"Basement Boy"
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dochermes"Basement Boy"
12/16/1992
I.
Just after noon, Jeremy Bane pulled his Mustang out onto Lexington Avenue and uptown. It was a cold December day with a dark ominous sky, and snow was expected. Business had been slack at the Dire Wolf Agency for a week and he vaguely planned on checking some of his contacts to see if anything was going on in the Midnight War he hadn't heard about. Bane could not be peaceful for long, he thrived in high stress situations. At thirty-five, he had spent a life looking for trouble.
His Link beeped at his belt and he tugged it up. The Trom device patched into the phone system automatically. "Yeah?"
"Lissen, Bane, it's me," came the gruff voice of Inspector Harold Klein. "This is off the record, you understand? Not for the public to hear."
"I'm in my car. Go ahead, inspector."
"Of course it's bad news. Why else would I be calling you, right? It's Yellow Bill. I bet you remember him."
"Teenage psycho? You bet I remember him. Too bad he survived that bullet I put in his side last year. What's going on?" Bane snapped.
"He's loose. The little animal was going to court appointed therapy. Somehow he hit the guard escorting him, gave him a severe concussion, then strangled the psychiatrist who was supposed to helping him. You know what he does to his victims, the words burned or cut on the body. Now he's got the guard's sidearm and is driving around in the shrink's car... a 1991 Chevy, beige. Plates UYY 1519. This was maybe an hour ago."
Bane had stopped at a red light. "As psycho-killers go, Yellow Bill is right up there. What is he now, seventeen?"
"Almost eighteen. He won't be a minor after next month. Look, of course there's a net out for him, but you know the kid is slippery and twisted. He's hard to catch. I thought maybe you'd want to pitch in." Klein's voice sounded just a little desperate. "After that business with Samhain, I changed my mind about you. Sometimes the Dire Wolf is necessary."
"Thanks," snorted Bane. "All right. I'm going to check on the woman who used to be his neighbor. She first tipped the authorities that there was something really wrong with little Bill Loughran. Supposedly, he doesn't know that but I have my doubts."
"Thanks," said Klein as the connection broke.
Turning onto the bridge to Queens, Bane allowed himself the faintest smile. Not too long ago, Inspector Klein had been trying to pin one crime after another on him. He said there was no place in Manhattan for a private investigator who was actually more a vigilante. But then had come the capture of Dos Manos. And the mysterious disappearance of the murderous Pudge. And the taking of Samhain. Klein had begun to appreciate Bane's usefulness in the Midnight War. Now it was reaching the point where Klein was unofficially calling the Dire Wolf in on weird or desperate cases.
Nearing Franklin Boulevard, Bane slowed and pulled over. He knew he must be close to the house where Mary Lindhorst lived. She had moved here from Staten Island after Yellow Bill had been arrested, fearful he knew somehow she had alerted the police of his activities. Bane looked down the street and saw rows of nearly identical one-story white frame houses on either side. He wondered if people coming home at night ever tried to go in the wrong house by honest mistake.
Detaching the Link, he got her number from its memory and called. Almost instantly, a mellow female voice answered, "Hello?"
"Mary Lindhorst? This is Jeremy Bane. I imagine you remember me from last year."
"Oh. Certainly. I never found a way to thank you for what you did." Her voice suddenly had a brittle edge to it. "Why- why are you calling me now?"
Bane didn't mince words. "I think you're in danger. Are the doors and windows locked?"
"Yes. Absolutely. I just got home not ten minutes ago and I always check. Is it him..?"
"There's a chance. I've been told he's at large. The police are looking for him now, and I wanted you to be alert. Do you have a gun in the house?"
"No. Certainly not. But I do carry a spray tube of Mace, it's always in my handbag. And my boyfriend will be home right after five." She hesitated. "Where are you?"
"Corner of Franklin and 116th. I think your house is nearby, right?"
"Two blocks down, actually. I'm at 23 116th. Are you coming here now?"
Bane hesitated. "I think I'm going to search the neighborhood, Mary. I want to make sure there's no sign of him yet. You can call this number if you suspect anything."
"All right, but this old phone doesn't have caller ID. My boyfriend has my cell phone."
The Dire Wolf gave her his number and repeated his warning to stay alert. She thanked him again and hung up.
In the second before he would have turned off his Link himself, Bane heard a faint intake of breath on the line and a click. His pale grey eyes flared up, and he was out of his car in a full run down the street instantly. Faster than the best Human athlete, he hurtled down the block, leaped across the side street right as a taxi missed him by an inch, and was racing up to 23 116th Street. It was a house that did not look much different than twenty others in this neighborhood. The only distinguishing feature was that a wreath was already on the front door. The Dire Wolf stopped in front of that door, set himself and slammed the heel of his hand just above the knob, snapping the lock cleanly.
Diving into the living room, he saw no one in sight. A door to one side was ajar and the faintest noise came through it. Bane was through that door and silently down the steps into the furnished basement in a second, his long-barreled Smith & Wesson 38 already in his hand as he hopped down off the bottom step.
