"Pine Box, Arizona"
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dochermes"Pine Box, Arizona"
8/29-8/30/1997
I.
Two cars pulled into the parking lot of the MOUNTAIN VIEW MOTEL with its six shabby rooms arranged in a discouraged row under a canopy. The older vehicle was a tan Chevy Malibu with a few dents and some rust. Parked at the other end of the gravel lot was a new black Lincoln Continental gleaming as if freshly waxed by hand. As if on cue, the drivers emerged simultaneously and stood staring at each other as tensely as two growling dogs claiming the same turf. In the late afternoon sunlight, they cast long exaggerated shadows.
As he closed the door to the Chevy, Job kept his right hand near the lower edge of his denim jacket. The soft leather holster was just visible where it was attached to his belt. Job seemed to be in his early forties, a tall lanky man with a weatherbeaten face and a few day's growth of beard. He was wearing boots, faded jeans and a light blue work shirt under the denim jacket. A black Stetson was pushed back on his head. Job's blue eyes were narrowed so that they could hardly be seen as he glared at the other man.
Quietly stepping away from the Lincoln, Seraph kept both his hands at his belt, thumbs tucked inside the loops. Shorter than Job, more solidly built, Seraph was an older man with curly greying hair and a hooked nose over a remarkably predatory mouth. His eyes could not be seen behind the mirrored sunglasses. Appropriately for his shiny new car, Seraph was wearing a tailored black suit and tie, with vest and matching fedora, all with thin chalk lines. He returned Job's steady gaze for a few moments.
"Obviously, we need to talk," Seraph announced quietly.
"Do we? I suppose. Truce for a meeting," said Job in a monotone.
"Truce for the meeting." The older man lowered his hands and started moving toward the walkway that ran the length of the motel. A few wooden lawn chairs were scattered at intervals and he placed his hand on the back of one.
Moving as slowly and deliberately as if defusing a bomb, Job strode over and stood behind one of the chairs. He stuck a thin black cigar in the corner of his mouth and scratched an old-fashioned wooden match on the chair, lit the cigar and tossed the match toward the gravel before carefully lowering himself to sit in the chair. "Fancy meeting you here, Seraph."
"Pine Box, Arizona. Funny name for a town," the older man said. He took off his fedora and fanned himself with it. The air was hot but dry, and the low humidity made a big difference in comfort. "The founder must have been a coffin maker, you figure?"
Job hissed smoke from the corner of his mouth. "It can't be a coincidence two fellas in our trade show up here at the same time. We must be after the same prize."
"I suppose it's so. We've crossed before, but one of us always backed away. When we met in Chicago, I decided to take on a different asssignment. When we met in Miami, you agreed that you weren't getting paid enough for the extra trouble."
"Fair enough," Job admitted. "But this time, I gave my word to carry out the assignment. In our line of work, a man's word is worth everything. Clients have got to trust us."
Seraph took a moment to answer. "I have my own reasons for being in Pine Box. So. I don't see any reason why we need to team up."
"No, me neither." Job spit the chewed up cigar stub to the wooden planking at his boots. "Too bad. Maybe one of us will get lucky and score before the other. Shame if we had to go up against each other."
"Yes. But there are rules to our trade. We're not as free as we seem. I guess there's nothing more to be said." Seraph got easily to his feet and smooth his impeccable trouser creases. "I'll find a room somewhere else. Best thing would be if we don't run into each other."
Job did not rise. He tilted his Stetson forward as if about to take a nap, then said, "That'd be best. Good luck, old-timer."
Seraph snorted as he headed toward his car. Over one shoulder, he grumbled, "You only get old by surviving, son." Then he started up the sleek Lincoln and pulled away. Job sat motionless as if already asleep.
A cold voice came from behind him, "That guy likes the idea of shooting it out with you."
Job did not give a start or visibly react. After a few seconds, he slowly raised his cowboy hat and peered up at the stranger who had come up next to him so silently. He saw a man in his late thirties, as tall and lean as Job himself, dressed all in black including a turtleneck and sport jacket. The stranger had short black hair and pale grey eyes in a narrow face, eyes which watched Job thoughtfully.
"I don't believe we've met," drawled Job at last.
