"Running Out of Thrills"
May. 25th, 2022 06:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Running Out of Thrills"
4/1-4/29/1999
I.
Exactly at midnight, the last of the four Adrenalati took his chair at the elegant green baize-covered card table. The others sat nursing their drinks, while one drew deeply on a clove cigarette before snuffing it out in a crystal ashtray. Cards were scattered on the table, but that was just for appearances. None of them cared about gambling anymore. They had reached new depths of being jaded even for the wealthy. Around them, the furnishings had cost fortunes, from the heavy maroon drapery to the marble counters to the genuine paintings by Kruipshank and LeDroit. None of this mattered to them at this point. Their pulses were only made rapid over something wicked.
As Ellsworth Eberhardt pulled out his King Francis era chair and took his seat at the head of the table, he was as impeccably dressed as ever. His white dinner jacket was tailored precisely, he seemed so clean-shaven and well-groomed that it was as if he had just stepped from a salon into the meeting room. Eberthardt was tall, slim, in his early fifties. The crisp brown hair had a sprinkling of white throughout it, the long face smiled at his friends with barely repressed glee. He picked up his bourbon on the rocks, sniffed it thoughtfully and took a long sip. "Everything went perfectly," he drawled. "The clueless police will be scratching their pointed heads."
Sitting to his left, the wide bulk of Mike Meade shifted restlessly. Despite the expensive clothing and the careful preparation, he still had a rough, unpolished look to him. Meade had started on the streets, son of immigrants who lived in the back of their deli and saved each coin to send their son to a good school. Recruited by ROTC, rising quickly to lieutenant in the Army, Meade had gone back to college after his tour of duty and had prospered in business. With his lantern jaw and flat nose, deepset brown eyes under heavy brows, he was intimidating without effort.
Meade watched their leader with a vague hostility. Ellsworth Eberthard had grown up with servants and every advantage on Martha's Vineyard. To be fair, he was a genius in computer design and troubleshooting and he had made his own millions. Meade had to admit the Adrenalate's leader deserved to be where he was. He made no answer but merely nodded.
It was Emilie who spoke in her low husky voice. "You were right. That was the first real jolt of life I've felt in weeks." A slender ash blonde with delicate features, Emilie Keyser wore a strapless burgundy dress and a simple turquoise and silver chain around her neck. She was watching Eberhardt with new appreciation. "The idea that I might get caught arrested, that was exciting! I believe you have found the solution to our, shall we say, ennui?"
"You and your word of the day," scoffed her brother. Emilie was just under thirty, while Kenny was five years younger. There was not much family resemblance. Both had light blonde hair, cloudy blue eyes and fine features. But the insolence and disrepect in Kenny's expression could not be concealed for long. He wore a neat dark grey suit, with matching vest and thin black tie over a crisp white shirt, but he alone did not seem at ease in it. "It was a real kick, Ellsworth. Just as you promised. And kicks keep getting harder to find."
"I am so glad to hear that," said their leader. "And the tokens of your misdeeds?"
Each placed an object on the card table. Mike Meade's token was a platinum cigarette lighter, Emilie's was a thin new leather billfold. Her brother Kenny bounced a steel money clip holding a thick wad of fifties. Leaning forward, smirking despite his best efforts, Eberthardt dropped a pair of rectangular emerald earrings trimmed in fine gold wire on the table.
"Now I'm impressed," Kenny chuckled. "How'd you do that without her noticing?"
"When you're a little older, I will tell you. Our first sins are petty, as you can see, but we will escalate quickly. Before we end the game, the sheep of this city will be looking over theirs shoulders in raw terror." He raised his tumbler in a gesture of salute. "My dear friends, the most exclusive club in Manhattan meets tonight to plan our next outrage. To the Adrenalati!"
They all raised their glasses. "The Adrenalati!"
II.
At seven-twenty in the morning, Jeremy Bane had taken an hour to run on the treadmill on the fourth floor and to do his DohRa form. Completely stretched and toned, he had taken a hot shower and changed into Navy blue shorts, a plain white T-Shirt and sneakers before heading back down to the ground floor of the headquarters building. At almost forty, the Dire Wolf was lean to the point of being gaunt. The muscles in his arms and legs stood out with a startling wiry definition because of his zero body fat.
He was so used to being in light telepathic contact with Cindy when they were in proximity that he took it for granted. It was a warm, comforting presence that he valued more than he realized. Now, as he trotted down the wide staircase, he picked up a vivid mental image from her mind... a short man in a well-worn white raincoat, chewing on an unlit cigar and peering about in the front hall.
Klein. Well, that could mean an interesting day ahead. The Dire Wolf's pale eyes gleamed with sudden interest. He came down to the front hallway of the building and slowed as Cindy met him with her sly grin. A year younger than he was, Cindy was just over five feet tall and just under a hundred pounds. With her dark blonde hair hanging straight down her back, wearing snug faded jeans and an oversized white sweatshirt that said SCARABS FAREWELL TOUR on front and back, she looked much younger. The smile on her gamin face was eager and excited. "Hey, buddy, here we go again!"
Standing near Cindy, watching Bane descend, Inspector Harold Klein jammed his fists into the pockets of his raincoat and grunted. There was more grey than black in his curly hair at this point. Klein said, "Hiya Bane, is this the end of the world or what? You don't have that damn black turtleneck and jacket on!"
"Hello, Inspector," the Dire Wolf answered with a rare hint of ease in his voice. "I'm guessing you have something for us?"
"Yeah, yeah. My superiors - so-called- sure got used to the idea of using you as a loose cannon. Anything weird or impossible to figure out happens in the Five Buroughs, and I get called in the office. Off the record, the captain says. Strictly unofficial, he says. But you know,he says, if that Dire Wolf character got wind of these offbeat crimes, and he took it on himself to investigate, we wouldn't be unhappy."
Bane allowed himself one of his rare smiles. "And of course I get no back-up or support. If I end up charged with manslaughter or other felonies, no one in the NYPD knows anything about it."
"Yeah. It's not the best deal," Klein admitted. "But I know you by now, Bane. Right now, you're just busting to go chase some monster or maniac like a real wolf scenting a squirrel. Am I wrong?"
"He's got your number," Cindy interrupted. "Come on, you two, let's sit in the office and get all the details. Coffee, inspector?"
"Oh God, yes," Klein said. "My poor old body can't run without it. Black, please."
"It'll just be a moment," the blonde telepath answered as she spun and headed toward the rear of the hall where the kitchen was. Bane ushered Klein into the reception room which served as the office of the Dire Wolf Agency and pulled a plain straightback chair over in front of the massive oak desk.
As he crossed over to take his own seat behind that desk, directly beneath a huge handpainted map of the world as it was in 1937, Bane said, "Hit me, Klein. What's the crisis this time?"
"Seems like the oddest crime wave in my experience," the inspector said as he settled down. "Looks to me like a small gang of four members tops. Twice a week, usually Wednesday and Sunday, four identical crimes take place somewhere in Manhattan. And each time, the offenses have been getting more serious."
Bane leaned forward, resting on his elbows, hands clasped. "Oh, this sounds good. Go on."
"It started when someone threw a big manila envelope through the door of police headquarters on Centre Street. No one saw who did it. Inside were items which had been reported stolen in the previous two days. A wallet, a pair of emerald earrings, a Rolex watch, a money clip with the entire amount still on it. No prints, of course. We notified the victims, they identified and claimed their property and no one knew what to make of it. The only loose end is the earrings, no one had filed a report about them and we still don't know who they belong to."
"Any common link between the victims?" Bane asked.
"Not that anyone can see. Then a few days later, four men were beaten up late Wednesday night into Thursday morning. They were all sucker punched from behind when opening a car door or coming out of a bar. Each man was smacked around pretty good, kicked a little when they were down. Cracked rib or two, bloody noses and black eyes but the injuries stopped short of getting near fatal." Klein wrapped his soggy cigar butt in a tissue and tossed it in the wastepaper basket near the desk, despite a withering glance from Bane. "A blunt instrument was used each time, seems like a lead-filled sap."
Cindy came in with a serving tray laden with a steaming coffee pot and accessories. There were two mugs, since she didn't mind an occasional cup but Bane had his usual ice water. Caffeine was the last thing he needed, with his already turbocharged metabolism.
As Klein gratefully gulped his coffee, Bane looked inquisitively over at Cindy.
"I followed the story so far," she said. "Sounds interesting. Inspector, what happened to the beating victims?"
"They're expected to be fine. But then, four days later came the rapes." Klein put his mug down with a little louder clank than was strictly necessary. "One streetwalker, one worker at a Korean massage parlor. One ten year old boy who was snatched from a car in front of an all-night pharmacy while his mother was inside."
"Oh, I remember those stories," Cindy blurted. "That poor little boy. Those women, no matter what jobs they had, they didn't deserve that. I heard they couldn't identify the suspects?"
"Nope. In retrospect, it's clear the attackers were disguised. One wig, a fake mustache and a strip of tape that looked like acne scars were found right at the scenes. The crooks are teasing us." Klein decided to fill his mug again, grunting as he leaned forward. "The boy was molested by a pretty blonde woman, and I am sick of hearing cops joke about how lucky he was. The kid is scared and ashamed, he had no idea what was going on. The description he gives is the best we have. I figure she's under five feet five, straight blonde hair, pale skin. That's the best the kid can manage."
"I need to spend a few minutes near some of these people," Cindy put in. "Most likely I can pull some visuals from their memories without them knowing it."
