"The Astronomy Murders"

[dochermes]

"The Astronomy Murders"

10/23-10/25/1992

I.

When the front doorbell rang, Bane glanced up in surprise at the wall clock. Six minutes after eight o'clock. He had only taken his seat behind the massive oaken desk in his office a few seconds earlier. Dr Burnley was calling early indeed.

Striding quickly out into the front hall, the Dire Wolf moved with his normal urgency. He was a tall gaunt man in his mid-thirties, dressed as always all in black.. slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. Beneath heavy black brows were a pair of pale grey eyes that were never at rest. His excess nervous energy kept him always restless even when he needed to be still.

Standing by the front door, he slid open a wooden panel to reveal a monitor screen which was already lighting up. Bane pressed a button which opened the outer street door and said, "Please come right in. I'll be with you in a moment."

The monitor screen showed the interior of waiting room, barely large enough for three people at a time. Dr Peter Burnley of NYU was a heavyset man of average height, well-dressed in a brown business suit. No ID came up for him on the screen, which meant he had no criminal record either with the FBI or the NYPD. Advanced Trom sensors buzzed and hummed, taking readings more detailed than any hospital equipment could.

Everything matched what Bane had been able to find out about Burnley. The age and height and coloring of hair and eyes were right. The face passed the recognition process compared to a picture Bane had scanned in from an old issue of DISCOVER magazine. No sign of a gun or knife, no chemical signature of poisons or explosives.

For the moment, he was prepared to accept that this was the same man who had called him the night before to make an appointment.

Closing the panel back over the monitor, Bane moved over and swung the inner door open to usher his visitor inside. "Good morning. Dr Burnley? I'm Jeremy Bane."

The man held out a hand and Bane shook it agreebly enough. "Oh, I'm glad you're here. I must apologize for calling on you so early in the morning...."

"That's all right." Bane led the astronomer across the hall to his office. This was a long narrow room with minimal furnishings. His oak desk sat against one wall beneath a gorgeous handpainted map of the world as it had been in 1937.

The Dire Wolf touched a chair to indicate Burnley should sit in front of the desk, then walked around to his own seat facing the man.
"You sounded agitated last night. You still seem worked up. What's the problem?"

Looking quickly around the room, Burnley took a few deep calming breaths before beginning. "I happen to have known about you already, Mr Bane. You're listed in the phone book under this Dire Wolf Agency as a Private Investigator but until a year or two ago, you were known better for your work in the Midnight War... you lead a team of Tel Shai knights known as the Kenneth Dred Foundation."

"Really," said Bane. "That's not exactly knowledge the general public has heard about."

"I know a little about the Midnight War. I'm an atheist and very skeptical by nature but I've always had an interest in the occult. Call it a hobby. I've read quite a bit about you, Mr Bane."

"Naturally, I did some basic research myself about you since your call," Bane replied. "You're known as the leading expert on Uranus. Not the most exciting planet, if you ask me. No rings like Saturn, no evil monsters like Mars..."

Burnley laughed politely at that. "Uranus has its points of interest, sir. I believe its real story has yet to be told. In two years, the Tycho probe will circle it and I will have more information to work with."

"Anyway, you seem to be free of any scandals or connection with crime of any sort," Bane said. "So what is it that brings you to me?"

"It's fear! Awful fear like I never knew before." Burnley leaned forward and searched Bane's face with obvious distress. "I'm afraid of being murdered because two of my colleagues have been. Perhaps I should go back a bit."

"Sure," said Bane. "Take your time. Give me all the details."

"Very well. In August, a man named Paul Fouchet died in Montreal. He was known for his correction of suspected perturbations in the orbit of Mercury. He was found in his car after having been missing for two days. The autopsy showed he had been murdered in particularly horrible way. He had been held down while mercury was poured into his ear!"

"That IS nasty."

"Then came the second death," continued Burnley. "On September 12th. A man in Northern California was killed and his body left in the woods near his house. Vincent Andruzzi, quite young but a promising researcher. He had done some fine work on the Martian symposium the year before. His area of knowledge was about possible life forms on Mars millions of years ago. Poor Andruzzi was found lying on his back. Next to him had been left a round Roman-style gladiator shield. Stuck right in his chest was a short spear."

Bane's eyes lit with a feral gleam as his interest sparked. "Oh. I see. Mars, the Roman god of war, right? His symbol was a shield with a spear point at the upper corner. Someone killed two astronomers in symbolic ways. Yeah, I can see why you'd be apprehensive."

"Apprehensive..?!" yelped the man. "Terrified is more like it. The planetary sciences have many researchers and scholars but, not to be modest, only a dozen or so of us are in the top rank. I'm one of them. All my adult life, I have dedicated my energies to increasing knowledge. If top planetary experts are being targeted, then I am very likely on the list."

"I assume you've already gone to the police?" asked Bane.

"And I got nowehere! They were polite but didn't seem interested. From what I overhead outside the room where I was sitting, the police don't think the two deaths are connected. All they wanted to talk about was some sort territory dispute between drug gangs..."

"Sounds like the NYPD," the Dire Wolf said. "Not much imagination. What's your home life like?"

"Oh, I live alone since Nora-- my wife-- died a few years ago. A cleaning service comes in on Wednesdays. Mr Bane, I don't own a gun. I've never been in a real fight. I'm sixty-three and out of shape. If I was attacked by a determined young man, I have to admit I'd be an easy victim."

Bane raised a hand reassuringly. "Coming to me was a good step to take, doctor. Tell me, do you have enemies in the field of astronomy? Is there maybe a jealous rival? A disgraced scientist who wanted revenge against you?"

"Lord, no. We're a community of meek, scholarly bookworms. The firecest we ever get is firing off a strongly worded letter to an editor. There aren't many face to face meetings between us, just reading each others' published papers and maybe a few going to the same lecture once a year."

Despite the situation, Bane could not hide a faint smile at Burnley's dismay. "People are full of surprises. Stamp collectors and glass blowers have commited gruesome murders of each other. Librarians have been killed over chewing gum. You can't point me toward any likely suspect in your field, then?"

"No. The idea never even occured to me."

"Any romantic tangles between these men and their wives or girlfriends? Anyone competing for a job or lose a promotion they wanted?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Mr Bane, these men worked in specialized areas and had nothing in common, really. It would be like a heart surgeon feuding with an architect. I doubt if any of these fellows ever actually met."

The Dire Wolf dropped that line of thought. "It was a month between the deaths, and about a month has passed since the last one."

"Oh, that has been preying on my mind, too." Burnley leaned forward and his voice became pleading. "Will you take me as a client, Mr Bane? I have heard so much about you. I'm comfortably well off, perhaps a fee of ten thousand dollars would be appropriate?"

"Yes. I will undertake to protect you from this unknown killer and to bring him in."

"What a relief. Of course I want to live. In another two years, the NASA probe will reach Jupiter and I will finally have enough information to work on. Here, let me get my checkbook out.

Watching him fumble with the pen, Bane said, "I have your address at a house in Forrest Hills over in Queens. 1219 Fluegel Street. Is that right?"

