The Choking Rain: Nemesis, #1

By Brian K. Lowe

An invisible killer stalks the streets of Los Angeles in the months leading up to the 1932 Olympics. Men are falling in broad daylight, victims of an unseen stranger. A weapon of unimaginable horror is being used against to weaken America's emerging role on the world stage, and it is only the prelude to a terror campaign designed to prevent the country's entry into the next World War. Only a small group of people--a former air ace, a cop, a couple of scientists, and a beautiful blonde fluent in a dozen languages--can try to stop the plot before it spreads, even though they may be too few to overcome the massed resources of an enemy nation bent on crippling the United States.

 

But they may not be alone. Someone else, mysterious and unnamed, is enacting his own agenda...but who--or what--is Nemesis?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian K. Lowe
• Release date: Jul 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223907558

Book preview

Chapter 1

A Man Afraid

NO ONE NOTICED THE horror when it began.

It started in a small way, in a rain-muddied alley in downtown Los Angeles, and in its infancy it fed only off those whose loss society at large was too big, and too busy, to notice.

Society would pay for its preoccupation.

The first victim was a railroad fireman named Kelly, on his way home from an illegal downtown speakeasy where’d he’d drunk down another precious bit of his family’s non-existent savings. A cop on the beat found him in the morning with his neck broken. Because his wallet was in his pocket and no footprints were found nearby, the coroner ruled he had tripped and fallen in the garbage-strewn darkness. Society, satisfied, never considered that a thief might steal something other than a wallet, or how the late rains might have erased any clues left on hard cement...

The second to fall prey was a small-time confidence hustler, called Sweeney by those who knew him, although even they were never sure if that was his real name. He was found face down in a puddle in the same alley, but he’d been strangled, evidently with a necktie. With no witnesses and a rogue’s gallery of likely suspects, the cops gave it a quick glance and forgot about it. They thought a few more losses like Sweeney’s would make their jobs that much easier. They were wrong.

The third victim was society’s first real warning.

His friends all said Roy Miramonte had never had an unlucky day in his life. They pointed to his successful import business, his devoted sister, and his impending marriage to one the richest and most beautiful daughters of a city known for its motion picture starlets. His friends could point out a lot of the things that made Roy Miramonte lucky, but none of them could have pointed out the reason that right now he was the most terrified man in Los Angeles.

Huddled in a doorway like a common bum, Miramonte shrank into himself with the advent of every passer-by. Though the late afternoon clouds glowered menacingly low, it had not rained since morning. So why, the beat cop asked himself, was this boyo standing around hatless, moaning like Boris Karloff in that Frankenstein picture?

Hadn’t you better be moving on, sir? he asked with exaggerated politeness.

What? Roy Miramonte jumped, and so did the cop. It was hard to tell who had been scared more. What? he asked again, then relaxed at the sight of the blue uniform. Oh, uh, officer...I’m sorry, I’m just waiting for someone.

The patrolman frowned and looked about. No one was paying any attention.

If you are, sir, he ain’t here yet. Why don’t you wait inside somewhere—a drugstore fountain or something, where you can see the street? If the bum didn’t have enough change for a cup of coffee, they would throw him out, and then he could be run off as a vagrant. And if he did have cash, why then, he was somebody else’s problem.

No, thank you, officer, Miramonte replied distractedly, refusing to take the bait. He was looking up Wilshire Boulevard—in the direction from which most of the pedestrians were coming, but also toward a row of very fancy shops and jewelry salons, crowded even in these depressed times. The cop straightened up and frowned the harder.

I think you’d better be moving along, sir, unless you’ll be wanting your friend to meet you down at headquarters.

Miramonte finally gave the cop his full attention. Police headquarters? No! I mustn’t go there! They might find me!

All right, me man, that’s enough, the officer growled, grabbing his charge by the arm. Anybody who doesn’t want to talk to the police as much as you don’t must have a pretty good reason, and I mean to find out what! Roy Miramonte struggled uselessly in the bearlike grip. Come along, you hooligan, I want to get back to the precinct before it starts to rain again!

Rain? his prisoner screamed, and in a panic broke free and ran up the boulevard, the cop lumbering after him. Ahead, the crowd was thicker. Two well-dressed women were strolling directly in the prisoner’s path.

Watch out, ladies! the officer bellowed, but stopped short as the running man halted dead in his tracks before them!

Mary! he panted. Thank God!