"Having a telepath makes detective work much more direct," Bane agreed. "And I think we need to catch these nuts quick. What was the next group of crimes, inspector?"
"Arson. Four stores torched early Sunday morning. Two used clothing stores, one luggage place, one Thai restaurant. Accelerants were used. Luckily, not too much damage done at three places but the restaurant is a loss and the apartments over it had to be declared unfit for habitation. That was two days ago. But the fires could easily have gotten out of control." Klein put the mug down again. "I guess we're thinking the same thing is coming up next."
"Each group of crimes is stepping up," Bane said. "That means the worst is going to come up next."
Cindy broke in, "Murder!"
III.
All that day, Inspector Klein had driven them around to visit some of the victims. Bane waited in Klein's personal car to avoid interfering with Cindy's perception. The old veteran spoke with two of the men who had been beaten, with Cindy standing by quietly and probing their minds as Klein spoke. One of the Korean women was already back to work at the massage parlor on 23rd Street and Cindy repeated the process as Klein asked a few more follow up questions.
Finally, at almost five in the afternoon, they were in a small house on a residential street in Queens. Down the block, the Dire Wolf had gotten out and was pacing back and forth as his restless energy was too strong to be held down anymore. He was wearing the familiar outfit of all black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket that amounted to a uniform for him. Bane was worried about Cindy's state of mind but did not know what to do. This procedure was getting to her.
He glared down the block at the house where the boy victim lived with his mother and grandmother. Mark Goldblatt, just ten years old. As Bane watched, the front door opened and Cindy came running toward him, head down. She had changed into a dark blue skirt and white blouse to look professional. In an instant, she had grabbed him in a tight embrace as if she would never let go. Holding her tightly, Bane could feel her slim body trembling. Her face was pressed against his chest so it could not be seen.
Looking up, Bane saw Inspector Klein make a show of lighting a cigar and walking around the corner out of sight. Good. After a moment, the blonde telepath sobbed once and relaxed her hold on him, gazing up at him with wet eyes.
"He's so traumatized," she whispered. "I know I should try not to interfere, but I numbed his memories. I didn't erase them. I just took away some of the impact. I did it for the others, too. How could I let them carry this pointless pain?"
"It's okay, Cin. I trust your judgement." He made his voice gentle, although he wasn't good at that. He sighed himself. "I don't know what it's like when you go in their minds, I guess only another telepath would understand."
Giving him a final squeeze, she disengaged herself and stepped back. "Well. It wasn't for nothing, hon. I got a clear image. Here, open up."
The Dire Wolf closed his eyes and relaxed his tightly walled-off mind as best he could. Receiving an image from Cindy was not like being handed a photo, it was more like remembering something he had seen a few minutes ago. There it was. A white woman about thirty, pale skin, delicate features with fine blonde hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a dark green dress with a cream-colored cardigan over it and she had a gleeful, malicious smile. Bane almost growled at her smug attitude.
"Recognize her, Jer?" Cindy asked.
"No. Not at all."
"Me neither. But looking at her clothes, I can tell she has bucks. Those earrings are real diamonds. That dress didn't come off a rack. Her make-up is perfect, her nails are manicured. So we know she's from the upper class."
"Makes sense," Bane said. "The stolen items from the first crime were deliberately returned. These people aren't in it for profit."
Cindy glanced over her shoulder as Klein approached them hesitantly. "It's okay, inspector. I can give you a detailed description of the woman at least."
"Every bit helps," he answered. "Come on, I'll take you two back to your headquarters before I go to the office. Any theories yet?"
"Yeah." Bane opened the passenger door of Klein's car for Cindy, then went to get in the back himself. "Thrill criminals. I think they're spoiled and bored and they're doing this for the adrenalin. If we don't stop them, they'll keep going for bigger and meaner crimes each time."
Klein exhaled sharply and got behind the wheel. "That's what I'm afraid of! And if they keep to their schedule, we don't have much time. They're going to be tough to identify and hard to nail." He pulled away from the curb. As they headed back to Manhattan, Cindy described the suspect in minute detail and she knew Klein would remember it all. Bane was silently watching the traffic, seemingly far away.
At 38th Street, they got out and told the inspector they would keep him informed. He said the same and drove off. Entering the headquarters building, they went to the kitchen and made grilled cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread with sliced tomatoes. Bane ate two almost in a gulp, and Cindy nibbled at hers.
After a few minutes, the blonde said, "I know you want to run your Dire Wolf Agency just on detective skills without me helping. I understand that. Using my powers would make most cases just too easy, they'd be over in a few minutes. But we have to stop these crazies as soon as we can." She finished the grilled cheese and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin from the holder on the round table. "Tomorrow is Sunday."
"Oh, I agree completely." Bane went to get a big bottle of cold apple juice and poured them both tumblers. "We're going to use all our resources. Next is the Trom tech."
She managed a smile. "Good. I was thinking just that. Let's get started." She got up, leaving their dishes on the table for once and led the way up the stairs to the second floor. Here was the conference room, where she flicked on the overhead lights as they entered.
The long oak table filled much of the room, with its five chairs on each side and one chair at each end. Their team of Tel Shai knights had met at that table for eleven hectic years. Only a few were alive now. After the hellish battle of the Final Halloween, Bane had disbanded the Kenneth Dred Foundation and released the knights to their own affairs. Only now, after enough time had passed, were Bane and Cindy gathering possible members for a new team.
At its own table by the door was the 36-inch monitor of the Trom computer system. Human technology would not catch up to to it for many years, perhaps never. As Cindy sat down in one of the straightback wooden chairs and hit the power button, Bane pulled another chair over and dropped down next to her.
"Let's see," the blonde telepath mumbled as she started typing away. "These creeps probably don't have any criminal records, so NYPD and FBI files won't help..."
"DMV," Bane suggested. "New York and New Jersey."
"Sure. Jeez, we break a lot of laws every day, you ever think of that? I mean, it's not like we're gonna stop, though. Let me see. I'll set the search parameters and keep narrowing them. Your reflexes are way better than mine, yell if you spot her. Okay. Female. Date of birth, 1966 to 1976. I think she's just thirty but we'll have some leeway. Um, height? Five foot four. Eyes blue. I'm sure she's a real blonde with that skin tone and eyelashes."
Thousands of faces flickered rapidly across the screen. Searching like this was only possible with Trom systems. As Cindy kept adding restrictions, the process slowed until the faces were staying on the screen long enough to be clear. Minutes went by and the scanning repeated itself. Suddenly, Bane's hand flashed down and he jabbed a finger at the pause button. "I think I saw her. Not sure."
"All right then." Cindy backed the pictures up and after another minute she herself paused the screen. "There she is. The bitch."
A NYS driver's license was displayed for them, with the suspect smiling pleasantly at the camera, a pair of oval sunglasses propped atop her head. There was no doubt. EMILIE ANN KEYSER, born July 2 1969. Height five feet four, hair blonde and eyes blue. She wore corrective lenses. Her address was listed as 1331 Spring Street.
"Just off West Broadway," Bane said. "That's Soho. Not a bad neighborhood."
Cindy started tapping keys again. "Let's see if she has ever been in the papers. You never know. NEW YORK POST, TIMES, DAILY NEWS... Hmm. Boy, married three times? Within eight years? She's trouble. Looks like her parents were rich when they moved here from Austria. No children. Younger brother Kenneth, he'd be twenty-four now. This is interesting, she started an exclusive boutique that folded in a year. I don't get why she would be in with this gang but then people still surprise me."
The Dire Wolf straightened up. "Ready to pay her a visit?"
Shutting down the console, the little blonde shoved her chair back. "More than ready!"
IV.
"Someone's coming out of the elevator," Cindy whispered, straightening up from where she had been digging through a dresser. "Young man in good mood... it's Kenny Keyser, her brother I think."
Across the luxurious apartment, the Dire Wolf came out of the walk-in closet with a predatory gleam in his grey eyes. "Just as well. I haven't found anything the least bit incriminating."
"Me neither." The blonde telepath peeled off blue latex gloves and stuck them in the pocket of her dark windbreaker. She had changed to sneakers, jeans and a white shirt two breast pockets to be ready for any action. Like Bane, she wore the flexible Trom armor under her clothes, and holstered under the windbreaker was her anesthetic dart gun.
Bane crossed over to stand so he would be behind the door when it opened. The apartment was huge, with two bedrooms and French doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the street twelve stories below. All the furnishings had been carefully chosen and the place was immaculate but it felt cold. There was no air of being lived in by anyone here. Pressing up against the cream-colored wall with its framed print of a South Seas dawn, Bane curled one hand into a tight fist.
"Let me daze him," Cindy whispered. A second later, a key scraped in the lock and the doorknob turned. She was standing on the other side of the parlor, where she would not be seen at first. A young skinny man with a mop of whitish-blond hair hanging down almost over one eye entered, tossed his keys on a tiny round table by the door and kicked his shoes off without unlacing them. Then he shook his head, turned halfway around and fell to his knees. Kenny Keyser caught himself with his hands but he seemed only half conscious.
Scanning the empty hall in an instant, Bane closed the apartment door and flipped up the light switch. Kenny was vaguely trying to get to his feet, unable to focus his awareness enough. The Dire Wolf picked up the young man under the arms and flung him easily onto the green silk-covered lounge without any attempt at gentleness.
Coming over to stand in front of them, Cindy touched Bane on the shoulder. "I've got him in a light trance, Jeremy. He can't hear us. I'm going to probe his surface memories a little."