"Yes, I'll give you my phone number, too. I should make this out to you by name?"

"Or to Dire Wolf Agency, either is fine. But hold off a second." Bane fixed those pale eyes on the man as if searching for falsehood. "Dr Burnley, two detectives I know will go out there to watch the area while I search for the perp. They are both solid, veteran investigators that I've worked with for years. Sam Simek and Artie Rosen."

"But I hoped you would be directly involved?"

"Absolutely," Bane said. "I will be on this case full time. But I want two men to protect you. When I nail the killer, you'll be the first to know. Make out my retainer for one thousand dollars even."

"Really?" asked Burnley, pen raised. "I have to say that seems reasonable."

"It's a formality," Bane told the man. "With you as an official client, I have certain rights when dealing with the police and their questions." He took a wide red leather ledger from the middle drawer of his desk and wrote out a receipt, then tucked Burnley's check away. "There. Hold on to that for your tax records. What's your schedule for the next few days?"

Dr Burnley examined the receipt with interest before folding it into his checkbook. "Ah. Well, I have a meeting with my literary agent at Fifth Avenue. I expect that will take all day, with a long lunch and a few drinks. Most likely, I will be getting home around five or five-thirty."

"Fine. My men will be waiting. You're in good hands, Dr Burnley."

Standing up, the astronomer allowed Bane to escort him to the front door. "You know, I feel like I made the right choice coming to you. You seem so confident."

"You're under my protection now," the Dire Wolf said. "I promise, everything will be all right." But behind the reassuring words, Bane felt an unsettling alarm over his suspicions. He thought he knew who was behind these killings.

II.

Returning to his desk, Bane picked up the office phone and dialed the number of an office on 46th Street and Seventh Avenue. It was nine o'clock and he was sure one of the cousins would be there. Sure enough, a dour voice immediately answered, "Simek and Rosen Investigations."

"Artie, it's me," said the Dire Wolf. "Good morning. You guys have anything big going on right now?"

"Naw, not at all. We actually pulled out of a potential moneymaker because the client was obviously pulling a scam on us. Why, Mr Bane? You have something?"

Bane began to explain. He had known the two men for twenty years, since they had been the chief agents for Michael Hawk. As a Tel Shai knight and founding member of the Kenneth Dred Foundation, Hawk had taught Bane the rudiments of criminology. More often than not, it had been Sam Simek and Artie Rosen who had taken the young Dire Wolf along on cases to get field experience.

Bane had never fogotten all that these men had done for him. Whenever he could, he sent business to the cousins and he hired them whenever he needed help. When they would be involved in Midnight War risks, Bane always gave them healthy bonuses at the end.

Summing up everything that Burnley had told him, Bane concluded, "That's the gig. Surveillance and maybe intervention. Can you two take the job or should I call Caleb Thorne?"

"Thorne! That phony! Mr Bane, you bet we're ready. I expect Sam in the office in the next few minutes."

"Great. But first, there's one thing I didn't mention. These murders have a theme. You remember the Compass Murders? Three whose last names were North, East and West. I stopped the killer before he got to Caitlin South. Then there were the White House killings where he tagged five men named the same as less famous Presidents. As I recall, they were Buchanan, Polk, Taft and Harrison."

"There's only one fiend who pulls stunts like that," Simek said. "Oh my God. I thought he was dead! Didn't you push him in front of a subway train?"

"He always seems to bounce back somehow," Baned told his friend. "If you're still willing, I'll tell Burnley that you'll meet him at his house. Be careful. Don't underestimate this enemy."

"As if I could," Sam said. "Honestly, I get chills just thinking about the world holding a monster like Samhain."

Bane had barely finished the phone call when the doorbell rang. He rushed over to the monitor screen in the front hall, even though he recognized both men, he ran the Trom sensors anyway. There were shapeshifters and impersonators in the Midnight War who made necessary all the security checks which could be arranged.

Opening the inner door, he said, "Inspector Klein. Sergeant Moeller. I haven't seen you two in a while, what brings you here?"

"Not to stand around yakking in your little vestibule," Klein grumbled. "Are you gonna let us in or what?"

"No problem," Bane said. "Come right in my office."

As he walked across the hallway, Klein said, "You still giving visitors that damned MRI or CAT scan or whatever? My fillings hurt every time I come here."

"Must be your imagination," replied the Dire Wolf. He watched as Klein took a chair in front of the desk but the sergeant wandered around the office to look at the fishtank which held creatures from Ulgor.

Seating himself behind his desk, Bane said, "Last time I saw you, I was dropping off a package. A guy named Dos Manos, remember him? And his goon Wengert. I'd hoped they'd be doing time in Napanoch right now."

"Ah, still awaiting trial. The Feds actually are trying to take him for themselves, they claim he crossed so many state lines that he's their prisoner." Harold Klein was pushing sixty and a well-worn sixty at that. He was a short sturdy man with wiry black hair that was quickly going grey. His left eye was glass but crafted well enough that most people didn't notice unless he looked to one side without moving his head.

"I know why you brought that up," the inspector continued. "But I still don't trust you, Bane. Yeah, you've caught a few killers and solved a few murders. They're saying the Pudge crossed your path and hasn't been seen since. True, you're licensed with the City and the State. But I've read your file at headquarters."

The Dire Wolf raised one eyebrow. "And?"

"When you were running that so-called research organization, the Kenneth Dred Foundation, dead bodies were left wherever you guys went. Explosions, fires, missing persons, there was always mayhem in your wake. Maybe you and your gang were never charged, maybe the brass in the NYPD felt having some freelance vigilantes in the city was useful. But I hate it."

"Like you say, I was never charged and neither were my teammates. The District Attorney and the Commissioner never said anything."

"You wouldn't be the first thug posing as a hero," Klein said. "Knocking off competition for your real bosses. It's too bad. I've read some of your investigations and you're not completely useless as a detective."

"This is not the real reason why you're here, inspector," observed Bane evenly. It took a lot to rile him.

"You're right. I'm in Homicide. My job is identifying killers and getting either a confession or enough evidence to bring charges. I was told you had a visitor earlier today, a bird we were already watching for his own safety. Name is Burnley, he's a starwatcher. He asked us for police protection but our captain said there wasn't sufficient grounds and we're shortstaffed as usual. The captain recommended he might hire a bodyguard or PI if he felt threatened."

"And he was followed here," Bane said. "Klein, is my building being watched?"

"Nah," Klein dismissed the thought. "I simply thought there was a good chance he might come to the Dire Wolf Agency because of your reputation. Dire Wolf. Where'd you get such a screwy handle?"

"Just an old nickname, inspector. I can reveal that any client I may or may not have has told me nothing that is not public knowledge. I'm not obstructing any investigation. If anything, you have more information about these crimes than I do. I should be asking you questions."

That made Klein bark a laugh. "That'll be the day. All right. The Fouchet murder, the poor sucker with hot mercury poured in his ear, that took place the first week of August. In September, it was the California case, that guy Andruzzi speared like a fish. Last night, it was Schiff. Albert Schiff, buried under a literal truckload of dirt."

