Chapter One: Gathering Tinder

Chapter One: Gathering Tinder


There was a heavy scent on the air; something Carmichael didn’t recognize as part of the normal city smell. It reminded him more of his days back on the farm back before he’d been a man. Looking down at the corpse lit only by the light of the two patrol car’s bars at the alley mouth he found himself pining for those days, hard though they’d been.

He shook the memories out of his head and turned to the bodies before him, going to one knee. She’d been a pretty little thing right until her face had been torn off. At least he thought she must have been. Not many ugly girls wear firs and spend time with the likes of the young man in the black tails and silk coat next to her. Of course not many such yount men spent their evenings laying face down in a pile of garbage with their guts trussing them up like a stuffed pig, but that’s just the kind of thing that’d been happening more and more lately.
Carmichael sighed, snuffing out a spent fag and reaching for another as he got to his feet. He pushed up on the brick wall of the alley.  He shifted his gaze to his partner, Rollins, while patting down his own pockets.

“No witnesses again?”

“No, not yet. We’ve got some boys knocking on doors asking around but no luck yet.”

Carmichael checked his other pocket and came up empty.

“God damnit. First another wacko murderer, now I lost my fucking gaspers!”

He spat in frustration, not quite missing the young man’s face with the spittle.

“Fucking flappers can’t be satisfied being useless, no! Now they gotta start getting murdered right off Wrigley fucking Field - “ He punctuated the last with three kicks to the corpse’s legs.

“And now I gotta spend another fucking night I shoulda been off duty chasing ghosts and hearing how nobody on the block heard this fucker get strangled with his own guts or his little tomato getting chopped up!”

Rollins didn’t flinch at the outburst, taking it all in stride as he made a few notes of the scene.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky this time, Mikey. You never know when things will turn around.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rollins. With as tight lipped as everyone is around these murders you know as well as me this is the Outfit. That animal Capone’s got a nasty temper, I hear. Dollars to donuts these two crossed him somehow and he blew off some steam.”

“It wasn’t… Capone.”

Both detectives whirled around as they drew their sidearms.

“Hands up! Chicago PD!”

They hadn’t heard any footsteps approaching, but there was a stranger not ten feet away. He looked like a tall, spare man but his features were obscured in shadow. He wore all black, except for the tiny gold cross around his neck. He spoke in an odd halting way, emphasizing the wrong syllables, sometimes rushing his words or pausing irregularly. He seemed unfazed by the two pistols leveled at his chest.

“I do beg your… pardon… gentlemen. I beleivemyservices… may be… of some value to you.”

He took a couple of slow steps forward, reaching into his dark coat with one hand while holding up the other in a placating gesture. The two cops set their stance and pulled back the hammers on their guns. Carmichael barked to the stranger.

“Hold it right there, mister! This is a murder scene! I got some questions for you but if you come any closer I gotta shoot ya!”

The stranger came to a stop standing over the young woman’s body. Slowly he pulled his hand out of his coat and there was a flash of metal in his hand. The cops tensed, but no shots rang out. The stranger flicked his wrist and a silver ornamented cigarette case popped open in his hand. He smirked at Carmichael.

“Care for a smoke, detective?”

The cops shared a look and after a moment lowered their weapons. A smile slowly spread over Carmichael’s face and he waved the stranger forward. Rollins simply kept his gaze locked on the stranger.

“About time we got a witness that knows how to talk to a cop. Come here and gimme a light with that fag, friend.”

He stepped forward and the light of the patrol cars his face was revealed in flashing blue and red. His face was gaunt and sharp with a thin goatee, and his eyes were hidden behind a small round pair of cheaters with a reflective surface. He smiled as he held the cigarettes out to the detective and it seemed a genuine enough expression.

“Grandmotheralways… said…  do notforget to do goodandshare with... others, for with such sacrifices... God is pleased.”

Carmichael took one and gave it a sniff. It smelled spicy and rich. A lot better than the Camels he was used to. He put it to his lips and leaned forward to the now offered flame. He hadn’t seen the man take out a lighter, but a cherry flame danced above the stranger’s cupped fingers. The flame put his face in sharp relief. Shadows danced on the slopes of his cheeks while he continued smiling in the flashing light of the cars, now lit with the steady light of the fire too.

“Thanks mister. But next time you walk up on a couple cops at a murder make some noise first. You were one bad look away from getting shot.”

The stranger put away the cigarettes and bowed in acknowledgement.

“Youare of…  course correct. I’m afraid I sometimes get ahead… of myself. I’ve been after this murderer forsometime.”

Carmichael grimaced, spitting again in disgust.

“So you’re not a witness. You’re a P.I. Just my fucking luck.”

The stranger smiled again and turned to kneel beside the young woman.

