"Big Night"
Dan Ketch heard the crunch of bone and cartilage with his first punch and the blonde man dropped his gun and collapsed in a mewling, bloody heap on the ground.
He turned to face the other five men; his head bursting into flame, transforming fully into the Ghost Rider. He reached up and pulled the flaming chain wrapped around his right arm, free, cracking it against the pavement like a whip, drawing sparks and igniting several nearby bits of trash.
“I will ask a question,” Ghost Rider growled. “For every denial, one of you dies!”
The chain whipped out, wrapped around the neck of the nearest man and Ghost Rider’s yanked him within reach.
“For every answer I don’t like,” He said, staring at the man, and ignoring his friends. “One of you dies!”
The man turned his head, trying to shift his face away from the flames. He screwed the eye closest to the demon shut.
The other men froze, torn between attacking the creature that held their friend and the urge to bolt for safety.
“A man died three nights ago,” Ghost Rider said to his captive. “A police officer investigating a drug ring. What can you tell me?”
For several moments, the man merely gritted his teeth and flinched back as far as Ghost Rider’s chain would allow him. He then slowly turned to face the burning skull.
“I don’t know a thing…” he rasped.
Ghost Rider raised his fist.
“You want to talk to Trent!” The man continued, quickly.
Ghost Rider opened his fist and the flame surrounding it puffed out.
“Always a pleasure to meet a reasonable man,” The demon said, loosening the chain from around the thug’s neck. “So few left in this city. Anything else you’d care to share?”
“Works out of a club…on…uh…east side,” His new friend muttered, rubbing his singed throat. “Donny Tiff’s place.”
“I’d run if I were you,” Ghost Rider advised. “Doesn’t look like your friends share your survival instinct.”
He released the informer, who stumbled over the body of the other man and ran for the far end of the alley.
“Now, who else feels like talking?”
The other four all clicked the safeties off on their assortment of firearms.
“Interesting,” Ghost Rider muttered, cracking his knuckles.
# # # # # # # # # #
An hour later, Ghost Rider had tossed the bodies into a pile, melted the weapons to unrecognizable slag, burnt the blood off his clothes and transformed back into Dan Ketch.
Dan, wincing slightly, climbed on his motorcycle and drove off long before anyone in the neighbor had gotten around to reporting all the noise to the police.
He drove through the city and was soon pulling through the gates of a poorly tended cemetery in Brooklyn.
Once through the gates, visitors would have been astounded by how far the cemetery seemed to stretch. There seemed no way the expanse of gravestones could fit.
Dan rolled along the path until he spotted a figure: a small, older man in work clothes, leaning on his shovel near a freshly dug grave.
“Evening,” The older man nodded, barely looking up from his contemplation of the hole in the ground.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Dan snapped, parking his bike and walking up to the gravesite.
“Just putting in a little overtime…”
“Not that! You and Seer point me towards those dealers and can’t be bothered to mention they were armed to deal with demons?”
“Were they?”
“Yeah, silver coated bullets full of mystical herbs and holy water,” Dan Ketch told him. “Where did a bunch of crack dealers get that? And why would they need them? You or your granddaughter want to tell me why you left that out when you sic’d me on them? Where is Seer lurking anyway?”
“I had something I needed her to do,” The old replied.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Dan snapped, showing him the bullet holes in his jacket. “I’m getting shot at and …what? She’s out picking up your new shovel?”
“The Caretaker turned his gaze upon Dan. His ancient, lined face set in an unmistakable ‘what are you, an idiot?’ expression.
“Everything has changed,” He said. “And you and your friends changed it. You have shaken the supernatural community to its core, while painting huge bull’s-eyes on all four of your backs. The Blood was decimated, dealing with the fallout and there are now more Riders then there ever have been in history and some of them are in more need of guidance than others.”
“She went to help the kid?” Dan asked, surprised.
“Of course she did! He’s half your age and has been a Rider for five minutes when you and John dump responsibility for the end of the world in his lap. Did either of you think about what you’d done?”
“We were a little busy preventing the end of world to worry about the feelings of a high school kid,” Dan said, sticking his hands in his leather jacket’s pockets and defiantly hunching his shoulders.
“And because of that you should have taken some responsibility once the dust had settled. Somebody needs to help Robert,” The Caretaker said. “I lost the coin toss, so I got stuck with you.”
“Okay, fine. At some point are you going to give me any helpful advice?” Dan asked, frowning.
“Yes. You’ve got a lot of anger in you; Daniel and you’ve just been given the reins to a frightening power. That combination is going to make a lot of people nervous.”
“How about some advice about what went down tonight?” Dan asked, appearing surly and slightly bored.
“Some elements of the supernatural community have been moving into various illicit business ventures.” The Caretaker shrugged. “They weren’t gunning for you, but most likely are stocking up to deal with each other.”
“Magical crack dealers?” Dan muttered. “Damn…! I was hoping for some quiet time…”
“I doubt that,” The old man said. “What’d you learn for your efforts?”
“The next rung on the ladder is some player named Trent,” Dan shrugged. “Ring any bells?”
“No, probably just a human agent. Best if you talk to him anyway. Get you that much closer to whoever is running the show or who has got these guys so jumpy they are stocking demon killing bullets.”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea who that might be?” Dan asked, irritably.
“I am your guide and a member of the Blood,” The old man replied, returning to his digging. “ I’m not friggin’ Doctor Strange.”
“Fine, I’ll find out myself.”
# # # # # # # # # #
A couple hours later, Ghost Rider was standing on the roof of a burning nightclub, holding the aforementioned Mister Trent by the ankle, dangling him from the edge of the roof, over a dumpster.
“What do you want!”? Trent screamed. “What…is wrong with you?”
“Your boys are carry some very special ammunition, mortal,” Ghost Rider said. “I want to know where you got them and why would common drug dealers suddenly be worried about defending themselves from demons?”
The club owner/drug dealer looked around at the burning building and the flaming skeleton in a leather biker jacket threatening to kill him and gave Ghost Rider a blatant ‘what are you, a %$#@ idiot?’ expression.
“Fine, then just tell me where you got the guns,” Ghost Rider snarled, loosening his grip for a second.
The moment of startlement reminded Trent how close he was to dying.
“Jesus…!”” Trent exclaimed, waving his hands. “Karlson! I buy the guns from Karlson! He’s a suit and tie dick that works for some company…I got a card…don’t kill me…I got it…here!”
He frantically patted his suit pockets and threw a business card at the Ghost Rider.
Unfortunately, when Ghost Rider moved to snatch it out of the air, he let go of Trent, who plummeted two stories into the dumpster.
Oblivious to the likely death that had just occurred, as well as his devastated surroundings, Ghost Rider studied the business card.
“Blaine Karlson…?” He muttered, disdainfully. “Ruthven Investment group…next stop then.”
Ghost Rider stomped, until the burning rooftop collapsed beneath him and he leapt down into the room below.
He strode through the thin crowd of people, most trying to flee the burning club, while a few attempted to fight the flames. Parked next to the DJ stage was a midnight black motorcycle, tinged with flames. The Ghost Rider mounted and drove through an already weakened and scorched wall.
Racing down the back alley, he was able to avoid the fire trucks and police. The alley connected to a narrow side street, and just as Ghost Rider turned, a figure leapt out of the shadows, blocking his path.