"Hmm," Bane said. "Was Schiff an astronomer?"

"Nah. He wrote books about plate tectonics, something about the continents moving around over millions of years. But he was an expert on an aspect of the Earth and the Earth IS a planet last time I checked. So we're treating his death as part of the sequence."

"Expert on the Earth, suffocated under earth," said the Dire Wolf. "I guess..."

"That was last night, up Troy past Albany. So there's the quota for this month. Six planets to go, so I figure your client is safe for a few weeks at least."

"Maybe," Bane said. "Even when he keeps to a schedule, you never know with Samhain."

Klein almost knocked over his chair as he jumped to his feet. "SAMHAIN!

"That's my reaction, too," the Dire Wolf said distantly. "Every time he shows up, a dozen people die horribly. Everytime he's reported dead, he shows up again intact and eager. Do you wonder why people like me are needed in this world?"

Klein pointed a finger and almost when he answered. "Listen, you. The NYPD does a damn good job. You can't count on detectives for hire having the public interest at heart."

"Sit down," Bane said, still gazing down at the top of his desk. "Inspector, I'm not the problem. Remember who we seem to be dealing with in this situation."

"I'm getting nowhere with you," Klein said while remaining on his feet. "If you have any evidence at all that Samhain is alive and in the Metropolitan area, you better share it. As a licensed PI.. hell, just as a human being... you have an obligation."

Bane was not easily intimidated. He leaned back in his chair and met Klein's furious glare with cold grey eyes that never wavered. "I don't have any specific reason to name Samhain. It's my instinct that he's behind these killings. They feel like a Samhain spree."

"The worst part of all this," the inspector said sadly, "is that I think you're right. This has the Samhain odor all over it. That monster, loose again..."

"He's the only one I worry about tackling," Bane admitted.

"Feh. Listen to us. He's just another pyscho. Sooner or later, he'll trip himself up, they always do, and we'll see him behind bars with the other animals. I'm going now. Let's say I'll be seeing you again. If you learn anything that can save innocent lives, Bane, you know you should tell me."

Bane also got up. He seemed preoccupied. "Sure. We're on the same side in this war, inspector, we're just attacking the enemy from different angles."

"That's how you see it, I suppose. Sergeant? Let's go."

Moeller was still fascinated by the fish tank. "Mr Bane, I have to ask. Where did you get these freaky creatures? A starfish with a single red eye? A sea horse a foot long and with fangs yet?"

"They're from a placed called Ulgor," the Dire Wolf replied absently. "Pretty rare."

"I know that look on your puss!" Klein said. "Bane, you caught a scent you want to follow. My God, you ARE a Dire Wolf."

Frowning, Bane escorted them to the front door. "Something is bothering me. It's like a piece in a jigsaw puzzle that doesn't fit anywhere. This latest killing is wrong somehow... it's a distraction, I think. I'll call you if I figure it out, Inspector."

As the policemen went down the front steps to the sidewalk, both the inner and outer doors clicked shut and the Trom alarms clicked back on. Bane went into his office and began pacing the familiar loop from desk to bookcase and back again. He had felt this nagging sensation in the back of his mind before. If only he could figure it out in time...

III.

>At four-thirty, Dr Burnley pulled into his driveway. His house was an unexceptional two-story structure with aluminum siding and a car port on one side. The backyard faced woods and he often sat out there with the newspaper on sunny days.

Already parked under a tree was an old Ford Fairlane which looked as if it had been used to batter barns down. A beefy middle-aged man in a tan suit and a felt cap climbed out, tucking a sheaf of papers and folders under one arm. He came up to Burnley amiably enough.

"Hiya, Samuel Simek here," said the man. "Here's my drivers license, my PI license. Mr Bane sent me."
Burnley took his time examining the IDs. "weren't you suppoosed to have a young woman with you?"

"What? No. Me and my cousin have always been the whole staff of our agency. We ain't never had a woman work with us."

"That was a trick question, Mr Simek. I'm sorry, I'm understandably a bit nervous and wanted to confirm that you are who you say you are."

"Hah, that's a good one. These papers are camoflauge. In case anyone's watching, they'll think I'm here on some other kind of business. Here, take one and pretend to read it."

Obligingly, the astronomer studied a few sheets of paper, returned them to Simek and nodded his head vigorously. He handed them back, and the PI suggested they go into the house. Once inside with the door closed behind them, the detective put a finger to his lips for silence and moved quickly through the house.

While Burnley waited uneasily by the door, Simek went through every room, opening every closet and looking under or behind furniture. He went down in the basement laundry room and and up into a crawlspace attic too small to stand upright in.
When he finally returned to Burnley, Simek took his hand away from the butt of his revolver holstered on his belt. A relieved grin spread across the battered face.

"I declare this house free of intruders," he announced. "All the windows and the back door are locked as well."

"Thank you, sir," said Burnley.

My partner, Artie, is already in place in your back yard. He's down behind some pine trees with his binoculars. Artie is reliable as the sun coming down, you can count on him."

"I must say I feel moe at ease," the astronomer admitted. "But let me ask about this man Bane. Do you think he can handle someone like the infamous Samhain?"

"Hah! My friend, let me assure you that Jeremy Bane is the most dangerous person you will ever meet in life. He was born in reflexes more than twice as fast as normal and he has been in fights all his life. I'd bet money on him against anything that lives. Everything you've heard about him is only scratching the surface."

"That is exactly what I wanted to hear, Mr Simek."

"I'm going back to my car down by the road, where I can see your yard. I got my thermos and my sandwiches. Every ninety minutes, I'm gonna call you to confirm you're okay and of course you can summon us instantly if you hear anything at all."

"I have your cell number. Thank you so much," Burnley said.

"Doing our job since 1978," Simek replied with a grin. He left the house and returned to his car. It was getting dark outside. The PI made a wide circle of the area and drove back from a different direction. He pulled over to the side of the road in a position from where he could watch the house. Sam Simek took a pair of vintage binoculars from the glove compartment, turned on his portable radio to a National Public Radio station and listened to people discussing the decline of ostrich farming. He settled back to wait.

Inside his home, Dr Burnley removed his coat and yanked off his tie, kicked off his loafers and put on ancient slippers. With classical music playing on the stereo, he hummed along as he heated up what was left of the previous day's lamb with mint sauce. He ate leisurely at the kitchen table, sipping wine and trying to lose himself in the music and food.

Being honest with himself, Burnley admitted he was stressed out beyond anything he had experienced before. At least he had taken measures to protect himself. Two seasons detectives, both armed, stood guard outside and the famous Jeremy Bane was getting involved. Like many native New Yorkers, he had heard wild rumors about this Dire Wolf for years. Clearing away the table, he left the dirty dishes in the sink.

Leaving the porch light on, he checked the front and back door as well as the windows before beginning to relax a bit. Burnley trudged upstairs in better spirits than he had been the past few days.

Down in the basement, in a gloom only broken by a single tiny nightlight, the door of the clothes dryer popped open. Sam had glanced at the appliance when prowling the house but it was obviously too small to hold anyone more than five years old. Nevertheless, a man crawled out now and dropped down onto the cold stone floor.

