The Choking Rain (The Adventures of Captain Swashbuckle Book 1), page 1
THE CHOKING RAIN
BRIAN K. LOWE
Copyright © 2014 by Brian K. Lowe.
Cover by bizdevweb.
http://www.brianklowe.wordpress.com
License Notes
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Also available from Amazon by this author
The Invisible City
Once a Knight, a Tale of the Daze of Chivalry
Table of Contents
1. A Man Afraid
2. Ted Asks Questions
3. An Invader Repelled
4. A Doctor Sees Death
5. An Unpleasant Meeting
6. Reunion
7. Homecoming
8. A Graveside Service
9. Mourn for the Mourners
10. Against the Law
11. Waterfront Discovery
12. The Missing Guest
13. The Master’s Lair
14. The Call Goes Out
15. Pirates on the Wharf
16. Death at Sea
17. The End of the Game
18. The Rats’ Nest
19. Two to Trespass
20. Ride into Darkness
21. Messengers of Death
22. The Watcher on the Roof
23. Spray of Death
24. Ambush in the Air
25. The Ghost Ship
26. Death in a Glass
27. A Deadly Visitor
28. Voyage of No Return
29. Transfer to Terror
30. Destination Unknown
31. Jungle Stalker
32. Slave Plantation
33. Violence by Moonlight
34. Ambush!
35. Unmasked!
36. The Road Home
1. A Man Afraid
No one noticed the horror when it began.
It started in a small way, in a rain-muddied alley in downtown Los Angeles, and in its infancy it fed only off those whose loss society at large was too big, and too busy, to notice.
Society would pay for its preoccupation.
The first victim was a railroad fireman named Kelly, on his way home from an illegal downtown speakeasy where'd he'd drunk down another precious bit of his family’s non-existent savings. A cop on the beat found him in the morning with his neck broken. Because his wallet was in his pocket and no footprints were found nearby, the coroner ruled he had tripped and fallen in the garbage-strewn darkness. Society, satisfied, never considered that a thief might steal something other than a wallet, or how the late rains might have erased any clues left on hard cement...
The second to fall prey was a small-time confidence hustler, called “Sweeney” by those who knew him, although even they never knew if that was his real name. He was found face down in a puddle in the same alley, but he’d been strangled, evidently with a necktie. With no witnesses and a rogue’s gallery of likely suspects, the cops gave it a quick glance and forgot about it. They thought a few more losses like Sweeney’s would make their jobs that much easier. They were wrong.
The third victim was society’s first real warning.
His friends all said Roy Miramonte had never had an unlucky day in his life. They pointed to his successful import business, his devoted sister, and his impending marriage to one the richest and most beautiful daughters of a city known for its motion picture starlets. His friends could point out a lot of the things that made Roy Miramonte lucky, but none of them could have pointed out the reason that right now he was the most terrified man in Los Angeles.
Huddled for a moment in a doorway like a common bum, Miramonte shrank into himself with the advent of every passer-by. Though the late afternoon clouds glowered menacingly low, it had not rained since morning. So why, the beat cop asked himself, was this boyo standing around hatless, all wrapped up in his coat like one of them Egyptian things in that new Karloff picture?
"Hadn't you better be moving on, sir?" he asked with exaggerated politeness.
"What?" Roy Miramonte jumped, and so did the cop. It was hard to tell who had been scared more. "What?" he asked again, then relaxed at the sight of the blue uniform. "Oh, uh, officer...I'm sorry, I'm just waiting for someone."
The policeman, Officer Murphy, frowned and looked about. No one was paying any attention.
"If you are, sir, he ain't here yet. Why don't you wait inside somewhere--a drugstore fountain or something, where you can see the street?" If the bum didn't have enough change for a cup of coffee, they would throw him out, and then Murphy could run him off as a vagrant. And if he did have cash, why then, he was somebody else's problem.
"No, thank you, officer," Miramonte replied distractedly, refusing to take the bait. He was looking up Wilshire Boulevard--in the direction from which most of the pedestrians were coming, but also toward a row of very fancy shops and jewelry salons, crowded even in these depressed times. Murphy straightened up and frowned the harder.
"I think you'd better be moving along, sir, unless you‘ll be wanting your friend to meet you down at headquarters."
Miramonte finally turned his full attention on Murphy. "Police headquarters? No! I mustn't go there! They might find me!"
"All right, me man, that's enough," Murphy growled, grabbing his charge by the arm. "Anybody who doesn't want to talk to the police as much as you don't must have a pretty good reason, and I mean to find out what!" Roy Miramonte struggled uselessly in the bearlike grip. Murphy had been a cop in Chicago before Los Angeles, and he had helped raid more than his share of speakeasies in the gangster days. He knew how to handle tougher customers than this. "Come along, you hooligan, I want to get back to the precinct before it starts to rain again!"
"Rain?" his prisoner screamed, and in a panic broke free and ran up the boulevard, Murphy lumbering after him. Ahead, the crowd was thicker. Two well-dressed women were strolling directly in the prisoner's path.
