Issue One: "The Devils Fingers"

His fingers move over the keys between blinks, his digits blurring with the motion of a real master. His face is puffy, blushed, his eyes closed as he knows his way around the instrument like a lover. The low, illuminating sounds he produces wooing the audience and making their breaths become a rhythm like beat to his majestic playing. His music has a soul of its own, transfixed from his own and then given life by those who live it with him. He smiles as he moves his lips away from the mouthpiece and then blinks as the blinding lights seem to intensify. This is his encore, his finest, crowning moment, and as the clot in his artery bursts and heads straight for his heart, his mind flutters with the idea that he has finally made it. That is until he can't catch his breath, till his heart burns with the pain of knowing that his finest crowning moment has become his last. Now, as his body falls off the stool and the trumpet clatters out of his hands, as his life leaves his human shell and his heart beats its last, he can't help but think… Why?



Wow, I didn't think I'd turn up here, on my way to Las Vegas. With the variety of adventures I've had and the information I've acquired, I just didn't think I'd turn up here; Salvador, Nevada, and not a more beautiful place for someone to die. I'd smile as the sun rises from below the horizon if I wasn't here for a better reason. As I watch the darkness fade and streaks of red and yellow form a magnificent pallet of colour in the sky, the smile creeps upon my lips anyway, and I feel happy… first time in a long time. A friend of mine from years gone by has died here, one week ago. I had to read about it in a package I received by Fed Ex. It's strange considering I'd dropped off the map about ten months ago, after I got out of the hospital.


The sender sure knew how to grab my attention though. Arthur 'Artie' Taylor, musician and visionary, died of a heart attack whilst performing in front of a thirty strong crowd at the Salvation Music Club. He'd been planning a come back tour, and this was the pilot of such an event, a taste to discover if he still had it, and he did. I saw recordings last night when I watched the video that was sent to me in the same package. I'm still trying to figure out how the sender (Mrs Taylor) knew where I was, because the apartment I'd been living in… well, I hadn't informed anyone of my whereabouts. Not many people really knew. After I got out of the hospital I went straight to Gotham, someone needed my help, and then I was culminating information.


Anyway, Artie was wowing the audience, as per usual and then he died; dropped dead off his stool. What a way to go, in front of your fans, in front of people who really treasure what you're doing. His wife sent me the package at the behest of Artie. Now, I don't know how that's possible, him being dead and all, but I came as soon as I could, and now I'm here, and I can't seem to find what I'm looking for. The drive into the town is only gonna' be an hour long, probably less, and so it's the end of my enjoyment of the sunrise, and onwards to Salvador, and to the first mystery I've had to solve for over a year. Onwards and upwards, as they say, eh?

“What are you going to do with your life?” Artie looks at Sage, and Sage smiles. “What? What's so funny?”


“You are such a creep, Art; such a creep. I'm heading up to Metropolis in a couple of days, I'm interning at the Daily Planet. It's an awesome opportunity for me, especially to get away from this place.” Vic smiles and takes a sip from his coffee. “Argh, this is too bitter, come on, can't you serve something GOOD anymore?” He looks over to behind the bar and the waitress shrugs. “God…”


“Calm down you idiot.” Artie shakes his head in disbelief and hands him a couple of sugar cubes. “Just add these, alright?” He takes a sip of his own drink


“Cheers man, I owe you,” Vic says. “Oh man, you still drinking that crap?” Vic motions to the blue can in Arties hand, and shakes his head in disgust. “It'll rot your insides man, rot your insides.”


Arthur grins, finishing the drink, then shakes his head. “You're just paranoid. Heh. I know when you're paranoid, and that's it. You and your damn conspiracy theories; you're gonna' make a damn fine reporter if you see the connection in everything, alright.”


“Brown noser. Anyway, how's the girl? How's the playing?”


“Misty? She's good, but she's gone home for the summer, and I don't know when I'm gonna' be able to see her again. The playing? S'alright I guess. Really need to find a new instrument though man, that trumpet I'm using? It sucks. Totally sucks.”


Vic smiles and then shakes his head. “Oh you poor, poor guy. I feel for you, I genuinely do.” He shakes his head and then stands. “You'll find some way to overcome it, I assure you, you will!” He shakes his head. “I'm off though. I need to pack, and you, you need to get a life.”


“Bastard.” Artie laughs. “Anyway, as this is probably the last time I'm gonna' see you kid. I got you something to make you fit in with all the other hot shots.” He passes him a small parcel and smiles. “Open it when you get home, alright?”