Dressed all in black, a tall thin figure flopped about with arms and legs that were broken at unnatural angles. In a minute, one arm snapped back into place, then both legs. The immortal killer forced his other arm back into its socket and got to his feet.

Samhain grinned to himself in the murk.

His abnormal healing ability enabled him to ignore stab wounds and bullet holes, to survive being hit by cars or trapped in burning buildings and to seem completely unscatched immediately. But he still felt pain. Breaking his own limbs to be able to fit inside that dryer had certainly not been enjoyable.

"The demands my little hobby makes of me," he chuckled. He swung around and loped up the stairs out of the basement.

Burnley had hung his clothes over a chair in his bedroom and worn his robe and slippers to the bathroom. Since the death of his wife three years earlier, her clothing and belongings had gradually been donated. Photos and memories were enough for him. He turned on the hot water in the tub, sprinkled in bath salts and hung his robe on a hook by the door.

A shower would be quicker but he felt achy and sore. Soaking would be more satisfying. With a deep sigh, he eased into water that was on the brink of being unbearably hot and settled back. Resting his head on a hard rubber cushion, Burnley closed his eyes a second before a powerful black-gloved hand shoved his head under the water and held it there.

IV.

At ten o'clock, Sam Simek called to report. He loved his new cell phone, these gadgets made surveillance so much easier it wasn't even funny. "Hi, Mr Bane. Nothing to report so far. His kitchen light went on sixteen minutes ago. The bathroom light upstairs is also on. Nothing moving outside that I can see."

"Where's Artie?" came Bane's voice.

"Behind the house. Sitting next to some trees."

"Sam, there was another murder last night. In Troy. A man specializing in plate tectonics was suffocated under a ton of dirt. Earth scientist, killed by dirt."

"Sure sounds like the pattern!"

"That's what the cops think," Bane said. "But I'm not so sure. A geologist is not an astronomer, it seems to be stretching terms too far. Even if Earth IS one of the planets, I suspect that the murder was not part of the real sequence."

"It was a decoy?" asked Sam. "So everyone doesn't expect another killing right away?"

"That's my guess. Sam, I'm on my way to join you guys now. I want you to call Dr Burnley. If he doesn't answer, have Artie go in the back, to investigate while you watch."

"Understood. Stand by, sir." Sam let Burnley's phone ring for a full minute before calling Bane back. "No answer. Mr Bane, I'm sending Artie in while I watch the outside."

"Tell him to have his gun in hand with the safety off. But you also follow him out of arm's reach. Be more careful than you usually are, Sam. I don't want to lose you two."

"Ah, we're tough old birds. We'll report right away." Sam met his cousin at the rear of the house, where they found the rear door had a standard Schlage lock which their assortment of keys could handle. Wearing thin cotton gloves they always carried, the two investigators stepped inside.

"Dr Burnley? Hello? Are you all right?" Artie called out but received no answer. Beside him, Sam took out a snub-nosed .32 Colt revolver he had relied upon for many years. Slowly and watchfully, they made their way through the silent house.

Light came out through the open bathroom door. The cousins found Dr Burnley in the filled tub, completely underwater, eyes and mouth open. The body wasn't floating, which meant the lungs had filled wih water. Artie started to reach toward the corpse anyway. He didn't seriously intend to try mouth-to-mouth or CPR under those circumstance but he had to fight an inclination to try.

"We need to get out of here," Sam told him.

"Yeah. The boss should be here in a second." As they retraced their steps back out of the house, both men kept checking to make certain that they hadn't dropped anything or left any trace of their presence on the scene. On the back porch, after locking the door again, the cousins started briskly back through the yard.

"Well, our story is simple. We called the victim, got no answer and waited here for the Wolf to arrive. He's in charge."

"Yeah, not much to trip up on with that yarn," said Artie.

As they reached their car, they saw Bane pull up and leaped from behind the wheel as if he had been shot from a catapult. "I've called Klein. He's on the way with his troops. Let's have a quick report."

Sam and Artie described what they had found in a brief summary, then started again in greater detail. Bane listened, asked a few questions, then agreed they should keep to their simple story.

"Mr Bane, we let you down on this one," Sam said. "We'll return our fee. Burnley got it right under our noses."

"I won't accept it. You guys haven't failed, Samhain has been outsmarting everyone from the Mandate to Scotland Yard to the KGB for decades. That lunatic has a lot to answer for."

Glumly, the three of them stood around for ten minutes until blinding red and blue lights from three cop cars came speeding up the dark road. From the lead vehicle, Harold Klein stepped out, wearing the same raincoat that had seen its best days long ago.

The inspector marched right up to the Dire Wolf and barely restrained himself from grabbing a handful of lapels. "Awright, you! Let's hear it. Talk to me."

"Inspector Klein, these two operatives are working for me on the Samhain case. Arthur Rose and Samuel Simek, they've been licensed PIs in business for fifteen years. Dr Burnley met with them this afternoon. He agreed to allow them to watch his house. They phoned him every ninety minutes for a status check. He had their cell numbers if he saw or heard anything even a little out of the ordinary."

When the Dire Wolf paused, Klein almost sputtered in his impatience. "Are you trying to be dramatic? Go on."

"At ten o'clock, Burnley did not answer. He still has not responded. Artie and Sam wanted to break a window and get in to see if he was okay. But I was already on my way here and I told them to call you instead."

All very true, thought Bane. It was what had been left out that really mattered.

"Yeah? I bet there's more to it than that though. Dammit, Putnam and Sutton, get that door open. You got keys for most locks. You two detectives, Rosie and Simek, stick around near this officer here and keep yer mouths shut. I don't want you working on alibis."

Getting in, Klein studied the death scene and turned off the water. He looked around, fixing every detail in his mind, then straightened up. "Officer Putnam, you stay outside the door. I gotta call the medical examiner and the wagon." He dug around in his raincoat pocket and came up with a flip phone that had numerous scratches and a cracked screen.

After the calls had been made, the inspector moved back out in the yard to fix a chilly stare on Bane. "You got something to say?"

"That man came to me for protection, Klein. I promised him he would be safe. You understand how I feel."

"Yeah, your professional pride is hurt," the inspector scoffed. "You got any ideas how this Samhain freak got out after the killing? Or for that matter, how'd he get in here in the first place?"

"If he IS out of the house," Bane said.

"I thought of that, believe me. Sutton is making a circuit of the house now, looking in every closet and under every bed. He's got his service revolver in his hand. But I don't expect him to find anything, truth be told."

"No." The Dire Wolf folded his arms and lowered his head. "Samhain is done here. You can see the motif, inspector. Neptune was Burnley's area of special expertise. In mythology, Nepture was the god of the sea, so Burnley was drowned. What a sick mind. Klein, these men never did anything to Samhain. They never even met him. To him, they are only pieces in his little game."

"Tell me some more, Bane," Klein demanded. "Come out with it. You're holding a lot back."

The Dire Wolf gazed down at the shorter older man. "Fine. I think Samhain has a special healing ability that normal Humans don't. He recovers from mortal injuries in minutes and he doesn't age at a normal rate. I've tracked his first recorded murder was to 1921."