Roy! one of the women gasped. She was a tall, striking redhead with legs that Murphy would have enjoyed in a moving picture. What on earth is the matter?

"Do you know this...gentleman, ma’am? By the sacred—Miss O’Donnell?"

The red-haired beauty pulled her stare from Roy Miramonte and recognition dawned.

Officer Murphy! Her voice was smooth as Irish liqueur and swathed in finishing-school cotton. You helped raise money for the children’s hospital at the St. Patrick’s Day dance, she recalled. This is Miss Reinhold, she added automatically, indicating her companion. Officer Murphy, may I ask why you are chasing my fiancé down the street like a common thief?

Hoping to find his breath along with a proper explanation, Murphy fumbled off his hat and glanced at the other girl. Petite and blonde, a porcelain doll in contrast to O’Donnell’s Irish firebrand, she was no less a man-stopper, and watching the drama unfold with cool interest. Murphy realized he was staring.

I’m sorry, Miss O’Donnell, he explained at last, but Mr.—uh, this gentleman—was standing in a doorway acting rather strangely, y’see. And then when I said perhaps we should visit the precinct, he ran like a rabbit. I don’t know as I’d’ve caught him if it weren’t for you, ma’am.

Miss O’Donnell turned an incredulous stare on her fiancé. Roy, why were you standing about in this weather? If you were looking for me, you knew where we were.

Miramonte had loosened his collar to recover his breath, but now, when he drew air to speak, it escaped as an inexplicable bleat of terror.

"Rain! I felt it on my face! Quickly, Mary, we’ve got to get out of the rain!" He tugged on his fiancée’s arm, but she pulled away.

Roy, it’s only a few drops! But Roy Miramonte was beyond hearing, beyond understanding, beyond anything but fear. He whirled and ran straight into Officer Murphy, who grunted, then he spun again, grabbing at the blonde to keep from knocking her from her feet, but she sidestepped him and he fell. At that instant all of the pent-up emotion of a late-winter storm poured from the heavens in cosmic buckets. Within seconds everything in sight was drenched...

...and Roy Miramonte was rolling on the sidewalk, tearing at his collar in mortal combat with enemies unseen!

His breath was coming in abortive gasps. Miss Reinhold bent quickly to help him, and only she heard his far-off whisper:

The...choking...rain...!

By the time a doctor ran up to see what was the matter, it was far too late.

Terence Aloysius O’Donnell had come over on the boat in 1890, and not entirely of his own choice. Fiery and incorrigible in his youth, his anti-British activities in Dublin had forced his hurried evacuation of the land he’d sworn never he’d leave before the invaders were banished. But events and the noose had proven more than he could fight, and his friends had convinced him mere seconds before the soldiers arrived that he could do more good alive in America than dead in Ireland.

In the years following, he had proven them correct. He had organized the Irish workers on a large Northeastern railroad line, led them in a stock-purchase scheme, and vaulted himself onto the Board of Directors on their shoulders. Two years later he became president and chairman of the board, and every man who had helped him get there was guaranteed a job for life. He had channeled his youthful zeal into shrewd, hard business dealing, building one of the largest immigrant-owned fortunes in the nation, and kept control of it even after his health dictated he move to the drier climate of Southern California. He was not a man to take kindly to obstacles.

At this moment, six feet, two inches and 250 pounds of Los Angeles’ finest was an obstacle.

God help me, Inspector, if I find that man before you do, it’ll be me you’ll be hauling in for murder, not him!

Ted Kane was a very large, very quiet man. Graduated from college with a major in philosophy and a minor in football, he had soon discovered that a world lost in a Depression had little use for either one. Considering his choices logically, he had come to the conclusion there were only two irreplaceable jobs in the world—and he didn’t want to be an undertaker. Several years of difficult and uninteresting—but successful—toil had led him to the doubtful honor of lead detective in the murder investigation of the future son-in-law to one of the least-liked and most-admired businessmen in America. And right now, in the cold efficiency of the businessman’s foyer, that investigation was not going smoothly.

Well, sir, we’ll do our best to keep that from happening, he replied to the latest outburst. We wouldn’t want to have to arrest you.

"Your best? O’Donnell roared, oblivious to humor. Your best doesn’t keep good men from being murdered on the streets of Los Angeles right before my daughter’s eyes! Is this your best, threatening innocent businessmen? Get out of here and find the man who did it! Get out before I throw you out myself!"

"Actually, sir, we don’t know that it was murder. And I still have to interview Miss O’Donnell..."