"No. My name is Bane, some call me Dire Wolf."
II.
"It's funny I didn't hear you come up," Job said.
Bane crossed over to stand in front of the man, gazing down at him speculatively. He had read the KDF file on Job Johnson of course, as well as what the FBI had to say about the hired gun. The history and the details were important but it was his appraisal now that mattered. Bane's Kumundu training enabled him to analyze the man's balance, his co-ordination, his skills, all from the slightest move. Bane realized he was dealing with a peer. Job was fast enough and focussed enough to pose a serious threat if it came to open conflict. This was something increasingly rare for Bane to encounter and he rather liked the challenging aspect of it.
Job added, "I take it you're in our line of work?"
"Our fields are related." Bane pulled the chair closer from where Seraph had been sitting. "I'm involved with the Midnight War, but there's a certain overlap between your world and mine. Once or twice, it seemed we might have to clash but not until now was it necessary."
"You're not a lawman. I can tell that much. Bounty hunter? Mercenary?"
"I'm a licensed private investigator, actually. As it happens, I'm working for a client who wants some property of his returned. Property that was stolen eight years ago and never recovered."
Job raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I'm listening."
"Twenty-three rare coins. The least of them is valued at $30,000. The rarest would have to be negotiated before a price could be reached, but dealers in Europe have been eager to start bidding for years. There's reason to believe those coins ended up here. Pine Box, Arizona." Bane sat motionless, weight evenly distributed, ready for instant movement without seeming to be ready.
"Sounds tempting," Job said blandly.
"It's why you're here. It's why Seraph is here. I watched you two interact just now. You came close to getting drawn on. Seraph was debating his best moment to go for it."
Job sat up, frowning. "I reckon I can tell for myself when a man is fixing to pull iron on me, Mr Dire Wolf. Oh, I've heard of you all right. A lot of tall tales. They make you sound like a magician or a ghost or something. Phew. You're just a gun for hire like the rest of us. I'd trust Seraph to follow the code before I'd trust you."
Bane nodded slightly. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and rose smoothly to his feet. "I've had specialized training. You might have heard of Tel Shai knights. In any case, I'd advise you to keep an eye on Seraph. He was within a hair of drawing on you and settling your rivalry once and for all."
"I think you've said enough, mister. Best you be leaving now." There was just a barest tinge of menace in Job's voice, but it would have been enough to unsettle most people.
"Sure. We'll be meeting again before this is over." The Dire Wolf started to step off the walkway, then paused and handed something to Job. "Oh, I believe this is yours." Then he walked briskly over to where a black Mustang was parked. Behind him, Job Johnson caught his breath as he held his Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum, and with his other hand he pawed at the empty holster at his hip.
III.
Pine Box was actually a decent little town, with a Mexican restaurant and a pizza joint next to each, quite a few shops and boutiques, even a tiny movie theatre that was showing some French art film. As Bane drove through, he spotted the cemetery halfway up a hill behind the Protestant church and a faint smile broke through his impassive face. The Dire Wolf reached the other side of town from where the Mountain View Motel stood and pulled up at a considerably ritzier hotel. Hoffman House was a four story beige stone structure with a pool to one side and a gazebo in the shade of some trees.
Getting out of his Mustang, Bane spotted the Lincoln Continental that Seraph had been driving. From what he remembered, Seraph Domincetti was quite a different proposition to face than Job had been, more cold-blooded and inclined to leave no loose ends behind. He might have to use a different approach with Seraph. The Dire Wolf went over and simply stood beside the Lincoln. Minutes ticked by, but he wanted to try this ruse first. Sure enough, a surly face appeared in a window on the third floor, glaring down at him. Bane immediately headed toward the front entrance of Hoffman House, strode right past the desk clerk who did not react in time to object, and trotted up the wide staircase to one side. At the third floor landing, the Dire Wolf hurried to the suite which matched the window in which he had seen Seraph glowering down. Bane rapped sharply with his knuckles on the door and stepped back.
A second later, the door swung fully open and Seraph stood there. His deepset eyes fixed on Bane like a beartrap closing. "That was you by my car?"
"I saw you and Job earlier. He tried to hire me to kill you but I thought I'd see if you might have a better offer," Bane said.