The glare of the headlight caught an athletic Asian man. He was clad in jeans, a vest and t-shirt. He wore a pair of metallic gauntlets that glinted in the faint light.
Ghost Rider contemplated mowing the new arrival down, before a glimmer of recognition caused him to skid to a halt, leaving smoldering skid marks on the asphalt.
“Brass…?” Ghost Rider muttered, coming around to stand and face the other man.
“Hello, my friend,” Brass replied with a grim smile. “I heard you were back in town.”
The tired form of Dan Ketch replaced Ghost Rider’s flaming skeleton, and the two men clasped hands.
Brass was, like Dan, a sort of vigilante. His family had been harmed by the Mandarin’s criminal organization and he had dedicated his skills and energy to working his way up the criminal ladder with the goal of one day facing the Asian crime lord and making him pay for his crimes. He and Ghost Rider had crossed paths and eventually become, at first uneasy allies, and eventually friends.
“Been awhile,” Dan nodded. “Why the hunt for me?”
“Wasn’t looking for you,” Brass replied, “But could not help but notice your ‘efforts’ tonight. Since it seems we were on similar missions, I thought to see if I could track you down.”
“I guess I haven’t been exactly stealthy tonight,” Danny shrugged, glancing over his shoulder, in the direction of the burning club.
“Perhaps we could move out of the way and continue this talk?” Brass suggested.
Both men realized they were still standing in the middle of the street and moved to the sidewalk.
Danny leaned his motorcycle against the grimy brick wall and perched on it.
Despite, the chaotic and grim events of the evening, the two men talked for several minutes, two friends catching up after an absence.
Of course, Dan Ketch’s part of the conversation concerned the fact that he’d been killed, came back as a zombie, fathered a demon-child, gotten better, postponed the end of the world and returned to New York, only to find a powerful new drug syndicate operating, using supernatural weapons.
Brass merely nodded and listened to his friend’s story, having had his own share of unusual experiences in the intervening years, as well as sensing that Dan needed to unload some of his emotional burden.
“I am sure the Dolan family will be glad to hear you are alive.” He said.
“Yeah, well…” Dan shrugged.
“You haven’t let them know you are back?” Brass asked, incredulously. “My friend, that is, no pun intended, a boneheaded move. You have been through more than any man should shoulder, Dan. You should have people around you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dan replied, with a surly defensiveness. “They’ve just been through so much…I’ve put them through so much…look, can we talk about my feelings after we destroy the drug dealers? What do you know about this…Ruthven Company…?”
“Enough to know that tonight is not the time that you should face them head on,” Brass said. “I have been tracking their distribution lines and that might be a better course of action.”
“True, if we can find where they are getting those guns…” Dan Ketch mused, rubbing his stubbly chin thoughtfully.
“Yes, let’s rush in to a place where you know they have an arsenal capable of killing you,” Brass commented, sarcastically. “You have not learned any more concerning strategy since last we worked together.”
“You’re as bad as my brother,” Dan muttered. “Fine, General Brass, what’s your plan?”
“I have found a major buyer,” Brass said. “ Of both guns and drugs. I’ve traced some deliveries and both times, the guards were armed with those special weapons.”
“The guns adapted to shoot supernatural creatures?” Dan asked, beginning to nod to himself in thought. “From what I’ve managed to get from my ‘sources’, Ruthven is moving a lot of guns and drugs around. Couldn’t hurt to find out where they are getting the stuff or where it’s going.”
“I left my car a few blocks away,” Brass said.
“I can give you a ride,” Dan said, standing up and raising a gloved hand. Hellfire burst from his fingertips and his motorcycle transformed, from the nondescript street bike, to the fire-etched black machine.
# # # # # # # # # #
Their destination was a drab five-story building jammed amongst a row of equally uninteresting and poorly maintained buildings. The neighborhood was dark and quiet, hard to tell if it was sparsely populated or if any tenants were fearful of being out and about after dark. The windows were dark, but Dan thought he saw movement.
The two men stood across the street, Dan having parked his bike in an alley.
“Not much to look at,” Dan muttered. “You sure this is the place?”
Brass nodded and pointed casually at a shadowy, trash-strewn spot, near the front steps.
Dan squinted and spotted that one of the trash heaps moved and gave his friend an appreciative nod.
“From what I can tell,” Brass explained quietly. “The ‘clients’ are taken to the third floor. The top two floors are labs and…’business offices’ for the dealers.”
“Guards at the doors and probably on the first two floors,” Dan muttered, scratching thoughtfully at his chin.
“There is a back door that, I believe, leads into the basement,” Brass suggested. “If we stay quiet we could reach at least the second floor before we are discovered…”
“Or,” Dan suggested, clenching his fists and furrowing his brow. “We could just use the front door.”
Dan Ketch burst into flame and the Ghost Rider strode across the street, towards the building. At the bottom of the steps, two figures emerged from the shadows, guns drawn.
“Run or die,” Ghost Rider said, in a low, deadly tone that implied he didn’t care which option they chose.
“Funny thing, spook,” One of the guards said, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“We were about to say the same thing.”
Faster than the eye could follow, Ghost Rider yanked free the flaming chain wrapped around his arm free and whipped it at the two guards, striking one across the face, then dragging it across the gun arm of the second one.
The first managed to get off a shot before he dropped his gun and pressed his hands against his scorched face.
Ghost Rider staggered back a step as the bullet grazed his skull. Then snarling in anger brought the chain down upon the shooter a second time. The sound of his skull cracking was drowned out by his clothing and hair igniting and his cries of pain.
The second guard struggled to hold onto his guns while trying to beat out his burning jacket sleeve. He was too distracted by the flames to be aware of the skeleton in leathers until a hand clamped upon his throat.
With a casual twist, Ghost Rider snapped his neck and tossed the body aside. The other guard had fallen to the ground, stunned by pain. Barely looking down, Ghost Rider stepped on his neck, and then continued on his way up the stairs.
Brass, who had made his way to the steps in order to back up his friend, lowered his hands and paused, looking at the two smoldering corpses with disapproval, then jogged after the Ghost Rider.
The re-enforced front doors burst after three blows, startling the quartet of guards in the dingy foyer. The two nearest the doors were struck glancing blows when the doors were flung inwards. The other two had been sitting on the stairs and leapt to their feet, scrambling for their guns.
Again the chain whipped out, wrapping around the nearest rifle barrel and yanking it from the guard’s hands. Ghost Rider then pivoted and used the gun to club down one of the men by the broken door. Bullets riddled the back of his black leather jacket. Ghost Rider spun, snarling angrily. His fist, enveloped in a ball of hellfire, shattered the bones in the guard’s face, which then fell to the floor, his eyes, nose and mouth gushing blood.
Brass leapt the through the doorway, slapped aside the nearest guards’ guns and took him out with a nerve jab to his neck.
The last remaining guard fired off a few panicked shots and then turned to flee up the stairs.
Brass scooped up a pistol from the floor and threw it, like a boomerang, catching the guard behind the knees. The gunman stumbled, frantically working to regain his balance. Unfortunately, it slowed him just enough for Ghost Rider to catch up with him and grab hold of the back of his jacket.
The guard dropped one of his guns, desperately trying to pull free of his jacket.
Ghost Rider grabbed a handful of the struggling guards’ hair with his free hand and yanked him back down the stairs.