Interview...! O’Donnell spluttered.

Please, Uncle Aloysius, the poor man is only trying to do his job, interceded a cool voice from the doorway. Kane stepped back from the industrialist, grateful for the interruption, but halted in mid-stride, unbalancing himself.

Evening...Miss Reinhold, he said. His voice betrayed an uncertainty that O’Donnell, for all his bluster, had been unable to produce. He put his weight back on his right foot rather awkwardly, causing a soft creaking the floorboards.

The blonde who had borne witness to Roy Miramonte’s last words paused also, almost imperceptibly, then stepped forward again with a practiced grace.

Good evening, Mr. Kane. She did not offer her hand. I was not aware that you had entered police work.

O’Donnell stared at her, then him, and back at her.

Uncle Aloysius, please calm down, Miss Reinhold prompted. I have more experience with policemen than you think—and most of them are even ruder than Mr. Kane. If we could use your study, I believe I can give him enough information to send him on his way without bothering Mary this evening. Her frosty stare served notice on Kane that his choices had been made for him.

Containing himself with visible effort but poor grace, O’Donnell waved across the room toward the solid double door where Miss Reinhold had entered.

You know where the study is, Katherine. Call Jeffries when this gentleman wants to leave. I’ll be with Mary’s doctor. Without further formalities, he strode out.

Katherine Reinhold led the way to the study with less disdain than the master of the house, but no more words. The room was small and close, dominated by an oversized desk; two padded guest chairs and a small sideboard completed the arrangement. Closing the doors, Katherine turned to face Kane without offering him a seat or refreshment.

Have you seen Eric lately?

Kane gnawed his lip. Not since...the last time.

She allowed him to stew for several long moments. Finally she dropped her shoulders and motioned that he should, after all, sit down.

I’ve heard from him a few times, but he was never one for writing letters.

Her words faded slowly in the still air.

I suppose we should talk about Roy Miramonte, Kane decided at last. Katherine nodded without enthusiasm. He asked for a statement, in her own words, from beginning to end. It did not take long, but his notes were extensive.

You’re sure that’s what he said?

I’m certain. And I speak more languages than you can count, so my ears are damned sharp. I know it makes no sense, but that’s what he said. He stood up; she watched him. I hope you’re about to offer me a drink, because I sure could use one.

He stopped, forgetting what he had been about to say, and coughed uncomfortably.

For a moment she stared, then lapsed into a pained look as she rose to pour herself a drink.

Sorry, she said wryly. I’ve only been back in the country for a few weeks. I keep forgetting we’re not supposed to be drinking. She poured herself one anyway. You’re not going to arrest me, are you?

No. Then, as if realizing the entire conversation had strayed far from the immediacy of Roy Miramonte’s death, he said: I’ll leave you my telephone number at the precinct if you remember anything else. I can show myself out.

Putting down her drink, Katherine smiled for the first time.

Uncle Aloysius will be quite angry if I let you escape without his getting in the last word.

Uncle Aloysius would be angry even if he got in all the words.

Which he might, with you. You’ve hardly said any.

He’s not really your uncle.

No. But Mary’s my oldest friend. You know how it is.

Kane looked at his feet, then at the furniture. Katherine, I lied. Eric’s in Sacramento.

She picked up her drink again. Is he all right?

He was the last I heard. That was a few months ago, but he sounded like he planned to stay a while. The huge shoulders sagged with the relief of shedding a self-imposed burden, and he grinned. Are you ready for this? He said he was going to pan for gold.

Katherine nearly spit out her drink. Ted lurched forward, arm raised as if to pound her on the back, but she shrank away, horrified.

Thanks, she gasped when she got her breath back. But I thought for a moment you were going to knock me through the wall. She quickly regained her composure, but the ice had been broken, and for now, they were friends again. I shouldn’t have done that—I shouldn’t be surprised at anything my brother does anymore. But if he was going to mine for gold, why not Africa, or South America? I would have thought California was too civilized for him.

He’s given that up, Katherine, really. Now all he does is some stunt flying. He bought an airplane and he goes around buzzing county fairs and giving people thrill rides. He’s a real daredevil—he’s even gone back to calling himself ‘Captain Swashbuckle.’

Really? I thought he hadn’t used that name since...

...since he left the Air Corps, yeah.

She sipped at her drink, staring into the past. Well. He can call himself Captain Ahab for all I care. If the flying business is bad and he wants to hunt for gold, fine. The last of the Manhattan vanished. Just as long as he doesn’t come hunting for me. Come on, I’ll show you out. The butler’s scared stiff of Uncle and would never let you out without the royal say-so.