"I'm standing by," the Dire Wolf said. He bent down and dug Kenny's right pants pocket and came out with a small leather sap filled with lead shot. "I could see the weight of this pulling that side of his pants."
The blonde stared down at their prisoner, narrowing her eyes and slowing her breathing until she seemed to be far away. Minutes ticked by. Behind her, Bane listened for anyone in the hall, but all seemed safe. After what seemed forever, Cindy shuddered and stepped back as Kenny slumped down limply with his head lolling to one side.
"I've put him under," she told Bane. "He won't wake up for an hour or so. This is a really nasty case, hon. We've got four rich spoiled creeps who think they're jaded. Everything has been handed to them and they're bored, so one of them talked the group into trying crimes. They start with picking pockets and work their way up. Tonight, they're supposed to commit four murders. Just for the excitement. Kenny here has a motto, 'running out of thrills' that he uses to justify the whole sick game."
The Dire Wolf moved closer and put an arm around the telepath's shoulders. "You have their names and images?"
"Sure. But now I wonder how we can handle these freaks. You know we can't just call Klein and turn them in. What would we use as evidence? Imagine telling the DA or the judge that we know they're guilty because I read this guy's mind. That would go over big."
"No evidence. We have nothing. Sometimes I wish I was a little more cold-blooded, Cin. If I was harder, I would just kill them now and end it. You know I could arrange things so I wouldn't get caught." Bane shook his head. "But I don't know...that bothers me..."
"Jeremy, I wouldn't love you if you could do something like that. That's a line we don't cross. No, I'm afraid we have to let them show their hand. His sister is supposed to coming back here around eight, then they're setting out. Kenny here is probably going to wonder why he took a nap like this, but he's not too bright. He'll have no idea we were here."
Bane thought for a second and replaced the sap to the young man's pocket. "Missing this might make me wonder what happened. I guess we had better start making our own plans, Cin."
She started for the door. "All right. Listen, let me get the sequence of where they're going to be tonight straight in our heads. First, the leader is a guy named Eberhardt..."
As they exited the elevator in the lobby, Cindy filled Bane in on every detail she had seen in Kenny Keyser's mind. It took forty minutes, during which they walked around the neighborhood as if windowshopping in all the boutiques and art galleries. The Dire Wolf listened closely, asked a lot of questions and was finally satisfied.
"We can do this, but we'll have to work separately," he said as they paused on the curb waiting for the WALK sign. "Even then,it's going to be close. Wish we had someone to help out on this. I don't think the new kids are quite ready to go solo, do you?"
"Unicorn? Sable? No I think it's asking too much," Cindy amswered. Josef could, he's had enough exprience on his own but by the time we get him to New York, it'd be too late. And Steve is at the Project in New Mexico, same problem."
"Well, we can handle it with some strategy. Here's how I see the schedule..." As they walked over to their Subaru Outback in the parking garage where they had left it, Bane started rattling out his plan and now it was Cindy's turn to listen.
Finally, standing in front of the car, she smiled for the first time that day. "My God, you're good at this, Jeremy. Sounds like a plan! Let me drive, I don't get to drive enough."
"Sure," the Dire Wolf said as he went around to the passsenger side. "I figure we have enough time to stop somewhere for food before the stalking begins."
"Hmmm, I feel like... Italian! Mama Ferraro's is on the way, let's grab Fettucini Alfredo, buddy."
IV.
As soon as it had gotten dark, Michael Meade lowered himself nimbly down a silk cord from the building's roof to land silently on the balcony. At forty, he was in even better shape than he had been in the service. All that training, half the day at the gym, running every night... now he knew why he had been doing it. Here were the sensations he had missed so badly. Not since Syria had he felt his heart beating so strong and fast, or felt his skin tingle as if lightning was about to strike. Ellsworth was right. He needed this tension and sense of danger, he was one of the Adrenalati. Now that he was close to killing someone, he felt more alive himself than ever before. It was the paradox that stirred him and he fought not to laugh.
Thirty stories below, Fifth Avenue was lit with headlights of cars struggling with traffic. Crowds bumped into each other. A few blocks away, he saw an ambulance go by with its flashers off and he smiled. Mike was dressed in simple dark clothing, work boots and jeans and a longsleeved flannel shirt. No commando suit, nothing that could be construed as a weapon. Just in case he was questioned at some point. Mike concealed himself behind the heavy curtains folded up next to the open sliding door and settled in. The balcony had a knee high steel railing for safety that certainly was not adequate to keep someone from tumbling over it. Again, it took an effort not to chuckle out loud. He wondered if there was something wrong with him, he was going to enjoy this so much.
In a few minutes, Lewis Henkle would come through that open door, light a Cuban cigar and stand watching the city while his old intestines started digesting his supper. Ellsworth had done research on the broker, and found his routine seldom varied. After the cigar, Henkle would recline in an easy chair and fall asleep to classical music before rousting himself for bed. Mike Meade had never heard of Lewis Henkle or the brokerage firm on Wall Street where the geezer worked. There was no connection between them. The idiot cops would go nuts trying to find a motive because the only motive was that the Adrenalti were running out of thrills and no one even knew the Adrenali existed! It was too, too sweet.
A dark form emerged through the doors, the light from behind obscuring details but it matched the description. About six feet tall, thin, standing straight. The man walked directly to the railing and stood there without glancing around. From behind the drapes, Mike inhaled slowly and then rushed forward without hesitation, both arms out stiffly to shove this fool head over heels on a one way dive to the sidewalk so far below...
But there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain in the center of his face as he was stopped short. It couldn't be Henkle! This was a younger man all in black, with a narrow angry face and the coldest pale eyes possible watching him the way a cat watches a mouse. The man's fist was just drawing back from that unexpected straight punch.
"Henkle is sleeping off a mild anesthetic," the stranger said. "He doesn't know either of us are here tonight, Meade."
"What the hell! Who ARE you?"
"My name is Bane. Well. You came here to throw someone over the edge. Lost your nerve?"
That triggered Mike. He lunged forward, grabbing for this stranger's arm and head in a basic grip that had always worked in combat but something went terribly wrong. Too quick to be followed, Bane slapped those hands aside, kicked Mike's legs out from under and flung him over one hip in a very neat judo throw. For one terrible second, Michael Meade seemed to hang suspended in the night air and then he was gone from sight with a shriek.
Jeremy Bane swung around even as Mike had gone over the railing, racing through the lavish apartment where Lewis Henkle snored in his recliner. He was out in the hall and hurtling down the stairwell so quickly he almost seemed to be falling headlong himself. On the ground floor, he emerged into the gleaming chrome and marble lobby and quietly joined a growing cluster of horrified people staring out at the street. Without using force, he slid through the crowd and was outside. Mike Meade had landed squarely on the hood of a parked Mercedes and he was not a pretty sight. As Bane watched from within the crowd, the first patrol car squealed to a sudden halt. The Dire Wolf faded back into the mob, slipped out of it and was walking briskly down Fifth Avenue. The next murder attempt by the Adrenalati would be not far away but he didn't have much time to get there.
V.
Slamming the door to the Subaru, Cindy Brunner ran up the block full tilt, not caring who stared at her. She had seldom been so furious. A head-on collision between a taxi and a limo on Madison Avenue had stopped traffic and tied her up for more than ten minutes. Hating to use her powers that way but desperate, she had mentally urged a driver to pull up partly onto the sidewalk so she could squeak by and escape to a side street. Looking back, she had released him and seen him safely back on the street without incident. Using bystanders that way troubled her but she had felt there was no choice.
Racing up to the door that read RICHTER LEGAL SERVICES on its glass panel, the little blonde was fuming that Emilie Keyser had jumped schedule. For whatever reason, the thrill criminal had left her apartment early and caught Cindy by suprise. Now she only prayed she wasn't too late to prevent a senseless murder. The telepath yanked the door open and entered a short hallway. There, to her left, she just caught a glimpse of a slim blonde woman in a dark pantsuit entering an office.
The next five second were a blur of events. Leaping through the doorway, Cindy took in the scene instantly. Standing behind a desk stacked with loose papers was a middle-aged woman with thick-lensed glasses and a pen held sideway in her mouth as she had both hands filled with notes. That would be Joanne Richter, senior member of the family that owned this business. Facing her, back to the open doorway, Emilie Keyser extended her arm full length and aimed a .22 target pistol directly at the woman's face.
Cindy lashed out with her mind as hard as she could, taking control of the part of Emilie's brain that control voluntary movements. The lovely woman froze in position, her arm and hand locking up rigidly so she could not possibly have squeezed that trigger. Cindy had just an instant to tighten her hold on the woman's mind when the unexpected happened. From the top right drawer of the desk behind which she stood, Joanne Richter whipped up a flat .32 automatic and fired twice, hitting the helpless Emilie in the center of the torso.
Shocked, Cindy released control and watched Emilie Keyser sag face down to the plush emerald carpeting. Then, without realizing it, she swung sideways against the wall outside the office. She knew that Richter had not caught even a glimpse of her. The sight of a strange woman coming in and pointing a gun at her had occupied all of Richter's attention in the split second before the shots.
Releasing a breath she had not realized she was holding, Cindy edged further down the hall into a nook that held a horizontal metal bar where coats were hung. The Richter woman had obviously been taking some self-defense lessons, she thought. That draw and fire had been very well done. A second later, two older men flung open their own door and shuffled quickly toward the Richter office, yelling out questions about what was going on. After they went by without sighting her, Cindy slipped past the commotion and stepped out the front door of the building onto the sidewalk. No one paid her any particular notice.