"Watch out, ladies!" Murphy bellowed, but stopped short as the running man halted dead in his tracks before them!
"Mary!" he panted. "Thank God!"
"Roy!" one of the women gasped. She was a tall, striking redhead with legs that Murphy would have enjoyed in a moving picture. "What on earth is the matter?"
"Do you know this...gentleman, ma'am?" Murphy asked as he pulled to a stop. "By the sacred--Miss O'Donnell?"
The red-haired beauty pulled her stare from Roy Miramonte and recognition dawned.
"Officer Murphy!" Her voice was smooth as Irish liqueur and swathed in finishing-school cotton. "You helped raise money for the children's hospital at the St. Patrick's Day dance," she recalled. "This is Miss Reinhold," she added automatically, indicating her companion. "Officer Murphy, may I ask why you are chasing my fiancé down the street like a common thief?"
Hoping to find his breath along with a proper explanation, Murphy fumbled off his hat and glanced at the other girl. Petite and blonde, a porcelain doll next to O'Donnell's Irish firebrand, but was no less a man-stopper, she was watching the drama unfold with cool interest. Murphy realized he was staring.
"I'm sorry, Miss O'Donnell," he explained at last, "but Mr.--uh, this gentleman--was standing in a doorway acting and rather strangely, y'see. And then when I said perhaps we should visit the precinct, he ran like a rabbit. I don't know as I'd've caught him if it weren't for you, ma'am."
Miss O'Donnell turned an incredulous stare on her fiancé. "Roy, why were you standing in a doorway in this weather? If you were looking for me, you knew where we were."
Miramonte had loosened his collar to recover his breath, but now, when he drew air to speak, it escaped as an inexplicable bleat of terror.
" Rain! I felt it on my face! Quickly, Mary, we've got to get out of the rain!" He tugged on his fiancée's arm, but she resisted.
"Roy, it's only a few drops!" But Roy Miramonte was beyond hearing, beyond understanding, beyond anything but fear. He whirled and ran straight into Officer Murphy, who grunted, then he spun again, grabbing at the blonde to keep from knocking her from her feet, but she sidestepped him and he fell. At that instant all of the pent-up emotion of a late-winter storm poured from the heavens in cosmic buckets. Within seconds everything in sight was drenched...
...and Roy Miramonte was rolling on the sidewalk tearing at his collar in mortal combat with enemies unseen!
His breath was coming in abortive gasps. Miss Reinhold bent quickly to help him, and only she heard his far-off whisper:
"The...choking...rain...!"
By the time a doctor ran up to see what was the matter, it was far too late.
Terence Aloysius O’Donnell had come over on the boat in 1890, and not entirely of his own choice. Fiery and incorrigible in his youth, his anti-British activities in Dublin had forced his hurried evacuation of the land he’d sworn never he’d leave before the invaders were banished. But events and the noose had proven more than he could fight, and his friends had convinced him mere seconds before the soldiers arrived that he could do more good alive in America than dead in Ireland.
In the years following, he had proven them correct. He had organized the Irish workers on a large Northeastern railroad line, lead them in a stock-purchase scheme, and vaulted himself onto the Board of Directors on their shoulders. Two years later he became president and chairman of the board, and every man who had helped him get there was guaranteed a job for life. He had channeled his youthful zeal into shrewd, hard business dealing, building one of the largest immigrant-owned fortunes in the nation, and kept control of it even after his health dictated he move to the drier climate of Southern California. He was not a man to take kindly to obstacles.
At this moment, six feet, two inches and 210 pounds of Los Angeles’ finest was an obstacle.
“God help me, Inspector, if I find that man before you do, it’ll be me you’ll be hauling in for murder, not him!”
Ted Kane was a very large, very quiet man. Graduated from college with a major in philosophy and a minor in football, he had soon discovered that a world lost in a Depression had little use for either one. Considering his choices logically, he had come to the conclusion there were only two irreplaceable jobs in the world--and he didn’t want to be an undertaker. Several years of difficult and uninteresting--but successful--toil had lead him to the doubtful honor of lead detective in the murder investigation of the future son-in-law to one of the least-liked and most-admired businessmen in America. And right now, in the cold efficiency of the businessman’s foyer, that investigation was not going smoothly.
“Well, sir, we’ll do our best to keep that from happening,” he replied to the latest outburst. “We wouldn’t want to have to arrest you.”
“Your best ?” O’Donnell roared, oblivious to humor. “Your best doesn’t keep good men from being murdered on the streets of Los Angeles right before my daughter’s eyes! Is this your best, threatening innocent businessmen? Get out of here and find the man who did it! Get out before I throw you out myself!”
“Actually, sir, we don’t know that it was murder. And I still have to interview Miss O’Donnell...”
“Interview...!” O’Donnell spluttered. He had faced down angry mobs and hostile board meetings alike, but to be bearded in his own house by a policeman...!
“Please, Uncle Aloysius, the poor man is only trying to do his job,” interceded a cool voice from the doorway. Kane stepped back from the industrialist, grateful for the interruption, but halted in mid-stride, unbalancing himself.