"Are you drunk or just crazy?" snorted Klein.

"No one has ever uncovered his real name or nationalty. I guess he's American, born around 1900 or so, but he could easily be older than that. He's been killing this way for at least seventy years. It's always a cluster of murders with some symbolic link between the victims. They have the same last name as US Presidents or they're all left-handed redheads, that sort of thing." The Dire Wolf turned away to gaze at where Sam and Artie were loitering near Officer Putnam.

"Samhain makes other serial killers like Seneca or Dr Sabbath look cub scouts," he said as if to himself. "He IS the Boogeyman that childre have nightmares about."

"Dammit, Bane, stop! You're scaring me."

"I'm scared, too. He's the only enemy I get worried about tackling. He might be the one monster I cam't handle. The man has seventy years of experience and there's no way to kill him."

"This stuff CAN'T be true. It's fantasy. You must be confusing him with other killers, that's all there is to it."

"I wish," said Bane in a steady voice. "There's no mistake. Come to my building tomorrow and I'll show you a stack of evidence. Mark Drum fought him in 1939. Andrew Steel thought he destroyed Samhain in 1965. And Michael Hawk actually brought him into custody in 1976. And yet, Samhain always escaped or came back somehow, more vicious and more devious each time."

"Whatever, whatever. I can't worry about that right now." Klein jabbed a stubby finger at the Dire Wolf. "We're at a murder scene. I need to take a statement from you and a statement from each of your helpers over there. Separately. So you can't give each other hints. In a few minutes, City employees will crawling all over this property, measuring and taking samples and snapping pictures like it's D-Day. The medical examiner will show up and he'll check Burnley out down to the dirt under his little toenail."

Bane was staring past the flashing lights of the police cars up at the house. "I know you take your job seriously, inspector. You're an honest cop and a hard-working one. I want you to start thinking about where the next killing will be. So far, Samhain has used Mercury, Mars, Earth and now Nepture as his themes. Five planets left."

"Five more murders?" snarled the inspector. "Not on my watch, by God."

The Dire Wolf swung back back to face the man. "All right. Have your sergeant get out his notebook and I'll start dictating my statement. The two detectives working for me will cooperate, too."

"You know, I could hold you as a material witness, Bane. A night in a holding cell. But going by that look in your eyes, I don't think there's any chance you'd leave town right now."

"No," said Bane. "Samhain is out there. This is where I was meant to be."

V.

It was past two-thirty when Bane finally drove down the ramp into the tiny garage beneath his building. The steel panel slid down automatically behind him and clicked into place. As he got out from behind the wheel, Bane was dismayed to realize he felt tired. This was rare for him, but then the events of that evening had taken their toll. He had lost clients before, every PI had, but it was never something to easily dismiss.

The Dire Wolf walked slowly through the garage, flicking off the lights behind him. He went along the narrow walkways with the Vault to his left and the arsenal to his right, past open shelves holding members' belongings in storage. Up steep concrete steps, he emerged through a panel in the rear of the walk-in closet next to the front door.

Feeling sick at heart, Bane headed for the kitchen at the rear of the hall. He poked around in the refrigerator. There was a big container of lasagna that Cindy had made the day before. He heated it in the microwave and devoured it all with two pieces of buttered Italian bread, topping it with a glass of milk. He wished Cindy could have been around for this case. The Teachers of Tel Shai insisted on testing and refreshers at the most inconvenient times.

Bane barely did the dishes, not really paying attention. It was so unusual for him to be worn down this way. Heading up to his rooms on the third floor, he kicked off his boots, stripped down and pulled a single flannel sheet over him. He fell asleep with the bedside lamp still lit.

The doorbell rang, which set off a buzzer in his room. Bane jerked upright, confused to see bright sunlight slanting in through the windows. The clock on his nightstand read 11:43 AM. Bane almost fell out of bed as he thumbed a button on the intercom, "Hello. I'll be right there."

He could not remember the last time this had happened to him. Frantic, he pulled on a fresh turtleneck and slacks, jammed his feet into boots and started running down the stairs. As he moved, he brushed back his hair with his fingers.

When he checked the monitor by the front door, he confirmed it was only Inspector Klein. Bane realized he had hurried downstairs without the Trom armor, his gun, even his silver daggers. It's a good thing he didn't let in some Snake man assassin or hired gun, he thought with immense self-reproach.

As Klein entered, he fixed a critical eye on Bane. "You've looked better."

"I guess I got behind on sleep lately," the Dire Wolf sheepishly admitted. "Come in, lieutenant."

"I came here to check out the files you said you had on this Samhain," said Klein. "You got it handy?"

"Yeah. Come over here in my office." On the desk was a stack of manila folders and a book that he had been studying the previous day. "Let's dig in, inspector, there's a lot of material to cover."

After that, they were mostly silent as they both sorted through the assorted notes. A few times they muttered comments. Bane had pulled files on Samhain from a wide variety of sources. There were yellowed newspaper clippings from the 1930s, there were Kenneth Dred's own neatly typed accounts of encounters he and his colleagues had had with the immortal killer. Photostat pages of old books and magazine articles about unsolved crimes, transcripts of court records and police files, as well as an unpublished manuscript of a book about Samhain from 1968, made for a lot of reading.

Two hours of wading through that gruesome material was hard for anyone to take. Klein hit his limit when he arranged a collection of a dozen mug shots on the desk in front of him. Photos from 1931 Miami, 1944 San Diego, 1956 Chicago, 1961 Selma, 1964 Dallas, 1972 Boston, right up to the most recent one from 1989 Tucson. The hair styles were different but there was no doubt it was the same face with the same mocking smile staring up at him in each picture.

The inspector suddenly shoved his chair back and stood up, having trouble catching his breath. Bane rose as well and came around to stand beside him. "I think we could use a break," the Dire Wolf said. "Come on, I'll make some coffee."

In the kitchen at the rear of the ground floor, Klein nosed around while the coffee brewed and then gratefully drained a cup. He asked for a refill, which he sipped more sedately.

Since caffeine was the last thing he needed, Bane worked on a tall tumbler of ice water. He was watching the inspector thoughtfully. "It's a jolt when the pieces fall together."

"Yep, exactly what I was thinking," Klein said. "I'd read about some of these murders. Unsolved cold cases have a fascination for cops. But I never ever made the connection between them all. Now I see the big picture."

Putting the water pitcher back in the refrigerator, Bane said nothing. He felt Klein might be having a moment of revelation.

"You know, I was remembering when I worked with Michael Hawk a few times," Klein said. "Hell of a guy. A real straight arrow. He thought the world of you, Bane."

"I'm glad to hear that," the Dire Wolf said simply. "Mike helped me get my PI license and taught me the basics of the trade but I'll never be anywhere near the the investigator he was."

"The point is, if Hawk trusted you, maybe I should give you a chance, too." Klein set his cup down on the saucer with a clink. "I've been thinking about this."

Pulling out a chair at the round kitchen table, Bane sat down facing the man. He said nothing, waiting.