Cindy had such mixed emotions that she had to walk a few blocks to digest what had just taken place. She figured Joanne Richter would be able to claim self-defense without any trouble. There was Emilie's body with the pistol still in its hand, and the two fellow tenants had arrived in that office only seconds after the shots. Motive would remain a mystery, she figured, but the police would come up with something, no matter how unlikely. The blonde telepath turned around and headed for where she had left her car. In a way, she was relieved over what had taken place there. Even if she had detained Emilie Keyser for arrest, explaining in court how she had known that the woman intended murder would be impossible and a mistrial might very well be called. Now it was over.
The telepath glanced over at the building she had left a few minutes ago. No police were in sight yet. She slid behind the wheel and started the Subaru up. In the back of her mind, she was certain that Jeremy had handled his two thrill killers, she had complete faith in him. Now it was time for her to intercept that boy that she had questioned earlier that day, Kenny Keyser.
VI.
At the southern end of Central Park on 59th Street, Jeremy Bane walked briskly along the waist-high retaining wall. His eyes moved restlessly over the crowds, searching for someone who matched the description of the intended victim or for Ellsworth Eberhardt. It seemed such a public location for a murder, considering the killer intended to get away. Why not pick some area darker and more remote, less observed? Eberhardt was certainly shrewd, from everything he had learned about the man. He would plan better than this... The Dire Wolf slowed and came to a stop in the center of the sidewalk. Wait. In a rare gesture for him, he raised his left hand and snapped his fingers as a wry smile barely touched his face. Of course. Wheeling about, the Dire Wolf began to hurry to where he had left his car. Maybe there was still time.
VII.
Pulling over at the far end of the college parking lot, Cindy jumped out of her car and began striding quickly toward the cluster of long low buildings. A few students strolled by in groups of two or three, chatting and happily unaware of the nearness of murder right over their heads. They seemed so young. Cindy was forty and looked maybe thirty, but these students made her feel suddenly like she wasn't a kid herself anymore. On a beautiful April night, these teens were so happy and optimistic and she was out hunting killers. The blonde telepath felt uncharacteristically morose.
Ahead was a cherry red MG convertible, and she reached out with her mind, ready to seize control if the man was about to strike. Then she stopped short. Cindy's shoulders lowered without her realizing it and she exhaled as some tension left her body. More slowly, she continued toward the car. A young couple, arm in arm, sauntered along a walkway past her, whispering to each other. One of them was supposed to have been the victim. She watched them get into a Ford Taurus with some serious dents on the rear bumper, and as they drove away safely, she finally relaxed.
Stepping up to the MG from behind, she spotted the blond hair of the young man she had been hunting. Both hands were pressed to his face, and she realized he was crying. Peering in without getting his attention just yet, she saw the Glock 17 sitting out in the open on the passenger seat. Cindy reached in quickly to seize it and jam it in a pocket of her windbreaker as Kenny became aware of her presence. He stared up numbly at her with his face still twisted as he stopped weeping.
"Couldn't do it, huh?" she asked gently.
"What? Who are you? I don't know you."
"It's okay, I know the whole story. You got this far and the more you thought about killing someone, the less you could imagine actually going through with it. Am I right?"
His voice was very unsteady. "It's a hell of a thing to do. I don't believe there's anything after death, you just go out like a candle. Doing that to someone...sending them into that emptiness..."
"I'm glad you couldn't do it," Cindy told him. "You've done some terrible things and you need to be punished by the law. But you're not entirely a lost soul yet." She opened his door and took him by the arm. "Out of the car. You're coming with me. It's time to end this whole Adrenalati nonsense once and for all."
VIII.
Pulling aside the heavy wine-colored curtain that hung over the doorway, Ellsworth Eberhardt hesitated. Why were none of the others here? According to their timetable, they should have returned to this chamber almost an hour earlier. Uncertainty swept through him, a feeling he had not exerienced in long years. What could have gone wrong? Was there any contingency he had not forseen and accounted for? Eberhardt stretched out his wrist and checked his watch again and, as he did so, a deadly calm voice behind him said, "Sit down."
There was no mistaking the authority in that voice. Eberhardt took two steps toward the card table, pulled out his chair and lowered himself into it. He did not look behind him. The skin at the nape of his neck twitched as if somehow it felt a weapon just inches away. He held his breath and waited.
"Put your hands on the table, palms down. Leave them there." As Eberhardt obeyed, the unseen person behind him crossed over and casually sat down facing him. It was a man about forty, dressed all in black, regarding him with strangely pale eyes that watched him the way a wild animal watches possible prey.
With a sinking sensation, Eberhardt said, "You have to be the Dire Wolf. I've heard wild stories about you."
Bane did not smile as he said, "Nice to be recognized. And you? I looked you up. Ellsworth Eberhardt of Martha's Vineyard, worth millions from birth. Completely clean criminal record." Here the Dire Wolf leaned forward slightly. "Too clean. Your class usually has a DWI or other minor offense somewhere in their youth. Your record is so spotless I have to say it's been doctored."
"How did you get in here? What could you even want with me? What threat could I possibly be?"
"Here's what I think you've been doing, Eberhardt. No, don't bother confirming or denying. You found three people from your upper class, the one percent at the top, who had burned out because they thought they had tried everything. They thought they were jaded and bored and looking for something forbidden. One of them even has a slogan, 'running out of thrills.' I think they should have tried doing some hard work, to be honest."
Eberhardt said nothing. His eyes kept darting to the doorway, then back to the man in black.
"Expecting your pawns? The Adrenalati. That's a cute name. So, you started elaborate plans for crimes they could pull. Starting small and building up to be more and more serious. Tonight was supposed to be the big finish, nothing less than murder."
"All right, enough of this." Eberhardt started to rise but something in those grey eyes caught him and he sagged down again. "Even if all this was true, so what? What can you prove? Nothing. If I was in fact doing all this, I think I'd be sharp enough to cover my tracks."
"Oh, you're clever enough," Bane said. "I figured early on that you yourself were not committing any of the crimes your pals did. Those supposedly stolen emerald earrings, that was your gig, right? They weren't stolen. Your friends blackjacked innocent men from behind but you took credit for an unrelated mugging that took place that night. That wasn't much of a risk. There's always a few assaults on a NYC night. And your friends raped two women and molested a little boy, but you told them your victim just hadn't reported it. And they believed you like the fools they were."
Eberhardt was trying to suppress a grin but lost. "I'm not admitting any of this. It's all wild conjecture on your part but I am enjoying it. Do go on."
"But then the question is, why are you doing this?," Bane went on. "Seems like a lot of scheming to go through. I figure it's one of two possibilities. One, you intend to blackmail your buddies. You have kept evidence enough to convict them of the crimes while your own hands are clean. Or, there's what I think is more likely. This was all so they would kill one or more people you wanted dead. And again, there's nothing pointing to you. You've kept any traces of you being here or meeting with the Adrenalati scrubbed. And I'm sure you have a decent alibi for where you were. Am I right?"
Sitting up straighter, Eberhardt edged his right hand forward to grab an ash tray but that was a distraction to cover his other hand dipping down toward his jacket pocket.
"Oh, forget it," Bane snapped. "Remember who you're dealing with. Go for that derringer and you'll wake up in ICU. So, who was it you wanted killed?"
"The Wall Street pirate. Henkle. He ruined a company I have heavy investments in. And the lady lawyer, Richter. Her agency has been holding up my plans for years. But there is no direct link between me and them. When they're dead, I can move ahead and my little fools will take the rap."
"Ah, glad to see you're opening up," the Dire Wolf said. He shoved his chair back behind him and stood up to stand with folded arms, gazing coldly down at the man. "I have bad news. Lewis Henkel is waking up right now, groggy and headachey from the drug I knocked him out with. But he's fine. It was your boy Michael Meade who did a swan dive off that balcony. You won't be seeing him again."
The color had run away from Eberhardt's patrician face as if he had lost all his blood. He opened his mouth, took a breath, and then closed it again without speaking.
"Tough break, huh," Bane said. He gestured toward the doorway to their side where the heavy drapes were being pulled aside. "I'm afraid it's not over yet, Mr criminal genius."
Standing in the doorway with a face drawn and expressionless, Kenny Keyser stared at his leader as if he had never seen him before. "I heard it all! Emilie is dead," he mumbled. "You expected that, didn't you? You bastard! She thought the world of you and you were just using her. And me!"
Beside the young man, Cindy Brunner stepped forward with a tiny hand on his shoulder. "Kenny couldn't go through with it. Killing in cold blood was just crossing the line he couldn't handle. I'm glad. His victim got away, and now Kenny has just heard what this was all about. From your own lips, Eberhardt."
"You're not going to get away with this," Kenny said flatly, almost as if in shock. "I'll testify. I'll tell them everything. You're going to pay for your sick scheme!"
Eberhardt struggled to keep his face expressionless, but not with any success. "What? Your word against mine? Who do you think the courts will believe, junior?"
"Ah, but remember... you gathered evidence against your pawns," Bane said quietly. "You taped the meetings. You edited the tapes to remove your own admission of participation, but luckily your fingerprints are all over the tapes and the machine." Bane reached under the table and brought up a cardboard box he had taped shut. "I'm so glad I got here before you did. This are more than enough to convict you on conspiracy to commit murder, assault, rape and arson."
Cindy broke in, "And here comes the NYPD up the stairs. Hello, inspector."
Coming up behind her with two huge uniformed officers flanking him, Harold Klein grunted. "Well, good of you two to let us in on this. Let's start by reading this guy his rights..."
