Book Two: Archer's Trail of Vengeance

[Grognardsw]

Archer's train rattles along toward Baltimore. The vibration of the train and passing scenery slowly drains the adrenalin that has been rushing the former private eye along as he made his plans and escape from the Red Hook. He nods off and dreams of the moments when his life changed...

Wanted: Sam Archer:

The walking dead man's body was calm, but his mind kept racing. Planning.

thoughts of death.jpg

Archer intended to allow himself to get lost in the faceless multitude of Brooklyn, a city of 2 million people that would qualify as the third largest city in America if it hadn't been swallowed up by New York City 20 years ago.

He counted down the timeline before his apprehension by the police:

• • In an hour they'd be watching his house and office. He'd never get there in time. Those places were dead to him now.
    
    In a few hours, they'd be calling his friends and family, such as they were. All dead to him now too.
    
    By then, the trains and buses to New Orleans might be watched too.
    
    Tomorrow morning, his face would be in the local papers. National ones also, depending on how much bad publicity the BOI wanted. He needed to exploit these last few hours of anonymity while they lasted.

He needed funds. He'd go to a bank now. He should have done it this morning but right up until he pulled the trigger, he wasn't sure he had the guts to go through with it. But now he was all in.

He remembered how he got here. How it came to this. As he laid in the hospital, recovering from the loss of his hand, in the fever dream of painkillers and depression, he realized it. The BOI was compromised, incompetent, and lacking understanding.
Archer then planned to rejoin the BOI; milk them for all the information he could. Let them put him in a room with Carcosa, and then do what needed to be done. When Archer realized they had no line on Carcosa, he saw the Russian was the next best target they could give him. And they did, with a bow on it. It was why Archer wanted to wait for the workers to leave. He wanted Chertovski alone. But that trick only works once. He needed other methods now.

Archer counted down his next list, his targets:

• • Hazradbad was locked up, for now.
    
    John Merrick, Horace Whately and (maybe) Konstantin Chertovski were dead.
    
    Maskelyne was a stooge, a dilettante dabbler in this dark crap, like Wilkins.
    
    Carcosa, Le Voi, Himinez, Heinreich, the Dark Pharaoh.
    
    Lots of work ahead.

Archer wanted Carcosa most. He couldn't do it alone. He needed a partner in crime. Someone already wise to the Cult, and who didn't mind getting their hands dirty. He mentally checked his final list, that of likely accomplices:

• • The BOI agents were compromised.
    
    The librarians, professors and academicians didn't have the nerve for this job. In fact, they seemed seduced by the Cult's knowledge and power anyway. If Archer lived long enough, he wouldn't be surprised if their names turned up on his other list.
    
    He'd keep Andy out of this mess. He'd never believe him anyway. Archer barely believed it himself. Archer would explain everything once he was apprehended. He'd have plenty of time for that in stir, before they sat him in the electric chair.
    
    Lyle Clark and Finn were murdered.
    
    McCoy was nuts, and asking McCoy's boss for help would be like asking a shark for help. While you were bleeding.
    
    Marius Albertoni. He was cool under fire. A hunter. A soldier. That's what Archer needed. And when you're in a tough scrape, it's never bad to have a fascist on your side.

Albertoni was the one. Maybe the mental patient too. After all, only lunatics would sign on for this line of work. And he did shoot Agent Baines.

The BOI will expect him to flee to New Orleans, not remain here and try to turn their men. Archer liked it.

If he was still alive and at large, Sam Archer walked into the nearest bank, carrying his topcoat to conceal his leg gash, and calmly emptied all his accounts into cash.

[Grognardsw]

The train arrives in Baltimore.

[Inferno]

Sam Archer, vigilante:

At Grand Central Station, Archer went into a stall in the men's room at Grand Central Station and got the glass out of his wound and bandaged it up as best he could. Hardly the most antiseptic operating theater, but times were what they were.

Archer boarded the train to Baltimore and it left the station. It looked like a clean getaway.