Mary Lindhorst was in her forties, not a good-looking woman under the best of circumstances and now, stripped naked and tied to a wooden chair, she looked pale and unhealthy in the fluorescent lights. Scraps of material were still about her midriff where her clothing had been cut off. She was brutally gagged with a towel tied deep in her mouth. As Bane appeared, she spotted him entering and Yellow Bill followed her eyes.
William Loughran was a short, dumpy teenager with a soft doughy face and a mop of hair he kept dyed a vile canary yellow. He was wearing pale blue scrubs with a number stenciled over the shirt pocket. In one hand, he was holding a soldering iron he had just plugged in. "YOU again!" he yelped.
"Put that thing down carefully," Bane ordered. "On its holder, that's right. Next bullet won't go in a rib, Bill."
Stepping away from the bound woman, pudgy hands raised, Yellow Bill grinned. "You're not gonna shoot me. I'm unarmed. I'm a minor, just a kid." He started walking closer. "How would that look in court?"
When Yellow Bill was eight feet away, Bane holstered the revolver. "You're right about one thing. I'm not going to shoot you." Lunging forward, the Dire Wolf cracked a left hook to the boy's face that broke a tooth loose and spun him completely around. Yellow Bill slumped to the floor, moaning and unable to rise.
"I'd rather do that anyway," Bane said to himself. He spun to get the towel out of Mary's mouth, then started slicing through the clothesline binding her with one of his daggers. "You okay? Did he hurt you?"
"No, no, not yet anyway!" She got unsteadily to her feet and almost fell as the circulation had been cut off in her legs. Bane picked up her slacks and white T-shirt and handed them to her.
"Good thing I was nearer than I thought," the Dire Wolf said. "He must have already been in the house when you came home. When the phone rang, he picked up the extension and listened in. That was how I heard him hang up."
"Thank God you came right away," she said. "He dragged me down here with a hand over my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe. He didn't say one word the whole time." Mary Lindhorst took a deep shuddering breath. "How did he get loose? I thought he was in a secure institution."
"Somebody with wishful thinking thought counseling would help him," Bane told her. "Now he has another murder on his record. He's going deep in a cage this time." As the groaning boy managed to get up on hands and knees, the Dire Wolf loomed over him with one fist clenched. "Stay down, you maniac. Your first victim was your little brother, in a cellar like this one, wasn't it? I bet your prison nickname will be Basement Boy."
9/17/2014
12/16/1992
I.
Just after noon, Jeremy Bane pulled his Mustang out onto Lexington Avenue and uptown. It was a cold December day with a dark ominous sky, and snow was expected. Business had been slack at the Dire Wolf Agency for a week and he vaguely planned on checking some of his contacts to see if anything was going on in the Midnight War he hadn't heard about. Bane could not be peaceful for long, he thrived in high stress situations. At thirty-five, he had spent a life looking for trouble.
His Link beeped at his belt and he tugged it up. The Trom device patched into the phone system automatically. "Yeah?"
"Lissen, Bane, it's me," came the gruff voice of Inspector Harold Klein. "This is off the record, you understand? Not for the public to hear."
"I'm in my car. Go ahead, inspector."
"Of course it's bad news. Why else would I be calling you, right? It's Yellow Bill. I bet you remember him."
"Teenage psycho? You bet I remember him. Too bad he survived that bullet I put in his side last year. What's going on?" Bane snapped.
"He's loose. The little animal was going to court appointed therapy. Somehow he hit the guard escorting him, gave him a severe concussion, then strangled the psychiatrist who was supposed to helping him. You know what he does to his victims, the words burned or cut on the body. Now he's got the guard's sidearm and is driving around in the shrink's car... a 1991 Chevy, beige. Plates UYY 1519. This was maybe an hour ago."
Bane had stopped at a red light. "As psycho-killers go, Yellow Bill is right up there. What is he now, seventeen?"
"Almost eighteen. He won't be a minor after next month. Look, of course there's a net out for him, but you know the kid is slippery and twisted. He's hard to catch. I thought maybe you'd want to pitch in." Klein's voice sounded just a little desperate. "After that business with Samhain, I changed my mind about you. Sometimes the Dire Wolf is necessary."
"Thanks," snorted Bane. "All right. I'm going to check on the woman who used to be his neighbor. She first tipped the authorities that there was something really wrong with little Bill Loughran. Supposedly, he doesn't know that but I have my doubts."
"Thanks," said Klein as the connection broke.
Turning onto the bridge to Queens, Bane allowed himself the faintest smile. Not too long ago, Inspector Klein had been trying to pin one crime after another on him. He said there was no place in Manhattan for a private investigator who was actually more a vigilante. But then had come the capture of Dos Manos. And the mysterious disappearance of the murderous Pudge. And the taking of Samhain. Klein had begun to appreciate Bane's usefulness in the Midnight War. Now it was reaching the point where Klein was unofficially calling the Dire Wolf in on weird or desperate cases.