8/19/2015
4/1-4/29/1999
I.
Exactly at midnight, the last of the four Adrenalati took his chair at the elegant green baize-covered card table. The others sat nursing their drinks, while one drew deeply on a clove cigarette before snuffing it out in a crystal ashtray. Cards were scattered on the table, but that was just for appearances. None of them cared about gambling anymore. They had reached new depths of being jaded even for the wealthy. Around them, the furnishings had cost fortunes, from the heavy maroon drapery to the marble counters to the genuine paintings by Kruipshank and LeDroit. None of this mattered to them at this point. Their pulses were only made rapid over something wicked.
As Ellsworth Eberhardt pulled out his King Francis era chair and took his seat at the head of the table, he was as impeccably dressed as ever. His white dinner jacket was tailored precisely, he seemed so clean-shaven and well-groomed that it was as if he had just stepped from a salon into the meeting room. Eberthardt was tall, slim, in his early fifties. The crisp brown hair had a sprinkling of white throughout it, the long face smiled at his friends with barely repressed glee. He picked up his bourbon on the rocks, sniffed it thoughtfully and took a long sip. "Everything went perfectly," he drawled. "The clueless police will be scratching their pointed heads."
Sitting to his left, the wide bulk of Mike Meade shifted restlessly. Despite the expensive clothing and the careful preparation, he still had a rough, unpolished look to him. Meade had started on the streets, son of immigrants who lived in the back of their deli and saved each coin to send their son to a good school. Recruited by ROTC, rising quickly to lieutenant in the Army, Meade had gone back to college after his tour of duty and had prospered in business. With his lantern jaw and flat nose, deepset brown eyes under heavy brows, he was intimidating without effort.
Meade watched their leader with a vague hostility. Ellsworth Eberthard had grown up with servants and every advantage on Martha's Vineyard. To be fair, he was a genius in computer design and troubleshooting and he had made his own millions. Meade had to admit the Adrenalate's leader deserved to be where he was. He made no answer but merely nodded.
It was Emilie who spoke in her low husky voice. "You were right. That was the first real jolt of life I've felt in weeks." A slender ash blonde with delicate features, Emilie Keyser wore a strapless burgundy dress and a simple turquoise and silver chain around her neck. She was watching Eberhardt with new appreciation. "The idea that I might get caught arrested, that was exciting! I believe you have found the solution to our, shall we say, ennui?"
"You and your word of the day," scoffed her brother. Emilie was just under thirty, while Kenny was five years younger. There was not much family resemblance. Both had light blonde hair, cloudy blue eyes and fine features. But the insolence and disrepect in Kenny's expression could not be concealed for long. He wore a neat dark grey suit, with matching vest and thin black tie over a crisp white shirt, but he alone did not seem at ease in it. "It was a real kick, Ellsworth. Just as you promised. And kicks keep getting harder to find."
"I am so glad to hear that," said their leader. "And the tokens of your misdeeds?"
Each placed an object on the card table. Mike Meade's token was a platinum cigarette lighter, Emilie's was a thin new leather billfold. Her brother Kenny bounced a steel money clip holding a thick wad of fifties. Leaning forward, smirking despite his best efforts, Eberthardt dropped a pair of rectangular emerald earrings trimmed in fine gold wire on the table.
"Now I'm impressed," Kenny chuckled. "How'd you do that without her noticing?"
"When you're a little older, I will tell you. Our first sins are petty, as you can see, but we will escalate quickly. Before we end the game, the sheep of this city will be looking over theirs shoulders in raw terror." He raised his tumbler in a gesture of salute. "My dear friends, the most exclusive club in Manhattan meets tonight to plan our next outrage. To the Adrenalati!"
They all raised their glasses. "The Adrenalati!"
II.
At seven-twenty in the morning, Jeremy Bane had taken an hour to run on the treadmill on the fourth floor and to do his DohRa form. Completely stretched and toned, he had taken a hot shower and changed into Navy blue shorts, a plain white T-Shirt and sneakers before heading back down to the ground floor of the headquarters building. At almost forty, the Dire Wolf was lean to the point of being gaunt. The muscles in his arms and legs stood out with a startling wiry definition because of his zero body fat.
He was so used to being in light telepathic contact with Cindy when they were in proximity that he took it for granted. It was a warm, comforting presence that he valued more than he realized. Now, as he trotted down the wide staircase, he picked up a vivid mental image from her mind... a short man in a well-worn white raincoat, chewing on an unlit cigar and peering about in the front hall.
Klein. Well, that could mean an interesting day ahead. The Dire Wolf's pale eyes gleamed with sudden interest. He came down to the front hallway of the building and slowed as Cindy met him with her sly grin. A year younger than he was, Cindy was just over five feet tall and just under a hundred pounds. With her dark blonde hair hanging straight down her back, wearing snug faded jeans and an oversized white sweatshirt that said SCARABS FAREWELL TOUR on front and back, she looked much younger. The smile on her gamin face was eager and excited. "Hey, buddy, here we go again!"
Standing near Cindy, watching Bane descend, Inspector Harold Klein jammed his fists into the pockets of his raincoat and grunted. There was more grey than black in his curly hair at this point. Klein said, "Hiya Bane, is this the end of the world or what? You don't have that damn black turtleneck and jacket on!"
"Hello, Inspector," the Dire Wolf answered with a rare hint of ease in his voice. "I'm guessing you have something for us?"
"Yeah, yeah. My superiors - so-called- sure got used to the idea of using you as a loose cannon. Anything weird or impossible to figure out happens in the Five Buroughs, and I get called in the office. Off the record, the captain says. Strictly unofficial, he says. But you know,he says, if that Dire Wolf character got wind of these offbeat crimes, and he took it on himself to investigate, we wouldn't be unhappy."
Bane allowed himself one of his rare smiles. "And of course I get no back-up or support. If I end up charged with manslaughter or other felonies, no one in the NYPD knows anything about it."
"Yeah. It's not the best deal," Klein admitted. "But I know you by now, Bane. Right now, you're just busting to go chase some monster or maniac like a real wolf scenting a squirrel. Am I wrong?"
"He's got your number," Cindy interrupted. "Come on, you two, let's sit in the office and get all the details. Coffee, inspector?"
"Oh God, yes," Klein said. "My poor old body can't run without it. Black, please."
"It'll just be a moment," the blonde telepath answered as she spun and headed toward the rear of the hall where the kitchen was. Bane ushered Klein into the reception room which served as the office of the Dire Wolf Agency and pulled a plain straightback chair over in front of the massive oak desk.
As he crossed over to take his own seat behind that desk, directly beneath a huge handpainted map of the world as it was in 1937, Bane said, "Hit me, Klein. What's the crisis this time?"
"Seems like the oddest crime wave in my experience," the inspector said as he settled down. "Looks to me like a small gang of four members tops. Twice a week, usually Wednesday and Sunday, four identical crimes take place somewhere in Manhattan. And each time, the offenses have been getting more serious."
Bane leaned forward, resting on his elbows, hands clasped. "Oh, this sounds good. Go on."
"It started when someone threw a big manila envelope through the door of police headquarters on Centre Street. No one saw who did it. Inside were items which had been reported stolen in the previous two days. A wallet, a pair of emerald earrings, a Rolex watch, a money clip with the entire amount still on it. No prints, of course. We notified the victims, they identified and claimed their property and no one knew what to make of it. The only loose end is the earrings, no one had filed a report about them and we still don't know who they belong to."
"Any common link between the victims?" Bane asked.
"Not that anyone can see. Then a few days later, four men were beaten up late Wednesday night into Thursday morning. They were all sucker punched from behind when opening a car door or coming out of a bar. Each man was smacked around pretty good, kicked a little when they were down. Cracked rib or two, bloody noses and black eyes but the injuries stopped short of getting near fatal." Klein wrapped his soggy cigar butt in a tissue and tossed it in the wastepaper basket near the desk, despite a withering glance from Bane. "A blunt instrument was used each time, seems like a lead-filled sap."
Cindy came in with a serving tray laden with a steaming coffee pot and accessories. There were two mugs, since she didn't mind an occasional cup but Bane had his usual ice water. Caffeine was the last thing he needed, with his already turbocharged metabolism.
As Klein gratefully gulped his coffee, Bane looked inquisitively over at Cindy.
"I followed the story so far," she said. "Sounds interesting. Inspector, what happened to the beating victims?"
"They're expected to be fine. But then, four days later came the rapes." Klein put his mug down with a little louder clank than was strictly necessary. "One streetwalker, one worker at a Korean massage parlor. One ten year old boy who was snatched from a car in front of an all-night pharmacy while his mother was inside."
"Oh, I remember those stories," Cindy blurted. "That poor little boy. Those women, no matter what jobs they had, they didn't deserve that. I heard they couldn't identify the suspects?"
"Nope. In retrospect, it's clear the attackers were disguised. One wig, a fake mustache and a strip of tape that looked like acne scars were found right at the scenes. The crooks are teasing us." Klein decided to fill his mug again, grunting as he leaned forward. "The boy was molested by a pretty blonde woman, and I am sick of hearing cops joke about how lucky he was. The kid is scared and ashamed, he had no idea what was going on. The description he gives is the best we have. I figure she's under five feet five, straight blonde hair, pale skin. That's the best the kid can manage."
"I need to spend a few minutes near some of these people," Cindy put in. "Most likely I can pull some visuals from their memories without them knowing it."
"Having a telepath makes detective work much more direct," Bane agreed. "And I think we need to catch these nuts quick. What was the next group of crimes, inspector?"