He’ll have plenty of say-so tomorrow. I still have to come back and interview Mary O’Donnell.

Hands on the door handles, Katherine looked up at him thoughtfully. You know, I don’t care what Captain Swashbuckle does for a living; you have got to be the bravest man in Los Angeles.

Chapter 2

Ted Asks Questions

WHATEVER HER MISGIVINGS about the temper of her adopted uncle in the morning, Katherine was not to see them realized. Although she awoke early from a troubled sleep, Mr. O’Donnell had already left for his office when she asked the maid to bring her breakfast into Mary’s room.

Mr. O’Donnell’s not gonna like that one bit, Miss Katherine. He said if any of us was to wake up Miss O’Donnell this morning he’d throw us off the back porch personally. And without references, she added worriedly.

You just tell Jeffries that I told you to do it, and that I’m going to have my breakfast in Mary’s room. I’ll take care of my uncle. Katherine shooed the girl out the door with a reassuring smile. If he throws anyone off the back porch, I’ll throw him out after them.

Quietly as she slipped into her friend’s room, Mary’s eyes were open when Katherine reached the four-poster bed. Far from being glazed with sleep, Mary appeared to have been awake all night.

I just can’t get his face out of my mind, she whispered as Katherine sat down. He was pleading with me to go with him—and then...then he was on the ground, thrashing around...

Katherine gathered her in for a hug. It’s going to be all right, Mare. I’ll stay here with you as long as you need me.

When Mary pulled away, her eyes were red but dry. Nor were there any handkerchiefs nearby. However long Mary had been awake, she had not been crying.

You don’t understand, Katherine. I’m not upset. I mean, I am upset, but not like I just lost the man I loved. I feel as though a friend had had scarlet fever, and now he’s dead, and tomorrow I’ll have to go to his funeral. But I’m not crying, and I don’t hear the banshees, like in Father’s stories. She blinked, and now it appeared the tears might come. Am I evil?

No, honey, of course not. But I think it’s time you faced the fact that you weren’t in love with Roy.

No...I wasn’t, was I? I thought I was, once, but I guess it was just the fun of seeing Father become so angry when he thought I wasn’t going to marry the man he wanted.

A soft tapping on the door announced the maid, who slipped in with a tray of toast, marmalade, butter, stewed tomatoes, bacon, and tea. She slipped out quickly, hardly saying good morning to the daughter of her employer.

What’s gotten into her this morning?

Uncle Aloysius said he would fire them if they woke you up, Katherine explained.

He’d do it, too. Mary turned her full attention to the tray, and to keeping her hands steady. What’s going to happen now? Did the police come by yesterday?

Katherine nodded, biting into her toast and marmalade.

That’s why I bullied the maid into bringing our breakfast up so early. I wanted to talk to you before Ted did.

Ted? Mary repeated. Is it a first-name basis we’re on now, with every policeman who comes to call?

No, of course not, Katherine blushed. He was a friend of Eric’s during the war, and then they met again in college.

A friend of Eric’s? Has he seen him? Mary straightened in bed, almost toppling the breakfast tray. Separated by years and distance, Eric and Katherine had spent little time together as children, and even though these two girls had been fast friends for many years, Mary had met Eric only a handful of times, too few to get to know him well, and far too few for her own liking.

Mary! Katherine admonished. Remember your situation.

The touch of Irish enthusiasm died as quickly as it had been born, and Mary looked down contritely.

I’m sorry, it’s just that...well, I’m feeling almost—relieved, actually. I feel like I just escaped from some horrible mess, that I couldn’t get out of without hurting a lot of people. To her credit, when she raised her face, it was streaked with tears. This way...

Katherine pulled her close again and stroked her hair. That’s that, she decided. When Ted comes around, I’m going to tell him that I’m going to...

...stay in the room? No. I’m sorry. I have to interview Miss O’Donnell alone.

Katherine crowded close to the big cop and stood on her toes, leaving only a couple of feet between their noses. Today, they were in the library.

I’m staying, and that’s final. Mary’s in no shape to be interrogated by—by some flatfoot with a rubber hose and a forty-watt bulb!

Ted frowned and looked at the liquor tray. Have you been drinking already?

No, I haven’t been drinking! Katherine snapped. But Mary is still under the effects of the medicine the doctor gave her last night. She can barely stay awake, much less answer your idiotic questions.