Seraph took a few steps backward. "I believe we should talk."
As Bane entered the quietly luxurious suite, Seraph closed the door behind them. The hired gun studied his visitor intently, then said, "You must be Jeremy Bane, the famous Dire Wolf."
"Nice to be recognized," Bane said.
"The black outfit, the grey eyes. I've heard some wild tales about you. How is it you are here in this town at this time, son?" Seraph moved toward the center of the room, turning to face his guest.
"I'm here for the same reason you and Job are. The rare coins. My client wants them returned. Naturally, you both want the coins for yourselves. You can see this leads to a conflict of interest."
"So it is." Seraph stood with hands on his hips, his well-cuit suit jacket thrown back. He was standing just beyond Bane's reach. "You say you have already met Job?"
"Just after you left. Suppose he offered me a reasonable sum to take you on. Job thinks he himself could beat you in a shootout, but it would be close. Why risk it if I would be willing to handle the job?" Bane allowed himself the faintest of wry smiles. "I said I would get back to him, but actually I want to give you a chance to make a better offer."
"Hah!" snorted the older gunman. Behind the hooked vulture nose, dark eyes moved over Bane in a searching pattern. "That does sound like Job. He has some prudence. And you, young man, you feel you could survive an encounter with me?"
"Absolutely," Bane said. "You're good, Seraph. But I know my capabilities. Tell you what." He moved slightly closer. "I see you have your Walther P22 at your side. Press its muzzle to my chest as fast as you can."
With a grin, Seraph drew. He was skilled and experienced, and his movement would have qualified him in the top percentage of quick-draw enthusiasts the world over. Yet something strange happened, his wrist ached abominably and his hand was empty. Jeremy Bane was holding the Walther in one hand, ejecting the magazine with the other. He racked the slide before returning the gun to the hired killer.
"I'm something beyond what you know," Bane said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "I hunt more dangerous game than Humans." He pocketed the magazine and went over to seat himself on the off-white couch.
Seraph Domincetti took a second to gather his thoughts and to control his rage. More than anything, he wanted to kill this young upstart who had taken his gun away in mid-draw. "I wouldn't have thought any man could do that. I guess the legends are true after all."
"So, the question is how would you feel about Job hiring me to take you down? Would it be worth it to pay me more so Job gets what he deserves instead?"
"We would have to discuss details," said Seraph as if to himself. He went to decanter on a side table and poured himself a modest amount of brandy. "Some Hennessy, Mr Bane? Quite good."
"Thanks, but no." Bane specified a price and Seraph matched it with a bonus if Job died knowing the whole circumstances. As was the custom in assassinations of this sort, half would be paid in advance and the rest when the job was done.
"It will take 48 hours to get the cash in hand," Seraph told him. "Wiring my bankers in the Cayman Islands always seems a slow process. But I'm good for it. You realize, son, that even with Job out of the picture, you and I will still be competing to find the coins?"
"Sure. But I will only have one world-class assassin to watch instead of two." Bane rose again. "I want to watch Job for a while. He might have a lead on where the coins are that will save me doing dull detective work. Might as well put him to good use." As he paused by the door, the Dire Wolf put the magazine for the Walther down on a sidetable that held a French telephone. "I'll be in touch,"he said as he left the room.
IV.
It was getting dark as Bane hit the road again. He himself had not taken a room anywhere, but slept in his car as needed for the duration of this case. The one aspect he had not looked forward to was recovering the coins themselves. They had been stolen eight years earlier but only recently had it been learned the theft was by Carlos Mannheim, who had been ungracious enough to die immediately after of a massive coronary. Bane had visited Mannheim's family home in New Jersey, but both the police and assorted crooks had practically disassembled the structure without finding the coins.
"Looks like he took the secret to the grave," joked Lt Montez, but Bane knew that was likely to be the absolute truth. Quick digging revealed that Mannheim had been buried in his hometown, a place with the colorful name of Pine Box, Arizona. Now here he was, and so were two of the top killers for hire in the game.