"Arson. Four stores torched early Sunday morning. Two used clothing stores, one luggage place, one Thai restaurant. Accelerants were used. Luckily, not too much damage done at three places but the restaurant is a loss and the apartments over it had to be declared unfit for habitation. That was two days ago. But the fires could easily have gotten out of control." Klein put the mug down again. "I guess we're thinking the same thing is coming up next."
"Each group of crimes is stepping up," Bane said. "That means the worst is going to come up next."
Cindy broke in, "Murder!"
III.
All that day, Inspector Klein had driven them around to visit some of the victims. Bane waited in Klein's personal car to avoid interfering with Cindy's perception. The old veteran spoke with two of the men who had been beaten, with Cindy standing by quietly and probing their minds as Klein spoke. One of the Korean women was already back to work at the massage parlor on 23rd Street and Cindy repeated the process as Klein asked a few more follow up questions.
Finally, at almost five in the afternoon, they were in a small house on a residential street in Queens. Down the block, the Dire Wolf had gotten out and was pacing back and forth as his restless energy was too strong to be held down anymore. He was wearing the familiar outfit of all black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket that amounted to a uniform for him. Bane was worried about Cindy's state of mind but did not know what to do. This procedure was getting to her.
He glared down the block at the house where the boy victim lived with his mother and grandmother. Mark Goldblatt, just ten years old. As Bane watched, the front door opened and Cindy came running toward him, head down. She had changed into a dark blue skirt and white blouse to look professional. In an instant, she had grabbed him in a tight embrace as if she would never let go. Holding her tightly, Bane could feel her slim body trembling. Her face was pressed against his chest so it could not be seen.
Looking up, Bane saw Inspector Klein make a show of lighting a cigar and walking around the corner out of sight. Good. After a moment, the blonde telepath sobbed once and relaxed her hold on him, gazing up at him with wet eyes.
"He's so traumatized," she whispered. "I know I should try not to interfere, but I numbed his memories. I didn't erase them. I just took away some of the impact. I did it for the others, too. How could I let them carry this pointless pain?"
"It's okay, Cin. I trust your judgement." He made his voice gentle, although he wasn't good at that. He sighed himself. "I don't know what it's like when you go in their minds, I guess only another telepath would understand."
Giving him a final squeeze, she disengaged herself and stepped back. "Well. It wasn't for nothing, hon. I got a clear image. Here, open up."
The Dire Wolf closed his eyes and relaxed his tightly walled-off mind as best he could. Receiving an image from Cindy was not like being handed a photo, it was more like remembering something he had seen a few minutes ago. There it was. A white woman about thirty, pale skin, delicate features with fine blonde hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a dark green dress with a cream-colored cardigan over it and she had a gleeful, malicious smile. Bane almost growled at her smug attitude.
"Recognize her, Jer?" Cindy asked.
"No. Not at all."
"Me neither. But looking at her clothes, I can tell she has bucks. Those earrings are real diamonds. That dress didn't come off a rack. Her make-up is perfect, her nails are manicured. So we know she's from the upper class."
"Makes sense," Bane said. "The stolen items from the first crime were deliberately returned. These people aren't in it for profit."
Cindy glanced over her shoulder as Klein approached them hesitantly. "It's okay, inspector. I can give you a detailed description of the woman at least."
"Every bit helps," he answered. "Come on, I'll take you two back to your headquarters before I go to the office. Any theories yet?"
"Yeah." Bane opened the passenger door of Klein's car for Cindy, then went to get in the back himself. "Thrill criminals. I think they're spoiled and bored and they're doing this for the adrenalin. If we don't stop them, they'll keep going for bigger and meaner crimes each time."
Klein exhaled sharply and got behind the wheel. "That's what I'm afraid of! And if they keep to their schedule, we don't have much time. They're going to be tough to identify and hard to nail." He pulled away from the curb. As they headed back to Manhattan, Cindy described the suspect in minute detail and she knew Klein would remember it all. Bane was silently watching the traffic, seemingly far away.
At 38th Street, they got out and told the inspector they would keep him informed. He said the same and drove off. Entering the headquarters building, they went to the kitchen and made grilled cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread with sliced tomatoes. Bane ate two almost in a gulp, and Cindy nibbled at hers.
After a few minutes, the blonde said, "I know you want to run your Dire Wolf Agency just on detective skills without me helping. I understand that. Using my powers would make most cases just too easy, they'd be over in a few minutes. But we have to stop these crazies as soon as we can." She finished the grilled cheese and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin from the holder on the round table. "Tomorrow is Sunday."
"Oh, I agree completely." Bane went to get a big bottle of cold apple juice and poured them both tumblers. "We're going to use all our resources. Next is the Trom tech."
She managed a smile. "Good. I was thinking just that. Let's get started." She got up, leaving their dishes on the table for once and led the way up the stairs to the second floor. Here was the conference room, where she flicked on the overhead lights as they entered.
The long oak table filled much of the room, with its five chairs on each side and one chair at each end. Their team of Tel Shai knights had met at that table for eleven hectic years. Only a few were alive now. After the hellish battle of the Final Halloween, Bane had disbanded the Kenneth Dred Foundation and released the knights to their own affairs. Only now, after enough time had passed, were Bane and Cindy gathering possible members for a new team.
At its own table by the door was the 36-inch monitor of the Trom computer system. Human technology would not catch up to to it for many years, perhaps never. As Cindy sat down in one of the straightback wooden chairs and hit the power button, Bane pulled another chair over and dropped down next to her.
"Let's see," the blonde telepath mumbled as she started typing away. "These creeps probably don't have any criminal records, so NYPD and FBI files won't help..."
"DMV," Bane suggested. "New York and New Jersey."
"Sure. Jeez, we break a lot of laws every day, you ever think of that? I mean, it's not like we're gonna stop, though. Let me see. I'll set the search parameters and keep narrowing them. Your reflexes are way better than mine, yell if you spot her. Okay. Female. Date of birth, 1966 to 1976. I think she's just thirty but we'll have some leeway. Um, height? Five foot four. Eyes blue. I'm sure she's a real blonde with that skin tone and eyelashes."
Thousands of faces flickered rapidly across the screen. Searching like this was only possible with Trom systems. As Cindy kept adding restrictions, the process slowed until the faces were staying on the screen long enough to be clear. Minutes went by and the scanning repeated itself. Suddenly, Bane's hand flashed down and he jabbed a finger at the pause button. "I think I saw her. Not sure."
"All right then." Cindy backed the pictures up and after another minute she herself paused the screen. "There she is. The bitch."
A NYS driver's license was displayed for them, with the suspect smiling pleasantly at the camera, a pair of oval sunglasses propped atop her head. There was no doubt. EMILIE ANN KEYSER, born July 2 1969. Height five feet four, hair blonde and eyes blue. She wore corrective lenses. Her address was listed as 1331 Spring Street.
"Just off West Broadway," Bane said. "That's Soho. Not a bad neighborhood."
Cindy started tapping keys again. "Let's see if she has ever been in the papers. You never know. NEW YORK POST, TIMES, DAILY NEWS... Hmm. Boy, married three times? Within eight years? She's trouble. Looks like her parents were rich when they moved here from Austria. No children. Younger brother Kenneth, he'd be twenty-four now. This is interesting, she started an exclusive boutique that folded in a year. I don't get why she would be in with this gang but then people still surprise me."
The Dire Wolf straightened up. "Ready to pay her a visit?"
Shutting down the console, the little blonde shoved her chair back. "More than ready!"
IV.
"Someone's coming out of the elevator," Cindy whispered, straightening up from where she had been digging through a dresser. "Young man in good mood... it's Kenny Keyser, her brother I think."
Across the luxurious apartment, the Dire Wolf came out of the walk-in closet with a predatory gleam in his grey eyes. "Just as well. I haven't found anything the least bit incriminating."
"Me neither." The blonde telepath peeled off blue latex gloves and stuck them in the pocket of her dark windbreaker. She had changed to sneakers, jeans and a white shirt two breast pockets to be ready for any action. Like Bane, she wore the flexible Trom armor under her clothes, and holstered under the windbreaker was her anesthetic dart gun.
Bane crossed over to stand so he would be behind the door when it opened. The apartment was huge, with two bedrooms and French doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the street twelve stories below. All the furnishings had been carefully chosen and the place was immaculate but it felt cold. There was no air of being lived in by anyone here. Pressing up against the cream-colored wall with its framed print of a South Seas dawn, Bane curled one hand into a tight fist.
"Let me daze him," Cindy whispered. A second later, a key scraped in the lock and the doorknob turned. She was standing on the other side of the parlor, where she would not be seen at first. A young skinny man with a mop of whitish-blond hair hanging down almost over one eye entered, tossed his keys on a tiny round table by the door and kicked his shoes off without unlacing them. Then he shook his head, turned halfway around and fell to his knees. Kenny Keyser caught himself with his hands but he seemed only half conscious.
Scanning the empty hall in an instant, Bane closed the apartment door and flipped up the light switch. Kenny was vaguely trying to get to his feet, unable to focus his awareness enough. The Dire Wolf picked up the young man under the arms and flung him easily onto the green silk-covered lounge without any attempt at gentleness.
Coming over to stand in front of them, Cindy touched Bane on the shoulder. "I've got him in a light trance, Jeremy. He can't hear us. I'm going to probe his surface memories a little."
"I'm standing by," the Dire Wolf said. He bent down and dug Kenny's right pants pocket and came out with a small leather sap filled with lead shot. "I could see the weight of this pulling that side of his pants."