They both glanced at Mary, who was sitting on the sofa, watching the byplay with alert interest.

She looks awake enough to me, Ted grumbled. I’ll give you one last chance, then I’ll have to have my man outside carry you out.

Katherine blew on her nails. Ted, she asked absently, do you remember the party after the Duke game in 1927? Ted nodded uncertainly. Do you remember how a bunch of USC frat boys got you fellows drunk on smuggled Scotch and took you swimming, and tried to throw your clothes in the river? Ted nodded again. And do you remember, the little blonde finished, who came along and threw the frat boys in the river instead?

Katherine stayed.

The interview, after the exciting prologue, was routine and uninformative, and if Ted noticed that Mary O’Donnell was extraordinarily calm in recounting her eyewitness account of her fiancé’s death, he did not comment upon it. Katherine had agreed not to speak during the questioning, and she kept her word.

Thank you, Miss O’Donnell, Ted said finally, rising from his chair. We’ll be in touch if we need you again. And please, accept my condolences.

Katherine rose also. I’ll see you out.

Well? What’s going on? she demanded when they reached the foyer. You know as well as I do Mary couldn’t have killed Roy; there were witnesses all around, including one of your policemen. So what’s the verdict?

Beats me, Kane answered, shrugging into his overcoat. I’ll have to see what the autopsy turns up.

Ted, that man was frightened out of his wits. He knew something was going to happen to him—look at the way he assaulted the policeman! He knew something was going to happen to him.

Ted shrugged. I’ve done all I can here. If something comes up, call me at the station.

That call came very soon, but much too late.

To be perfectly candid, sir, do you not think it is a bit early to be making such plans? I mean, Mr. Miramonte is not even yet buried.

Forget Miramonte, I said! She’s a fiery lass, that one, and she’ll be over him soon enough, you’ll see, silly colleen runnin’ helter-skelter after every man who’s not her father’s choice...and she’s thinkin’ I don’t know all about it. I didn’t get to be president of a railroad line without knowin’ everything I needed to know about my people, let me tell you, boy! Aloysius O’Donnell slammed his open hand against the mahogany desk for emphasis, but his guest did not so much as wince. O’Donnell nodded his approval. I like you, son, I do, even if your ancestors did come over on the Mayflower. One thing I can tell you about America, any man can make it, if he’s got the guts and the fire and the luck—even an Englishman. And I can admire any man who does it.

Leslie Bryant Overton II had inherited his wealth, but he kept that quiet. O’Donnell knew it, of course, but to his way of thinking just holding onto your money after the stock market crash was a badge of honor—or at least common sense. In any event, he intended that Overton marry his daughter, and for precisely one reason: Big as America was, there was still only so far you could go with an immigrant’s name. Marry his daughter off well, though, and his grandson could be President.

Overton, a tall, slender young man with thinning blond hair, possessed an aristocratic nose that on a poor man would have been called something much less flattering. He dressed as befitted his station, and worked only through agents and brokers. The two men were as alike as apples and oranges, but each had something the other wanted. They had stuck together like glue since the day they met.

Although it was very early in the day, Overton already had a glass in his hand. The ice inside tinkled a brittle melody as he swept his arm to encompass O’Donnell’s office, decorated, like his study at home, for business and not for pleasure.

And all of this is proof of what you are saying, sir, but if you’ll forgive me, social sensibilities are not offended lightly.

Faugh! O’Donnell growled, snapping his fingers. This for social sensibilities! Where I grew up, lad, social sensibilities were the last thing on a man’s mind.

Precisely, sir, Overton purred. But we are not now where you grew up. We are where I grew up, and here respectability is very nearly as important as money.

Aye, I’ll grant you that the game is played a little bit differently here. That’s why I was so bloody angry with that policeman who came by last night. The last thing I need is to have my daughter mixed in with a murder. Bad enough that she was seeing that no-good Italian, but that she should be suspected of having something to do with his murder...that I cannot stand.

Then it seems to me that we have to prevent that from happening. Overton rose easily and placed his glass precisely on an end table. Why don’t I run over to my father’s office and ask him to make some telephone calls. I feel sure we can keep any more crackpot police investigators from bothering Mary...By the way, have the newspapers picked this up yet?

The older man shook his head. I’ve not seen a sign of even one of them bloodsuckers, but if I do, I’ll give him something to write about.

Never mind, Overton smiled. "I’ll have that taken