The Damned Thing

  THE DAMNED THING

  A Violet Cambridge Adventure

  by Barry Reese

  Published by Pro Se Press

  Part of the Reese Unlimited imprint

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

  The Damned Thing

  Copyright © 2014 Barry Reese

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Prologue

  August 7, 1933—The Nevada Desert

  “Mr. Slade...?”

  Carter Slade looked up from the dusty map that he had been poring over for most of the morning. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of a hand, acutely aware of how damp his shirt was. It clung to him like a second skin and he was sure that he looked unwashed—which he was. Leading this dig in the middle of the Nevada desert didn’t afford very many opportunities for cleanliness. Swallowing, he answered with as calm a voice as he could manage. “Yes, Eloise?”

  Eloise Green, a 24-year old graduate student, stepped into the tent’s interior. She noticed the casual, bachelor way that Carter had of strewing his belongings all over the ground, but she found it somewhat charming. Carter Slade was old enough to be her father (or much older brother, she preferred to think), but he had kind of a Tyrone Power quality to him that made her weak in the knees. She smiled at him, hoping that he didn’t think she was some kind of tart looking for a good grade. She smoothed down the front of her jodhpurs and cleared her throat.

  “Harper found something outside. She wanted me to come get you.”

  Carter forced his eyes away from her pert young breasts. He was grateful that she’d come to him on an archaeological matter... more and more lately they’d found little excuses to be alone together, talking about what she planned to do with her degree, how he’d ended up at the University of Nevada…

  A few more times alone, Slade knew, and his willpower wouldn’t be strong enough to prevent his acting on their attraction. “What is it?”

  Eloise walked out with him, her arm brushing against his. She was much shorter than Carter—no more than 5′5″, with shoulder-length auburn hair. In contrast, he was tall and broad-shouldered, his skin bronzed through years of working in the sun. A pair of spectacles gave him an intelligent air.

  A small knot of students was gathered around Harper Kincaid, a frail little student from the Midwest. Carter could hear her excited voice droning on about something and he felt a surge of annoyance towards her.

  Most of the students he brought out into the field considered it nothing more than a glorified field trip and that never sat well with him. Harper was one of those, always bubbling over with laughter at some off-hand remark. Harper and Eloise were the only females amongst the two dozen members of the expedition and Carter had sensed an immediate rivalry between the two.

  As if reading his thoughts, Eloise whispered under her breath, “It’d be nice if we had this place to ourselves, huh?”

  Carter flushed a bit, casting a glance in her direction. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat and Carter shared a laugh with her. “Yes... We’d get twice as much done, that’s for sure.” Composing himself, he stepped into the midst of the students. “Harper... What did you find?”

  The thin girl looked up with an expression of triumph. “We’re going to be famous, Professor! Look...” She backed away and Carter saw the hole in which she’d been digging. Bits of pottery lay scattered about, but that wasn’t what had attracted her so much attention. There, just barely revealed by Harper’s activities, was what appeared to be a door or seal of some kind. It was formed of reddish-brown stone, with a raised impression of a man’s face. The expression on the face was one of torment or horror.

  “What do you think it is?”

  Carter didn’t even turn to see who had asked him the question. He was kneeling instead, reaching out to run a hand over the smooth surface of the stone. It was warm to the touch. “It’s not Native American... I’m sure of that. None of the local tribes ever practiced this sort of work.”

  “You think it’s a tomb? Or maybe some kind of time capsule? Like the one they buried at the World’s Fair?”

  Theo Ridley laughed as he said it, making Carter wince. He was glad to hear Eloise respond, “I think the idea of time capsules is pretty recent, Theo. This is probably where someone buried something of religious significance...” Her pretty little nose wrinkled in revulsion, “Something pretty terrible, from the looks of that seal.”

  She squatted down beside Carter, her scent filling his nostrils. She smelled sweaty, but it mixed with her perfume and made his head spin. Carter cleared his throat, feeling along the sides of the seal. “There’s a latch of some kind...” He paused, pulling away.

  Harper frowned, not happy that her grand discovery wasn’t being pounced upon. “Why aren’t you opening it?”

  “Because we don’t know what we’re dealing with, Harper. There may be traps, for one thing.” He stood, facing the throng of students. “Everyone, take a break. I don’t want anyone coming within twenty feet of here. Understood?”

  Amidst a flurry of mumbles the group broke up, leaving only Carter, Eloise and Harper. The latter stood unhappily for a moment before turning away. She marched off with tears in her eyes.

  Carter felt a surge of sympathy for her... It was quite a discovery. But he didn’t want anyone getting hurt here.

  Eloise touched his arm. It was a familiar gesture and it didn’t go unnoticed by some of the other students. Rumors were beginning to swirl about Eloise Green being the “teacher’s pet.” Moving closer, Eloise said “So... What are you going to do?”

  Carter looked back at the seal. Something about it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

  “I think we should open it. You and I.”

  Eloise’s words took him by surprise and he shook his head. “No. I’ll do it alone. I don’t want you here where you could get hurt.”