"Bane, this is off the record. I'm speaking unofficially. Against normal human lawbreakers, police methods work fine. It's a system of laws that people have agreed on so society can function more or less. But with these monsters from outside the system, Samhain or Golgora or the Slaughterman, regular tactics don't work. You can't send dogcatchers after freakin' sabretooth tigers."

"That's where I've been trying to help," Bane said. "It's what I was meant to be doing."

Getting up with a slight wince, Klein went over to rinse out his cup in the sink. "I might get in hot water for letting you operate without trying to rein you in. Maybe endanger my pension, maybe risk getting up on charges myself. But I've decided this city needs a Dire Wolf once in a while."

Bane rose and said only, "Thanks."

Getting back to the topic, Klein said, "You know, this freak is not a serial killer in the classic sense. There's no sex involved. He doesn't keep trophies. He doesn't feel compulsion to repeat himself. It's a sick game to him. Each series of killings is like a little play he puts on to show how clever he is."

"That's what I think, too," Bane agreed. "There are still five planets left. By now, every astronomer has to be a nervous wreck. Samhain has already worked out his next attack. He'll pick an astronomer and plan a death involving the ancient god that the planet is named after. We've got that to work with."

Klein headed out of the kitchen, scratching his head absently. "In theory, my territory is midtown to lower Manhattan. But lately my captain has been loaning me out for any crimes that seem weird. I guess I'm being seen as a sort of specialist."

"My hunch is that Samhain will finish off as many victims as he can while in the city," Bane said. "He has a definite grudge against me since I kept him from completing the Compass Murders a few years ago."

The inspector paused and gave Bane a quizzical look. "Really? You were involved in the Compass Murders?"

"Yeah," Bane said as he led Klein through the hall. "First time we met, I shoved him in front of a subway train on Seventh Avenue. You'd think he'd get the hint but he was back in action right away."

Stopping by the front door, the Dire Wolf frowned. "I don't think he'll attack me personally. Samhain seems to enjoy being chased by FBI profilers. But he knows where I work and these killings may be a red flag he's waving to catch my attention."

"Feh. You're after him. The NYPD and the FBI are after him. He sure doesn't make friends." The inspector opened the door and let himself out. His parting words were "Keep me updated, Bane."

"Sure." The Dire Wolf allowed the faintest flicker of a smile across his face.

VI.

He went back up to the second floor, made his bed and slung the belt with the dart gun over one shoulder. Pulling back his sleeves, he strapped the leather sheaths to his forearms with their hilts out. The silver-bladed throwing knives had been crafted ages ago and had been ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin to be potent against malevolent forces.

Kenneth Dred had given the young Dire Wolf those daggers at their first meeeting. If he had to give up everything else he owned in the world, Bane would have held on to those two blades. He had worn them so long that he felt off-balance without them.

Heading back down to the kitchen, he scrambled three eggs and ate them on wheat toast in a few gulps. His enhanced metabolism left him constantly ravenous. The meeting with Klein had gone so much better than he expected. He had hoped the sly old cop would warm up a little and see Bane as an ally. A liaison with the Homicide Department was always valuable.

Bane went to his office and dropped down behind his desk. He phoned Sam and Artie. They had been released from questioning soon after he had been.

"I don't have anything for you guys right this minute," he said. "But things will be happening soon. I want you both to remain available around the clock for the next few days. At your usual rates, with a bonus if you have to get within sight of the enemy. How does that sound?"

"Fine, Mr Bane," came Artie's voice. "Sorry again about last night. We took pride in never letting you down before."

"Don't worry about it. We're dealing with a top predator this time. I'll contact you as soon as I have anything to work with."

Next, Bane called Wilber Schlegel, his most reliable researcher. Retired and devoted to exploring the Internet, the man owed an immense debt to Bane. When Schlegel's teenage daughter had been abducted by a vicious rapist, it turned out the Dire Wolf had already been on the sadist's trail. Within ninety minutes, the daughter had been home unviolated and the rapist had never been seen again.

Ever since, Schlegel had been eager to use his expertise to help Bane. Much more skilled at online searches than the Dire Wolf, Schlegel had developed many contacts with retired police officers and amateur sleuths, and he had found real satisfaction in preventing crime.

"Hi, Wilber? Yeah, it's me. I'd like some information if you can round it up for me. I'm sure you heard about the astronomers who were killed. Right. One in California, one in Canada, one upstate and one last night right in this area. Yes. A man named Peter Burnley, drowned in his own bathtub."

"I was just reading about that," came Schlegel's voice.

"I'm trying to make sense of the sequence. Here is what I need you to look for, Wilber. The next victim will be an astronomer or an expert on some astronomy subject, I should be more be more exact. He will specialize in one of the following planets: Venus, Jupiter, Uranus, Pluto or Saturn. I think that's the list, there are nine altogether, right?"

"Yeah," said Schlegel. "'My Very Easy Method Just Shows Us Nine Planets' is how I learned them back in school."

"Fine," Bane said. "Search the Metropolitan area first but widen the focus if it seems necessary. Can you get me their home addresses, too? Great. You also come through, Wilbur. Thanks again." The Dire Wolf closed the connection. He got up and stretched, then started moving around restlessly.

He was relieved that Wilbur Schlegel had proven to be such a good researcher. Aside from Schlegel's debt to Bane, the man had become interested in the Midnight War for its own sake. Helping to protect the public had given Schlegel a real feeling of purpose.

Sitting around waiting would be intolerable. One drawback to his enhanced reflexes was a metabolism that burned calories always kept him jumpy. He went up to the seventh floor gym. In the shower room there were ten lockers in a row. Only his and Cindy's were still in use. It seemed ridiculous that such a fortune had been spent setting up this building for the KDF team and now only two people lived here.

But it was too soon to think about assembling a new team. That night in Necropolis during the Final Halloween still preyed on him. So many of his friends had been lost in those few hours....

Right now he just wanted to burn off steam. Bane stripped down and changed into a white T-shirt and blue shorts, white socks and sneakers. He kept the Link ready in a pocket of the shorts and hurried over to the nearest of the row of treadmills.

The next forty minutes were spent running at forty-five degree angle. When he was done, a film of sweat covered his body but his breathing had hardly increased. Bane made a circuit of the Nautilus machine, using high reps with lower weight at the moment. At one point, he caught himself sitting at the leg raise machine lost in thought over these Astronomy Murders and had to roust himself. Picking up a cloth and a spray bottle, he wiped down the apparatus and moved on.

Finally, he moved over to the corner where a square of exercise mats was laid out. Feet together, hands at his side, Bane bowed to Teacher Chael and began his DohRa. This started as a series of poses and stances that morphed into punches and blocks and kicks. Soon he was whipping rapidly in circles, fighting imaginary opponents. The sequence reversed itself until he was again holding various stances as he cooled down. Finally, he bowed again with genuine gratitude to the Kumundu Teacher so far away.

During the DohRa, every muscle had been stretched and tested while memory of the techniques had been reinforced. He felt great. Bane went back to the locker room and took a steaming hot shower that he turned cooler before towling down. His abilities did not come for free. Being the Dire Wolf meant training and practicing the needed skills as well as staying conditioned.