The fugitive from justice ate, drank and fell asleep. When he awoke, he realized he had been dreaming again. They were completely normal now that he decided on a course of action of murder and vengeance. He'd leave it to the headshrinkers to puzzle that one out.

Archer grabbed his grip, stepped off the train and into Baltimore's Penn Station. He entered a phone booth and flipped through the directory until he found the name of the old army buddy that had brought him here.

Hal Lancaster.

Archer dropped a nickel into the payphone and when he was connected he made his mouth smile as he said, "Hal. It's Sam Archer. Been a long time."

[makken123Tabs]

Hal Lancaster

"Hal, it's for you," the woman, who had picked up the phone's receiver, called out. Presently Hal came on the line: "Samuel! how the devil are you?"

[Inferno]

Sam Archer, wanted killer:

A wife, Archer winced.

Hal Lancaster
"Samuel! how the devil are you?"

"Swell," Archer replied, standing in a train station phone booth, holding all his worldly possessions in one piece of luggage.

"I hate to spring this on you, but I'm in Baltimore unexpectedly. I don't suppose you have time for a drink?"

[makken123Tabs]

"Sam, I'd love to," said Hal, obviously delighted, "it's been far too long. Tsk-tsk"--a gentle cough. "The gas is getting the better of me I'm afraid--don't go out much," he sounds self-deprecating--no sympathy required. "Say, Sam, why don't you come here, to my flat?" Full of interest, he asked: "Still a private dick?"

[Inferno]

Sam Archer, public enemy number 17:

Archer glanced at his watch, "Yup." For a few more hours anyway.

"Hal, I don't want your wife to go to any trouble. I mean, I've given you no advance notice at all. I'd feel much better if you let me take you out." Archer said, not wanting Mrs. Lancaster recognizing his face in tomorrow's paper.

[makken123Tabs]

"Oh! my housekeeper," explained Hal. "Take me out?--Yeah, let's do that. First round on you! Where?--W.C. Harlan is a great speakeasy."

[Inferno]

Sam Archer, wanted man:

"That's swell," said Archer. "I'll meet you there. When is good for you?" Archer got the address and the password, if any, exchanged more pleasantries and hung up.

The brim of his fedora masking the upper part of his face, he walked out to the curb, hailed a cab with his good hand and took a ride over to the speakeasy to meet Hal Lancaster.

[makken123Tabs]

Hal entered the joint accompanied by two women. Sam Archer watched their arrival, he noted that his war buddy had lost several pounds and looked gaunt; the women, one would have been extremely attractive twenty years ago and the other was a blond with slightly buck teeth. The women went off to the bar, leaving Hal by the coat stand looking around for Sam.

[Inferno]

Sam Archer, wanted criminal:

Archer cursed his luck. Two witnesses who would recognize him tomorrow when the papers hit. For all Archer knew, Hal had already told them his name. This sort of trail was exactly how Archer would've tracked a wanted criminal. And how the police would now track him.

He had no choice but to leave. The fugitive ducked out the back, not wanting to be seen by Hal.

Outside, he hailed a cab to the train station. When he got there, he called the speakeasy and left a message for Lancaster, who seemed like a regular: Hal, I'm delayed. Sorry. Couldn't be avoided. I'll call you in the morning. Have a good night, pal.

Archer didn't leave his name.

[makken123Tabs]

After ten minutes Hal joined Mathilde and her pal at the bar. He was told about Sam's message by the barkeep.

"A Bee's Knees for the two ladies," he said, "and a whiskey and soda for me."

"Where's your war buddy?" Mathilde asked.

Hal shrugged, "Said 'I'm delayed. Sorry.' Well, we're here now; let's get sloshed?"

"Why not?"

[Inferno]

Sam Archer, on the run:

From the Pennsylvania Station bar, Archer looked up at the departure board. Providence. New Orleans. New York City.

It was getting late. He could be stepping off the train into a busy station as the early edition hit. He had to get indoors.