Vic shakes his head. “You are such an idiot.” He puts out his hand and Artie takes it, and then he turns and leaves.


Arthur Taylor sits there for a moment, and then realisation strikes him. Sage had just left him with the bill… again. “Fool…” He laughs and shakes his head, then looks at his hand. What? He looks at the small piece of paper in it and then smiles slightly and he unfolds it and reads the inside. “'Beneath the table, you whining woman'” Taylor places his hand under the table and feels a handle, and then pulls out a large box out onto the table. He smiles as he undoes the clasps. “Jesus H!” He opens it up and sees the trumpet, pristine and new, his name engraved on the handle. “Vic Sage you charitable mother…” He picks up the small note attached to the inside of the case and smiles. “Heh. 'Just keep playing'. Awesome.”


Vic Sage returns home and looks at the sparse apartment he resides in. His suitcase is packed and as he undoes the parcel Artie gave him his eyes widen. “Geek!” He looks at the blue fedora and smiles, places it on his head and examines it on himself in the broken mirror. “Absolute geek.”

I head for the morgue, and as I go I remove my mask and coat, stashing them behind the dark building that holds the dead, distancing myself from the trench coat clad vigilante who just beat up two of the towns premier thugs. Scum. I'm hating this more and more but am slightly amused by the way Arthur seems to be talking to me from beyond the grave. It makes me smile that he hasn't changed one bit since I last spoke to him all those years ago, and I have to ask myself this question. Would it have been better if I had kept tabs on him? Seen him whenever I could? Would we still be friends even through all my woes and troubles? I don't know, but he thought of me before he died, and he needs me now, so I'm here, avenging the dead.


I stand at the reception desk, and press the bell. The building is open, but when does death ever really stop? I press the bell again, but no one comes. Curiouser and curiouser. I creep round behind the desk, and flick through the book that records who's been 'admitted' recently, and notice that most of those brought in are lawmen, states police and sheriffs of the very town. I think I might be beginning to understand what's going on, but need concrete proof before I can do anything else other than skulk.


“Can I help you sir?” I spin round, caught unawares, and am met by a small portly man, dressed quite smartly for what I suspect him to be. He wears a white lab coat, and beneath that a well tailored suit, cufflinks on his wrists and a cane in his hand. How peculiar. “I have to say, those who normally make inquiries at this, my own little mortuary, they stay on the other side of the desk.”


“I'm looking for Arthur Taylor; he died here two weeks ago. You should have been the one to conduct the autopsy, I assume.” I look at his name tag, “Dalguish. Extravagant name for an extravagant man, I assume?” At the mention of Artie's name, his face had drained of color. I clench my gloved fist and take in everything about him, his cane, and his small bowler on a stand behind him. I see a tray of scalpels just in view, also in the room behind him, and a… shadow… moving.


I hear a backdoor open and close and then I smile. “I assume that was the sound of any hope you have of being rescued from our intimate conversation running away, Mr Dalguish.” He stutters a reply but I don't listen, mainly because of what I'm about to do and I don't want to hear his petty little excuses. “You don't know me, but I know all about you.” I step forward and he stumbles back. I unbutton my cuffs and begin to roll up my sleeves. “A man with nothing left, so much taken away from him that the only thing he can do feel in charge of his life is to enjoy the little extravagances he can afford himself.” I tilt my head, looking him in the eye. “Am I close?”


“W-Who are you?”


“I'm a journalist, Mr Dalguish, and you don't want to make me angry.” I snatch his cane away from him, then press it against his throat. I know this whole thing is getting to me when I use violence so whimsically, so easily. It's coming so freely to me that I worry sometime, but as he chokes for air, I smile and ask him one question. “Who runs this town?”


“M-Mayor… Welbery!” He spits as he struggles for breath. “Mayor Welbery!”


“You're wrong, I saw the way he acts; I know that he's as much under…” I search for a name. “Briggs was it? Trucker mentioned Briggs to me. He's as much under Brigg's thumb as you are. Yes, it's all falling apart for him and now I want to know, where's Artie Taylor's body, and where can I find this Briggs? You've got a choice, Mr Dalguish, a choice to make the right decision in this crooked little town.” I release him and he falls to the floor. I lean on the cane for a minute, watching as he thinks through his situation. I point the cane at him and prod him in the chest, then grin widely. “And be aware I will know when you're lying to me.” I prod him again. “And a series of penalties and punishments will be introduced for offending me with your belief in my naivety.”


