~ Spotlight ~
For the crimes the police cannot solve For the criminals the law cannot punish For the menaces that defy logic and reason There is … The Nightmare One of many brave men and women who wear have donned mask and cloak to mete out justice when the law had failed, the Nightmare, in reality wealthy man about town Michael Shaw, hunts the darkness for the evils, both human and inhuman, that dwell there. "The Nightmare is cool!" -Michael A. Black, author of Chimes At Midnight and The Executioner series “Imagine the Shadow as played by Brendon Fraser” -Patrick Thomas, creator of The Murphy’s Lore series “John L. French has all the enthusiasm of an evil genius” -Pamela K. Shaw (no relation), Quality Assurance Officer, Baltimore Police Crime Laboratory |
- Excerpt -
Waiting alone in the dark, Michael Shaw idly wondered just how much oxygen was in the vault and how long he could safely stay inside it. After all, his passing out would mean that all the trouble he went through to crack the combination then relock the heavy door behind him would have been for naught. It would also ruin the big surprise and wouldn’t do his health any good either.
Well, Michael, he thought, you got yourself into this mess, you might as well see it through. He hoped that when the vault door finally opened he had enough air in his lungs for a really good laugh. With nothing else to do, he thought back to earlier that night.
#
The mugger waited in the dark alley for his next victim to walk by. A gent with a heavy wallet, some dame with a purse hanging off her arm, a drunk he could snatch and roll. He didn’t care, as long as whoever it was looked like an easy mark.
“Hello, Ronnie.”
The voice startled the crook. He would have sworn he was alone. He had checked the alley twice and hadn’t seen anyone. And there was no other way in or out. That could only mean …
It was one of them. One of those crazy crime fighters who dressed in black and killed people, people like him.
Well, he hadn’t done anything, not yet anyway, nothing to get killed over. And maybe if he moved real slow he could edge his way toward the street without getting drilled by a blazing .45.
“Going somewhere?” came the voice from the darkness. Ronnie stopped, thought about running, then thought about that blazing .45. He stayed where he was. The figure moved into the dim glow of the alley’s only light.
He was a tall man, dressed in the color of the night – pants and shirt, trench coat and hat, all black. Also black was the hood he wore, the hood that showed only his eyes, his merciless, pale blue eyes.
News about this one had reached Ronnie. “You’re the new one, ain’t ya? The one called the Nightmare?”
“That’s right, Ronnie,” was the cold, emotionless reply. “I’m the Nightmare from which no one awakes.” A gun was drawn.
“No! Wait! I ain’t done nothing!”
“Not tonight, Ronnie, not yet. But what about the nights to come? What of them, Ronnie? Will you still be doing nothing then? Better to make sure.” The gun was aimed.
“Wait!” Ronnie cried desperately. “I know something!” To save his life Ronnie talked about what he had heard earlier that evening in Blind Tom’s, how he was finishing his bottle of cheap rye while the men in the next booth spoke of a bank heist that would go off that evening. The First Farmers Bank of Manhattan. Lots of payroll cash, lots of jewels.
The Nightmare listened and liked what he heard. He nodded once.
“Run away, Ronnie.”
The mugger did not have to be told twice. With the sound of mocking laughter following him he fled into the street.
#
“I’m the Nightmare from which no one awakes.” Michael Shaw shook his head in the dark. “I’ve got to come up with better lines.” Then he heard tumblers clicking and readied himself.
#
The job was supposed to be easy. No night watchman on duty. The beat cop lured away by a doll claiming to have been molested. The combination supplied by an assistant manager with a big gambling debt. Damn fool thought this would clear him. He’d soon learn that you never get clear.
Five men were on the job. One to foreman and open the door, three more to carry the loot and a lookout with a Tommy just in case.
“Damn it, Ox, hold that flash steady. I can’t read the guy’s writing.”
“Hurry it up, Archie, that dame ain’t gonna hold the cop up too long.”
“Shows how much you know. I told her to rip her dress and show her stuff. That cop will keep as long as she lets him stare. Hey, is this a three or an eight?”
After a few false starts, Archie finally got the right combination. The safe was unlocked and the big door swung open. Then from the darkness of the vault came laughter.
“Crap!” cried Fred and struggled to free his piece. “Gunner, get over here. The rest of you …”
Archie’ words were lost in the sound of two booming .45’s. Four would-be robbers fell before even getting off a round. Gunner, hearing laughter followed by shots, chose to live another day and fled the scene. When stopped by responding police three blocks away he swore that he had just found the Thompson he was still carrying and was bringing it to the police station. No one believed him and he was taken to the station where he was booked on suspicion of everything.
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