“If you have any interest in living past the next few seconds,” Ghost Rider growled, resting his bony chin on the guards’ shoulder. “You will answer my questions…no bravado, no hesitation. Do you understand?”
Not trusting himself to speak, the guard dropped his gun and nodded vigorously, blinking back tears.
“Good,” Ghost Rider said. He paused long enough for the tension and fear within the guard to build.
Brass reached Ghost Rider and placed a hand on his shoulder, that was shrugged off by the skeletal crime fighter.
“What floor is the lab on?” Ghost Rider asked.
“The…um…fu-five…the top floor,” The guard stammered, his voice practically a sob.
“What’s on the lower floors? Where’re the customers?”
“Three…the third…oh god…!”
“He’s not listening,” Ghost Rider snarled. “He’s tired of looking after you mortals. I’m keeping an eye on things until he comes back. How many more guards are there?”
“A dozen…maybe… second floor…there’s …like ten guys guarding the lab and um…you know a bunch…um…six. Yeah, six… they just roam around…keeping an eye on things…!”
Then they should be coming this way in a few seconds,” Brass advised, looking around.
“Leave,” Ghost Rider said, leaning in close to the guard’s ear and lowering his voice to nearly a whisper. “But, if we ever cross paths again…”
Brass could swear he could feel the breeze as the man raced past him.
“I do not suppose we will seek out the back stairs…?” He asked, resigned.
Ghost Rider turned, gave his friend a brief glare and then stalked up the stairs, dragging the chain along lazily, so that it scraped against the floor, leaving a smoldering trail on the stairs.
He was a few steps away from the second floor landing when the upstairs guards arrived, guns drawn and ready.
Their guns were all bigger and more ornate. Their laser sights planted a dozen red dots about the demonic hero’s form.
“Turn around and walk away, freak!” One of them barked. “Don’t care who sent you, but you take another step and you’re going back to them in an ashtray!”
Ghost Rider nodded in grim understanding and still continued walking, casually flicking the flaming chain. He took another step, pausing slightly, his foot not quite touching the next step, to savior the fear coming off the half dozen guards in waves.
Ghost Rider’s foot came down on the step and then roaring like a tormented soul, he launched himself at the gunmen, the chain lashing out wildly.
Before they had a chance to fire, the demonic biker was barreling into them, striking with chain and fist. Sometimes merely knocking weapons aside, other times coming in contact with flesh and bone that was no match for hellfire-fueled rage.
Brass caught up to his friend, having resigned himself to having no hope of stopping Ghost Rider until his anger had been vented. He dodged and drifted through the melee, blocking the occasional blow directed his way, and attempting to shove several of the guards out of Ghost Rider’s path. Partly, out of pity and partly from realizing they’d need at least one to survive to get any more information.
The mutant martial artist grabbed one of the few surviving gunmen by the collar of his jacket and hauled him down a side corridor.
Brass slammed him against the wall.
“Listen,” Brass said, quietly and intently. “Listen to your friends dying. You have seconds to avoid that fate. What you say next decides how long you live.”
“I’m…I’m just a guard…man, don’t know anything…!”
“That will be cold comfort to your family when they hear of your death,” Brass said, grimly.
“It’s the guys in the lab…talk to them…the ones that make it...the Blud…!”
“Blood…?” Brass asked, puzzled.
The guard dropped his weapon and fumbled frantically in his pockets.
“Okay, I took a couple,” The guard mumbled fearfully. He held up a handful of capsules, similar to cold medicine. They seemed to be filled with a grainy, red liquid.
“This is what everyone is so obsessed with?” Brass muttered using one hand to pick up several of the capsules while the other still held the guards throat. “Tiny thing and yet worth a life to so many in this city.”
He tucked the Blud capsules into a vest pocket and returned his attention to his captive. The sounds of battle were dying down, gunfire seemed to have replaced by the sounds of pleading and whimpering, quickly followed by the distinct sound of neck bones snapping.
“Is there another way out of this building?” Brass asked his captive.
The man nodded vigorously.
“Um…yuh-yeah…back way…a hallway…connects to…uh… door from the lab…”
“Go use it,” Brass told him, letting go of the man’s throat. “I wouldn’t advise ever crossing mine…or my friend’s path ever again. Find a better way to make a living.”
“My brother lives in Connecticut…owns a furniture store…!” The man stammered breathlessly as he ran off.
“Shopping for a new sofa?” Ghost Rider asked, puzzled as he stepped around the corner.
“You’d be surprise at how much information you get if you don’t kill them.” Brass explained. He then held up one of the capsules between his thumb and forefinger.
“This is what all the trouble is about, Blud.”
“Blood?” Ghost Rider growled. “Really? What idiot thought that up? Making it sound like the preferred drug of vampires.”
“Might just be drug dealers thinking they are clever,” Brass suggested. “But, there’s something more going on here, as several of the guards were armed for supernatural intruders. Perhaps a bit of stealth would serve us better…?”
He glanced significantly at the black leather clad burning skeletal figure standing before him.
“If we know one of the main supply labs is here,” Ghost Rider suggested, matter of factly. “Why don’t I just burn it to the ground?”
“We don’t know how many ‘customers’ are upstairs,” Brass reminded. “Whoever is up their may be weak and foolish, but they are not deserving of death. Their crime is nowhere near that of the dealers and manufactioners of this drug….and, I swear if you start talking about ‘collateral damage’ of any kind…”
Ghost Rider peered down at his friend.
“Weakness is no excuse for evil done or hurt caused,” He intoned. “It is not some magic charm which allows the guilty to go free.”
“Am I talking to Daniel Ketch or Ghost Rider?” Brass asked anxious, but defiant enough to stay blocking his path. He could feel the heat coming off of the flaming skull and fists, as well as feeling that hollow, eyeless stare beginning to bore into his mind, his will, his very soul.
Much to his surprise, Ghost Rider looked away first and with a sigh the flames flared up and Dan Ketch emerged.
“Fine, what’s your plan?”
# # # # # # # # # #
Brass led them up the back hallway the guard had told him about. Moving quietly, quickly and avoiding guards, rather then taking the time to kill them, all made the trip brief.
They eased open the door and peered around the dimly lit room. The entire floor had been opened up into one huge room. Furniture was scattered about and numerous forms were sprawled upon them.
“Jesus,” Dan muttered, disgustedly. “Its like the hipster loft party from hell…you still think these guys deserve to live?”
“No killing until they start playing ‘Dave Mathews Band’,” Brass compromised; relieved to have pulled his friend back a bit from the edge he was walking. “Let’s rouse these pathetic souls get them out of here and then you have my blessing to destroy the lab.”
Dan gave a ‘fair enough’ shrug and the two men moved, quietly into the room.
“Okay buddy,” Dan said, to a slumped form on a leather sofa. “Don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
There was a mumbled protest and a vague gesture to shoo him away. Dan reached down and gave a thin shoulder a shake. “Last warning, you want to see the sunrise you need to get off your butt…”
The figure on the sofa spun, a pale, skinny hand clamped onto Dan’s wrist, twisted it and flung Dan upwards and over the back of the sofa.
He landed with a solid, painful thud on his back, knocking the wind out of him.
“Ow…!” Dan Ketch whimpered, struggling to catch his breath. “What the fu…oh, no…!”
The skinny addict leapt over the back of the couch, eyes wild and flashing a mouthful of fangs. He slammed a palm into Dan’s forehead, knocking him back down against the floor. His other hand grabbed at the front of Dan’s shirt and tore it open.
