The two greatest heroes of the 1930s must put their differences aside to prevent America's greatest city – and then the country – from falling before the most insidious evil science has ever created.
Chapter 1.3
The big black car had followed the gunman's companion at a distance. When the car stopped near a seedy bar, Crenshaw ordered Taylor to park a few blocks away.
The driver of the other car exited his vehicle and rapped on the door of the darkened bar. The door opened and the driver stepped inside.
Immediately, the back door of the big black car also opened and a tall figure dressed in black slipped from the vehicle and disappeared into the shadows.
The Reaper was on the prowl.
Inside the empty bar, the man who had fled the ballroom faced two other men, one thin, the other quite obese. Two candles on the bar provided the room's only illumination
"Where's Marcum?' The fat one said.
"Dead," the car's driver said. "Some guy in a big car gunned him down outside the hotel."
"And Van Sloan?" the thin man asked.
"Still alive. A broad opened the box clear on the other side of the room from the mayor."
The thin man cursed.
"There's more," the driver added. "Doc Kronos was there."
The fat man chuckled. "Don't worry, Jackie. He's being taken care of."
From the back of the room came a strange sound. Someone else was laughing.
A tall figure stepped from the darkness. Clad entirely in black, the newcomer held two big automatics aimed at the trio.
Where a normal man's face would have been there was a bone-white skull. Red eyes blazed from the sockets.
"It's The Reaper!" the man called Jackie screamed. He reached in his pocket for his gun, but a shot from one of The Reaper's automatics tore through his heart.
The fat man, nimble for his size, dove over the bar. The thin man dropped to the floor and crawled under a table.
The Reaper laughed again and fired at the mirror above the bar. The glass shattered into hundreds of razor sharp fragments. The fat man swore.
The thin man, hoping to use the darkness to his advantage peered over the top of the table and aimed his revolver at the figure in black. But another shot from The Reaper's guns obliterated the top of the thin man's skull.
After the echo from the shot faded away, the only sound in the bar was the heavy breathing of the fat man.
"If you want to live, come out from behind there," The Reaper said. His voice was low and harsh, as cold as a whisper from a mausoleum. No sound like that had ever come from a human throat.
The fat man stood with his hands over his head.
"I want to live, but I know that's not going to happen," he said. "If you're really The Reaper, you don't leave guys like me alive."
The guns of The Reaper never wavered. "Who is behind the attack on Van Sloan?" he said in that dead voice.
"Somebody too big for even you." The fat man reached a hand beneath his coat. The Reaper fired once. The fat man gasped, then pulled his hand from beneath the jacket. His hand was covered in blood and pieces of shattered glass.
"No," the fat man whispered. Dark red blooms quickly sprouted on his face. The fat man closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. The red spots suddenly sprouted scarlet flames, which spread to the rest of the fat man's body.
The Reaper backed away a few steps and watched the fat man burn.
The front door of the bar exploded inward. The Reaper whirled toward the figure who rushed through the opening.
Taylor brandished a big revolver and a flashlight.
"Captain! Are you okay?"
"Get back," The Reaper ordered. He followed Taylor to the open door and the fresh air it offered. "My uniform will protect me, but I don't know how long the thing remains active."
"The thing?" Taylor said, his face etched in concern.
After a few minutes, The Reaper led his valet back to bodies on the floor.
"Shine that light here," the man in black said, indicating the corpse at his feet. Taylor directed the beam at the body of the thin man. The Reaper knelt and grabbed the dead man's gun hand.
There on the corpse's wrist, illuminated by the circle of light, was a tattoo of a crimson eye.
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That's it for now. Thanks for reading, pulpsters!
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