The Dire Wolf turned onto a side road that led uphill to the church. On a Thursday night, with no services planned and no bake sales or anything, the small white structure was empty. A light over the front door showed a plaque listing when services were held and a bulletin board where regulars could leave requests for someone to do yard work or attempts to sell old appliances. The cemetery was behind the church, surrounded by a knee-high stone wall. Bane parked some distance back, pulling his car in the shadows of a cluster of elms, and slipped through the woods toward the church. In his black outfit, he was difficult to spot in the gloom. Finding a vantage point on a rocky outcropping from which he could watch both the church and the cemetery, the Dire Wolf stretched out on his stomach and forced himself to wait.
This was the part he hated most. Restless and hyperactive by nature, holding still for more than a few minutes made him incredibly itchy. He had learned to stand vigil but he would never like it. Minutes crawled by. Bane waited, focusing his will on remaining motionless despite his strong urge to get up and start pacing. Then, once darkness had really settled in, he saw two pairs of parking lights roll up the road. Both cars stopped a distance back. By now, Bane's night vision had kicked in and he spotted the driver of each car get out, closing the doors, and approach each other. Two men in dark clothing marched side by side up the road into the cemetery. Bane saw they were carrying shovels and picks. With a barely audible sigh of appreciation, the Dire Wolf took out his Link from its holster and began recording the scene using infra-red and light enhancing sensors.
An hour passed, the sound of digging and the grunts of effort and an occasional whispered exchange between the two men. Bane watched through the Link as Job and Seraph uncovered a rich mahogany coffin and broke the locks to get the lid open. A minute later, they gingerly hauled a hideously decayed corpse up onto the ground where they could search its garments. Both men were wearing latex gloves and had cotton stuffed in their noses, a wise precaution.
This had gone far enough. Leaving the Link recording everything, Bane stood up and hopped down off the rocky ledge to approach the cemetery. His tread was as silent as ever. At this point, it would take conscious effort for him to counter his training and make noise while walking. Twenty feet away, he crouched and stuck the pointed end of a flare into the dirt, then popped its cap and stepped quickly away from it.
In the searing glare, Job and Seraph stood revealed over the corpse of Carlos Mannheim. They were wearing simple dark work clothes, wool caps and latex gloves. At the flash of that flare, both killers reacted instantly by drawing their weapons and aiming them directly at the man in black who had crept up on them.
"I knew it," growled Job Johnson. He was chewing on an unlit cigarillo and now he spat it on the ground. "I figured we'd see you tonight."
"Didn't find the coins, though?" asked Bane.
"Not yet. After you're dead, we'll have time for a thorough search."
Bane scoffed. "That'll go over big in court. You're being filmed in high-definition and sound. Graverobbing, desecration of a corpse, trespassing... well, those are enough charges to take you in on. So far you two have been slippery enough that the authorities could never make anything stick. But once you go to trial, I'm sure more of your crimes will be brought up and prosecuted." The Dire Wolf glanced at the body where it lay in the stench of decay. "That's the least tempting bait I've ever used."
Seraph had his arm extended, the long-barrel Walther P22 held steady as it pointed squarely at Bane's face. "We're not going to trial, son. We have you covered and we're fifteen feet apart. No matter how fast you might be, you can't nail both of us. Either me or Job will plug you."
Arms folded, the Dire Wolf seemed blithely unconcerned. "You remember the visits I paid to you boys a few hours ago?"
"Hah! That was foolishness. Trying to set us against each other. Did you think that wasn't hopelessly obvious? Did you think we wouldn't see right through your pathetic trick?"
Bane exhaled slightly. "Oh, I didn't expect experienced desperadoes like you to be manipulated so easily. No, my real plan was to get ahold of your guns for a few minutes."
Furious clicking sounded, then Job cursing heatedly. Seraph spat.
"It doesn't take much to disable a gun," Bane said. He drew his own Smith & Wesson 38 and waved it between them. "All right, get down on your knees, hands behind your heads. I signalled the local police before I lit that fuse. They're on the way."
"Damn it. Damn YOU!" muttered Seraph. The older man glared at Bane with venomous intensity. "I've lost everything over a handful of coins."
"Oh, those. To tell you the truth, I got here ahead of you boys." Bane stepped a little closer, making sure both Job and Seraph were in the correct positions for him to watch them. "The minister gave mepermission to search the grounds. It seems Mannheim's family hid the coins under a floorboard behind the first pew. I've got them in the trunk of my car right now."