Dan was dazed, and found himself fumbling to hold off the vampire. He shook his head, struggling to focus, in order to transform into Ghost Rider.
The addict slithered over the back of the sofa, planted his knee in Dan’s chest and leaned in, mouth open wide.
Brass lunged over the sofa, grabbed a handful of the crazed addict’s hair and yanked him backwards, his arms trembling with the effort of pulling the vampire away from his friend’s throat.
“Can’t… hold…hnnn…much…gaaah!”
Brass’s concentration was shaken when another of the drug lair’s customers slammed into him.
The brief instant was enough for Dan to shake the cobwebs loose and let the Ghost Rider free. He burst into flames and the addict flinched backwards, screeching, his hands and sleeves catching fire.
Ghost Rider got to his feet, holding the burning vampire at arms length. Brass was busy fighting off a trio of the enraged addicts, while another half dozen were stalking ever closer.
The demonic biker cracked his flaming chain.
“Come on,” He muttered. “Lets get this over with!”
What followed was a swirling maelstrom of claws and fangs and fists and chains. The vampires soon realized there was no flesh for them to rend. No blood to feed on. The first one to attempt to bite the Ghost Rider’s neck had his entire head consumed by hellfire.
The realization that their usual tactics when dealing with prey were proving to be ineffectual, caused several of them choose to flee, the rest attempted to overwhelm and drag Ghost Rider down to the floor.
Unfortunately, very few addicts are master warriors or physical powerhouses and Ghost Rider easily waded through them, leaving a quartet of small piles of ash around him.
Brass, being a mere mortal, had to work a bit harder at subduing assailants. He had no problem blocking their attacks, but his own-counter blows were not having much effect against the vampires. He was keeping them at bay, but they were also wearing him down.
Brass brought up his arms, blocking several wild punches, then dropped down and with a leg sweep knocked the vampires’ legs out from under them.
In the second they were distracted, Brass dropped to one knee, shattered a nearby chair with a single blow and grabbed hold of two of the broken chair legs.
As soon as the vampires lurched to their feet, Brass lunged forward and drove the makeshift stakes through their chests. The vampires fell backward, writhing and within seconds had crumbled to dust and bones.
The third vampire was slower recovering and Brass lunged at him and gave his head a savage twist, tearing muscle and snapping bone. The addict fell back to the floor twitching and writhing pathetically for several moments before growing still.
Brass got to his feet, pulled off his headband and used it to wipe the sweat from his face and the back of his neck. He also dabbed at several scratches on his arm.
He turned and noticed the Ghost Rider standing near the remains of his own opponents.
“I’m sure you were going to leap to my rescue any second now,” Brass said, with a rueful smile.
“If I felt you actually needed rescuing,” Ghost Rider nodded, folding his arms across his chest and adopting a ‘now what?’ posture.
Brass’s smile melted away and he merely nodded in reply.
The mercy mission portion of their plan was over.
# # # # # # # # # #
Soon, the duo was standing on a nearby rooftop, watching the drug house burn to the ground. Ghost Rider and Brass stood shoulder to shoulder, in quiet contemplation of the night’s events.
“Perhaps you were right,” Brass said, not looking away from the fire. “We could have easily ignited the building and used the escape corridor to leave without further battle or risk.”
“No, you were right,” Ghost Rider replied in a low, thoughtful tone. “Giving thought for the weak is not itself a weakness. I too often follow solely the path of vengeance and need allies…friends, like you to remind me, I should be working towards justice or all I will ever accomplish are hollow victories.”
Ghost Rider’s flames flared up and then vanished, leaving a tired and battered Dan Ketch.
“Plus, it’s pretty cool seeing you in action.” He said. “So, now that we’ve stomped the forces of evil, how about a beer? Or was there more to that speech of yours?”
“I wish that I could,” Brass said, allowing himself a brief smile. “But, my mission continues. I was only meant to be passing through New York, but lingered when I learned of your presence.”
Dan nodded.
“But, I’m glad you made the offer,” Brass continued. “Some of your actions of late concern me, my friend. You should have…maybe even need, to have people around you that will not only remind you that there is more to your mission than vengeance, but friends that can share the moments between acts of vengeance with you.”
“Those are few and far between these days,” Dan frowned.
“But we are there,” Brass said. “Reach out to them or find some new friends…maybe, with a better haircut, you could even get a date…”
“Okay, now you’re talking crazy,” Dan replied with a faint smile. “If I did that, the parade of women throwing themselves at me would mean I’d never get to fight the forces of evil.”
“You are my friend, Dan,” Brass said, earnestly, turning to look at the other man.
“But what dwells within you worries me.”
“I got the Ghost Rider under control,” Dan told him. “Things have changed.”
“I’m talking about the darkness in your own heart. You have a lot of anger in you, Dan. You have a right to be angry, a great many things have befallen you, but that anger is more dangerous to you and those around you than the demon could ever be.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dan nodded, his gaze focused upon the gravel-strewn rooftop. “You’re not the first person…to tell me. Just…um…it’s just hard…to find people that I…can let in…and then not do something so stupid I drive them away or get them killed.”
“Don’t stop looking,” Brass said, laying a hand on his friends’ leather-clad shoulder. “And I will try to make time to check up on you when I can. See if I can keep you out of trouble.”
“That’s not a part time job,” Dan said. “Thanks…this…this…um…means a lot to me.”
“Well, don’t go expecting a hug,” Brass said, with a mock-frown and a light punch on Dan’s arm.
“Do I get a Face book friend request at least?” Dan asked.
“I must go,” Brass told him. “Don’t stand up here brooding all night. Go get your beer. Maybe a waitress will take pity on your ugly face and talk to you.”
“Your jealousy over how manly and good looking I am is something you need to come to terms with.”
The two men shook hands and went their separate ways.
# # # # # # # # # #
It was later, when Dan was paying for his beer and looking for something to write the waitress’ phone number down on that he found the two Blud capsules that Brass had slipped into his jacket pocket.
“If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” He muttered, before returning his focus to the blonde in front of him and asking if she spelled her name with a ‘Y’ or and ‘I’ at the end.
He tensed up when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and began to turn, his body already moving into a defensive posture and the Ghost Rider preparing to be unleashed then, he recognized the woman.
“Stacy…?!” He said, as anxiety over a possible attack morphed into an entirely different, but no less intense, form of anxiety.
“So, how many crack houses were you planning on setting on fire before you got in touch with me?” Dan’s ex-girlfriend asked.
Next issue: It’s Hamilton Slade’s turn! Mythology and marvel history collide, as the old west Ghost Rider and Kelsey discover there are things lurking in the desert!
Author’s note: this was a fairly straight forward story, but one of the harder to write, as my plan was to keep Dan the ‘grim and gritty’ GR and take him back to his 90’s roots.
The trouble is, I’m not a ‘grim and gritty” kind of guy.
I was just too cheerful to enjoy all the shoulder pads, pouches, rampant violence and tough guy dialogue said through gritted teeth of that era of comics.
It took awhile to find a dark vibe that I felt comfortable with and to get a handle on Dan as a person.
But, eventually I found it was okay to let his solution be to hit whatever is causing a problem until it falls down and that Dan’s personal life being a bit of a train wreck made him kind of interesting.
