The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two Page 4

  “Pasarin’s father had many enemies of his own, rivals in the field of stealing from the past. He hired a man named Ted Grossett to deal with some of them, a killer known to the world as—”

  “Death’s Head,” Max finished for him, staring off into space.

  “You’ve heard of him, obviously,” Nova said.

  “He… he was the man who killed my father. Gunned him down in front of my eyes when I was eight years old. I finally tracked him down back in ’32… he was old and near death. I let him live after finding out that he’d repented.”

  “Well, apparently Mr. Grossett had an affair with Mrs. Pasarin, and a child was born out of that adulterous episode.”

  Max shook his head in confusion. “So Fernando Pasarin is actually Grossett’s son? But why would he hate me so? I didn’t kill Grossett.”

  “No, but you did inspire him.” Nova turned the page and continued. “After you met with Death’s Head, the former killer spent the last years of his life telling anyone who would listen that he’d helped give birth to a hero, a man who righted the wrongs of the world and prevented monsters like him from getting away with their crimes. Pasarin, who had uncovered the truth about his heritage and who sought a relationship with Grossett as a result, grew to hate you. His father never spoke of him with the same respect that he held for you.”

  “There was a little boy with Grossett when I found him. A boy of mixed race that Grossett said was his grandson…”

  “One of Pasarin’s children. That little boy has grown up to worship you just as much as his grandfather did at the end. Another reason why Pasarin can’t stand you.”

  “So all of this is because he’s jealous?” Max stood up and shook his head. He was so used to dealing with men who wanted to conquer the world or gain ultimate power that discovering Pasarin’s true motives were so petty and personal unnerved him. “I can’t believe he’s wasting his time and money trying to murder me when he should be working to mend whatever fences have been broken with his son.”

  “There’s a good chance he’s mad,” Nova said, closing the Book of Fate. “The man who raised him—Antonio Pasarin—was an occultist with a particular interest in legends related to the sea. Fernando grew up surrounded by relics of the Deep Ones and their related gods. He sees them as tools he can use in his war against you.”

  “Wonderful. Thanks for your help, Richard. I appreciate it as always.”

  Nova waved away the compliment. “It was nothing. Do you need me to try and find Mr. Pasarin’s residence for you?”

  “I was able to get that one myself, actually. He’s staying at a hotel not far from downtown. I don’t want to confront him there, though. This has the potential to get really nasty, and I don’t want any innocents caught in the crossfire.”

  “Do you mean to kill him?” Nova asked, curious as to what fate Max had in store for the villain.

  “If it comes to that,” Max grimly answered, “I won’t hesitate.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  The Trap Is Set

  The Peregrine left Nova’s home with a heavy heart. His relationship with his own father had gone through some unusual ups and downs over the years, and this contributed to the malaise that he now felt. Warren Davies had compelled his son from beyond the grave, forcing him to become the Peregrine, the living instrument of his justice. They had finally come face-to-face, the living and the dead, and had tried to work through the issues that arose from this, but Max still felt conflicted over it all. He loved his father and partially understood the reasons for his actions, but it all still made him feel like he’d been denied the opportunity to forge a life for himself.

  The vigilante entered his black roadster, its engines modified so that they ran perfectly silent. He meant to return home and check on Evelyn before seeking out Pasarin. But when his headlights suddenly illuminated the figure of Hendrik van der Decken standing in the middle of the road, he had to swerve to avoid hitting him. His wheels ran up on the curb and the front end of his car slammed into a streetlight, knocking it askew.

  The Peregrine grabbed one of his pistols and stepped from the vehicle, watching the pirate closely.

  “So sorry for damaging your vessel,” the pirate declared, revealing blackened teeth in a sickly grin. “You’re a hard man to track down… I had to use every ounce of my eldritch powers to sense where you were.”

  The Peregrine pointed his gun at the villain and squeezed off three rounds. He’d loaded his pistols with silver bullets dipped in holy water, and the effect was obvious. The bullets tore through van der Decken, who roared in agony. Brackish water dripped from the wounds, mixed with a greenish-yellow material like seaweed. “I don’t care about playing with you. I’m after your master.”