12/25/2014
8/29-8/30/1997
I.
Two cars pulled into the parking lot of the MOUNTAIN VIEW MOTEL with its six shabby rooms arranged in a discouraged row under a canopy. The older vehicle was a tan Chevy Malibu with a few dents and some rust. Parked at the other end of the gravel lot was a new black Lincoln Continental gleaming as if freshly waxed by hand. As if on cue, the drivers emerged simultaneously and stood staring at each other as tensely as two growling dogs claiming the same turf. In the late afternoon sunlight, they cast long exaggerated shadows.
As he closed the door to the Chevy, Job kept his right hand near the lower edge of his denim jacket. The soft leather holster was just visible where it was attached to his belt. Job seemed to be in his early forties, a tall lanky man with a weatherbeaten face and a few day's growth of beard. He was wearing boots, faded jeans and a light blue work shirt under the denim jacket. A black Stetson was pushed back on his head. Job's blue eyes were narrowed so that they could hardly be seen as he glared at the other man.
Quietly stepping away from the Lincoln, Seraph kept both his hands at his belt, thumbs tucked inside the loops. Shorter than Job, more solidly built, Seraph was an older man with curly greying hair and a hooked nose over a remarkably predatory mouth. His eyes could not be seen behind the mirrored sunglasses. Appropriately for his shiny new car, Seraph was wearing a tailored black suit and tie, with vest and matching fedora, all with thin chalk lines. He returned Job's steady gaze for a few moments.
"Obviously, we need to talk," Seraph announced quietly.
"Do we? I suppose. Truce for a meeting," said Job in a monotone.
"Truce for the meeting." The older man lowered his hands and started moving toward the walkway that ran the length of the motel. A few wooden lawn chairs were scattered at intervals and he placed his hand on the back of one.
Moving as slowly and deliberately as if defusing a bomb, Job strode over and stood behind one of the chairs. He stuck a thin black cigar in the corner of his mouth and scratched an old-fashioned wooden match on the chair, lit the cigar and tossed the match toward the gravel before carefully lowering himself to sit in the chair. "Fancy meeting you here, Seraph."
"Pine Box, Arizona. Funny name for a town," the older man said. He took off his fedora and fanned himself with it. The air was hot but dry, and the low humidity made a big difference in comfort. "The founder must have been a coffin maker, you figure?"
Job hissed smoke from the corner of his mouth. "It can't be a coincidence two fellas in our trade show up here at the same time. We must be after the same prize."
"I suppose it's so. We've crossed before, but one of us always backed away. When we met in Chicago, I decided to take on a different asssignment. When we met in Miami, you agreed that you weren't getting paid enough for the extra trouble."
"Fair enough," Job admitted. "But this time, I gave my word to carry out the assignment. In our line of work, a man's word is worth everything. Clients have got to trust us."
Seraph took a moment to answer. "I have my own reasons for being in Pine Box. So. I don't see any reason why we need to team up."
"No, me neither." Job spit the chewed up cigar stub to the wooden planking at his boots. "Too bad. Maybe one of us will get lucky and score before the other. Shame if we had to go up against each other."
"Yes. But there are rules to our trade. We're not as free as we seem. I guess there's nothing more to be said." Seraph got easily to his feet and smooth his impeccable trouser creases. "I'll find a room somewhere else. Best thing would be if we don't run into each other."
Job did not rise. He tilted his Stetson forward as if about to take a nap, then said, "That'd be best. Good luck, old-timer."
Seraph snorted as he headed toward his car. Over one shoulder, he grumbled, "You only get old by surviving, son." Then he started up the sleek Lincoln and pulled away. Job sat motionless as if already asleep.
A cold voice came from behind him, "That guy likes the idea of shooting it out with you."
Job did not give a start or visibly react. After a few seconds, he slowly raised his cowboy hat and peered up at the stranger who had come up next to him so silently. He saw a man in his late thirties, as tall and lean as Job himself, dressed all in black including a turtleneck and sport jacket. The stranger had short black hair and pale grey eyes in a narrow face, eyes which watched Job thoughtfully.
"I don't believe we've met," drawled Job at last.
"No. My name is Bane, some call me Dire Wolf."
II.