“He's out on the edge of town, in the old sheriff's house. When he shot him, he took it for his own, forged the paper work.” he looks up at me, fear in his eyes. “I… I…”


“Where. Is. The. Body!” I slam the cane down next to him, and the wood splinters next to his hand, nearly impaling his fingers into the cold floor.


“I'll show you, I'll show you!” He scrambles up and leads me into the mortuary, where I follow silently, rolling my sleeves back down over my hands. Dalguish leads me into the back of the grey, sterile room and then into a darker room than the others; a small white refrigerator at the end. “Briggs… Briggs… Briggs was going to dispose of the body when he was done with the… Taylor's wife… and… and…”


I snap. I grab Dalguish by his collar and throw him at the refrigerator, and then I hold his head down next to the frozen corpse of one of my oldest friends. “Briggs blackmails you all, keeps you under his thumb. I don't care how and I don't care why, but what I want from you now is an autopsy. You're going to record what killed my friend and you're going to present it all nice for when the cavalry comes running in. You hear me man?” He nods his head, and I help him pull Arties cold body out of the refrigerator. Then we carry him over to one of the autopsy tables. “You did a preliminary before you stuck him in there I assume? Your curiosity too great?”


“What… how did…” He nods his head. “Yes.”


I point the broken cane at him and shake my head. “Well?”


“He was beaten quite thoroughly before his death, and there, there was a wound on his leg. I have theories, but I won't have anything concrete before conducting the autopsy.”


“He was beaten before the act?” I feel my teeth grind at the back of my mouth and then I throw the remains of the cane into the corner of the room. “I'm going to pay a visit to the Mayor, and I want you to lock the doors and do the autopsy, alright? Help'll be on the way, Dalguish, ok? You're helping this terror come to an end, do you understand me?”


“Y-Yes…” I nod and then leave the morgue, totally ready for the betrayal he might throw my way, but totally ready to be surprised by one mans belief in a better world. I'm hoping he doesn't throw away this chance I'm giving him.

The motel owner tells me where Mayor Welbery lives, and informs me that he's tied up those two creeps pretty good and placed them in one of the spare rooms round the back of the complex. I don't know what to say to this, but I get the feeling that this place is changing already. I've extended my reach to other parts of the town, and relieved a little bit of the corruption. I feel like John Wayne, like Bruce Willis, like Chuck Norris, like all of the above, times a thousand. I'm making a difference, but the thing is… how long can it last?


I examine his room. The guns on his walls are mounted like trophies, he must enjoy hunting. I could see the permits and awards framed around his living room when I broke in. I move close to him and watch him for a moment as he sleeps. Seems he's not a light sleeper, but he's restless. Nightmares. “Welbery.” The Mayor turns in his sleep, and then his eyes flutter open as he hears a voice in his room.


He looks around, trying to discern the source of the voice, or trying to figure out if the voice is really in his head, a dream. “Hrm?”


“You've let this town become crooked, Mayor.” I press my hand around his throat and his head, holding him down as he tries to lash out. “No. You aren't going anywhere. You're here to answer my questions.”


He stops moving, and then looks at me for a moment, my features clad in shadows. “Whus… Whus goin' on?”


“Who is Briggs?”


His eyes widen and I release him, showing my trust in him. He doesn't lash out, he doesn't try and jump me, he just sits up, and looks at me for a moment. I can see him thinking through the options of what to say in his mind, thinking about the reaction to his words or the lack therefore. Should he lie to me? Try and stall me for help to arrive? Should he tell me the truth? But would that make him seem week in the eyes of his townspeople? He looks me in the eye, and then I can see he's come to his decision. “Harold Briggs is part of this town. His great grand father founded Salvador years back, and ever since his family has had a hand in everything that's gone down. His father was Mayor before me, but last election, Harold lost out to me.” He shakes his head. “It was a mistake to run against him. He… he… did things to those I love, those I care for. An' he's got this town 'neath his thumb.”


“You're going to call the state patrol, do whatever you can to get them down here. I'm going to end this tonight.” I nod, and then turn. He grabs my sleeve and I look at him for a moment through my mask. “What?”


“He's got artillery at the sheriff's house, heavy stuff. It's all stockpiled from those he's killed an' from what he's brought in.” He looks for the words, and then looks me in the eye. “I don't know who you are, faceless stranger, but I thank you.”