  “I’m a big girl.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” He put an arm around her and led her away. “I’ll open it tonight. In the meantime, rope it off, okay?”

  ***

  CARTER IGNORED THE sounds of laughter coming from the campsite behind him. The students liked to cut loose in the evenings and Slade didn’t blame them—being on an archaeological dig was hard work. He thought about Eloise and felt a pang of jealousy... she’d been dancing with Theo when he’d seen her last. Let it go. He’s more her age, anyway, he mused. Besides, she’d looked my way while she was doing it. Probably some adolescent attempt at making me jealous since I wouldn’t let her come with me.

  Staring down at the seal, he felt his heartbeat begin to quicken. He could almost smell the supernatural aura from the thing, like an acrid cloud of smoke drifting slowly away from a fire. Taking one glance back behind him to make sure no one was watching, he bent and ran a gloved hand over the seal, feeling for the latch. With a twist, he felt it give and the stone seal slid to the side. Immediately, the horrible scent grew stronger and something could be heard slithering deep inside. It was no snake, he knew, not unless that snake was of gigantic size, for the sounds it made were inhuman and frightening.

  Setting the seal gently aside, Carter peered into the darkness, picking up a lantern that lay beside him. There were stairs within, but the shape and size of them seemed odd, as if they were made for creatures whose gait was much shorter than a man’s. Small claw-marks lined each of the stairs.

  Carter patted his hip and was relieved to feel his revolver in his left hip pocket. He considered holding off on this little expedition until the morning and possibly taking a few of the boys with him, but then he thought about the potential fallout if one of the students broke an ankle or worse down there. Given the still fragile state of the economy, the archaeology program was under constant review—best not to tempt fate by risking an embarrassing injury.

  Taking a deep breath, Carter began to descend into the pit. The stairs were so small that he took them four and five at a time.

  Carter Slade vanished into the abyss.

  Chapter I

  December 14, 1939—Atlanta, Georgia

  Violet Cambridge lay in bed, her nude form hidden by the crisp white sheets. In her left hand was a lit cigarette, the scent of cloves wafting from its tip. In her right hand she held a Smith & Wesson Hand Ejector II. The revolver had been introduced a few years before World War I and was Violet’s favorite type of handgun. Chambered for .45 caliber rounds, the Hand Ejector II normally had a five or six inch barrel but Violet’s gun had a modified barrel that had been cut down to four inches in length.

  Violet took another hit off her smoke and watched as the shadows visible beneath her door grew closer. She counted at least two men in the outer room of her apartment. They were professionals, too, by the way they moved and how silent their bre
ak-in had been. Violet had keen ears and she’d barely heard them. She thought about trying to get dressed before they burst in but figured that it would only waste time. If they caught a glimpse of her, what did it matter? They weren’t long for this world anyway so why not give them a thrill on the way out?

  The door suddenly shattered inwards, a heavy boot having been driven right into the wooden center. Two men pushed their way in, both dressed in identical gray suits and felt fedora hats. They were broad-shouldered types with square jaws, cold eyes and poor shaving habits. One had a patch of unruly whiskers on his chin, the other suffered from a perpetual case of razor burn.

  The obvious leader of the two—Mr. Razor Burn, Violet dubbed him—moved closer, brandishing a revolver. His friend was more of a hands-on type: he was holding a ligature of rope.

  Mr. Razor Burn hesitated, his eyes falling on the Smith & Wesson that Violet had trained on him. “Put down the gun, you crazy dame,” he said. His voice was hoarse and Violet pegged him as a hardcore smoker.

  “Why would I do that?” Violet asked, looking completely nonplussed by the turn of events. Her raven-black hair was only slightly mussed from sleep, the bangs falling evenly over her dark eyes. “I’d say that you two gentlemen aren’t here to ask me out on a date. Am I right? So forgive me if I’d prefer to stay armed.”

  “You give us the money you stole and Mr. Armitage says we can let you live.”

  Violet took one last puff on the cigarette before stubbing it out in an ashtray on her nightstand. The motion caused her sheet to drop on one side, allowing a pale white breast to come into view. Her rosy nipple hardened in the night air and she knew that both men had caught sight of it. Mr. Razor Burn suddenly sounded even huskier than before. Men, she thought to herself, are such idiots.

  “C’mon,” Mr. Razor Burn said, taking two steps closer. “I don’t want to hurt a good looking dame like you.”

  “Good. That makes two of us that are concerned about my safety.” Violet moved the barrel of the gun slightly, focusing it on the guy holding the strangulation weapon. “I want you to tell Armitage that I didn’t steal any money. He’s the thief, not me. He had his boys raid the charity fund for the orphanage. Who does that? Not even Hitler, I’d bet. So all I did was take it back for them. And in the morning I’m going to drop it off at the orphanage… and all those happy little boys and girls will get to have Christmas this year.”