”Evening...Miss Reinhold,” he said. His voice betrayed an uncertainty that O’Donnell, for all his bluster, had been unable to produce. He put his weight back on his right foot rather awkwardly, causing a soft creaking the floorboards.
The blonde who had borne witness to Roy Miramonte’s last words paused also, almost imperceptibly, then stepped forward again with a practiced grace.
“Good evening, Mr. Kane.” She did not offer her hand. “I was not aware that you had entered police work.”
O’Donnell stared, aghast, at her, then him, and back at her.
“Uncle Aloysius, please calm down,” Miss Reinhold prompted. “I have more experience with policemen than you think--and most of them are even ruder than Mr. Kane. If we could use your study, I believe I can give him enough information to send him on his way without bothering Mary this evening.” Her frosty stare served notice on Kane that his choices had been made for him.
Containing himself with visible effort but poor grace, O’Donnell waved across the room toward the solid double door where Miss Reinhold had entered.
“You know where the study is, Katherine. Call Jeffries when this gentleman wants to leave. I’ll be with Mary’s doctor.” Without further formalities, he strode out.
Katherine Reinhold lead the way to the study with less disdain than the master of the house, but no more words. The room was small and close, dominated by an oversized desk; two padded guest chairs and a small sideboard completed the arrangement. Closing the doors, Katherine turned to face Kane without offering him a seat or refreshment.
“Have you seen Eric lately?”
Kane gnawed his lip. “Not since...the last time.”
She allowed him to stew for several long moments. Finally she dropped her shoulders and motioned that he should, after all, sit down.
“I’ve heard from him a few times, but he was never one for writing letters.”
Her words faded slowly in the still air.
“I suppose we should talk about Roy Miramonte,” Kane decided at last. Katherine nodded without enthusiasm. He asked for a statement, in her own words, from beginning to end. It did not take long, but his notes were extensive.
“You’re sure that’s what he said?”
“I’m certain. And I speak more languages than you can count, so my ears are damned sharp. I know it makes no sense, but that’s what he said.” He stood up; she watched him. “I hope you’re about to offer me a drink, because I sure could use one.”
He stopped, forgetting what he had been about to say, and coughed uncomfortably.
For a moment, she stared, then lapsed into a pained look as she rose to pour herself a drink.
"Sorry," she said wryly. "I've only been back in the country for a few weeks. I keep forgetting we're not supposed to be drinking." She poured herself one anyway. "You're not going to arrest me, are you?"
“No.” Then, as if realizing the entire conversation had strayed far from the immediacy of Roy Miramonte’s death, he said: “I’ll leave you my telephone number at the precinct if you remember anything else. I can show myself out.”
Putting down her drink, Katherine smiled for the first time.
“Uncle Aloysius will be quite angry if I let you escape without his getting in the last word.”
“Uncle Aloysius would be angry even if he got in all the words.”
“Which he might, with you. You’ve hardly said any.”
“He’s not really your uncle, is he?”
“No. But Mary’s my oldest friend. You know how it is.”
Kane looked at his feet, then at the furniture. “Katherine, I lied. Eric’s in Sacramento.”
She picked up her drink again. “Is he all right?”
“He was the last I heard. That was a few months ago, but he sounded like he planned to stay a while.” The huge shoulders sagged with the relief of shedding a self-imposed burden, and he grinned. “Are you ready for this? He said he was going to pan for gold.”
Katherine nearly spit out her drink. Ted lurched forward, arm raised as if to pound her on the back, but she shrank away, horrified.
“Thanks,” she gasped when she got her breath back. “But I thought for a moment you were going to knock me through the wall.” She quickly regained her composure, but the ice had been broken, and for now, they were friends again. “I shouldn’t have done that--I shouldn’t be surprised at anything my brother does anymore. But if he was going to mine for gold, why not Africa, or South America? I would have thought California was too civilized for him.”
“He’s given that up, Katherine, really. Now all he does is some stunt flying. He bought an airplane and he goes around buzzing county fairs and giving people thrill rides. He’s a real daredevil--he's even gone back to calling himself ‘Captain Swashbuckle.’”
"Really? I thought he hadn't used that name since…"
"…since he left the Air Corps, yeah."
She sipped at her drink, staring into the past. “Well. He can call himself Captain Ahab for all I care. If the flying business is bad and he wants to hunt for gold, fine.” The last of the Manhattan vanished. “Just as long as he doesn’t come hunting for me. Come on, I’ll show you out. The butler’s scared stiff of Uncle and would never let you out without the royal say-so.”
“He’ll have plenty of say-so tomorrow. I still have to come back and interview Mary O’Donnell.”
Hands on the door handles, Katherine looked up at him thoughtfully. "You know, I don’t care what Captain Swashbuckle does for a living; you have got to be the bravest man in Los Angeles."
2. Ted Asks Questions
Whatever her misgivings about the temper of her adopted “uncle” in the morning, Katherine was not to see them realized. Although she awoke early from a troubled sleep, Mr. O’Donnell had already left for his office when she asked the maid to bring her breakfast into Mary’s room.
