Each knuckle had adifferent shape on it. They were so coated with dried gore that I couldn’t makeout the designs.
Dom was smarter than me.He stayed put. I tried moving for the figure heading toward the front doors ofBenson’s. I had questions. A lot of them, and I wanted answers.
My hand touched the rightshoulder of that figure and I pulled him back toward me as my fingers clenchedaround fabric.
That fabric felt like itcovered only bones. The shoulder felt too thin for the way it filled out thejacket under the shroud. Cold sucked the warmth from my hand as the BlackWraith stopped moving and turned his head toward me.
The fog was growingthicker, and even from a few feet away the shape of the pulp hero I had adoredas a kid started getting lost. Hell, I could barely even see my own hand.
It was Dom who spoke.“Billy. Don’t. Don’t do it.”
I knew what he meant.Don’t be this stupid. Don’t start something with a dead man who was already ahard killer. Don’t touch a fucking ghost. Don’t interfere. Don’t get yourdamned fool self killed. All of that and more.
I got wise and listened.
The Black Wraith, a ghostthat could not possibly exist, a ghost of a fictional character, nodded curtlyand then moved forward and I removed my hand from his shoulder. The front doordid not open. Instead the dark shape moved through the door. As it steppedoutside I saw the fog rising from the ground, obscuring the feet and legs ofthe shape that walked through wood and glass like it wasn’t there.
The mist-shrouded shape turnedtoward the left and looked through the windows at me and at Dom alike. I feltthe eyes looking at us.
It took about four secondsfor the form to get lost in the fog.
I stared after it for alot longer. I’m not sure how long, but before I looked away the fog had liftedand the street was dark again, except for a few lights that seemed more fadedthan before.
We didn’t speak.
We’d been partners longenough that without a single word spoken, I looked at the questions in Dom’seyes and knew he wanted answers as badly as I did.
I showed him where theBlack Wraith had come from and he followed, opened the door. It was locked.That didn’t stop him. Cat burglars couldn’t have used lock picks as easily ashe did.
He went down the stairsinto the cellar. It was maybe ten minutes before he found the spot where theancient concrete of the floor was misshapen.
That night there was onemore death. A third generation mobster named Tommy Robbins got pounded so hardhis scalp was left on the wall where he’d been attacked. The killer came intoRobbins’ apartment, ignored the man’s wife and children, and ruined Robbinswith a dozen punches to his head. Each and every one of those punches shatteredbone and pushed flesh around until there was nothing left but strings of meatto hide the ruination.
The widow Robbinsexplained to us that she’d seen the man who killed her husband and had tried tostop him. She even took a swing with a cast iron skillet that would have easilyknocked Muhammad Ali into a coma. I blame adrenaline for her even being able tolift the damn thing.
The pan never touched theassailant, but her swing left a dent in the wall where it landed.
She said it went rightthrough him, and I quote, “Like he was a fucking ghost.”
Two days later, after somedigging around with a pick axe and a jackhammer, a collection of bones wasfound under the cement in the basement of Benson’s Pub.
The miracles of modernscience. The DNA linked the bones to Dom’s family. It may not be positiveidentification, but it was enough for Dom and the local newscasters. Even madethe national news for a day or two, because whether or not he was a bigcelebrity, Anthony Galliano was once a star in Hollywood. That put paid to afootnote in at least a dozen books of faded celebrities who’d vanished over thedecades.
In a perfect world I’d saythat the murders had ended and Dom was making a fortune based on the old movieshis family still owned. Some of that is true. Dom made a deal and is getting anice income from the residuals on his great-grandfather’s films. We both got anice pat on the back for solving a cold case and finding a body. Looking intothe old files, yes, the people the Black Wraith beat to death were all relatedto other people who had been seen at Benson’s the night the blood was seen allover the floorboards.
The problem is, there werea lot of people in and out of Benson’s that night. Most of them might have beeninnocent bystanders, near as we can tell, but how can we know? Five people wereruined by the Black Wraith. Literally beaten until their faces were nothing butbone and pulp.
That was before we foundthe body.
Since then three more havebeen killed in similar fashion. One of those names was on the cold case list ofpeople seen at Benson’s Pub, but the other two seem to have no affiliation.
Who can say how manypeople might have been there the night Anthony Galliano was murdered? Who cansay why he was killed?
We’re still looking intothe situation. We’re still investigating.
Want to know somethingelse?
We’ve both been lookinginto possible ways of getting rid of a ghost.
So far none of them haveworked.
But we’re still trying.
I’m stubborn, but Dom ispatient.
He’s always been a betterdetective than me. He keeps his cool when I lose mine.
He’s classy that way. Himand his Hollywood looks.
Sometimes though, I haveto wonder if he’s trying as hard as I am.
I mean, at the end of theday, someone killed a member of his family, and Dom and his have always beenkeen on family.
ABOUT THE COVER ARTIST
Mikio Murakami isa Japanese-Canadian graphic designer. He specializes in cover art, T-shirts,logos and drinking bad coffee. His design company SILENT Q DESIGN was foundedin Montreal in 2006. Melding together the use