“Oh I… wouldn’t discount mejustyet. Reallyit’syourlucky… day.”

The stranger knelt down to tilt the young woman’s ruined face up then held his fingers up for the detective’s inspection. They were still clean.

“Odd… isn’tithow many of these grusomemurders leaveso…. Little in the way of blood on the ground. Not always withthesebut often your killer seems to drain themdry. The… ritual… posturing onmanyofthevictims is strange aswell. I have seen such thingsbefore.”

The stranger stood, wiping his hands on a handkerchief retrieved from his vest pocket before reaching out a hand to shake. Carmichael could make out the wrinkled corner of a bill hidden in his palm. Carmichael eyed him skeptically and didn’t shake.

“I workfora…concerned private… citizenwho… has an interest instopping these... murders. With your cooperationmyassociates will take over this… investigationand… you can put this all behind you. I onlyaskthat should… you… be… assignedanyothers like thisyou… give me a callonthe… telephone.”

Carmichael squared his shoulders and set a glare on the stranger.

“I don’t know how it works where you’re from, mister, but here in Chicago the police solve the murders and the creepy assholes rot in jail until they tell the police what they know.”

Gravel crunched under foot behind the detectives where the cars waited. Carmichael turned slightly and saw a second man with a Thompson slung over his shoulder step into the alley mouth, cutting them off. The stranger didn’t move, but his voice grew threatening.

“I represent...a… higher authority. Take the moneyand… submit.”

Carmichael could only just keep him in the corner of his eye while watching the man with the gun. He met Rollins’ eye and the other man gave him a sly nod. That was all the communication the two men needed. In an instant both had drawn their sidearms and gone down to one knee to take aim at the gunman. Before the gunman could raise his Thompson he had half a dozen rounds in his chest and fell to the ground gurgling. Anticipating a counterattack Carmichael dove and rolled to a stop behind a garbage can while Rollins wheeled around to give him covering fire but as he brought his pistol to bear he realized the alley was now empty but for the three corpses. He could see a fair distance down the alley with the lights flashing behind him but he couldn’t make out any sign of the stranger or any possible hiding places.

“Mikey! You alright?”

Carmichael was peering down the alley too, both of them baffled. Then behind them there was a bright flash of white light and there was the sound of a wet rasping breath. Both men wheeled around to the gunman. He was sitting up and rubbing at his chest, looking a bloody mess and coughing up smaller and smaller bits of blood and worse but moving on his own. The tall gaunt stranger stood over him and after a moment helped him to his feet and offered the man his handkerchief. The detectives stared slack jawed. Then the tall stranger flicked one arm and there was a loud thwack. Rollins felt himself stagger back. Looking down He had just enough time to register a short length of wood sticking out from the growing wet stain in his shirt before he collapsed. Carmichael was at his side a moment later, dragging his partner next to the bodies for the minimal cover they offered, shooting over his shoulder as he retreated. He desperately slapped his partner’s face but there was no response.

“Whosoevertherefore resisteth authority, resisteth the... ordinance of God: and... they… that resistshall receive to themselves... damnation.”

He was walking down the alley now, calm and slow. Carmichael screamed and emptied his gun wildly to no avail. The stranger wasn’t grinning anymore; now a wild fire burned behind his eyes. Carmichael kicked one of the bodies into his path and scrambled against a wall, yelling for backup. Something seemed to catch the stranger’s attention and he paused to regard the freshly exposed side of the body. Bending down he ran his hand over the suit coat and carefully plucked a few hairs out. He held them up in the light and the wild grin returned.

“You’ve donemea great service… detective. I am… grateful.”

“You bastard! My boys will be here any second and they’ll shoot you dead for this! Why are you doing this? What the Hell are you?!!”

The stranger raised a hand towards Carmichael. There was another loud thwack and his head snapped back. Blood painted the wall behind him. The stranger stared down at the bodies for a long moment with his eyes closed and fist clenched around the few hairs he’d collected. More men in long coats soon filled the alley and at his direction gathered the bodies and cleaned the scene of any traces of violence. The bodies were loaded into a van and covered with tarp, pennies placed onto their eye sockets. The stranger paused for a moment, hand hovering over Carmichael’s still corpse for just a moment.

“The cost… of… redemptionispaid… in blood.”

He withdrew his hand, closing the door and turning to face his men. Some of them were taking a smoke break, but all were watching the street s and alleys around them like feral cats. These were good men. Hard men. Men used to necessary work for a higher purpose. He could use that. He adjusted his coat and pulled on a pair of leather driving gloves.

“I promised… you purpose. I promised… good work. This is it. Andit’sonly… just begun.”

He held up the tuft of hair like a trophy, the mad fire burning behind his eyes again.

“Now the hunt begins!”