  The pirate spat out a wad of black phlegm and chuckled. “So you’re saying I’m not worth your time and energy then?”

  The Peregrine fired again, blowing apart van der Decken’s head. The undead seaman hit the ground, thrashing madly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Max stood over the pirate, preparing to unleash another flurry of bullets into the monster. He knew it wouldn’t actually destroy van der Decken, but he felt certain it would cause him to flee, just as he had after their encounter in the Peregrine’s Nest.

  At that moment, however, four figures emerged from the shadows. They lumbered towards the unsuspecting Peregrine, who was placing the barrel of his gun against the remains of van der Decken’s head. Just before he could pull the trigger, the nearest of them let loose a hungry moan, and Max spun around just in time to see the monster looming over him.

  The Peregrine fired at point-blank range, and the bullets ripped open a nasty wound on the zombie’s side. The creature staggered back from the force of the impact and gave Max a second to take aim at the next one within range. He could smell the rotting of their flesh and he wondered if they had any connection to the Shambling Ones he’d encountered a few years back—but there was little time to dwell on the past, for the other two lunged for him and he was unable to evade them in time.

  Max tumbled to the ground, straining against their powerful limbs. The Peregrine managed to pull one arm free and he drove his elbow into the side of the monster’s neck, shattering its face on the roadway. A car zoomed past, honking its horn in alarm at the figures fighting in the street, and Max could only hope that the car would stop at the next available opportunity and summon the police.

  The Peregrine cried out as one of the zombies bit down hard into his shoulder. The thick jacket and suit he wore kept the thing’s teeth from finding flesh, but the pinching sensation was still enough to hurt him badly.

  Max found himself in dire straits as the zombies each grabbed hold of a limb and held him down, spread-eagled on the ground. Van der Decken was back on his feet, his face slowly reforming with a sickening series of slick movements. The pirate glared down at Max, who stared back with sullen fury.

  “Not so big now, are you?” van der Decken asked. He drew his sword and held its point against the Peregrine’s throat. “And now is when I end it. Pasarin gets his wish.”

  “And what do you get out of all this?” Max wanted to know.

  “My crew. They’ll be brought back when Pasarin does the deeds he’s promised.”

  Max wrinkled his lips in disgust. “I can’t see him going out of his way for you. You’re probably nothing but an undead weapon to him—a gun to be fired until it’s out of ammo and then to be discarded.”

  Van der Decken stared at him for a long moment before speaking. The zombies snapped at the air, eager to devour the Peregrine but held back by the power of the talisman. “I have no choice,” he said at last. “I am bound to him.”

  “He wants me dead,” Max said. “Then take me back to him so he can have the pleasure of doing it himself. Don’t be his lackey. You were a captain! You shouldn’t be treated like this!”

  “You’re a smart one, aren’t you, boy? Trying to twist old Captain van der Decken around to your lik
ing.” The captain looked away for a moment. “But you’re right enough. This is beneath me. And what difference does it make if you die there or die here?”

  “I might even break free once I’m there and kill him for you,” Max pointed out.

  The pirate shook his head in amazement. “You’re quite a man, bargaining like this when you’re so close to death.” Van der Decken locked eyes with him once more. “If it comes to it, I won’t be able to resist him when he’s standing right next to me. I’ll kill you, Mr. Davies, oh, yes I will.”

  “And if I somehow avoid that fate and take care of Pasarin for you, I’ll see what I can do to ease the suffering of your crew. I swear it.” The Peregrine held his captor’s gaze until van der Decken sensed his sincerity.

  “Well, then,” the captain whispered. “Let’s make this look good, shall we?” Before the Peregrine could ask what he meant, the pirate drove a hard kick into the side of Max’s head, knocking him out. As blood trickled down the side of the Peregrine’s skull, van der Decken gestured to his zombie servants. “Let’s truss him up, boys. Pasarin’s waiting.”