Nearing Franklin Boulevard, Bane slowed and pulled over. He knew he must be close to the house where Mary Lindhorst lived. She had moved here from Staten Island after Yellow Bill had been arrested, fearful he knew somehow she had alerted the police of his activities. Bane looked down the street and saw rows of nearly identical one-story white frame houses on either side. He wondered if people coming home at night ever tried to go in the wrong house by honest mistake.
Detaching the Link, he got her number from its memory and called. Almost instantly, a mellow female voice answered, "Hello?"
"Mary Lindhorst? This is Jeremy Bane. I imagine you remember me from last year."
"Oh. Certainly. I never found a way to thank you for what you did." Her voice suddenly had a brittle edge to it. "Why- why are you calling me now?"
Bane didn't mince words. "I think you're in danger. Are the doors and windows locked?"
"Yes. Absolutely. I just got home not ten minutes ago and I always check. Is it him..?"
"There's a chance. I've been told he's at large. The police are looking for him now, and I wanted you to be alert. Do you have a gun in the house?"
"No. Certainly not. But I do carry a spray tube of Mace, it's always in my handbag. And my boyfriend will be home right after five." She hesitated. "Where are you?"
"Corner of Franklin and 116th. I think your house is nearby, right?"
"Two blocks down, actually. I'm at 23 116th. Are you coming here now?"
Bane hesitated. "I think I'm going to search the neighborhood, Mary. I want to make sure there's no sign of him yet. You can call this number if you suspect anything."
"All right, but this old phone doesn't have caller ID. My boyfriend has my cell phone."
The Dire Wolf gave her his number and repeated his warning to stay alert. She thanked him again and hung up.
In the second before he would have turned off his Link himself, Bane heard a faint intake of breath on the line and a click. His pale grey eyes flared up, and he was out of his car in a full run down the street instantly. Faster than the best Human athlete, he hurtled down the block, leaped across the side street right as a taxi missed him by an inch, and was racing up to 23 116th Street. It was a house that did not look much different than twenty others in this neighborhood. The only distinguishing feature was that a wreath was already on the front door. The Dire Wolf stopped in front of that door, set himself and slammed the heel of his hand just above the knob, snapping the lock cleanly.
Diving into the living room, he saw no one in sight. A door to one side was ajar and the faintest noise came through it. Bane was through that door and silently down the steps into the furnished basement in a second, his long-barreled Smith & Wesson 38 already in his hand as he hopped down off the bottom step.
Mary Lindhorst was in her forties, not a good-looking woman under the best of circumstances and now, stripped naked and tied to a wooden chair, she looked pale and unhealthy in the fluorescent lights. Scraps of material were still about her midriff where her clothing had been cut off. She was brutally gagged with a towel tied deep in her mouth. As Bane appeared, she spotted him entering and Yellow Bill followed her eyes.
William Loughran was a short, dumpy teenager with a soft doughy face and a mop of hair he kept dyed a vile canary yellow. He was wearing pale blue scrubs with a number stenciled over the shirt pocket. In one hand, he was holding a soldering iron he had just plugged in. "YOU again!" he yelped.
"Put that thing down carefully," Bane ordered. "On its holder, that's right. Next bullet won't go in a rib, Bill."
Stepping away from the bound woman, pudgy hands raised, Yellow Bill grinned. "You're not gonna shoot me. I'm unarmed. I'm a minor, just a kid." He started walking closer. "How would that look in court?"
When Yellow Bill was eight feet away, Bane holstered the revolver. "You're right about one thing. I'm not going to shoot you." Lunging forward, the Dire Wolf cracked a left hook to the boy's face that broke a tooth loose and spun him completely around. Yellow Bill slumped to the floor, moaning and unable to rise.
"I'd rather do that anyway," Bane said to himself. He spun to get the towel out of Mary's mouth, then started slicing through the clothesline binding her with one of his daggers. "You okay? Did he hurt you?"
"No, no, not yet anyway!" She got unsteadily to her feet and almost fell as the circulation had been cut off in her legs. Bane picked up her slacks and white T-shirt and handed them to her.
"Good thing I was nearer than I thought," the Dire Wolf said. "He must have already been in the house when you came home. When the phone rang, he picked up the extension and listened in. That was how I heard him hang up."
"Thank God you came right away," she said. "He dragged me down here with a hand over my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe. He didn't say one word the whole time." Mary Lindhorst took a deep shuddering breath. "How did he get loose? I thought he was in a secure institution."
"Somebody with wishful thinking thought counseling would help him," Bane told her. "Now he has another murder on his record. He's going deep in a cage this time." As the groaning boy managed to get up on hands and knees, the Dire Wolf loomed over him with one fist clenched. "Stay down, you maniac. Your first victim was your little brother, in a cellar like this one, wasn't it? I bet your prison nickname will be Basement Boy."
9/17/2014