Archer finished his drink and called the speakeasy back from the payphone. When the barkeep put Hal on the line, he said, "Hal. It's Sam. Sorry about the delay. I have an emergency. I need to meet you tonight. It's going to sound crazy but I need you to not tell anyone where you're going or that you're meeting me. Don't give anyone my name. I can explain everything when we're together. I'm at the train station. South entrance."

[makken123Tabs]

"Just a little crazy, Sam!" said Hal--the clink of a tumbler and ice set down upon the bar is audible down the phone line. "I'll do as you ask. I don't understand but I guess you have your reasons. Twenty minutes--south entrance."

At the train station a cab pulled up, its rear door opened and Hal got out. The cab's engine ticked over--waiting--as Hal looked around for Sam.

[Inferno]

Sam Archer, the hunter and the hunted:

Archer stepped out, holding a grip. He said quietly, "Thanks, Hal. Where we can talk privately?"

[makken123Tabs]

"Sam! What's goi--" Hal stopped himself. "I'll ask questions later. We could go to my flat? Mathilde, my 'housekeeper'"--he grinned-- "won't be back 'til late. Yeah?"

[Inferno]

Sam Archer, cultist killer:

"No good," Archer winced apologetically, not moving. He couldn't risk being seen by Hal's squeeze.
"My explanations will take a while. Where can we go without interruption, and where nobody knows you? That speakeasy? Or another one, maybe?"

[makken123Tabs]

Hal nodded.

"There's one nearby, a speakeasy I don't go to often. Er, is a public place okay for you?"

[Grognardsw]

Among the streets



An inconspicuous place to meet

[Inferno]

Sam Archer, soldier of misfortune:

"Yeah. This place'll do. If you see anyone you know, don't give them my name."

Archer sat down in a dark booth, bought his patient friend a drink, and laid all his cards on the table. It was a relief, to get it off his chest. Maybe confession was good for the soul.



In a low voice, Archer said:

"Sorry for the foolish skullduggery, Hal. It's a long story, and an unlikely one. I hardly believe it myself.

"I was hired to return some stolen artifacts lifted from a number of museums. I fell in with the BOI and we found out the dinguses were nicked by an international ring of self-described "cultists." Turns out this "cult" regularly commits murder in pursuit of its unknown goals. Torture, mutilation, the works," he said, pulling his wooden left hand halfway out of his coat pocket for a second.

"Worse yet, they can pass as normal people, and have infiltrated every organization I've come in contact with in this investigation, including the BOI. Corporations, the mob, universities, museum boards, you name it. They're like a virus. But now comes the crazy part: they can hypnotize people into joining their side. You heard me. Loopy, I know. Except it's real as a dime. It happened to a BOI agent who had to be put down. That's how they infiltrate everything they touch.

"The bottom line is, I can't trust anyone. Anyone on the case could be turned, like that BOI agent. We're sitting ducks.

"We have a list of "cultists." The BOI either don't see the implications, or are already on the "cult's" side. Either way, they're working hard to afford this gang of killers all due process. But that hypnotism gimmick means they can elude capture, escape detention, face down a jury, you name it. They're untouchable. And there's nothing to prevent them from turning US senators and governors.

"It took me a long time to realize it, but the ugly truth is there's only one way to stop them. And unfortunately that's to take the law into my own hands, do what must be done, and put them down.

"I started today.

"...on their New York ringleader. If the BOI don't bury the story, it'll be in the morning edition," Archer said, glancing at the watch on his right hand. "I'm a wanted man, Hal. I need to get indoors for a few days, out of sight, and then I'll be out of your hair."

"If the cops find out, you tell them I did the whole thing at gunpoint. Against your will. I'll corroborate that story when they apprehend me. You'll be fine.
"Look, I'm sorry, Hal. But I had no other choice. Nowhere to go."

Sam Archer bought another round, cracked a shadow of his old wry grin, and said, "So... What's new with you?"