  CHAPTER IX

  Surrounded by Enemies

  Fernando Pasarin stared at the unconscious face of his opponent and wondered why this man was capable of inspiring so many. Pasarin’s father, his son—even the beautiful Evelyn—all seemed far more willing to show appreciation for this masked buffoon than for Pasarin himself, who had taken a profitable company and made it even more so.

  Pasarin glanced away, wanting to see where van der Decken was. The pirate stood a few feet away, with the four zombies. Pasarin had been angry at first, not pleased that the sea captain had not followed his instructions, but upon reflection he was pleased to have the opportunity to kill Max himself.

  Now they all stood on one of the highest peaks in Atlanta, the nighttime sky filled with stars overhead. Dawn was still a couple of hours away, and the wind had a crispness to it that surprised Pasarin, who had always thought of the Deep South as an overly warm place. Winter in Atlanta could definitely pack a punch, he realized.

  The Peregrine was tied to a tree at the edge of the clearing where Pasarin’s men were assembled. His head hung at an uncomfortable-looking angle, dried blood caked on the side of his head.

  Pasarin gestured towards van der Decken. “Bring me his weapons.”

  The cursed seaman came forward holding a large cloth. Inside were the two pistols the Peregrine usually wore, as well as the Knife of Elohim. The presence of the blade was the reason that the captain didn’t touch them directly—though he could wield it without screaming in pain, something about it was unnerving enough to make him take caution. “Here you go. Are you going to kill him with his own weapons?”

  “An interesting idea,” Pasarin admitted. He unrolled the cloth and examined one of the guns. At first, it looked unremarkable; when he opened the gun chamber, he found that it had been modified to hold several hundred mini-shells, each packing enough punch to be the equivalent of an explosive bullet. “Such interesting toys he has. The man must be a genius.”

  “He’s a dangerous one, no doubt,” van der Decken agreed. “Best to kill him quick so you can focus on getting me my crew back.”

  Pasarin sighed and looked the pirate straight in the eyes. “I don’t plan to revive your crew,” he simply stated.

  “You lied to me, then. All these months.”

  Pasarin laughed. “If you want to call it that. You have no choice but to do what I command. If I change my mind later on and need more servants, I might go and get them… but honestly, they’re probably no more useful than you, and that means it wouldn’t be worth my time.”

  Van der Decken shouted so loud that spittle flew from his lips. “You damned stinking dog! If I could, I’d keelhaul you from one end of the ocean to the other!”

  “But you can’t. Such a shame, isn’t it?” Pasarin moved away from the pirate, pleased that van der Decken didn’t even try to strike him. Evidently, the seaman was capable of learning from past mistakes. When he turned back towards the Peregrine, however, he froze in place, his face falling slack. The robes that had bound the hero lay in a clump on the ground, and there was no sign of the vigilante…

  * * *

  The Peregrine had feigned unconsciousness for several moments before making his escape. While Pasarin and van der Decken were exchanging harsh words, Max was calling upon several tricks he had learned during his world tour that had preceded the creation of his Peregrine identity. In the Far East, he’d studied under a master escape artist, one who had taught him how to contort his body in such a way as to escape any bindings imaginable. After taking several deep breaths, pushing his chest out as far as possible and then exhaling completely, the Peregrine managed to slip one arm free, and then another.

  When the ropes had fallen away, the Peregrine had slipped into the woods. The zombies watched him, dark hunger in their eyes, but their primitive intellects didn’t allow them to shout warnings to their masters. They merely stared as the vigilante disappeared into the surrounding shadows.

  The Peregrine couldn’t avoid smiling when Pasarin finally took notice that his prisoner was gone. The look on the man’s face was priceless.

  Max pondered what his next move should be, even as Pasarin ordered his van der Decken to lead the zombies in search of him. Without weapons, Max wasn’t sure he could handle the pirate and four undead fighters, but maybe he didn’t need to. If he managed to get Pasarin alone, they could settle this one-on-one. Van der Decken had already made it clear that he wouldn’t mind seeing Pasarin dead, so he was unlikely to force an intervention.