"It's funny I didn't hear you come up," Job said.
Bane crossed over to stand in front of the man, gazing down at him speculatively. He had read the KDF file on Job Johnson of course, as well as what the FBI had to say about the hired gun. The history and the details were important but it was his appraisal now that mattered. Bane's Kumundu training enabled him to analyze the man's balance, his co-ordination, his skills, all from the slightest move. Bane realized he was dealing with a peer. Job was fast enough and focussed enough to pose a serious threat if it came to open conflict. This was something increasingly rare for Bane to encounter and he rather liked the challenging aspect of it.
Job added, "I take it you're in our line of work?"
"Our fields are related." Bane pulled the chair closer from where Seraph had been sitting. "I'm involved with the Midnight War, but there's a certain overlap between your world and mine. Once or twice, it seemed we might have to clash but not until now was it necessary."
"You're not a lawman. I can tell that much. Bounty hunter? Mercenary?"
"I'm a licensed private investigator, actually. As it happens, I'm working for a client who wants some property of his returned. Property that was stolen eight years ago and never recovered."
Job raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I'm listening."
"Twenty-three rare coins. The least of them is valued at $30,000. The rarest would have to be negotiated before a price could be reached, but dealers in Europe have been eager to start bidding for years. There's reason to believe those coins ended up here. Pine Box, Arizona." Bane sat motionless, weight evenly distributed, ready for instant movement without seeming to be ready.
"Sounds tempting," Job said blandly.
"It's why you're here. It's why Seraph is here. I watched you two interact just now. You came close to getting drawn on. Seraph was debating his best moment to go for it."
Job sat up, frowning. "I reckon I can tell for myself when a man is fixing to pull iron on me, Mr Dire Wolf. Oh, I've heard of you all right. A lot of tall tales. They make you sound like a magician or a ghost or something. Phew. You're just a gun for hire like the rest of us. I'd trust Seraph to follow the code before I'd trust you."
Bane nodded slightly. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and rose smoothly to his feet. "I've had specialized training. You might have heard of Tel Shai knights. In any case, I'd advise you to keep an eye on Seraph. He was within a hair of drawing on you and settling your rivalry once and for all."
"I think you've said enough, mister. Best you be leaving now." There was just a barest tinge of menace in Job's voice, but it would have been enough to unsettle most people.
"Sure. We'll be meeting again before this is over." The Dire Wolf started to step off the walkway, then paused and handed something to Job. "Oh, I believe this is yours." Then he walked briskly over to where a black Mustang was parked. Behind him, Job Johnson caught his breath as he held his Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum, and with his other hand he pawed at the empty holster at his hip.
III.
Pine Box was actually a decent little town, with a Mexican restaurant and a pizza joint next to each, quite a few shops and boutiques, even a tiny movie theatre that was showing some French art film. As Bane drove through, he spotted the cemetery halfway up a hill behind the Protestant church and a faint smile broke through his impassive face. The Dire Wolf reached the other side of town from where the Mountain View Motel stood and pulled up at a considerably ritzier hotel. Hoffman House was a four story beige stone structure with a pool to one side and a gazebo in the shade of some trees.
Getting out of his Mustang, Bane spotted the Lincoln Continental that Seraph had been driving. From what he remembered, Seraph Domincetti was quite a different proposition to face than Job had been, more cold-blooded and inclined to leave no loose ends behind. He might have to use a different approach with Seraph. The Dire Wolf went over and simply stood beside the Lincoln. Minutes ticked by, but he wanted to try this ruse first. Sure enough, a surly face appeared in a window on the third floor, glaring down at him. Bane immediately headed toward the front entrance of Hoffman House, strode right past the desk clerk who did not react in time to object, and trotted up the wide staircase to one side. At the third floor landing, the Dire Wolf hurried to the suite which matched the window in which he had seen Seraph glowering down. Bane rapped sharply with his knuckles on the door and stepped back.
A second later, the door swung fully open and Seraph stood there. His deepset eyes fixed on Bane like a beartrap closing. "That was you by my car?"
"I saw you and Job earlier. He tried to hire me to kill you but I thought I'd see if you might have a better offer," Bane said.
Seraph took a few steps backward. "I believe we should talk."