The blonde stared down at their prisoner, narrowing her eyes and slowing her breathing until she seemed to be far away. Minutes ticked by. Behind her, Bane listened for anyone in the hall, but all seemed safe. After what seemed forever, Cindy shuddered and stepped back as Kenny slumped down limply with his head lolling to one side.
"I've put him under," she told Bane. "He won't wake up for an hour or so. This is a really nasty case, hon. We've got four rich spoiled creeps who think they're jaded. Everything has been handed to them and they're bored, so one of them talked the group into trying crimes. They start with picking pockets and work their way up. Tonight, they're supposed to commit four murders. Just for the excitement. Kenny here has a motto, 'running out of thrills' that he uses to justify the whole sick game."
The Dire Wolf moved closer and put an arm around the telepath's shoulders. "You have their names and images?"
"Sure. But now I wonder how we can handle these freaks. You know we can't just call Klein and turn them in. What would we use as evidence? Imagine telling the DA or the judge that we know they're guilty because I read this guy's mind. That would go over big."
"No evidence. We have nothing. Sometimes I wish I was a little more cold-blooded, Cin. If I was harder, I would just kill them now and end it. You know I could arrange things so I wouldn't get caught." Bane shook his head. "But I don't know...that bothers me..."
"Jeremy, I wouldn't love you if you could do something like that. That's a line we don't cross. No, I'm afraid we have to let them show their hand. His sister is supposed to coming back here around eight, then they're setting out. Kenny here is probably going to wonder why he took a nap like this, but he's not too bright. He'll have no idea we were here."
Bane thought for a second and replaced the sap to the young man's pocket. "Missing this might make me wonder what happened. I guess we had better start making our own plans, Cin."
She started for the door. "All right. Listen, let me get the sequence of where they're going to be tonight straight in our heads. First, the leader is a guy named Eberhardt..."
As they exited the elevator in the lobby, Cindy filled Bane in on every detail she had seen in Kenny Keyser's mind. It took forty minutes, during which they walked around the neighborhood as if windowshopping in all the boutiques and art galleries. The Dire Wolf listened closely, asked a lot of questions and was finally satisfied.
"We can do this, but we'll have to work separately," he said as they paused on the curb waiting for the WALK sign. "Even then,it's going to be close. Wish we had someone to help out on this. I don't think the new kids are quite ready to go solo, do you?"
"Unicorn? Sable? No I think it's asking too much," Cindy amswered. Josef could, he's had enough exprience on his own but by the time we get him to New York, it'd be too late. And Steve is at the Project in New Mexico, same problem."
"Well, we can handle it with some strategy. Here's how I see the schedule..." As they walked over to their Subaru Outback in the parking garage where they had left it, Bane started rattling out his plan and now it was Cindy's turn to listen.
Finally, standing in front of the car, she smiled for the first time that day. "My God, you're good at this, Jeremy. Sounds like a plan! Let me drive, I don't get to drive enough."
"Sure," the Dire Wolf said as he went around to the passsenger side. "I figure we have enough time to stop somewhere for food before the stalking begins."
"Hmmm, I feel like... Italian! Mama Ferraro's is on the way, let's grab Fettucini Alfredo, buddy."
IV.
As soon as it had gotten dark, Michael Meade lowered himself nimbly down a silk cord from the building's roof to land silently on the balcony. At forty, he was in even better shape than he had been in the service. All that training, half the day at the gym, running every night... now he knew why he had been doing it. Here were the sensations he had missed so badly. Not since Syria had he felt his heart beating so strong and fast, or felt his skin tingle as if lightning was about to strike. Ellsworth was right. He needed this tension and sense of danger, he was one of the Adrenalati. Now that he was close to killing someone, he felt more alive himself than ever before. It was the paradox that stirred him and he fought not to laugh.
Thirty stories below, Fifth Avenue was lit with headlights of cars struggling with traffic. Crowds bumped into each other. A few blocks away, he saw an ambulance go by with its flashers off and he smiled. Mike was dressed in simple dark clothing, work boots and jeans and a longsleeved flannel shirt. No commando suit, nothing that could be construed as a weapon. Just in case he was questioned at some point. Mike concealed himself behind the heavy curtains folded up next to the open sliding door and settled in. The balcony had a knee high steel railing for safety that certainly was not adequate to keep someone from tumbling over it. Again, it took an effort not to chuckle out loud. He wondered if there was something wrong with him, he was going to enjoy this so much.
In a few minutes, Lewis Henkle would come through that open door, light a Cuban cigar and stand watching the city while his old intestines started digesting his supper. Ellsworth had done research on the broker, and found his routine seldom varied. After the cigar, Henkle would recline in an easy chair and fall asleep to classical music before rousting himself for bed. Mike Meade had never heard of Lewis Henkle or the brokerage firm on Wall Street where the geezer worked. There was no connection between them. The idiot cops would go nuts trying to find a motive because the only motive was that the Adrenalti were running out of thrills and no one even knew the Adrenali existed! It was too, too sweet.
A dark form emerged through the doors, the light from behind obscuring details but it matched the description. About six feet tall, thin, standing straight. The man walked directly to the railing and stood there without glancing around. From behind the drapes, Mike inhaled slowly and then rushed forward without hesitation, both arms out stiffly to shove this fool head over heels on a one way dive to the sidewalk so far below...
But there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain in the center of his face as he was stopped short. It couldn't be Henkle! This was a younger man all in black, with a narrow angry face and the coldest pale eyes possible watching him the way a cat watches a mouse. The man's fist was just drawing back from that unexpected straight punch.
"Henkle is sleeping off a mild anesthetic," the stranger said. "He doesn't know either of us are here tonight, Meade."
"What the hell! Who ARE you?"
"My name is Bane. Well. You came here to throw someone over the edge. Lost your nerve?"
That triggered Mike. He lunged forward, grabbing for this stranger's arm and head in a basic grip that had always worked in combat but something went terribly wrong. Too quick to be followed, Bane slapped those hands aside, kicked Mike's legs out from under and flung him over one hip in a very neat judo throw. For one terrible second, Michael Meade seemed to hang suspended in the night air and then he was gone from sight with a shriek.
Jeremy Bane swung around even as Mike had gone over the railing, racing through the lavish apartment where Lewis Henkle snored in his recliner. He was out in the hall and hurtling down the stairwell so quickly he almost seemed to be falling headlong himself. On the ground floor, he emerged into the gleaming chrome and marble lobby and quietly joined a growing cluster of horrified people staring out at the street. Without using force, he slid through the crowd and was outside. Mike Meade had landed squarely on the hood of a parked Mercedes and he was not a pretty sight. As Bane watched from within the crowd, the first patrol car squealed to a sudden halt. The Dire Wolf faded back into the mob, slipped out of it and was walking briskly down Fifth Avenue. The next murder attempt by the Adrenalati would be not far away but he didn't have much time to get there.
V.
Slamming the door to the Subaru, Cindy Brunner ran up the block full tilt, not caring who stared at her. She had seldom been so furious. A head-on collision between a taxi and a limo on Madison Avenue had stopped traffic and tied her up for more than ten minutes. Hating to use her powers that way but desperate, she had mentally urged a driver to pull up partly onto the sidewalk so she could squeak by and escape to a side street. Looking back, she had released him and seen him safely back on the street without incident. Using bystanders that way troubled her but she had felt there was no choice.
Racing up to the door that read RICHTER LEGAL SERVICES on its glass panel, the little blonde was fuming that Emilie Keyser had jumped schedule. For whatever reason, the thrill criminal had left her apartment early and caught Cindy by suprise. Now she only prayed she wasn't too late to prevent a senseless murder. The telepath yanked the door open and entered a short hallway. There, to her left, she just caught a glimpse of a slim blonde woman in a dark pantsuit entering an office.
The next five second were a blur of events. Leaping through the doorway, Cindy took in the scene instantly. Standing behind a desk stacked with loose papers was a middle-aged woman with thick-lensed glasses and a pen held sideway in her mouth as she had both hands filled with notes. That would be Joanne Richter, senior member of the family that owned this business. Facing her, back to the open doorway, Emilie Keyser extended her arm full length and aimed a .22 target pistol directly at the woman's face.
Cindy lashed out with her mind as hard as she could, taking control of the part of Emilie's brain that control voluntary movements. The lovely woman froze in position, her arm and hand locking up rigidly so she could not possibly have squeezed that trigger. Cindy had just an instant to tighten her hold on the woman's mind when the unexpected happened. From the top right drawer of the desk behind which she stood, Joanne Richter whipped up a flat .32 automatic and fired twice, hitting the helpless Emilie in the center of the torso.
Shocked, Cindy released control and watched Emilie Keyser sag face down to the plush emerald carpeting. Then, without realizing it, she swung sideways against the wall outside the office. She knew that Richter had not caught even a glimpse of her. The sight of a strange woman coming in and pointing a gun at her had occupied all of Richter's attention in the split second before the shots.
Releasing a breath she had not realized she was holding, Cindy edged further down the hall into a nook that held a horizontal metal bar where coats were hung. The Richter woman had obviously been taking some self-defense lessons, she thought. That draw and fire had been very well done. A second later, two older men flung open their own door and shuffled quickly toward the Richter office, yelling out questions about what was going on. After they went by without sighting her, Cindy slipped past the commotion and stepped out the front door of the building onto the sidewalk. No one paid her any particular notice.