I pause, and let the moment linger in the air; then I look at him for a minute longer. “Don't, not yet.”

I finish what I have to do and then I stand outside his house. I call him out, and he comes, with the person I was looking for in tow. He's holding Arties wife in his left hand, in his right a gun. Is that Misty? God, my guy just has to stick with the things he knows, doesn't he? But who am I to judge? I was married once. Anyway, I look him in the eye, and he smiles, pulling back the hammer and preparing to shoot her in the head. “What do you think you're doing, Harold?” He looks at me, and shakes his head. I click my lighter with my free hand.


“Oh so you know my name? Big wow, stranger man, big wow. I don't care much for your big city mind games, you know that? You can't come riding into my town trying to change the way things are run. This is my town! Mine!” He shakes his head and presses the gun barrel into Misty's temple, and she winces with pain, her face bruised badly but recognisable. The years haven't been bad to her, but he has. He's going to pay.


“What is that smell? Eurgh…” I click my lighter again as he speaks.


“Why'd you do it, Harold? Violence turns you on? You think beating up some guy who only wanted to bring a bit of his soul to yours is a bad man?” I spit his name, I'm getting angry, and I don't know how this is going to play out. “You a racist? It'd make sense. You rednecks couldn't handle a black man who was a million times your better coming into this place with a talent.”


Briggs laughs at my words. “Are you trying to put me off killing her? Killing you? Nah, I'm not a racist, I'm quite accepting. I don't mind them in my town, but when they come in and cause the peoples to be all happy? Give them hope? I just wanted to suggest to him that he not play.”


“And you suggested that to him with your fists?” I clench my own harder, and my lighter sparks, a small flame appearing atop it.


“Why not, he wouldn't accept money. So let's just be clear on this, stranger, I didn't kill him, no matter what you think. I just roughed him up slightly. His fault he dropped dead on the stage. God that guy had guts, you gotta' give it to him. He kept playing even though I'd vented my anger out on his torso, you know?”


“W-Well actually…” We both turn as a man appears from out of the night, a familiar face in this chess game. I let the light go out. “Your assault resulted directly in his death, Mr Briggs.”


Dalguish, you son of a gun, you pulled through for me.


“You knocked his leg with a baseball bat I'm assuming, that would explain the lesions I found on his skin. It resulted in a massive haematoma that burst as he played the instrument, the trumpet. That would cause the kind of pressure I'm talking about. The haematoma burst, and the nasty blood that clotted went straight into his heart. He was murdered by you.”


“Dalguish, you dandy son of a bitch! I pay you to do or don't do your job, you whining… Who paid you, eh? Who paid you to autopsy then? You backstabbing nonce!”


“N-no one. No one paid me. I did this because it's my job.” Dalguish removes his hat and looks at me. “I recorded everything, and I emailed it to the states police. No going back, stranger.”


I nod at him and then turn back to Briggs. “It's falling apart for you, Harold. Falling apart. Hand the woman over and they'll go easy on you, but rest assured, you're not getting anywhere with a hostage.”


“I'm gonna' kill you, and then I'm gonna' kill her!” His face goes red, the anger and the stress getting to him. There's a rumble of voices and behind me a crowd begins to form containing the residents of the town. I look at him, and he looks at me, anger flashing in his eyes and his nostrils flaring. “You're turning on me then, are you? After all ah done for you! No respect for me! No respect!” I look around and can't see Welbery anywhere. Was he so cowardly that he wouldn't even face his tormentor?


I see a flash behind Briggs and then the moment in time explodes with clarity. Briggs screams as his hand explodes in blood, his gun falling to the floor and Misty breaking free of his grip. She runs straight for me and I grab her, moving myself between her and her captor. Briggs looks at his hands and then shakes his head in disbelief. Welbury emerges from the shadows of the night with his hunting rifle in hand. I don't know what to do, but the idea becomes clear to me as he puts the barrel to Briggs head. “This is the end.” He pulls the trigger before I can move, and Briggs falls to the floor, blood illuminating the sandy floor of the desert. I put my hand up to object but Welbery drops the weapon and falls to the floor, done. “No more. Just couldn't take anymore.”


“Mayor, I…” Misty clings to me tightly, and as I look at her she looks at me, her hand running down my mask.


“T-Thank you. Thank you Vic. Artie knew you wouldn't let him down.”


I look at her in disbelief and then nod, and then I watch the sunrise over the horizon. This day is done, and in the distance I can hear sirens becoming louder