Strangely enough, he started as the least interesting of the four Riders and by the end of the issue, I kind of like the guy.
He turned to face the other five men; his head bursting into flame, transforming fully into the Ghost Rider. He reached up and pulled the flaming chain wrapped around his right arm, free, cracking it against the pavement like a whip, drawing sparks and igniting several nearby bits of trash.
“I will ask a question,” Ghost Rider growled. “For every denial, one of you dies!”
The chain whipped out, wrapped around the neck of the nearest man and Ghost Rider’s yanked him within reach.
“For every answer I don’t like,” He said, staring at the man, and ignoring his friends. “One of you dies!”
The man turned his head, trying to shift his face away from the flames. He screwed the eye closest to the demon shut.
The other men froze, torn between attacking the creature that held their friend and the urge to bolt for safety.
“A man died three nights ago,” Ghost Rider said to his captive. “A police officer investigating a drug ring. What can you tell me?”
For several moments, the man merely gritted his teeth and flinched back as far as Ghost Rider’s chain would allow him. He then slowly turned to face the burning skull.
“I don’t know a thing…” he rasped.
Ghost Rider raised his fist.
“You want to talk to Trent!” The man continued, quickly.
Ghost Rider opened his fist and the flame surrounding it puffed out.
“Always a pleasure to meet a reasonable man,” The demon said, loosening the chain from around the thug’s neck. “So few left in this city. Anything else you’d care to share?”
“Works out of a club…on…uh…east side,” His new friend muttered, rubbing his singed throat. “Donny Tiff’s place.”
“I’d run if I were you,” Ghost Rider advised. “Doesn’t look like your friends share your survival instinct.”
He released the informer, who stumbled over the body of the other man and ran for the far end of the alley.
“Now, who else feels like talking?”
The other four all clicked the safeties off on their assortment of firearms.
“Interesting,” Ghost Rider muttered, cracking his knuckles.
# # # # # # # # # #
An hour later, Ghost Rider had tossed the bodies into a pile, melted the weapons to unrecognizable slag, burnt the blood off his clothes and transformed back into Dan Ketch.
Dan, wincing slightly, climbed on his motorcycle and drove off long before anyone in the neighbor had gotten around to reporting all the noise to the police.
He drove through the city and was soon pulling through the gates of a poorly tended cemetery in Brooklyn.
Once through the gates, visitors would have been astounded by how far the cemetery seemed to stretch. There seemed no way the expanse of gravestones could fit.
Dan rolled along the path until he spotted a figure: a small, older man in work clothes, leaning on his shovel near a freshly dug grave.
“Evening,” The older man nodded, barely looking up from his contemplation of the hole in the ground.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Dan snapped, parking his bike and walking up to the gravesite.
“Just putting in a little overtime…”
“Not that! You and Seer point me towards those dealers and can’t be bothered to mention they were armed to deal with demons?”
“Were they?”
“Yeah, silver coated bullets full of mystical herbs and holy water,” Dan Ketch told him. “Where did a bunch of crack dealers get that? And why would they need them? You or your granddaughter want to tell me why you left that out when you sic’d me on them? Where is Seer lurking anyway?”
“I had something I needed her to do,” The old replied.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Dan snapped, showing him the bullet holes in his jacket. “I’m getting shot at and …what? She’s out picking up your new shovel?”
“The Caretaker turned his gaze upon Dan. His ancient, lined face set in an unmistakable ‘what are you, an idiot?’ expression.
“Everything has changed,” He said. “And you and your friends changed it. You have shaken the supernatural community to its core, while painting huge bull’s-eyes on all four of your backs. The Blood was decimated, dealing with the fallout and there are now more Riders then there ever have been in history and some of them are in more need of guidance than others.”
“She went to help the kid?” Dan asked, surprised.
“Of course she did! He’s half your age and has been a Rider for five minutes when you and John dump responsibility for the end of the world in his lap. Did either of you think about what you’d done?”
“We were a little busy preventing the end of world to worry about the feelings of a high school kid,” Dan said, sticking his hands in his leather jacket’s pockets and defiantly hunching his shoulders.
“And because of that you should have taken some responsibility once the dust had settled. Somebody needs to help Robert,” The Caretaker said. “I lost the coin toss, so I got stuck with you.”
“Okay, fine. At some point are you going to give me any helpful advice?” Dan asked, frowning.
“Yes. You’ve got a lot of anger in you; Daniel and you’ve just been given the reins to a frightening power. That combination is going to make a lot of people nervous.”
“How about some advice about what went down tonight?” Dan asked, appearing surly and slightly bored.
“Some elements of the supernatural community have been moving into various illicit business ventures.” The Caretaker shrugged. “They weren’t gunning for you, but most likely are stocking up to deal with each other.”
“Magical crack dealers?” Dan muttered. “Damn…! I was hoping for some quiet time…”
“I doubt that,” The old man said. “What’d you learn for your efforts?”
“The next rung on the ladder is some player named Trent,” Dan shrugged. “Ring any bells?”
“No, probably just a human agent. Best if you talk to him anyway. Get you that much closer to whoever is running the show or who has got these guys so jumpy they are stocking demon killing bullets.”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea who that might be?” Dan asked, irritably.
“I am your guide and a member of the Blood,” The old man replied, returning to his digging. “ I’m not friggin’ Doctor Strange.”
“Fine, I’ll find out myself.”
# # # # # # # # # #
A couple hours later, Ghost Rider was standing on the roof of a burning nightclub, holding the aforementioned Mister Trent by the ankle, dangling him from the edge of the roof, over a dumpster.
“What do you want!”? Trent screamed. “What…is wrong with you?”
“Your boys are carry some very special ammunition, mortal,” Ghost Rider said. “I want to know where you got them and why would common drug dealers suddenly be worried about defending themselves from demons?”
The club owner/drug dealer looked around at the burning building and the flaming skeleton in a leather biker jacket threatening to kill him and gave Ghost Rider a blatant ‘what are you, a %$#@ idiot?’ expression.
“Fine, then just tell me where you got the guns,” Ghost Rider snarled, loosening his grip for a second.
The moment of startlement reminded Trent how close he was to dying.
“Jesus…!”” Trent exclaimed, waving his hands. “Karlson! I buy the guns from Karlson! He’s a suit and tie dick that works for some company…I got a card…don’t kill me…I got it…here!”
He frantically patted his suit pockets and threw a business card at the Ghost Rider.
Unfortunately, when Ghost Rider moved to snatch it out of the air, he let go of Trent, who plummeted two stories into the dumpster.
Oblivious to the likely death that had just occurred, as well as his devastated surroundings, Ghost Rider studied the business card.
“Blaine Karlson…?” He muttered, disdainfully. “Ruthven Investment group…next stop then.”
Ghost Rider stomped, until the burning rooftop collapsed beneath him and he leapt down into the room below.
He strode through the thin crowd of people, most trying to flee the burning club, while a few attempted to fight the flames. Parked next to the DJ stage was a midnight black motorcycle, tinged with flames. The Ghost Rider mounted and drove through an already weakened and scorched wall.
Racing down the back alley, he was able to avoid the fire trucks and police. The alley connected to a narrow side street, and just as Ghost Rider turned, a figure leapt out of the shadows, blocking his path.
The glare of the headlight caught an athletic Asian man. He was clad in jeans, a vest and t-shirt. He wore a pair of metallic gauntlets that glinted in the faint light.