  “You make yourself sound like a saint,” Mr. Ligature said. When he spoke, he revealed a set of teeth that were badly in need of dental care. “You’re nothing but a whore, showing off your tits like that. You need a man to put you in your place.”

  Violet smiled coolly. “Pity you won’t get the chance.” She fired twice, both bullets striking Mr. Ligature in the throat. Blood flowed quickly from the wounds and Mr. Ligature’s eyes bulged in shock. He dropped his weapon and reached up with both hands in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood. He looked at Mr. Razor Burn in desperation, staggering back until he bumped against the wall. He slid to the floor, making gurgling sounds all the while.

  Mr. Razor Burn didn’t seem distressed over the loss of his partner. He kept his own gun pointed at Violet but hadn’t fired it yet. Violet had been right: he was the smarter of the two and the one more easily reasoned with. Smart men were in no hurry to die, especially if they could prolong their life while staring at a beautiful woman’s breasts. “You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered.

  “No, I didn’t. But it felt damned nice.”

  “Look… I’ll go back and tell Mr. Armitage that you don’t have the money anymore. That you already gave it back.”

  “You think he’ll buy it?”

  “Dunno. But it’s worth a try.”

  “That would be real square of you. I’d appreciate it.”

  “Enough to let me see what else is beneath that sheet?”

  Violet laughed. “No. I’m afraid not.”

  Mr. Razor Burn shrugged good-naturedly. He started to turn, stepping over his friend’s body, when he stopped suddenly, as if something had come to him. “Oh. One more thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  Mr. Razor Burn shook his head, smiling. “That jerk-off that you killed when you took the money…”

  “Yeah?”

  The smile faded. “That was my brother.”

  The shadows of the room were suddenly gone as both guns belched hot leaden death. Violet had fired her gun while simultaneously throwing her body to her left. She plummeted to the floor, her lower body wrapped up in her bed sheets. She hit the carpet hard, sending pain racing through her hip. Mr. Razor Burn’s bullets missed her easily, tearing chucks out of the headboard instead.

  Violet’s aim, however, was far better. Even though she fired while in motion, she caught Mr. Razor Burn in the stomach with her first shot and in the wrist with her second. He fell to his knees, gasping in pain.

  Violet stood up, testing her hip. It hurt like hell but nothing seemed broken. She checked to make sure she still had bullets remaining. Her gun’s chamber held six shots and she’d spent four of them so far. She walked to where Mr. Razor Burn was crouching, kicking away his pistol with her toes. She then placed her foot on his shoulder and sent him onto his back. He landed with a grunt, one hand holding his guts together.

  He looked up to see a sight that under other circumstances would have been a lovely one: Violet Cambridge was a stunningly attractive woman. She stood five foot, four inches tall when not in heels and she had a wondrously fit body. It was firm in all the right places but retained the softness that men found so appealing. Her dark hair was matched by the midnight quality of her eyes, which spoke of secretive whispers and fiery romance.

  Violet knew that the other residents of her apartment building were probably frightened out of their wits by the gunfire. At least one of them had probably already placed a call to the police.

  She knelt at Mr. Razor Burn’s side, placing the smoke barrel of her gun at the side of his head. “Be sure to tell your brother I said hello.”

  ***

  DECEMBER 15, 1939

  “You can’t keep killing people, Violet. The police get real touchy about that.”

  Violet smoothed out her black dress and offered up a glittering smile before buttering a biscuit and taking a bite. It was a lovely Atlanta morning, with just the right crispness to the air that made one think that Christmas was just around the corner. But it being the Deep South, it was still warm enough at this time of year to enjoy a breakfast at a sidewalk café. Peachtree Street was abuzz with activity, the thoroughfare being filled with businessmen and holiday shoppers. “It was self-defense,” she said. “Even Chief McKenzie had to admit that. Those brutes broke into my apartment with the obvious intent of killing me.”

  Miles Knopf stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. He was some ten years Violet’s senior and was a shockingly thin man. His pride and joy was the pencil-thin moustache he cultivated on his upper lip, greasing it until the ends jutted out in sharp little points. “And I suppose the orphanage is singing your praises this morning?”

  “Of course not. I left it for them anonymously. No need attracting more attention to myself than I already get.”

  Miles took a sip of coffee. “When are you going to stop wearing black?”

  “When I’m finished mourning my husband.”

  “Walter’s been dead for almost four years. That’s three years longer than you were married.”

  “Sometimes I think you’re jealous of a dead man,” Violet said pointedly. “I wear black because I like black. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Your entire wardrobe looks like you’re readying for a funeral.”

  Violet wiped at a bit of crumb on the corner of her lip. “What’s eating you today, Miles? It’s got to be more than just Armitage’s men turning up in my bedroom. You’re acting like a catty old woman.”

  Miles sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Business is slow, that’s all.”

  Violet carefully examined the cheese-covered grits before her and took a small bite. They were still a bit hot but the deliciousness encouraged eating on despite the discomfort. “What are you talking about? I just got back the orphanage’s money and took down some of Armitage’s goons. Sounds like we’ve been plenty busy.”