  Max saw van der Decken disappear into the woods not far from his hiding place, one of the zombies in tow. The other three were moving in various directions, including one that was shambling directly towards Max. The Peregrine swore under his breath, realizing that his plan might not come to fruition; there didn’t seem much chance of him reaching Pasarin without alerting at least one of the man’s protectors.

  Just suck it up, the Peregrine told himself, and do what you have to do.

  Max looked around and spied a thin but sturdy-looking stick nearby. One end was jagged and sharp, but the Peregrine had no idea if it would be strong enough to aid him. Nevertheless, he picked it up and waited until the zombie was within striking distance. The Peregrine jumped for him, emerging from the darkness like a bird in flight, the stick raised high.

  Pasarin looked over just in time to see the Peregrine bring the point of the stick down hard between the zombie’s eyes. The force behind it drove the point through the skin, but it was stopped short of the creature’s brain by the thick bone of its skull. Still, the blow was enough to drive the zombie to the ground, where it whipped about in a frenzy of pain. Max knew the only way to truly stop this breed of monster was to damage its brain, and thus he began ramming his foot down upon the stick, driving it harder and harder against the skull until, with a popping sound, the wood drove into the brain pan.

  Pasarin stared as the Peregrine pulled his shoe free of the zombie’s ruined face, the shoe speckled with bone and gray matter. “Van der Decken! Get back here!” he bellowed, a cold knot of fear welling up in his heart. He still held the Peregrine’s weapons in one hand, the head of his walking stick clutched in the other.

  “I know all about you, Fernando.” The Peregrine stopped a few feet away and tried to clear his face of anger. He wanted Pasarin to believe what he was about to say. “I’m sorry that your father and your son have some inflated view of me. So far, all you’ve done is try to kill me. I can forgive that. But you need to call off your zombies and surrender.”

  “You don’t actually expect me to agree to that, do you?” Pasarin asked. His eyes were glowing with malice, and Max was momentarily taken aback by the level of personal distaste that this man held for him. “You brainwashed my dying father and turned my own son against me. I don’t even want to know how you found all that out. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I
’m going to prove to my son which of us is the better man… I’m going to kill you and take that damned ring of yours to him as a souvenir!”

  The Peregrine glanced over his shoulder to see that van der Decken and the three remaining zombies were returning to the scene. It was obvious to Max that van der Decken was taking his time in responding, moving as slowly as he could while still responding to his master’s call.

  Pasarin noticed that Max was looking away and the act caused something to snap within the businessman. He couldn’t stand the notion that the Peregrine would act as if he weren’t a dangerous foe—to virtually ignore him in favor of the undead monsters was insulting.

  Max turned back just in time to see Pasarin’s fist hurtling towards his face. The Peregrine threw up an arm and caught Pasarin’s hand in his own, twisting the villain’s arm painfully to the side.

  “You can’t fight me,” the Peregrine warned. “Not hand-to-hand. You have no training.”

  “I don’t need training. I have rage.” Pasarin slammed his forehead into Max’s, knocking the Peregrine backwards.

  The Peregrine ducked under the next blow, a backhanded assault that sailed over his head. Max’s head was ringing from the headbutt, but he had been telling the truth in assessing Pasarin’s chances of winning: unlike Pasarin, Max was fully trained in a variety of combat styles, and he knew how to ignore pain.

  Max unleashed a karate chop to Pasarin’s legs, knocking him to the ground. The Peregrine then drove his knee into Pasarin’s nose, shattering it. The criminal fell onto his back, blood pouring from his nose.

  The Peregrine moved forward, planning to finish off his foe, but Pasarin held up one of Max’s pistols and fired, releasing several rounds. Most of them whizzed past Max’s shoulders, but two of them hit home in his right arm.

  As Max reeled in shock, van der Decken drew his sword and grabbed hold of the Peregrine’s neck, holding him tight. The zombies milled about, ready to rip Max to shreds but still held in check.