Ghost Rider contemplated mowing the new arrival down, before a glimmer of recognition caused him to skid to a halt, leaving smoldering skid marks on the asphalt.
“Brass…?” Ghost Rider muttered, coming around to stand and face the other man.
“Hello, my friend,” Brass replied with a grim smile. “I heard you were back in town.”
The tired form of Dan Ketch replaced Ghost Rider’s flaming skeleton, and the two men clasped hands.
Brass was, like Dan, a sort of vigilante. His family had been harmed by the Mandarin’s criminal organization and he had dedicated his skills and energy to working his way up the criminal ladder with the goal of one day facing the Asian crime lord and making him pay for his crimes. He and Ghost Rider had crossed paths and eventually become, at first uneasy allies, and eventually friends.
“Been awhile,” Dan nodded. “Why the hunt for me?”
“Wasn’t looking for you,” Brass replied, “But could not help but notice your ‘efforts’ tonight. Since it seems we were on similar missions, I thought to see if I could track you down.”
“I guess I haven’t been exactly stealthy tonight,” Danny shrugged, glancing over his shoulder, in the direction of the burning club.
“Perhaps we could move out of the way and continue this talk?” Brass suggested.
Both men realized they were still standing in the middle of the street and moved to the sidewalk.
Danny leaned his motorcycle against the grimy brick wall and perched on it.
Despite, the chaotic and grim events of the evening, the two men talked for several minutes, two friends catching up after an absence.
Of course, Dan Ketch’s part of the conversation concerned the fact that he’d been killed, came back as a zombie, fathered a demon-child, gotten better, postponed the end of the world and returned to New York, only to find a powerful new drug syndicate operating, using supernatural weapons.
Brass merely nodded and listened to his friend’s story, having had his own share of unusual experiences in the intervening years, as well as sensing that Dan needed to unload some of his emotional burden.
“I am sure the Dolan family will be glad to hear you are alive.” He said.
“Yeah, well…” Dan shrugged.
“You haven’t let them know you are back?” Brass asked, incredulously. “My friend, that is, no pun intended, a boneheaded move. You have been through more than any man should shoulder, Dan. You should have people around you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dan replied, with a surly defensiveness. “They’ve just been through so much…I’ve put them through so much…look, can we talk about my feelings after we destroy the drug dealers? What do you know about this…Ruthven Company…?”
“Enough to know that tonight is not the time that you should face them head on,” Brass said. “I have been tracking their distribution lines and that might be a better course of action.”
“True, if we can find where they are getting those guns…” Dan Ketch mused, rubbing his stubbly chin thoughtfully.
“Yes, let’s rush in to a place where you know they have an arsenal capable of killing you,” Brass commented, sarcastically. “You have not learned any more concerning strategy since last we worked together.”
“You’re as bad as my brother,” Dan muttered. “Fine, General Brass, what’s your plan?”
“I have found a major buyer,” Brass said. “ Of both guns and drugs. I’ve traced some deliveries and both times, the guards were armed with those special weapons.”
“The guns adapted to shoot supernatural creatures?” Dan asked, beginning to nod to himself in thought. “From what I’ve managed to get from my ‘sources’, Ruthven is moving a lot of guns and drugs around. Couldn’t hurt to find out where they are getting the stuff or where it’s going.”
“I left my car a few blocks away,” Brass said.
“I can give you a ride,” Dan said, standing up and raising a gloved hand. Hellfire burst from his fingertips and his motorcycle transformed, from the nondescript street bike, to the fire-etched black machine.
# # # # # # # # # #
Their destination was a drab five-story building jammed amongst a row of equally uninteresting and poorly maintained buildings. The neighborhood was dark and quiet, hard to tell if it was sparsely populated or if any tenants were fearful of being out and about after dark. The windows were dark, but Dan thought he saw movement.
The two men stood across the street, Dan having parked his bike in an alley.
“Not much to look at,” Dan muttered. “You sure this is the place?”
Brass nodded and pointed casually at a shadowy, trash-strewn spot, near the front steps.
Dan squinted and spotted that one of the trash heaps moved and gave his friend an appreciative nod.
“From what I can tell,” Brass explained quietly. “The ‘clients’ are taken to the third floor. The top two floors are labs and…’business offices’ for the dealers.”
“Guards at the doors and probably on the first two floors,” Dan muttered, scratching thoughtfully at his chin.
“There is a back door that, I believe, leads into the basement,” Brass suggested. “If we stay quiet we could reach at least the second floor before we are discovered…”
“Or,” Dan suggested, clenching his fists and furrowing his brow. “We could just use the front door.”
Dan Ketch burst into flame and the Ghost Rider strode across the street, towards the building. At the bottom of the steps, two figures emerged from the shadows, guns drawn.
“Run or die,” Ghost Rider said, in a low, deadly tone that implied he didn’t care which option they chose.
“Funny thing, spook,” One of the guards said, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“We were about to say the same thing.”
Faster than the eye could follow, Ghost Rider yanked free the flaming chain wrapped around his arm free and whipped it at the two guards, striking one across the face, then dragging it across the gun arm of the second one.
The first managed to get off a shot before he dropped his gun and pressed his hands against his scorched face.
Ghost Rider staggered back a step as the bullet grazed his skull. Then snarling in anger brought the chain down upon the shooter a second time. The sound of his skull cracking was drowned out by his clothing and hair igniting and his cries of pain.
The second guard struggled to hold onto his guns while trying to beat out his burning jacket sleeve. He was too distracted by the flames to be aware of the skeleton in leathers until a hand clamped upon his throat.
With a casual twist, Ghost Rider snapped his neck and tossed the body aside. The other guard had fallen to the ground, stunned by pain. Barely looking down, Ghost Rider stepped on his neck, and then continued on his way up the stairs.
Brass, who had made his way to the steps in order to back up his friend, lowered his hands and paused, looking at the two smoldering corpses with disapproval, then jogged after the Ghost Rider.
The re-enforced front doors burst after three blows, startling the quartet of guards in the dingy foyer. The two nearest the doors were struck glancing blows when the doors were flung inwards. The other two had been sitting on the stairs and leapt to their feet, scrambling for their guns.
Again the chain whipped out, wrapping around the nearest rifle barrel and yanking it from the guard’s hands. Ghost Rider then pivoted and used the gun to club down one of the men by the broken door. Bullets riddled the back of his black leather jacket. Ghost Rider spun, snarling angrily. His fist, enveloped in a ball of hellfire, shattered the bones in the guard’s face, which then fell to the floor, his eyes, nose and mouth gushing blood.
Brass leapt the through the doorway, slapped aside the nearest guards’ guns and took him out with a nerve jab to his neck.
The last remaining guard fired off a few panicked shots and then turned to flee up the stairs.
Brass scooped up a pistol from the floor and threw it, like a boomerang, catching the guard behind the knees. The gunman stumbled, frantically working to regain his balance. Unfortunately, it slowed him just enough for Ghost Rider to catch up with him and grab hold of the back of his jacket.
The guard dropped one of his guns, desperately trying to pull free of his jacket.
Ghost Rider grabbed a handful of the struggling guards’ hair with his free hand and yanked him back down the stairs.
“If you have any interest in living past the next few seconds,” Ghost Rider growled, resting his bony chin on the guards’ shoulder. “You will answer my questions…no bravado, no hesitation. Do you understand?”