As Bane entered the quietly luxurious suite, Seraph closed the door behind them. The hired gun studied his visitor intently, then said, "You must be Jeremy Bane, the famous Dire Wolf."
"Nice to be recognized," Bane said.
"The black outfit, the grey eyes. I've heard some wild tales about you. How is it you are here in this town at this time, son?" Seraph moved toward the center of the room, turning to face his guest.
"I'm here for the same reason you and Job are. The rare coins. My client wants them returned. Naturally, you both want the coins for yourselves. You can see this leads to a conflict of interest."
"So it is." Seraph stood with hands on his hips, his well-cuit suit jacket thrown back. He was standing just beyond Bane's reach. "You say you have already met Job?"
"Just after you left. Suppose he offered me a reasonable sum to take you on. Job thinks he himself could beat you in a shootout, but it would be close. Why risk it if I would be willing to handle the job?" Bane allowed himself the faintest of wry smiles. "I said I would get back to him, but actually I want to give you a chance to make a better offer."
"Hah!" snorted the older gunman. Behind the hooked vulture nose, dark eyes moved over Bane in a searching pattern. "That does sound like Job. He has some prudence. And you, young man, you feel you could survive an encounter with me?"
"Absolutely," Bane said. "You're good, Seraph. But I know my capabilities. Tell you what." He moved slightly closer. "I see you have your Walther P22 at your side. Press its muzzle to my chest as fast as you can."
With a grin, Seraph drew. He was skilled and experienced, and his movement would have qualified him in the top percentage of quick-draw enthusiasts the world over. Yet something strange happened, his wrist ached abominably and his hand was empty. Jeremy Bane was holding the Walther in one hand, ejecting the magazine with the other. He racked the slide before returning the gun to the hired killer.
"I'm something beyond what you know," Bane said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "I hunt more dangerous game than Humans." He pocketed the magazine and went over to seat himself on the off-white couch.
Seraph Domincetti took a second to gather his thoughts and to control his rage. More than anything, he wanted to kill this young upstart who had taken his gun away in mid-draw. "I wouldn't have thought any man could do that. I guess the legends are true after all."
"So, the question is how would you feel about Job hiring me to take you down? Would it be worth it to pay me more so Job gets what he deserves instead?"
"We would have to discuss details," said Seraph as if to himself. He went to decanter on a side table and poured himself a modest amount of brandy. "Some Hennessy, Mr Bane? Quite good."
"Thanks, but no." Bane specified a price and Seraph matched it with a bonus if Job died knowing the whole circumstances. As was the custom in assassinations of this sort, half would be paid in advance and the rest when the job was done.
"It will take 48 hours to get the cash in hand," Seraph told him. "Wiring my bankers in the Cayman Islands always seems a slow process. But I'm good for it. You realize, son, that even with Job out of the picture, you and I will still be competing to find the coins?"
"Sure. But I will only have one world-class assassin to watch instead of two." Bane rose again. "I want to watch Job for a while. He might have a lead on where the coins are that will save me doing dull detective work. Might as well put him to good use." As he paused by the door, the Dire Wolf put the magazine for the Walther down on a sidetable that held a French telephone. "I'll be in touch,"he said as he left the room.
IV.
It was getting dark as Bane hit the road again. He himself had not taken a room anywhere, but slept in his car as needed for the duration of this case. The one aspect he had not looked forward to was recovering the coins themselves. They had been stolen eight years earlier but only recently had it been learned the theft was by Carlos Mannheim, who had been ungracious enough to die immediately after of a massive coronary. Bane had visited Mannheim's family home in New Jersey, but both the police and assorted crooks had practically disassembled the structure without finding the coins.
"Looks like he took the secret to the grave," joked Lt Montez, but Bane knew that was likely to be the absolute truth. Quick digging revealed that Mannheim had been buried in his hometown, a place with the colorful name of Pine Box, Arizona. Now here he was, and so were two of the top killers for hire in the game.