Cindy had such mixed emotions that she had to walk a few blocks to digest what had just taken place. She figured Joanne Richter would be able to claim self-defense without any trouble. There was Emilie's body with the pistol still in its hand, and the two fellow tenants had arrived in that office only seconds after the shots. Motive would remain a mystery, she figured, but the police would come up with something, no matter how unlikely. The blonde telepath turned around and headed for where she had left her car. In a way, she was relieved over what had taken place there. Even if she had detained Emilie Keyser for arrest, explaining in court how she had known that the woman intended murder would be impossible and a mistrial might very well be called. Now it was over.
The telepath glanced over at the building she had left a few minutes ago. No police were in sight yet. She slid behind the wheel and started the Subaru up. In the back of her mind, she was certain that Jeremy had handled his two thrill killers, she had complete faith in him. Now it was time for her to intercept that boy that she had questioned earlier that day, Kenny Keyser.
VI.
At the southern end of Central Park on 59th Street, Jeremy Bane walked briskly along the waist-high retaining wall. His eyes moved restlessly over the crowds, searching for someone who matched the description of the intended victim or for Ellsworth Eberhardt. It seemed such a public location for a murder, considering the killer intended to get away. Why not pick some area darker and more remote, less observed? Eberhardt was certainly shrewd, from everything he had learned about the man. He would plan better than this... The Dire Wolf slowed and came to a stop in the center of the sidewalk. Wait. In a rare gesture for him, he raised his left hand and snapped his fingers as a wry smile barely touched his face. Of course. Wheeling about, the Dire Wolf began to hurry to where he had left his car. Maybe there was still time.
VII.
Pulling over at the far end of the college parking lot, Cindy jumped out of her car and began striding quickly toward the cluster of long low buildings. A few students strolled by in groups of two or three, chatting and happily unaware of the nearness of murder right over their heads. They seemed so young. Cindy was forty and looked maybe thirty, but these students made her feel suddenly like she wasn't a kid herself anymore. On a beautiful April night, these teens were so happy and optimistic and she was out hunting killers. The blonde telepath felt uncharacteristically morose.
Ahead was a cherry red MG convertible, and she reached out with her mind, ready to seize control if the man was about to strike. Then she stopped short. Cindy's shoulders lowered without her realizing it and she exhaled as some tension left her body. More slowly, she continued toward the car. A young couple, arm in arm, sauntered along a walkway past her, whispering to each other. One of them was supposed to have been the victim. She watched them get into a Ford Taurus with some serious dents on the rear bumper, and as they drove away safely, she finally relaxed.
Stepping up to the MG from behind, she spotted the blond hair of the young man she had been hunting. Both hands were pressed to his face, and she realized he was crying. Peering in without getting his attention just yet, she saw the Glock 17 sitting out in the open on the passenger seat. Cindy reached in quickly to seize it and jam it in a pocket of her windbreaker as Kenny became aware of her presence. He stared up numbly at her with his face still twisted as he stopped weeping.
"Couldn't do it, huh?" she asked gently.
"What? Who are you? I don't know you."
"It's okay, I know the whole story. You got this far and the more you thought about killing someone, the less you could imagine actually going through with it. Am I right?"
His voice was very unsteady. "It's a hell of a thing to do. I don't believe there's anything after death, you just go out like a candle. Doing that to someone...sending them into that emptiness..."
"I'm glad you couldn't do it," Cindy told him. "You've done some terrible things and you need to be punished by the law. But you're not entirely a lost soul yet." She opened his door and took him by the arm. "Out of the car. You're coming with me. It's time to end this whole Adrenalati nonsense once and for all."
VIII.
Pulling aside the heavy wine-colored curtain that hung over the doorway, Ellsworth Eberhardt hesitated. Why were none of the others here? According to their timetable, they should have returned to this chamber almost an hour earlier. Uncertainty swept through him, a feeling he had not exerienced in long years. What could have gone wrong? Was there any contingency he had not forseen and accounted for? Eberhardt stretched out his wrist and checked his watch again and, as he did so, a deadly calm voice behind him said, "Sit down."
There was no mistaking the authority in that voice. Eberhardt took two steps toward the card table, pulled out his chair and lowered himself into it. He did not look behind him. The skin at the nape of his neck twitched as if somehow it felt a weapon just inches away. He held his breath and waited.
"Put your hands on the table, palms down. Leave them there." As Eberhardt obeyed, the unseen person behind him crossed over and casually sat down facing him. It was a man about forty, dressed all in black, regarding him with strangely pale eyes that watched him the way a wild animal watches possible prey.
With a sinking sensation, Eberhardt said, "You have to be the Dire Wolf. I've heard wild stories about you."
Bane did not smile as he said, "Nice to be recognized. And you? I looked you up. Ellsworth Eberhardt of Martha's Vineyard, worth millions from birth. Completely clean criminal record." Here the Dire Wolf leaned forward slightly. "Too clean. Your class usually has a DWI or other minor offense somewhere in their youth. Your record is so spotless I have to say it's been doctored."
"How did you get in here? What could you even want with me? What threat could I possibly be?"
"Here's what I think you've been doing, Eberhardt. No, don't bother confirming or denying. You found three people from your upper class, the one percent at the top, who had burned out because they thought they had tried everything. They thought they were jaded and bored and looking for something forbidden. One of them even has a slogan, 'running out of thrills.' I think they should have tried doing some hard work, to be honest."
Eberhardt said nothing. His eyes kept darting to the doorway, then back to the man in black.
"Expecting your pawns? The Adrenalati. That's a cute name. So, you started elaborate plans for crimes they could pull. Starting small and building up to be more and more serious. Tonight was supposed to be the big finish, nothing less than murder."
"All right, enough of this." Eberhardt started to rise but something in those grey eyes caught him and he sagged down again. "Even if all this was true, so what? What can you prove? Nothing. If I was in fact doing all this, I think I'd be sharp enough to cover my tracks."
"Oh, you're clever enough," Bane said. "I figured early on that you yourself were not committing any of the crimes your pals did. Those supposedly stolen emerald earrings, that was your gig, right? They weren't stolen. Your friends blackjacked innocent men from behind but you took credit for an unrelated mugging that took place that night. That wasn't much of a risk. There's always a few assaults on a NYC night. And your friends raped two women and molested a little boy, but you told them your victim just hadn't reported it. And they believed you like the fools they were."
Eberhardt was trying to suppress a grin but lost. "I'm not admitting any of this. It's all wild conjecture on your part but I am enjoying it. Do go on."
"But then the question is, why are you doing this?," Bane went on. "Seems like a lot of scheming to go through. I figure it's one of two possibilities. One, you intend to blackmail your buddies. You have kept evidence enough to convict them of the crimes while your own hands are clean. Or, there's what I think is more likely. This was all so they would kill one or more people you wanted dead. And again, there's nothing pointing to you. You've kept any traces of you being here or meeting with the Adrenalati scrubbed. And I'm sure you have a decent alibi for where you were. Am I right?"
Sitting up straighter, Eberhardt edged his right hand forward to grab an ash tray but that was a distraction to cover his other hand dipping down toward his jacket pocket.
"Oh, forget it," Bane snapped. "Remember who you're dealing with. Go for that derringer and you'll wake up in ICU. So, who was it you wanted killed?"
"The Wall Street pirate. Henkle. He ruined a company I have heavy investments in. And the lady lawyer, Richter. Her agency has been holding up my plans for years. But there is no direct link between me and them. When they're dead, I can move ahead and my little fools will take the rap."
"Ah, glad to see you're opening up," the Dire Wolf said. He shoved his chair back behind him and stood up to stand with folded arms, gazing coldly down at the man. "I have bad news. Lewis Henkel is waking up right now, groggy and headachey from the drug I knocked him out with. But he's fine. It was your boy Michael Meade who did a swan dive off that balcony. You won't be seeing him again."
The color had run away from Eberhardt's patrician face as if he had lost all his blood. He opened his mouth, took a breath, and then closed it again without speaking.
"Tough break, huh," Bane said. He gestured toward the doorway to their side where the heavy drapes were being pulled aside. "I'm afraid it's not over yet, Mr criminal genius."
Standing in the doorway with a face drawn and expressionless, Kenny Keyser stared at his leader as if he had never seen him before. "I heard it all! Emilie is dead," he mumbled. "You expected that, didn't you? You bastard! She thought the world of you and you were just using her. And me!"
Beside the young man, Cindy Brunner stepped forward with a tiny hand on his shoulder. "Kenny couldn't go through with it. Killing in cold blood was just crossing the line he couldn't handle. I'm glad. His victim got away, and now Kenny has just heard what this was all about. From your own lips, Eberhardt."
"You're not going to get away with this," Kenny said flatly, almost as if in shock. "I'll testify. I'll tell them everything. You're going to pay for your sick scheme!"
Eberhardt struggled to keep his face expressionless, but not with any success. "What? Your word against mine? Who do you think the courts will believe, junior?"
"Ah, but remember... you gathered evidence against your pawns," Bane said quietly. "You taped the meetings. You edited the tapes to remove your own admission of participation, but luckily your fingerprints are all over the tapes and the machine." Bane reached under the table and brought up a cardboard box he had taped shut. "I'm so glad I got here before you did. This are more than enough to convict you on conspiracy to commit murder, assault, rape and arson."
Cindy broke in, "And here comes the NYPD up the stairs. Hello, inspector."
Coming up behind her with two huge uniformed officers flanking him, Harold Klein grunted. "Well, good of you two to let us in on this. Let's start by reading this guy his rights..."
8/19/2015