Not trusting himself to speak, the guard dropped his gun and nodded vigorously, blinking back tears.
“Good,” Ghost Rider said. He paused long enough for the tension and fear within the guard to build.
Brass reached Ghost Rider and placed a hand on his shoulder, that was shrugged off by the skeletal crime fighter.
“What floor is the lab on?” Ghost Rider asked.
“The…um…fu-five…the top floor,” The guard stammered, his voice practically a sob.
“What’s on the lower floors? Where’re the customers?”
“Three…the third…oh god…!”
“He’s not listening,” Ghost Rider snarled. “He’s tired of looking after you mortals. I’m keeping an eye on things until he comes back. How many more guards are there?”
“A dozen…maybe… second floor…there’s …like ten guys guarding the lab and um…you know a bunch…um…six. Yeah, six… they just roam around…keeping an eye on things…!”
Then they should be coming this way in a few seconds,” Brass advised, looking around.
“Leave,” Ghost Rider said, leaning in close to the guard’s ear and lowering his voice to nearly a whisper. “But, if we ever cross paths again…”
Brass could swear he could feel the breeze as the man raced past him.
“I do not suppose we will seek out the back stairs…?” He asked, resigned.
Ghost Rider turned, gave his friend a brief glare and then stalked up the stairs, dragging the chain along lazily, so that it scraped against the floor, leaving a smoldering trail on the stairs.
He was a few steps away from the second floor landing when the upstairs guards arrived, guns drawn and ready.
Their guns were all bigger and more ornate. Their laser sights planted a dozen red dots about the demonic hero’s form.
“Turn around and walk away, freak!” One of them barked. “Don’t care who sent you, but you take another step and you’re going back to them in an ashtray!”
Ghost Rider nodded in grim understanding and still continued walking, casually flicking the flaming chain. He took another step, pausing slightly, his foot not quite touching the next step, to savior the fear coming off the half dozen guards in waves.
Ghost Rider’s foot came down on the step and then roaring like a tormented soul, he launched himself at the gunmen, the chain lashing out wildly.
Before they had a chance to fire, the demonic biker was barreling into them, striking with chain and fist. Sometimes merely knocking weapons aside, other times coming in contact with flesh and bone that was no match for hellfire-fueled rage.
Brass caught up to his friend, having resigned himself to having no hope of stopping Ghost Rider until his anger had been vented. He dodged and drifted through the melee, blocking the occasional blow directed his way, and attempting to shove several of the guards out of Ghost Rider’s path. Partly, out of pity and partly from realizing they’d need at least one to survive to get any more information.
The mutant martial artist grabbed one of the few surviving gunmen by the collar of his jacket and hauled him down a side corridor.
Brass slammed him against the wall.
“Listen,” Brass said, quietly and intently. “Listen to your friends dying. You have seconds to avoid that fate. What you say next decides how long you live.”
“I’m…I’m just a guard…man, don’t know anything…!”
“That will be cold comfort to your family when they hear of your death,” Brass said, grimly.
“It’s the guys in the lab…talk to them…the ones that make it...the Blud…!”
“Blood…?” Brass asked, puzzled.
The guard dropped his weapon and fumbled frantically in his pockets.
“Okay, I took a couple,” The guard mumbled fearfully. He held up a handful of capsules, similar to cold medicine. They seemed to be filled with a grainy, red liquid.
“This is what everyone is so obsessed with?” Brass muttered using one hand to pick up several of the capsules while the other still held the guards throat. “Tiny thing and yet worth a life to so many in this city.”
He tucked the Blud capsules into a vest pocket and returned his attention to his captive. The sounds of battle were dying down, gunfire seemed to have replaced by the sounds of pleading and whimpering, quickly followed by the distinct sound of neck bones snapping.
“Is there another way out of this building?” Brass asked his captive.
The man nodded vigorously.
“Um…yuh-yeah…back way…a hallway…connects to…uh… door from the lab…”
“Go use it,” Brass told him, letting go of the man’s throat. “I wouldn’t advise ever crossing mine…or my friend’s path ever again. Find a better way to make a living.”
“My brother lives in Connecticut…owns a furniture store…!” The man stammered breathlessly as he ran off.
“Shopping for a new sofa?” Ghost Rider asked, puzzled as he stepped around the corner.
“You’d be surprise at how much information you get if you don’t kill them.” Brass explained. He then held up one of the capsules between his thumb and forefinger.
“This is what all the trouble is about, Blud.”
“Blood?” Ghost Rider growled. “Really? What idiot thought that up? Making it sound like the preferred drug of vampires.”
“Might just be drug dealers thinking they are clever,” Brass suggested. “But, there’s something more going on here, as several of the guards were armed for supernatural intruders. Perhaps a bit of stealth would serve us better…?”
He glanced significantly at the black leather clad burning skeletal figure standing before him.
“If we know one of the main supply labs is here,” Ghost Rider suggested, matter of factly. “Why don’t I just burn it to the ground?”
“We don’t know how many ‘customers’ are upstairs,” Brass reminded. “Whoever is up their may be weak and foolish, but they are not deserving of death. Their crime is nowhere near that of the dealers and manufactioners of this drug….and, I swear if you start talking about ‘collateral damage’ of any kind…”
Ghost Rider peered down at his friend.
“Weakness is no excuse for evil done or hurt caused,” He intoned. “It is not some magic charm which allows the guilty to go free.”
“Am I talking to Daniel Ketch or Ghost Rider?” Brass asked anxious, but defiant enough to stay blocking his path. He could feel the heat coming off of the flaming skull and fists, as well as feeling that hollow, eyeless stare beginning to bore into his mind, his will, his very soul.
Much to his surprise, Ghost Rider looked away first and with a sigh the flames flared up and Dan Ketch emerged.
“Fine, what’s your plan?”
# # # # # # # # # #
Brass led them up the back hallway the guard had told him about. Moving quietly, quickly and avoiding guards, rather then taking the time to kill them, all made the trip brief.
They eased open the door and peered around the dimly lit room. The entire floor had been opened up into one huge room. Furniture was scattered about and numerous forms were sprawled upon them.
“Jesus,” Dan muttered, disgustedly. “Its like the hipster loft party from hell…you still think these guys deserve to live?”
“No killing until they start playing ‘Dave Mathews Band’,” Brass compromised; relieved to have pulled his friend back a bit from the edge he was walking. “Let’s rouse these pathetic souls get them out of here and then you have my blessing to destroy the lab.”
Dan gave a ‘fair enough’ shrug and the two men moved, quietly into the room.
“Okay buddy,” Dan said, to a slumped form on a leather sofa. “Don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
There was a mumbled protest and a vague gesture to shoo him away. Dan reached down and gave a thin shoulder a shake. “Last warning, you want to see the sunrise you need to get off your butt…”
The figure on the sofa spun, a pale, skinny hand clamped onto Dan’s wrist, twisted it and flung Dan upwards and over the back of the sofa.
He landed with a solid, painful thud on his back, knocking the wind out of him.
“Ow…!” Dan Ketch whimpered, struggling to catch his breath. “What the fu…oh, no…!”
The skinny addict leapt over the back of the couch, eyes wild and flashing a mouthful of fangs. He slammed a palm into Dan’s forehead, knocking him back down against the floor. His other hand grabbed at the front of Dan’s shirt and tore it open.