The Dire Wolf turned onto a side road that led uphill to the church. On a Thursday night, with no services planned and no bake sales or anything, the small white structure was empty. A light over the front door showed a plaque listing when services were held and a bulletin board where regulars could leave requests for someone to do yard work or attempts to sell old appliances. The cemetery was behind the church, surrounded by a knee-high stone wall. Bane parked some distance back, pulling his car in the shadows of a cluster of elms, and slipped through the woods toward the church. In his black outfit, he was difficult to spot in the gloom. Finding a vantage point on a rocky outcropping from which he could watch both the church and the cemetery, the Dire Wolf stretched out on his stomach and forced himself to wait.
This was the part he hated most. Restless and hyperactive by nature, holding still for more than a few minutes made him incredibly itchy. He had learned to stand vigil but he would never like it. Minutes crawled by. Bane waited, focusing his will on remaining motionless despite his strong urge to get up and start pacing. Then, once darkness had really settled in, he saw two pairs of parking lights roll up the road. Both cars stopped a distance back. By now, Bane's night vision had kicked in and he spotted the driver of each car get out, closing the doors, and approach each other. Two men in dark clothing marched side by side up the road into the cemetery. Bane saw they were carrying shovels and picks. With a barely audible sigh of appreciation, the Dire Wolf took out his Link from its holster and began recording the scene using infra-red and light enhancing sensors.
An hour passed, the sound of digging and the grunts of effort and an occasional whispered exchange between the two men. Bane watched through the Link as Job and Seraph uncovered a rich mahogany coffin and broke the locks to get the lid open. A minute later, they gingerly hauled a hideously decayed corpse up onto the ground where they could search its garments. Both men were wearing latex gloves and had cotton stuffed in their noses, a wise precaution.
This had gone far enough. Leaving the Link recording everything, Bane stood up and hopped down off the rocky ledge to approach the cemetery. His tread was as silent as ever. At this point, it would take conscious effort for him to counter his training and make noise while walking. Twenty feet away, he crouched and stuck the pointed end of a flare into the dirt, then popped its cap and stepped quickly away from it.
In the searing glare, Job and Seraph stood revealed over the corpse of Carlos Mannheim. They were wearing simple dark work clothes, wool caps and latex gloves. At the flash of that flare, both killers reacted instantly by drawing their weapons and aiming them directly at the man in black who had crept up on them.
"I knew it," growled Job Johnson. He was chewing on an unlit cigarillo and now he spat it on the ground. "I figured we'd see you tonight."
"Didn't find the coins, though?" asked Bane.
"Not yet. After you're dead, we'll have time for a thorough search."
Bane scoffed. "That'll go over big in court. You're being filmed in high-definition and sound. Graverobbing, desecration of a corpse, trespassing... well, those are enough charges to take you in on. So far you two have been slippery enough that the authorities could never make anything stick. But once you go to trial, I'm sure more of your crimes will be brought up and prosecuted." The Dire Wolf glanced at the body where it lay in the stench of decay. "That's the least tempting bait I've ever used."
Seraph had his arm extended, the long-barrel Walther P22 held steady as it pointed squarely at Bane's face. "We're not going to trial, son. We have you covered and we're fifteen feet apart. No matter how fast you might be, you can't nail both of us. Either me or Job will plug you."
Arms folded, the Dire Wolf seemed blithely unconcerned. "You remember the visits I paid to you boys a few hours ago?"
"Hah! That was foolishness. Trying to set us against each other. Did you think that wasn't hopelessly obvious? Did you think we wouldn't see right through your pathetic trick?"
Bane exhaled slightly. "Oh, I didn't expect experienced desperadoes like you to be manipulated so easily. No, my real plan was to get ahold of your guns for a few minutes."
Furious clicking sounded, then Job cursing heatedly. Seraph spat.
"It doesn't take much to disable a gun," Bane said. He drew his own Smith & Wesson 38 and waved it between them. "All right, get down on your knees, hands behind your heads. I signalled the local police before I lit that fuse. They're on the way."
"Damn it. Damn YOU!" muttered Seraph. The older man glared at Bane with venomous intensity. "I've lost everything over a handful of coins."
"Oh, those. To tell you the truth, I got here ahead of you boys." Bane stepped a little closer, making sure both Job and Seraph were in the correct positions for him to watch them. "The minister gave mepermission to search the grounds. It seems Mannheim's family hid the coins under a floorboard behind the first pew. I've got them in the trunk of my car right now."
12/25/2014