Dressed again, he folded up the soggy shorts and shirt to drop off at the laundry room for later. He was still remembering Samhain not that long ago, trying to figure how that maniac thought and what his next move would be. In the back of his mind, he was glad that Inspector Klein seemed to be coming around to regard him as a colleague rather than a suspect. It was always easier to track criminals without having to fight the police at the same time.

Down in his office again, he was startled to see it was already three-thirty. Still no calls. Bane went to the front door and got the mail from the reinforced steel drop. It looked like slim pickings. At his desk, he skimmed through bills and legal notices before putting them aside for the moment. When the office phone rang, he snatched at it as if he was trying to grab a rattler before it could strike.

" Yeah, Bane here. Hi, Wilbur, what have you got? Three names. Wait, I need a pen. Okay. Let me write everything down. Uh-huh. Thanks. Yeah, I've got it." He listened at his best researcher went into too much detail as usual. "I think I've got everything, call me right away if you find anything else. Wilbur, you may have helped catch the most notorious serial killer of modern times."

Bane studied the information over and over, fixing it in his memory. Which one would Samhain strike at next? Why? It was so hard to second guess a lunatic like that.

First on the list was Dr John Philmore, fifty-three. The note said he had written some controversial papers on the cloud composition of Venus, including new trace elements not known before. Bane couldn't imagine how anyone found that interesting, let alone controversial. Philmore was going to Germany for a series of seminars. Then, the seventy-year-old was Jules DeMontfort, a specialist in Saturn's largest moons, and whose whimsical ideas about a supposed original tenth planet had stirred controversy. The third was was Carlton Dietz, who had proven mathematically that Jupiter's gravity well had protected Earth from so many comet strikes that life might not have survived otherwise. Dietz was confined to a wheelchair but had been a prolific author.

Bane turned the possibilities over and tried to consider all possible angles. It would be convenient if Samhain were committing these murders in some obvious order... alphabetically or in order from the Sun or something. But no such luck.

Finally, he phoned Artie and Sam and asked them to come over. During the fifteen minutes he had before they arrived, he wrote down all the names and addresses and phone numbers on index cards. When the cousins arrived, he sat them down and explained why he had settled on the three most likely victims.

"Sam, I'm assigning you DeMontfort. Here's his data. Artie, you take Quinn. Introduce yourselves, give them situation straight without sweetening it and ask them if they've noticed anything suspicious." Bane studied the two older men. "Tail them at a reasonable distance. Don't worry too much about being spotted, Samhain wouldn't be deterred by a detective in the area."

Sam Simek rubbed his unshaven chin and didn't try to hide his unhappiness. "The third guy, the Jupiter expert? You're taking him for himself?"

"That's right," said the Dire Wolf. "Maybe Samhain intended to follow a monthly timetable but he broke schedule last night. He might strike at any time. He might want to complete the sequence and get it over with. You two are good, but I want to stress again that you need to be careful. I'd feel better if you brought some backup with you."

"Umm, well, there are two kids who are trying to get intern spots with us. Just outta college. I bet they'd like to come along and provide extra eyes."

"Bring them," Bane said. "I'll pay their fees and your expenses. Okay, let's get going. Keep in touch." He escorted Sam and Artie to the door and went back to his office, then started to pace.

He had seldom felt doubts before. Usually, he had complete confidence in his ability to tackle anything and everything. But Samhain worried him. Bane wished that Michael Hawk was still around. That man had been a world-class investigator who could spot a single discrepancy in any alibi or rattle off a dozen conclusions from a piece of string at a crime scene.

Bane admitted he was no genius as a detective. His specialty was fighting. When the stalking and chases and killing started, the Dire Wolf was his natural element.

Before leaving the building, Bane opened a locked cabinet in his office where he kept some of the more esoteric weaponry. He ejected the clip of anesthetic darts from his CO2-powered gun and inserted a magazine of seven resonance caps. These were low-powered concussion grenades, designed to knock a man down with cracked ribs or the breath knocked out of him but hopefully with no permanent damage.

They were still risky to use on people, but then the resonance caps had not been intended for Human targets. Bane had developed them for the creatures of the night who were too tough and too resilient to be stopped by anesthetic darts. He figured if any monster qualified for the resonance caps, Samhaim did.

As always, Bane was wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under his clothes. The matched silver-bladed daggers were sheathed on his forearms with the hilts out. In his jacket and slacks were concealed a dozen tiny gadgets, ranging from two pencil-sized thermal flares to the oxygen membrane to a flexible hacksaw blade in his right lapel.

Feeling not only ready but downright eager to confront this century-old serial killer, Bane marched down to the garage beneath the building and get in the Buick Regal. Before he stowed his vehicles down here, he always stopped to fill the gas tank, check the oil and tires and make sure the equipment in the trunk was ready. He rolled up the steep concrete ramp that exited in the dead-end alley and pulled out onto the traffic on Lexington Avenue.

At a red light, Bane thumbed a preset number on the Link which he had placed in its niche on the dashboard. The Trom device patched into the regular phone network and a second later, he heard a man's voice say, "Hello? Yes?"

"Is this James Hutchinson? I need to see Mr Dietz immediately. This is urgent."

"He already has an appointment with a police detective in fifteen minutes," said the astronomer's assistant.

"Fine. I'm working on the same case," Bane said to the Link without having to raise his voice. "This is about the death of Peter Burnley last night. My name is Jeremy Bane--"

"Wait, WHAT?" came the man's voice. "There must be some mix-up. That's the name the police detective provided?"

VII.

Bane's skin crawled and he felt a cold thump in the pit of his stomach. "Listen. This is a matter of life or death. Get Dietz out of that house immediately. You are both in mortal danger! Do you understand?"

His only answer was a click and the silence of a disconnected line. The Dire Wolf knew not to redial. He floored the accelerator and sped up the width of Fifth Avenue, missing a few collisions by inches and hearing angry horns honking behind him.
Soon he found the address he had been given and slammed on the brakes to leave his car right in front of a FINE FOR PARKING sign.

Vaulting out from behind the wheel, feeling a cab slide past him within skinning distance, Bane was only thinking of one thing. He sprinted headlong
for the front door. It was a narrow yellow brick building with the name DIETZ FAMILY over the front door. Without breaking stride, Bane whirled and blasted a straight side kick that cracked the lock and slammed the door open.

Inside the front hall, with its mahogany cabinets and framed prints on the wall, a man sprawled on the polished hardwood floor. His head had been twisted completely around so that his dead face was staring down between his own shoulder blades.
The staring eyes and protruding tongue meant that searching for a pulse would be a waste of time.

On a stand near the door was an old-fashioned rotary phone. Bane picked up the receiver and called the number at Homicide South down on 20th Street. "Klein? This is Bane! He's striking right now. Get up to Dietz's home, 677 111th Street." Leaving the phone off the hook, he stalking deeper into the house.

The main parlor showed more of Dietz' wealth on display. The room had gleaming hardwood floors with a splendid Persian rug stretching its length. The handcrafted furniture was simple and understated. There was an elaborate stere system taking up much of a one wall and a baby grand piano under the French windows.