Dan was dazed, and found himself fumbling to hold off the vampire. He shook his head, struggling to focus, in order to transform into Ghost Rider.
The addict slithered over the back of the sofa, planted his knee in Dan’s chest and leaned in, mouth open wide.
Brass lunged over the sofa, grabbed a handful of the crazed addict’s hair and yanked him backwards, his arms trembling with the effort of pulling the vampire away from his friend’s throat.
“Can’t… hold…hnnn…much…gaaah!”
Brass’s concentration was shaken when another of the drug lair’s customers slammed into him.
The brief instant was enough for Dan to shake the cobwebs loose and let the Ghost Rider free. He burst into flames and the addict flinched backwards, screeching, his hands and sleeves catching fire.
Ghost Rider got to his feet, holding the burning vampire at arms length. Brass was busy fighting off a trio of the enraged addicts, while another half dozen were stalking ever closer.
The demonic biker cracked his flaming chain.
“Come on,” He muttered. “Lets get this over with!”
What followed was a swirling maelstrom of claws and fangs and fists and chains. The vampires soon realized there was no flesh for them to rend. No blood to feed on. The first one to attempt to bite the Ghost Rider’s neck had his entire head consumed by hellfire.
The realization that their usual tactics when dealing with prey were proving to be ineffectual, caused several of them choose to flee, the rest attempted to overwhelm and drag Ghost Rider down to the floor.
Unfortunately, very few addicts are master warriors or physical powerhouses and Ghost Rider easily waded through them, leaving a quartet of small piles of ash around him.
Brass, being a mere mortal, had to work a bit harder at subduing assailants. He had no problem blocking their attacks, but his own-counter blows were not having much effect against the vampires. He was keeping them at bay, but they were also wearing him down.
Brass brought up his arms, blocking several wild punches, then dropped down and with a leg sweep knocked the vampires’ legs out from under them.
In the second they were distracted, Brass dropped to one knee, shattered a nearby chair with a single blow and grabbed hold of two of the broken chair legs.
As soon as the vampires lurched to their feet, Brass lunged forward and drove the makeshift stakes through their chests. The vampires fell backward, writhing and within seconds had crumbled to dust and bones.
The third vampire was slower recovering and Brass lunged at him and gave his head a savage twist, tearing muscle and snapping bone. The addict fell back to the floor twitching and writhing pathetically for several moments before growing still.
Brass got to his feet, pulled off his headband and used it to wipe the sweat from his face and the back of his neck. He also dabbed at several scratches on his arm.
He turned and noticed the Ghost Rider standing near the remains of his own opponents.
“I’m sure you were going to leap to my rescue any second now,” Brass said, with a rueful smile.
“If I felt you actually needed rescuing,” Ghost Rider nodded, folding his arms across his chest and adopting a ‘now what?’ posture.
Brass’s smile melted away and he merely nodded in reply.
The mercy mission portion of their plan was over.
# # # # # # # # # #
Soon, the duo was standing on a nearby rooftop, watching the drug house burn to the ground. Ghost Rider and Brass stood shoulder to shoulder, in quiet contemplation of the night’s events.
“Perhaps you were right,” Brass said, not looking away from the fire. “We could have easily ignited the building and used the escape corridor to leave without further battle or risk.”
“No, you were right,” Ghost Rider replied in a low, thoughtful tone. “Giving thought for the weak is not itself a weakness. I too often follow solely the path of vengeance and need allies…friends, like you to remind me, I should be working towards justice or all I will ever accomplish are hollow victories.”
Ghost Rider’s flames flared up and then vanished, leaving a tired and battered Dan Ketch.
“Plus, it’s pretty cool seeing you in action.” He said. “So, now that we’ve stomped the forces of evil, how about a beer? Or was there more to that speech of yours?”
“I wish that I could,” Brass said, allowing himself a brief smile. “But, my mission continues. I was only meant to be passing through New York, but lingered when I learned of your presence.”
Dan nodded.
“But, I’m glad you made the offer,” Brass continued. “Some of your actions of late concern me, my friend. You should have…maybe even need, to have people around you that will not only remind you that there is more to your mission than vengeance, but friends that can share the moments between acts of vengeance with you.”
“Those are few and far between these days,” Dan frowned.
“But we are there,” Brass said. “Reach out to them or find some new friends…maybe, with a better haircut, you could even get a date…”
“Okay, now you’re talking crazy,” Dan replied with a faint smile. “If I did that, the parade of women throwing themselves at me would mean I’d never get to fight the forces of evil.”
“You are my friend, Dan,” Brass said, earnestly, turning to look at the other man.
“But what dwells within you worries me.”
“I got the Ghost Rider under control,” Dan told him. “Things have changed.”
“I’m talking about the darkness in your own heart. You have a lot of anger in you, Dan. You have a right to be angry, a great many things have befallen you, but that anger is more dangerous to you and those around you than the demon could ever be.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dan nodded, his gaze focused upon the gravel-strewn rooftop. “You’re not the first person…to tell me. Just…um…it’s just hard…to find people that I…can let in…and then not do something so stupid I drive them away or get them killed.”
“Don’t stop looking,” Brass said, laying a hand on his friends’ leather-clad shoulder. “And I will try to make time to check up on you when I can. See if I can keep you out of trouble.”
“That’s not a part time job,” Dan said. “Thanks…this…this…um…means a lot to me.”
“Well, don’t go expecting a hug,” Brass said, with a mock-frown and a light punch on Dan’s arm.
“Do I get a Face book friend request at least?” Dan asked.
“I must go,” Brass told him. “Don’t stand up here brooding all night. Go get your beer. Maybe a waitress will take pity on your ugly face and talk to you.”
“Your jealousy over how manly and good looking I am is something you need to come to terms with.”
The two men shook hands and went their separate ways.
# # # # # # # # # #
It was later, when Dan was paying for his beer and looking for something to write the waitress’ phone number down on that he found the two Blud capsules that Brass had slipped into his jacket pocket.
“If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” He muttered, before returning his focus to the blonde in front of him and asking if she spelled her name with a ‘Y’ or and ‘I’ at the end.
He tensed up when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and began to turn, his body already moving into a defensive posture and the Ghost Rider preparing to be unleashed then, he recognized the woman.
“Stacy…?!” He said, as anxiety over a possible attack morphed into an entirely different, but no less intense, form of anxiety.
“So, how many crack houses were you planning on setting on fire before you got in touch with me?” Dan’s ex-girlfriend asked.
Next issue: It’s Hamilton Slade’s turn! Mythology and marvel history collide, as the old west Ghost Rider and Kelsey discover there are things lurking in the desert!
Author’s note: this was a fairly straight forward story, but one of the harder to write, as my plan was to keep Dan the ‘grim and gritty’ GR and take him back to his 90’s roots.
The trouble is, I’m not a ‘grim and gritty” kind of guy.
I was just too cheerful to enjoy all the shoulder pads, pouches, rampant violence and tough guy dialogue said through gritted teeth of that era of comics.
It took awhile to find a dark vibe that I felt comfortable with and to get a handle on Dan as a person.
But, eventually I found it was okay to let his solution be to hit whatever is causing a problem until it falls down and that Dan’s personal life being a bit of a train wreck made him kind of interesting.
Strangely enough, he started as the least interesting of the four Riders and by the end of the issue, I kind of like the guy.