to live amongst mongrels of all races and classes. While the Jews were still the worst of the lot, the Negroes were not far behind in his racist mindscape. “With pleasure, Herr Garibaldi.”

* * *

Anthony Washington was smoking a cigar, leaning against the side of the Hot Spot. The music within was still rocking the joint but Anthony had needed a breath of fresh air. The fans inside did the best they could but the smell of sweat and the heat of so many bodies had gotten to him in the end. It meant that someone else might steal a dance with Clarice, but Anthony was going to take that chance. Besides, if she couldn’t be trusted to stay true to him for the duration of a smoke, she wasn’t worth his time anyway.

Anthony took a deep drag, glad that the poor weather from earlier in the night had finally moved on. The streets were still wet but the skies were free of clouds.

And then something wet landed on Anthony’s coat sleeve. He groaned, thinking that the rain was returning, but as he looked up, he saw the twinkling stars and knew that his earlier thoughts had been correct: there were no rain clouds to be seen. Then another drop fell and then another. Anthony saw several of them strike the ground and something about them made him pause. He knelt down and stared at the droplets, which were a peculiar color. The water seemed tinged with red, giving it a scarlet hue.

A scream sounded from around the corner and Anthony stood up, watching as a pretty dark-skinned woman in a revealing dress began to dance a strange little jig. She was wiping at her arms and legs in a violent manner, strips of flesh coming off with every stroke of her fingers. She was drenched in the Crimson Rain created by Hochmuller’s machine.

The sky seemed to open up then, unleashing a torrent of the stuff. Anthony felt it striking his scalp and neck, unleashing a horrible burning sensation. He howled like a wounded dog, scrambling back into the interior of the club. Outside the screams worsened, growing in number.

The Crimson Rain was melting the flesh of all it touched.

* * *

Garibaldi poured himself another drink. “Wonderful! Doctor, you are a genius!”

The celebration had begun in earnest several moments before, when Garibaldi had managed to tap into the police channels. Ambulances had been dispatched to the Hot Spot and there were already three confirmed dead, with many more disfigured and injured. The mysterious crimson rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun, drenching the nightclub for no more than three or four minutes. The unique chemical composition of the rain went inert within moments and was only activated when it was in direct contact with animal tissue, so there was no danger of it seeping into the city’s water supply, though the nervous government official didn’t know that yet.

Hochmuller accepted the compliment with a slight bow. When he’d first arrived in Atlanta, he’d been uncertain about what to do, but among his first actions had been to buy himself a new identity. The papers were purchased from a man who worked for Garibaldi, and when Garibaldi checked into the background of this former Nazi, he had come to the conclusion that a partnership might be beneficial to both. “What next, Herr Garibaldi?”

“First, we let everyone know that what happened tonight was no bizarre act of God. Then, after we’ve shown them another display of our power, we’ll start to make demands. I want to use Atlanta as an example: defy us and you’ll burn.”

“What about the Peregrine? Surely he’ll try to stop us…”

“I hope he does,” Garibaldi said a little hotly. “If he gets caught in our Crimson Rain, all the better. But to be honest, I have other plans for him.” Garibaldi smiled at Raptor, who suddenly stood at attention and growled in rising excitement. “If I get my way, the Peregrine’s going to be ripped to pieces by Raptor and the boys… while I get to watch from a ringside seat.”

* * *

It was early the next morning when Max Davies arrived to survey the damage at the Hot Spot. He’d gotten the call from Will during the night but hadn’t come out to investigate then; both Evelyn and Will had persuaded him that there would be nothing he could do for the victims, and a fresh mind was probably going to be called for.

In the sunlight, it was hard to imagine that only a few hours before, this had been the scene of death and horror. There were police officers all around, of course, with bright yellow crime scene tape blanketing the scene, but otherwise there were no visible signs that men and women had been disfigured for life—and worse—at this spot.

Max was wearing a finely tailored suit, his olive complexion and wavy dark hair giving ample evidence to his family’s Mediterranean descent. He caught sight of Will McKenzie and steered his way through the crowd to reach his side. “Any leads?”

“Not really… but we do have something for you to take a look at,” Will replied. The fair-haired police chief reached into a pocket and withdrew a cigar wrapped in a pink band. “But first… I’m gonna be a daddy.”

Max stared at the cigar for a moment before the words truly sank in. He took the cigar and then embraced his friend. “Congratulations! How far along is Kirsten?”

“About four months. Guess it happened during all that madness awhile back. We don’t really know if it’s going to be a girl or not, but I have my fingers crossed.”

Max’s grin matched his friend’s. “Well, you know I couldn’t be happier for you two.”

“Thanks, Max.” Will tried to adopt a more professional demeanor but it was obviously hard for him, and Max could understand why. Will and Kirsten had been trying to conceive a child for quite some time and Will had obviously been a bit jealous of Max’s family. Max had no doubt that Will would make a fine father. Will’s hand retreated into another pocket and this time it returned with a flask of pink-tinted water. “We’ve sent some of this stuff to the lab, but I thought you’d want to take a look at it, too. Reports are that a localized shower developed and that this stuff burned the flesh right off anybody it touched.”

Max’s eyes darted around to the pockets of water that remained along the street’s corners.

“It seems to be okay now,” Will said, sensing his friend’s thoughts. “In fact, I dipped my whole hand into that puddle over there and came away with nothing more than a few icky fingers. Whatever acid was in this stuff doesn’t appear to be active anymore.”

Max slipped the vial into his own pocket. “Make sure that the proper authorities know to send me the medical bills from everyone who was hurt.”