Carlton Dietz in his wheelchair was tied up with duct tape in the middle of that room. A strip of the tape covered his mouth as well. Dietz was a substantial man with a round belly and not much hair. His round moonface was purple with congested blood as he tried to cry out through the tape.

The astronomer's wheelchair itself had been immobilized, tied to the heavy couch with clothesline. Water dripped off Dietz, plopping audibly onto the floor. He had been drenched.

As Bane rushed into the living room, his deadliest enemy tossed a plastic bucket aside. Samhain was elegant in a Royal blue suit with a powder blue shirt and narrow black tie, polished dress shoes and even a neat handkerchief folded in the breast pocket. The man was quite handsome in almost a movie star way, with a full head of perfectly styled black hair and clean-cut features. His eyes were dark blue and his perfect teeth flashed in an easy grin.

"What, YOU again?" Samhain asked. "Of course, you're thinking the same about me. Excuse me a second."

As he spoke, the unkillable killer flung an extension cord toward the helpless Dietz. The ends had been stripped to bare wire. Bane had never reacted faster. He leaped across the room in a blur, slapped the cord far to one side and lunged straight for Samhain.

But even as he had thrown that cord, the murderer's other hand dove inside his suit jacket and came out with a small flat .25 Beretta. Before the Dire Wolf could reach him, Samhain fired three times and caught his enemy right over the heart. The flexible Trom armor under his clothes saved his life as it had many times before. Caught in mid-step and off-balance, Bane staggered to one side but managed to stay on his feet.

His own weapon whipped up and coughed twice. The low chuff of its compressed gas mechanism was lost in the sharp detonation of two resonance caps exploding. Samhain took a hit high on the chest and against his left shoulder. He was struck down by the blasts but even as he fell, the immortal killer snapped off one more shot. The small-caliber bullet tore across Bane's right cheek, slicing open a furrow and going on to smash a window behind him.

The Dire Wolf didn't seem to even notice. He took aim as his enemy was rising and fired a resonance cap that blew the gun out of Samhain's grip. Bones in the killer's hand snapped and the fingers bent in ways they were not meant to. For a second, even Samhain was occupied with pain and shock. His defenses were down. Bane got in close and unleashed a barrage of left-hand hooking punches back and forth to the torso and face that sounded like drumming. As Samhain swayed, the Dire Wolf threw a vicious uppercut that started down by his own knees.

Samhain's jaws were slammed shut, his head swung far back and he fell like a corpse. Even so, Bane did not let up. He knew what he was dealing with. As the killer struggled to rise, the Dire Wolf fired another resonance cap full into his face at point-blank range. Even after that, with one side of his face caved in and an eye protruding half out of its socket, Samhain did not die. He rolled over to get his hands under him and started to push himself up.

"There has got to be a limit to your healing factor," Bane growled. He holstered his gun and drew both silver daggers from their sheaths. As Samhain got to his knees, Bane knocked him down with a kick and knelt to sink one of the daggers to the hilt in the monster's heart, pinning him down to the hardwood. The Dire Wolf put his full weight on that knife, then raised the other one and drove it into Samhain's throat.

Even then, the furious blue eyes remained open and followed his movements. Samhain's arms and legs continued to flex and resist. Bane kept the man down by kneeling on him. The effects of the ensorcelled silver were fatal to most creatures of the night, but Samhain seemed resistant to even their effect.

Surprised to find himself panting, Bane said, "I had to cut Seneca's head off to finally get rid of him. Maybe you need to be buried in a dozen different places."

He glanced up to find Inspector Klein and a uniformed officer staring from the doorway. From their bulging eyes and gaping mouths, they were obviously stunned by what they had just witnessed.

"If you want to take this bird prisoner, you're welcome to him," Bane said.

"I, uh, I think you can let up on him a little. That has to be Samhain, right? Miller, get that man over there untied and see how he is."

Bane straightened up but did not get off the man. He remained tense and ready to fight.

Coming closer, Inspector Klein bent over with a grunt and picked up the frayed cord with its exposed ends, then glanced over at the soaking wet Dietz. "He was going to electrocute this guy," he said and it was not a question.

"You got it," said the Dire Wolf. "Dietz is the world's top authority on Jupiter. The Jupiter of Roman mythology was based on Zeus from Greek myths... and both of them used the thunderbolt as their weapon. Samhain was sticking to his theme. Klein, you have handcuffs on you?"

The inspector reluctantly unclipped cuffs from the rear of his belt and handed them over. "Bane, get real. He's got a knife in his chest and another one in his throat. He's not going anywhere."

"You might think so." Leaning over toward the piano, Bane handcuffed his enemy's left wrist to the leg of that instrument. There was blood all over the front of his black turtleneck and his own facial wound was dripping. He did not seem to be aware of his wound.

The Dire Wolf said, "Watch closely," and tugged his daggers out of Samhain's body, then jumped up to his feet before they could stop him.

"Hey, hey, careful with the evidence," Klein began but the words stuck in his throat as he saw Samhain cough, spit some blood on the floor and sit up. He tried to rise but being cuffed to the piano restricted him. The immortal killer wiped his face with his free hand. There was not a scratch on it.

"God watch over us," whispered the officer.

"That's going to be some report you make, inspector," Bane said. "I don't know how you're going to word it."

"You idiots!" screamed Samhain as if he had not been hurt in the slightest. "Do you know how many times I've been arrested? You can't hold me. I'll be killing your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren. I am a force of nature and I cannot be stopped!"

Klein shook himself visibly and got back to business. "Whatever. Listen, you are under arrest for murder and attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent..."

As the inspector and the uniformed cop were focused on approaching their defiant prisoner, Bane quietly walked over to the bathroom across the hall. Using hot water and liquid soap, he scrubbed his daggers free of blood and sheathed them. He had no intention of surrendering them. Those blades had been a gift from Kenneth Dred when they had first met.

With no wounds remaining on Samhain, Bane didn't think a case could be made for confiscating the daggers anyway. Klein and the officer had seen the knives in the killer, but there was no physical evidence to support that. Samhain's healthy unbroken skin would contradict their claims. Besides, he figured Department 21 Black would claim jurisdiction for Samhain's crimes in other states and would quietly instruct the NYPD to never mention the case again. This happened a lot with Midnight War events.

Klein had watched Bane without saying anything. In the past few days, his worldview had been shaken to its basic foundations. He was not certain at that moment just what he believed.

By then, Dietz had been untied and his gag removed. Klein asked, "Are you all right, sir? Do you wish to make a statement?"

"Yes! Yes. That maniac was ready to murder me. If that man in black hadn't stopped him, I'd be dead right now. I'll press charges, I'll testify, whatever you want."

Samhain cackled and kept struggling to get loose. The cop stayed well out of reach with one hand on his service revolver.

"He's wanted for multiple homicides," Klein told the intended victim. "He should definitely get the death penalty."

From where he stood, the Dire Wolf said, "That'll be quite a trick."

5/6/2000 - Rev 3/9/2018